by G. F. Newman
‘For money paid to him?’
‘No, for rental to the owner of the garages, one James Fowler,’ Pyle replied.
‘We heard earlier in this trial from James Fowler, who identified Jack Lynn as being Richard Cook, the man to whom he rented his garage. Prior to this, had you made any inquiries or tried to establish the existence of Richard Cook as a third party renting the garage – not from Fowler but Lynn?’
‘We made extensive inquiries, the result was negative. Our conclusion was that Lynn and Cook were one and the same.’
‘That the sub-lessee didn’t exist, that the garage and its nefarious contents were the responsibility of Jack Lynn?’ Harpenden-Smith said.
‘Yes, sir.’
When Macmillan rose to cross-examine the di his tack was full of ploys to deflect the jury from the witness’s evidence. ‘How many years have you been a policeman, inspector?’ the QC asked, glancing over his notes as though ready to contradict him.
‘Twenty years, just on,’ Pyle replied.
‘During that period how many complaints have been made against you?’
This was an approach that Lynn was getting more nervous about in case it backfired as it had done a couple of times earlier when Macmillan had attacked the honesty of other policemen. The judge always seemed to find some way of diminishing the attack, the cunning old bastard.
‘Is this pertinent, Mr Macmillan?’ Justice Quigley asked right on cue. ‘Or are you merely pursuing the theme of police corruption with which you have doggedly persisted?’
‘It is pertinent, my Lord, if you will bear with me for a while.’ The implication was that he wasn’t being given a chance.
‘Then I would like you to come swiftly to the point.’
Macmillan bowed his head to the judge with excessive courtesy. ‘How many complaints is that, Inspector Pyle?’
‘About eleven, I think – all were unsubstantiated.’
‘Having been investigated by your colleagues,’ Macmillan paused, making it appear like a conclusion, ‘you were cleared of the charges eleven members of the public saw fit to bring against you? Is it true that you have a complaint currently outstanding against you, for conspiring to pervert the course of justice?’
‘I have,’ Pyle said, ‘from one of the prisoners in the dock. Lynn.’
‘Is that to infer the defendant no longer has any rights, inspector?’ the QC asked.
‘No, sir.’ Pyle seemed defensive now.
‘So his complaint per se is no less valid than anyone else’s?’
‘He has the same right as anyone to complain, sir.’
‘Would you tell us the specific nature of his complaint?’
‘Lynn is claiming that I manufactured evidence against him to get him convicted.’
‘Isn’t that precisely what you’re doing, inspector?’
‘No, sir, as far as I’ve been able to ascertain, Lynn was very much involved.’
Justice Quigley pulled off his spectacles. It was a signal that he wasn’t able to allow this attack upon the police to continue. ‘Do you believe this to be a malicious complaint against you, inspector?’
‘Yes, my Lord, I do,’ Pyle said.
‘A device all too familiar to criminals nowadays,’ the judge commented, cutting the ground from under the defence. ‘Proceed.’
‘When arresting Jack Lynn, did you not say: “It’s your turn, son. You’re well overdue”? Meaning he should have been put away a long time ago?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘You’re quite sure?’
‘Quite sure.’
Macmillan glanced over his notes, as if they contained the unremitting truth. ‘When did you decide Lynn was involved in the Gas Board robbery?’
‘Approximately two days after the robbery took place.’
‘After you had, in fact, arrested and subsequently released a fourth man?’
‘It happens all the time, sir.’
‘The police arresting the wrong people?’
‘Eliminating suspects,’ Pyle countered.
‘So having eliminated this wrong man, you had a vacancy and Lynn seemed the most likely candidate, did he not? How did you discover he was involved, as you claim?’
‘Through an informer, sir.’
Lynn became alert with anticipation now.
‘Ah, the convenient informant, one you doubtless believed to be reliable?’
‘One hundred per cent reliable, sir.’
‘A member of the criminal fraternity?’
‘He was,’ Pyle said.
‘Yet still you consider him one hundred per cent reliable and truthful,’ Macmillan said. ‘Why did he give you this information?’
‘I’m not sure, sir.’
That almost made Lynn laugh out loud, it was so outrageous.
