According to the Evidence rpm-2

by Bernard Knight

  He squatted on a nearby stool, pleased to hear how they were diversifying their business.

  ‘It’s good to know we’re expanding into the civil side, not just coroners’ and police work. There must be lots of other problems out there that we can help with.’

  Angela readily agreed. ‘And the other good thing is that we’re getting almost all our new cases by word of mouth – usually solicitors recommending us to one another. Nothing to beat the old boy network, is there?’

  ‘Perhaps you’d better join the Freemasons and the local Rotary Club, doctor!’ called Siân from her bench. ‘My dad says that’s where all the power lies these days.’

  Richard grinned at Angela at the thought of getting business advice from a red-hot trade unionist like Evan Lloyd, then took himself back to his office to check the last batch of post-mortem reports which Moira had just typed.

  Half an hour later his phone rang, switched through from Moira’s office next door. When a few months earlier Post Office Telephones had extended the single line to the phone in the hall, they had put a simple switching device in her office, so that she could divert a call to either the laboratory or to Richard’s room.

  ‘It’s the War Office!’ she hissed in a conspiratorial whisper before connecting the call.

  ‘Gordon Lane here, Dr Pryor.’ The voice of the Crown solicitor came across the ether. ‘We’ve made some progress, I’m glad to say. The first thing is that the bullet has arrived from Al Tallah. We’ve got it in a jar in the office here, safely wrapped in cotton wool.’

  ‘Good. I suggest you ask your ordnance experts in Woolwich to examine it, but I’d like to have a look at it first,’ said Richard. ‘What was the second thing?’

  ‘That’s the point of ringing, as we also have had consent from both the widow and the Home Office for an exhumation. I wanted to arrange a date with you.’

  Richard Pryor was surprised at the speedy action, which normally could take weeks or even months. ‘That’s very quick work, Mr Lane! How did you manage that?’ he asked, perhaps impertinently. The lawyer sounded a little evasive.

  ‘There are ways and means within government, doctor. Anyway, the widow’s solicitor saw that they were not going to get any further with their claim if they refused – and the coroner for Northolt, where the body came in by air, said that it was none of his concern as he had declined to hold an inquest.’

  ‘So that left just the Home Office?’

  ‘Yes, and even they were somewhat uncertain about their jurisdiction as this was an army incident that occurred abroad. However, to be on the safe side they rubber-stamped the appropriate forms, so we can proceed.’

  Richard thought rapidly, as the Gloucester trial was now less that a fortnight away. He had the Brecon inquest this week, so that ruled out the next few days.

  ‘I think it will have to be one day next week, Mr Lane. As far as I recall, the body is buried in south-east London?’

  ‘Yes, in Lewisham municipal cemetery.’

  ‘Where could we take it for a post-mortem, somewhere that has decent facilities?’ asked Richard.

  ‘I’ve discussed this with Paul Bannerman, who’s leading this case. He suggests the Queen Alexandra Military Hospital in Millbank. Perhaps you know it, having been an RAMC officer?’

  ‘I know where it is, certainly. Very near the Royal Army Medical College, with the Tate Gallery between them.’

  ‘Paul Bannerman is still a serving officer, so I’m sure he can arrange matters with the hospital commandant. Which day would suit you best?’

  Richard decided that Wednesday would be as good as any other, and the solicitor promised to ring back to confirm a time.

  ‘We’ll have to make arrangements with the cemetery for the exhumation and also for transport from Lewisham to Millbank.’

  After he had rung off, Richard went to report to his partner. ‘Trip to London next week, Angela. Know anything about bullets?’ He repeated what Lane had told him.

  ‘I’m a biologist, not a firearms examiner,’ she said. ‘But I’ve picked up a bit of the jargon and mystique from listening to them in the Met Lab over the years.’

  ‘Good enough. You can look at the thing with me next week. I’ve got a feeling about what could have happened, but first I need to look at that wound.’

  At lunchtime he told Moira and Siân about the developments, but neither of them wanted to join Angela on a trip to London.

