I smacked her face hard. Every split second counted. Martinez would rush me any moment. Already Faberge was hunting for a boat-hook in the stern of the boat. I grabbed Kay's hand and started to run, pulling her along behind me. "Go Kay - GO!"
I was at the door before Martinez launched himself at me. His knee thumped upwards into my groin, but he was at the wrong angle to get any force behind it. Not that he had any real chance anyway. I was fighting like a mad man - screaming and shouting kicking wildly, lashing out with both fists - forcing him backwards, making him scream to Faberge for help. And by the time Faberge arrived with that boat-hook Martinez and I were rolling over and over in the dirt, a foot or so from the water's edge. The wind shrieked louder than ever - the door was open - and when I looked up Kay had gone.
It's all a bit hazy after that. It really is. I'm not trying to cover up - there's no point anyway. I know Martinez fell into the water. I may have shoved him, I probably did - my strength was failing by the second and I knew I couldn't last much longer. The little bastard pulled a knife on me - a switchblade. I kicked his knife arm as he came in low. He fell backwards and I kicked again. There was a hell of a splash but Faberge was beating me to pulp with that boat-hook by then. I was covered with blood and could hardly see straight. I found a length of rope from somewhere and was lashing out with that, trying to keep him at bay, but I was fighting a losing battle. And I passed out not long after that.
There was a very long silence when I finished. They were thinking over what I had told them. It was impossible to judge whether they believed me. Not so much as a flicker of an eyelid betrayed their emotions. Llewellyn sucked an empty pipe and turned the pages of a file. Kaufman sat staring at me, with his chin cupped in his hands. Bonello scratched his head and watched smoke drift upwards from his cigarette. They were the principal characters. I could see that now. Hewit and Richardson were merely assistants of some kind, and Henderson was probably somewhere in between.
Finally Llewellyn cleared his throat and said, "The police arrived at the boat-house at twelve minutes past six that morning. You were unconscious. Martinez had drowned. And Faberge was dead, with a knife in his back."
I nodded. There was nothing to add.
Kaufman slid his cigarettes down the table to me. He half smiled, "Forget what you said in court, Sam - but just for the record - you never killed Faberge, did you?"
I had already told them so much more than had come out at the trial. I was beyond the point of no return. It was inconceivable to go back now - I had to go on. "No," I said quietly, "I didn't kill Faberge."
Kaufman almost sighed with relief. He smiled and said: "And also just for the record - everyone in this room believes you."
Various heads nodded, but Kaufman was already turning a page in his file. Without looking up he said, "And the police autopsy says Martinez struck his head when he fell in the water. Drowned while concussed was their verdict. You go along with that?"
I shrugged. "I know he fell into the water."
Kaufman nodded. "So with him gone that only left Faberge and you. At least so far as the police knew."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He smiled. "Well, they never knew about the lovely Lady Kay, did they?"
"I told you - she left before I passed out."
"Sure, Sam - but you did pass out. She could have come back."
"No! She was terrified. Frightened out of her skull. Nothing would have-"
"Did you hear the automobile start up? Did you hear it drive away?"
"Don't be a complete fool - I couldn't hear anything above that wind. I was fighting two men, so much was happening-"
"Exactly," he said quickly.
"Come off it, Kaufman - you know what happened to Kay."
"I know she wrapped her automobile round a tree outside Didcot. I know she was concussed for three whole days. I know she lied her head off to the police when she came round." He paused, watching me carefully, "What I don't know is whether she returned to the boat-house-"
"Well I'm telling you-"
"But you don't know. You can't know. Not for sure."
"Yeah? What about the knife, Kaufman? How - where - would she have got a knife?"
"You said Martinez had one."
"And you know what happened to it. You've read the files. The police found Martinez's knife in the water."
"Perhaps Faberge had a knife?"
"He would have used it on me. Besides-" I stopped, caught by the sudden memory and wondering how to explain it. Wondering if I could explain it.
"Besides?" Kaufman repeated softly, "Besides what, Sam?"