‘Could it be duress? Did you have some sort of lever under him?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then revenge? That’s a common motive among informants. Could that be the reason this convicted criminal chose to come to you with his information – he is a convicted criminal? You believed the word of a convicted criminal was enough to arrest Jack Lynn?’
‘It proved so, sir. Having arrested him we found other evidence,’ Pyle said.
‘Let us examine some of this evidence. We have less than satisfactory eyewitnesses’ testimony, apart from twelve well-rehearsed police witnesses – all of whom, incidentally, are certain they didn’t discuss the case or corroborate what each saw – a more disinterested bunch of policemen one could not wish to meet. We have a flying helmet which the police say Lynn wore for the robbery, only it’s two sizes too small; the hair sample found inside, on which there is a forensic report, not only matches Lynn’s hair, but approximately thirty-two per cent of the population of this country. Then we have the find at the garage which Jack Lynn sublet. No extensive search was made to find the sub-lessee because the police were convinced they had the right man based on the word of a convicted criminal.’
Lynn glanced at the judge who was reaching for his glasses again. He held his breath for the counterblast, even though the silk made some worthwhile points for the jury.
‘Mr Macmillan,’ the judge said, ‘perhaps you would conclude this rambling surmise, and restrict yourself to cross-examination.’
‘My Lord,’ Macmillan said, acknowledging him. Then to Pyle, ‘Was this reliable informant named Michael Fielder?’
Pyle’s eyes seemed to widen in surprise at that name.
Recognising the detective’s dilemma, the judge said, ‘If you feel a need to protect the identity of your informant, inspector, then you may refrain from answering.’
‘Revealing the man might endanger him, my Lord.’
‘This unnamed informant is an active criminal, is he not?’ Macmillan went on.
‘I wouldn’t think so, merely an associate of criminals.’
‘Is it not also true that you have a quid pro quo arrangement with such people, allowing them to commit minor crimes, provided they supply you with information on other bigger crimes?’
‘No, sir,’ Pyle insisted.
He remained in the witness box for three days being cross-examined as each of the defence barristers tried to open further the credibility gap in the police evidence. Lynn felt confused and demoralised by the time the di stepped down. He believed his own cause was no further forward while the three men in the dock with him looked like they might get a result. Throughout they managed to stay calm; he twice lost his temper and called Pyle a fucking liar. The judge gave him his final warning like it was his sentence, too.
38
ALTHOUGH NOT UNHAPPY WITH THE way things were going in court, Pyle still wasn’t convinced they would get a result. Nowadays you couldn’t rely on juries. You could comfort yourself throughout the trial that t
he jury were lapping up every word the prosecution was feeding them, when without warning it could go right the other way. If this came out like that it could leave him with a lot of explaining to do in view of Lynn’s official complaint. A result for Lynn might encourage him to pursue the complaint, or even sue him as more and more people were doing nowadays. He tried not to dwell on the negative as the prosecution had a surprise in store which would knock the defence sideways. With all the evidence from police witnesses in they were offering an additional-evidence witness: Clifford Harding. He was waiting in the cells below court, and far from happy about being forced into something that might endanger him and cost him most of his friends. Not doing it would cost him a lot more as Pyle would press ahead with the possession-of-firearms charge which would result in the loss of his liberty. There was a possibility that, once in the witness box, Harding would renege and become hostile to his cause, but Pyle didn’t think it likely as he had the tape of his confession.
Heading along the corridor for the police room, wearing his light Aquascutum mac, damp from the summer shower he got caught in, Pyle encountered Harpenden-Smith with one of his juniors. They exchanged a few pleasantries. The prosecutor wanted to know about the witness. Pyle told him he was solid, ‘If not exactly happy about going into the box’.
‘It is important we hear his evidence. Juries can get recklessly confused following a concerted attack on the probity of the police. Harding’s appearance will set their minds at rest. Excellent. See you in court.’
#
Surprise hit Jack Lynn like a blow in the face when the prosecution rose and begged leave at this late stage to introduce additional evidence and called Clifford Harding, whom he watched slither through the court and into the witness box like a snake. All he could think about was what Harding might know, and why he would grass. Being part of the fit-up, Pyle would have primed him and doubtless put him on a promise. Clearly the dirty no-good slag listened to him. Anger surged through Lynn as he tried to think how he could hurt Harding. Fielder, not Harding, was the grass, but Harding had been bang in trouble. Surviving and keeping his liberty must have been all that mattered to him.