  ‘Must be horrid, an exhumation,’ said Moira with an expression of disgust. ‘How long has the poor chap been buried?’

  ‘Only a few months – and he was embalmed first, so he’ll be almost as good as new.’

  ‘I’m happy to be coming to that inquest with you, doctor,’ said Siân. ‘And I saw a couple of post-mortems when I worked in the hospital lab. But I draw the line at exhumations!’

  That evening Richard talked to Angela about the arrangements for the following week. ‘We’re not going to get our dirty weekend, I’m afraid. But as the exhumation is bound to be in the morning, we’ll have to travel up on Tuesday.’

  Angela made a mock pout. ‘Oh, and I was looking forward to a sinful Saturday night!’

  His lean face broke into one of his famous grins. ‘We may as well make a day of it, so we’ll go up early on the Red Dragon and you can have the afternoon to hit the shops while I go to the BMA library to see if they’ve got anything I missed elsewhere.’

  ‘Oh, you’re so masterful, Richard! The romantic BMA library!’ In a playful mood, she pretended to swoon.

  ‘Stop taking the mickey, lady!’ he commanded. ‘We’ve got to decide on somewhere to stay. I suppose the Great Western Hotel at Paddington is the easiest, especially as we’re not footing the bill.’

  Serious again, she nodded. ‘Sounds fine to me. Better get Moira to book a couple of rooms there. Knowing her, she’ll make sure that they’re on different floors at opposite ends of the building!’

  On Friday they set off in the Humber at eight thirty, as the inquest was to start at half past ten. Siân arrived early and they left Garth House in almost a picnic mood, in spite of the sombre nature of the event. The technician sat in the back, enjoying the ride in a large, comfortable car, for there was no such luxury in her household. Though Siân was a very mature, self-possessed woman of twenty-four, for a few moments Richard had a fantasy that she was their daughter, with Mum and Dad sitting sedately in the front!

  It was a nice day, getting cooler as the autumn took hold, but dry and sunny between breaks in the cloud. As they drove up to Monmouth, then along the A40 through Abergavenny and Crickhowell to Brecon, they all revelled in the lovely countryside of Monmouthshire, then the grandeur of the Usk Valley through the Beacons. Apart from her one visit to the crime scene, this area was new to Angela. She had been brought up in the flatter Home Counties and today she had the leisure to better appreciate the Welsh scenery. As for Siân, she was entranced, as being a child during the war, with all the shortages and restrictions – and no car in the family – her excursions had been mainly to Barry Island and Porthcawl, with a few holidays in Gower or Ilfracombe.

  Brecon came all too quickly and soon they were driving up The Watton into the town, past the grim nineteenth-century barracks that was the depot of the South Wales Borderers.

  ‘That’s where that young lad who found the body is being called up to National Service this week,’ said Richard. ‘Let’s hope he enjoys it, though he’ll find it a lot different from mending tractors on a farm.’

  ‘Won’t he have to be at the inquest?’ asked Siân.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure he will. But he won’t have far to go, for we’re there already.’

  On their left, at an angle to the main road, was another massive early Victorian building, the Shire Hall, with its classical portico of four fluted columns supporting a triangular pediment.

  The coroner’s officer was in the forecourt, and he waved them in to a parking place behind the iron railings.

  ‘I kept you a
place, doctor. There’ll be a fair crowd here today. It’s not often we get a murder.’

  Billy Brown led them up the steps into the impressive building and into the main courtroom, a forbidding place panelled in dark wood, explaining as he went.

  ‘The coroner usually holds inquests in the magistrates’ court or even in his own office, if there are only a few witnesses. But today he’s borrowed the courtroom. Normally, it’s kept for sittings of the Assizes and Quarter Sessions.’

  A high panelled bench dominated the front of the court, below which was a desk for the clerk and a large central table with benches for the lawyers. The witness box was to one side near a couple of rows of pews for the jury. On the opposite side there was more seating and a place for the press. The rest of the large, high chamber was filled with benches for witnesses and the public – Siân was reminded of the interior of her Methodist chapel in Chepstow.