"Well, there was something else. At least I think there was ..." I struggled with my memories. I was only half convinced. Even now I wondered if I had imagined it. Sometimes I thought it was an invention of my subconscious - a convenient alibi for Kay. But I hadn't killed Faberge and if Kay hadn't - and I never thought she had - someone else had wielded that knife.
"Something else?" Kaufman persisted softly.
I took a deep breath and tried to explain. "After Martinez went into the water, when I was fighting Faberge - well, I thought I saw something. I was backed up against the wall, trying to avoid his lunges with the boat-hook - lashing out with the rope and trying to keep him off - when I saw something behind him - at the other end of the boat-house."
Every eye in the room was watching me. I could feel their scepticism. Their suspicion made me wish I hadn't started - but I had, so there was no alternative but to finish.
"There was a skiff," I said. "Very low in the water. Three men in it. The prow of the skiff nosed into the boat-house just as Faberge lunged with the boat-hook. I dodged and ducked away, and it was a moment or two before I had a chance to look again. One man was holding the skiff steady against the doors - and the man behind him stood up in the boat - he looked as if he were throwing something, or about to throw something. One hand was curled backwards over his shoulder. Then Faberge caught me across the face with that boat-hook and - and, well I don't remember much after that."
Hewit inspected his fingernails. "You say you thought you saw this - these men, this skiff?"
"That's right, Hewit, I thought I saw it. I was preoccupied at the time. Half blinded by blood leaking out of my head, fighting Faberge for my life. Whatever I saw was for a split second - that's all - a split second in a bad light."
Llewellyn murmured, "I assume the light was too bad for you to give a positive description of these men?"
I looked at him sharply, sensing more of Hewit's sarcasm. But Llewellyn looked quite sincere. I said, "The light was behind them - what light there was. All I saw were their silhouettes - black solids against the grey and white of the water. But the man standing up in the boat was a big man I think - bigger than the man holding the door. And ..."
I can see him now. The man standing up. I'll always be able to see him. Just his shape, his outline. His left leg forward and his body half turned towards me. His right arm was bent, the hand half hidden behind his head - and his left arm was stretched out in front of him - to balance himself. Light glinted on something in his hand. His left hand, not his throwing hand. That's what caught my eye I think. That sudden glitter of light down by the river doors. That's all I remember, but it's a very sharp image - like a message flashed on a cinema screen in the middle of a film.
Kaufman rubbed his chin when I finished. "Okay, Sam, we'll file it away for now. Unless you want to add anything?"
I shook my head miserably. They didn't believe me, I could see it in their eyes.
"And the man Brooks?" Kaufman asked, "You never saw him?"
"No. But we all know what happened to Brooks, don't we?"
"We know what happened to him later," Kaufman corrected. "Not what happened to him that night."
I nodded. There was nothing I could add. I had told them all I knew.
Kaufman bent his head over his papers, "So let's go on from there, Sam. Six in the morning and that boat-house i
s swarming with cops. You're out cold and Faberge and Martinez are dead. Then what happened?"
I sighed. I had a very strong feeling that Kaufman knew what happened then. That he knew almost as much as I did. But another strong feeling said he would keep probing until there was no almost about it.
It's hard to explain what it's like to be arrested for murder. You have to live through it before you can understand. Like going to prison. You see pictures of prisons - all that institutionalised cleanliness, men swabbing the floors, washing down paintwork and you would never think of the smell. But it hits you the moment you go in - the smell of grease and dirt, and the all prevailing odour of degradation.
I was in hospital when they arrested me. I didn't know it but Kay was downstairs in the Special Care Unit. I awoke in a tiny whitewashed room to find a policeman watching me through a glass-panelled door. It must have registered - but never enough to alarm me because I went straight back to sleep. My head throbbed and I was desperately tired, too exhausted to think. They let me sleep the clock round - and when I awoke the second time, they arrested me. I was taken to a tiny police station in the sticks somewhere, and charged with the murder of Marcelle Faberge. Too stunned to say much, I felt like death warmed up and must have looked it, dressed in the old sweater and clothes I had worn when they found me, torn and dirty and encrusted with blood. Then I collapsed.