‘Jack told me he had this one going off at the Gas Board at Abbey Wood, worth about ten grand,’ Harding was saying from the witness box. ‘Said he was short-handed, asked me if I wanted to make it with him.’
Anger set him off like a cannon. ‘You liar,’ Lynn screamed. ‘You dirty, no-good fucking liar. I’ll top you! You lying fucker, I’ll fucking slaughter you.’ He started to climb out of the dock to get at the witness, all reasoning gone, and was hauled back by two prison officers.
A babble of excited voices rose through the court as silence was called for.
‘Remove the prisoner,’ the judge ordered. ‘He will be held in the cells for the duration of this trial.’
Lynn put up a struggle trying to get to Harding like his life depended on it. Other uniforms in the shape of policemen and officers of the court came to assist and, with kicks and punches, they dragged him out of the dock. In the area below, with more room to manoeuvre, Lynn was set upon by seven officers, but still he didn’t give up. It took a lot to subdue him and get him behind a locked door.
It took him a long while to calm down as his thoughts churned. Finding an opportunity to do Harding some real damage was all he could think of as he convinced himself that Harding’s so-called evidence removed any chance he had of getting a result. Depression settled over him as he sat on the bench-bed and he became aware of various pains from the blows he had taken. His jacket pocket was torn and the sleeve was coming out of the shoulder. Buttons had gone from his shirt, and there was blood on him. His ribs ached and his left cheek was cut and puffy, but none of this compared to his mental pain.
Alone and isolated he felt tears trying to sting his eyes. After about an hour a screw looked in on him, but didn’t speak, and then again before lunch, enquiring if he wanted any food. Lynn didn’t feel like eating.
Soon after that, Tully, Coleman and Isaacs were returned to the cell for their food. They were as cheerful as a gang of scaffolders going to the cafe.
‘That was a right fucking upset in court, Jack,’ Tully said. ‘That fucking judge’ll give us all about an extra five for that.’
Lynn didn’t say anything. There were a lot of questions he wanted to ask, but if he started here these three men would bear the brunt of his anger. They deserved nothing less for their part in this, but he knew here he’d have a real fight on his hands.
‘That silk of yourn, Jack,’ Tully went on, ‘he’s ruining that no-good slag, he is.’
‘Won’t be worth a toss, his evidence,’ Isaacs added, like a peace offering. ‘He’s some brief.’
‘Done all right, has he?’ Lynn couldn’t avoid showing his pleasure.
‘Fucking slaughtered Harding. Reckons him and Pyle had a deal with a nice promise. He done terrific.’ Without warning Tully turned to the door. ‘Oi! Charlie! Where’s our grub?’
Just before the court resumed Horace Macmillan came down to see Lynn alone in the cell.
‘The prosecution has concluded its case,’ he said, standing with legs braced, hands clasped behind his back, pushing out his gown, making Lynn feel inadequate. ‘The evidence against you is damaging, but the jurors are sufficiently confused and plagued with doubts by this time for us not to have to worry too much.’
‘Can I go back to court now?’ Lynn asked. Somehow, he felt he would have some control over events if present.
Macmillan shook his head. ‘Quigley is nothing if not consistent. I’m afraid you’re going to have to sit it out. I’m not going to call you.’
That surprised Lynn. ‘Someone’s gotta say what lying slags they all are.’
‘You’ll have to trust me. If you go into the witness box, the first question the prosecution is going to ask is how you get your living. Can you tell them? The second question: how did you. pay for your car, valued at, what, twenty thousand?’
‘I got it on HP with a five grand deposit,’ Lynn protested, as if making a point.
‘Most of the jury will be struggling to run a Nissan Micra, and not new ones. I’ll say all you’d wish to say, and without allowing the prosecution any advantage. Just be patient.’
Lynn gave the barrister a cold look, feeling a sudden surge of hatred for this man, knowing he could have no real understanding of people like him, simply having learnt a set of rules by which to deal with them. The loser was never the lawyer. Then Lynn hated all his kind no less than he did Harding and his kind.