  Billy Brown shepherded them into a pew just behind the lawyers’ table, where a florid middle-aged man in a dark suit and a wing collar sat with a thin file of papers. Three journalists were squeezed into a narrow space on the opposite side of the court from the jury benches. One was a bald man with a large red nose, another an anaemic-looking girl and the last a bored-looking young man with severe acne.

  In the row behind the forensic team, the four members of the Evans and Morton families were sitting silently, dressed in their Sunday clothes, the men displaying black ties and Betsan and Rhian in suitably black or grey outfits.

  The chamber was partly filled with some farming neighbours from Cwmcamlais, together with members of the public attracted by the morbid thrill of a murder-suicide in this usually peaceful area. There were several uniformed constables at the back of the court, and five minutes after the Garth House party arrived Detective Inspector Arthur Crippen and his sergeant slipped into the other end of their pew, nodding a greeting at the Garth House group. Just before the large old clock on one wall reached ten thirty, the coroner’s officer shepherded in half a score of people to act as jurors. They filed self-consciously into the two rows of hard benches, eight men in their best suits and a couple of women in shapeless hats. Billy Brown vanished, then reappeared from a side door and came up to whisper to Richard Pryor.

  ‘The coroner would like a word before we start, doctor.’ He led Richard up to the front bench and lifted a flap in the corner. A few steps led up to the judicial platform, then through a door at the side into the judge’s chamber.

  The coroner was Charles Matthews – as usual, a local solicitor. A tall, thin man, he could only be described as ‘grey’, as he was grey-haired, had a grey walrus moustache and wore a grey suit. Even his complexion seemed grey, but he was a courteous and affable man. As he shook hands, he thanked Richard for his prompt and expert assistance in this matter.

  ‘I just wanted to meet you and explain that I am keeping the inquest as low-key as possible, doctor. This tragic case has the potential to cause serious embarrassment to respectable people living in what is a very tight-knit rural community. I see no merit in offering the press a lot of irrelevant detail, given that there is no possibility of any further legal action.’

  They chatted for a moment longer, Matthews expressing genuine interest in the new venture in the Wye Valley and promising to bear them in mind when he or any of his legal colleagues in the area had need of forensic advice.

  Gratified by this promise of future work, Richard took his leave and got back to his seat before the inquest began.

  Billy Brown appeared inside the side door and, in a stentorian voice that seemed loud for his short stature, demanded that all should rise.

  The coroner hurried in clutching a sheaf of papers and sat himself in the large central chair, normally occupied by a High Court judge or the chairman of the Quarter Sessions. His officer then called the court to order with the traditional exhortation.

  ‘Oyez, oyez, oyez, all persons having anything to do before the Queen’s coroner for the County of Brecon, touching the deaths of Thomas Littleman and Mostyn Dewi Evans, draw near and give your attendance!’

  Before anything else was commenced, the lawyer at the table rose to his feet and announced to the coroner that he was Maldwyn Prosser, a solicitor holding a watching brief for the Evans family. As his practice was directly across the street from Charles Matthews’ own law office, the coroner was well aware of his identity, but the professional niceties had to be maintained.

  The next task was to swear in the jury, and Billy walked along the two rows of benches, giving a battered copy of the New Testament to each juror as he came to them.

  ‘Take the book in your right hand and read the words on the card.’

  A piece of pasteboard stuck out of the book and, in either halting words or more confident bravado, each person stood up and swore by Almighty God that they would diligently ‘a true presentment make according to the evidence’.

  When they had settled down again, the coroner leaned forward and regarded them over his half-moon spectacles.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, there are two inquests to be dealt with today, but as they are inextricably linked I am taking them together, though at the conclusion you must provide me with two separate verdicts.’

  He then asked the jury to choose their foreman, and a portly, red-faced local butcher was appointed.