I was in another hospital when I came round, this time in prison. A man sat watching me from the next bed. He grinned when I opened my eyes. "It's all right, mate, there's only me 'ere." He hopped across and sat on my bed. "Dunno 'oo you are, but you've got 'em worried stiff. They bin in an' out of 'ere like a bull at a cow. Tryin' to get a statement."
I learned a lot from that man. I never knew his name. We were only together for about twenty minutes. I must have told him a few things, I really don't remember, but I remember his advice, "Just say not guilty, mate. That's all you gotta say - not guilty. Don't let 'em verbal you - that's what they'll do - put words in your mouth an' read 'em out in court." He drew a finger across his throat, "All up then, ain't it? So don't forget - not a bloody word - 'cept not guilty. Got it?"
I nodded painfully and when the police came in a few minutes later that was all they got - "not guilty" - until I was blue in the face. After that they went away and let me finish my sleep.
The following morning I was taken to Didcot Magistrates Court and remanded in custody. Lewis Collins was buzzing around by then. He made application for bail, but the police were protesting about that before Lewis even sat down. So bail was refused. Then Collins was on his feet again. This time explaining about Kay being in hospital and asking that I be given permission to visit her under escort if necessary. But the police opposed that as well - so the magistrates handed down another refusal.
I was taken to Aylesbury Prison then. Collins arrived about two hours later and we were given privacy and a chance to discuss the charge levelled against me. I told him everything - well, almost. I told him about Faberge and the others being at Ashley Grange but not what they had been doing. I just couldn't bring myself to talk about it. It made things damned awkward because like all deceptions it led to complications. For instance, Collins wanted to know how I got the bang on the head - the one which took nine stitches to fix it back together again. I waffled a bit, but in the end I had to admit I had been knocked cold in a fight before Faberge had left.
Collins fairly erupted with questions after that. "Why had Kay left with them? What was the fight about? Why had they tried to make it look like a housebreaking?"
He knew I was being evasive and he got very angry about it. "Listen, Sam. Not only are you charged with murder, but the police are very hostile toward? you. Exceptionally so. What's got into you anyway? You've always been open with me before."
I mumbled some sort of answer, but he was far from satisfied. He looked at his watch. "I've got to get back to town now, but I'll be back tomorrow and I want to know exactly what happened. So sleep on it, eh?"
Life was a series of shocks after that. Some big, some not so big. Like breakfast the next morning - a rasher of greasy bacon and a mug of greasier cocoa. A screw yelling at me to make my bed. One lavatory for a hundred prisoners - with no door, no seat and no toilet paper. Prison clothing - stiff, discoloured underwear, worn thin by the laundry's efforts to cope with the results of incontinence - shoes worn by a hundred prisoners before me. And always that smell - that blend of excreta and urine and vomit which clings to your hair and flavours the food and settles deep in your pores.
Edgar Hardman came to see me the next morning. A prison guard stood by the door to take notes of everything we talked about. Edgar looked tired and haggard, and about ninety-nine years old. His normally straight back had bent a bit and he staggered slightly, like a man recovering from a stroke. He brought a couple of books and some newspapers with him, and obtained permission to leave them with me. They were searched of course, as if Lord Hardman were just the type to wrap a file or a Colt revolver in the pages of the Financial Times. I asked if he had seen Kay.
He nodded. "Just left the hospital. She's still in intensive care. Multiple fractures of the skull, a broken leg, fractured pelvis. Still unconscious, of course."
I groaned and felt very sick, even when Edgar said, "She'll come out of it, Sam. The doctors are sure of it. In fact they aren't too worried about her being unconscious. Gave me a lecture on it being nature's way, all that stuff. I'm going back to the hospital from here."
"Stay with her, Edgar. And - and give her my love - when she comes round."