  ‘Undoubtedly, all of you must have heard about this sad occurrence in Cwmcamlais, but you must put out of your mind anything you have heard or read and consider only what you will hear in this courtroom today.’

  He leaned back and shuffled his papers unnecessarily before continuing.

  ‘A coroner’s inquest is concerned with only four things. Who, where, when and by what means someone came to their death. In addition, I have the power under the law to commit any person you consider guilty of criminally causing such a death for trial in a higher court. However, I can tell you now that this will not arise today, so it is only the first four you need consider.’

  He nodded at Billy Brown, who moved to the front of the witness box, his trusty New Testament at the ready.

  ‘The first witness is Shane Williams,’ he announced. Heads turned to watch the former apprentice lope down the side of the court and step up into the waist-high cubicle of varnished wood.

  He wore an ill-fitting khaki battledress, denoting his four days of service in Her Majesty’s armed forces.

  Shane had been sitting halfway up the chamber, alongside the impressive figure of a sergeant major in the uniform of the South Wales Borderers, and the general impression was that it was with reluctance that the army had let such a raw recruit escape his penal servitude for an hour or two.

  The youth mumbled his way through a different oath printed on the same card, swearing by the same Almighty God that he would tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

  Richard glanced past Angela to look at Siân and saw that she was transfixed by the proceedings, which brought to life all she had read about courts in newspapers and novels or heard on the radio.

  ‘Wait until we take her to the Assizes,’ he whispered to Angela. ‘She’ll be in ecstasy then with wigs and gowns!’

  His partner banged his knee with hers to shut him up, as the coroner began questioning Shane Williams. The former worker at Ty Croes stumbled through a description of when and how he had found the body, and confirmed that it was indeed that of Tom Littleman. Matthews avoided any probing into Shane’s knowledge of any disputes between the dead man and any other persons at the farm. There was little else to be said and, after a short description of the barn and its contents and the position and state of the Fordson tractor, the coroner finished with Shane. He invited the family solicitor to ask any questions, but this was declined and Shane left the witness box with obvious relief. As he came back into the body of the court, the immaculate sergeant rose and reclaimed his recruit, marching him off as if he was under arrest.

  At this stage the coroner instructed his officer to hand a s
lim album of photographs to the jury, to be passed around among them.

  ‘These are not very pleasant, but I’m afraid you need to follow what was found in this barn at Ty Croes Farm, as will be described by the next witnesses,’ explained Matthews.

  They huddled over the pictures as they went along the two benches. Although the coroner had excluded the more gory photos, several of the men looked queasy at the sight, though the two women did not turn a hair, studying the details with apparent relish.

  Arthur Crippen was called next and, scorning the card, held the Testament high in the air and rattled off the oath with the familiarity of thirty years’ experience in the courts.

  He then described the scene in the barn when he was called by the uniformed officers and, with the jury following his account on their photographs, led them through the relevant points of the tractor, the scattered wooden blocks and the position of the chain hoist hanging from the roof.

  The next witness was Aubrey Evans, who was dealt with quite briefly but sympathetically by Charles Matthews. He formally confirmed that the dead man was Thomas Littleman and, on being further questioned, said that he knew almost nothing of the man’s background, except that he had been an army mechanic and had worked at Ty Croes Farm for several years.

  The coroner then explained to the jury that efforts by the police to trace any relatives had failed.

  ‘Military records showed that he was born in London and had joined the Regular Army at the age of eighteen. His parents were dead and he had no brothers or sisters. No other family has made themselves known, so that disposal of the body has been left to the local authority.’

  After stating that the dead man had last been seen alive on the previous evening, Aubrey Evans left the witness box, the coroner having carefully avoided any questions about his own family, and the next witness was Richard Pryor.

  Angela had been in court with him previously, but she listened again to see how he conducted himself. Siân was on the edge of her seat, enthralled by her boss being the centre of attention for a few minutes.

  After taking the oath in a steady, serious voice, he identified himself and gave the Garth House address.