He nodded, but there was a deadness in his eyes, like a man in severe shock. He offered me a cigarette which I accepted. Then there was a bit of a pause, as if neither of us knew what to say. Edgar kept glancing nervously at the guard. Twice he started to say something, but he dried up both times. Finally he came right out with it, speaking quickly and fixing me with a look which said to keep quiet until he finished.
"The police have been to see me, Sam. About Kay being in town with me the other night. Silly misunderstanding when I called at your place earlier in the evening. I was on my way back from Bath, so I thought I'd give her a lift up to town. But, as you know, she had left already - she was actually waiting for me when I got to Lorimer's Walk."
It was cold in that cell, but beads of sweat as big as raindrops stood out on Edgar's forehead. I was stunned at first. He had spoken so quickly that it took a second or two for his words to sink in. Then I was frightened. Frightened for him, not for me. Frightened at the risk he was taking to keep Kay out of it.
I was lost for words. The screw was standing there, writing everything down, glancing up curiously now and then. I could feel his suspicions. I was damn sure he would guess some kind of message was being passed between us.
Edgar's face twisted into a smile, but his eyes remained as dead as ever.
He said, "Of course, as soon as I told her about the burglary at your place and you getting a knock on the head, she wanted to get back. Good job you phoned when you did I can tell you, otherwise she would have left there and then. As it was she left at crack of light in the morning you know. Before I was up. Of course I thought she had the Jaguar - not that little mini - didn't find that out till later."
My brain meshed into gear. I marvelled at the way he had swept up all the loose ends. His statement to the police at Ashley Grange earlier that evening about Kay being at his place - even Edgar's own appearance at Ashley Grange had been explained. On his way back from Bath! What a story! And what more natural for Kay to have left at the crack of dawn to get back to an injured husband. It seemed foolproof to me. At least it did then.
Edgar stabbed his cigarette out in the tin lid which served as an ashtray. "Anyway, all cleared up now, eh," he said. "Next thing I'll do is get onto this solicitor chap of yours - what's his name Collins. Get you out of here. Dreadful misunderstanding - the whole business. Terrible mistake. Waste of public funds if you ask me." He glared at the screw.
"Well, better get back to the hospital, Sam. I'll be in touch - try not to worry."
When he left I was moved into the maximum security block, which is where I remained for my entire stay in Aylesbury. The Great Train Robbers had been held there in 1964 and the screws boasted they were the only people in the country to have held tight to Ronnie Biggs. I had no intention of escaping, but nobody believed me. In fact I was put onto special watch, which meant a screw sat outside my cell at all times, during the night as well. Even if I had been able to sleep he would have prevented it - he sat creaking his chair and rattling his thermos flask every five minutes, or rustling his newspaper, or clicking the peephole flap in the door. I was a bag of nerves by the morning.
I complained to Collins when he arrived, and he went off to see the governor about it. Things got better after that. As a remand prisoner awaiting trial I was allowed certain privileges. One of which was to have food and various other things sent in from outside. So Collins organised that and did his best to get the special watch removed. In fact he succeeded because they never posted a guard outside my door again, but they compensated for it with other things. Like just when I made a cell vaguely habitable they moved me to another one - generally in the middle of the night. And they were forever searching me, making me strip naked and bend over while they examined my backside. In short they threw the book at me and there was no doubt why - the place was full of rumours that I was going to escape, that people on the outside were going to spring me, things like that. Not a word of truth in them but once rumours like that start there's no way of stopping them.
I told Collins everything when he came back - everything - even that bit about Kay I kept back before, and about Edgar's visit and what had been said. We were talking in an empty cell, without a screw taking every word down. I suppose I'd got my second wind by then - despite the harassment. I was no longer in a state of shock. I was anxious to know how I stood, what sort of chance I had, how best to plan our defence.
Collins paced up and down, smoking cigarettes. "You realise what's happened? Your aristocratic father-in-law has sold you down the river. He's-"
Ian St James Compendium - Volume 1 Page 56