‘Is there anything you want now?’ Macmillan asked.
‘My bit of liberty,’ Lynn replied with feeling
‘That we are endeavouring to secure for you.’
Doubt was what Lynn saw in his face and it stayed with him long after the barrister had departed. He felt helpless as his future was being decided above him in court and he couldn’t quite grasp the reality of his situation, rather it was as if he was floating and had lost contact with reality. People passed along the corridor outside his cell, nameless, faceless people, shuffling through his futureless world. The thought of hanging himself came to mind. Perhaps that was why they had left him his belt.
He shivered, as if contacting the ghost of someone gone before who had topped himself, perhaps one of the graffiti writers. One legend read: ‘Fifteen for armed robbery – I’ll do it on my prick. A. Duncan.’ It was dated two weeks ago. He didn’t know who that was but the thought of him starting fifteen was more depressing. He wondered what that villain’s crime was, or if some slag like Pyle had fitted him.
#
The cases for the defence were concluded a good deal quicker than that for the prosecution. There was no defence from Pyle’s perspective. The shortest was Lynn’s, with his wife being his principal witness confirming his alibi. She couldn’t be shaken, but who would believe a villain’s wi
fe?
The prosecution took a whole day delivering the closing address. Harpenden-Smith was eloquent if lacking passion, while the danger man, Horace Macmillan, was both eloquent and passionate. His ‘innocent’ client was the victim of a malicious and vindictive police conspiracy, he insisted, and he gave the jury but one option: not guilty. The speech might have been more effective but for the other three defence barristers saying similar.
The jury listened with studious attention as the judge summed up, adopting thoughtful poses as he filled the gaps left by their flagging attention or failing memory over the past two weeks. What the judge said now was what mattered.
‘The vast array of evidence presented here over the twelve days of this trial appeared overwhelming in its indication of guilt as witness after witness testified as to the presence of the four defendants at the scene of the crime, and the subsequent crimes in aiding escape from the prompt response by the police.’ The judge removed his thick glasses, his tone becoming dismissive as he spelt out the alternative. ‘You must give appropriate weight to the elements of conflict and confusion apparent in this testimony, and ask yourselves whether this amounts to reasonable doubt or something more sinister. Were the witnesses simply confused in this emotion-charged situation, as people sometimes are? Or was the confusion designed by the robbers who, with criminal foresight, were wearing excess clothing with which to first disguise themselves, then discard to aid their escape? You must consider those points while remembering these particular robbers in their criminal confidence chose to leave their faces uncovered, being unconcerned that they were seen. If you find the eyewitness testimony too confusing to be reliable, as is sometimes the case nowadays, especially when unsupported, you must give weight to the remaining evidence. First, there is the garage which contained the most heinous instruments of mayhem. A man with a sawn-off shotgun in his possession can only be judged for what he is intent upon: robbery with violence to achieve his wicked end. What is the alternative? Can there be one? There is no possible honest occupation for such a weapon. Then there was the money, a great deal of money for which Mr Lynn was neither able nor willing to account. Having such an amount of money isn’t a crime in itself, but an honest man can say how he came by such a sum. Mr Lynn could give no adequate account of this to the police. You may ask, how could he come by it in honest toil, when he seems to have pursued no legitimate occupation other than casual taxi driving. So you might wish to give proper weight to the testimony of the gas company employee who identified some of those banknotes as being part of the money he had counted for collection by the security company. Counsel for the defence pointed out that cashiers, along with bank tellers, mark thousands of notes during the course of a year, some of which could have arrived among those notes found in Lynn’s possession.’ His tone gave the coincidence no credence and Pyle found himself nodding in agreement. ‘Also, there is that remarkable video tape of the robbery. If, however, you choose to set aside both the eyewitnesses’ testimony and evidence presented in court, then, and only then,’ he paused and looked long and hard at the jury, ‘you must accept the supposition, which seems to constitute the entire basis for the defence, that there was a widespread police conspiracy afoot, one involving not just a single police officer but all sixteen who were active in this case. Further, such a conspiracy would not have stopped there, others must have been implicated, senior police officers who signed and authenticated police notes, plus the prosecuting counsel and people in the offices of the Crown Prosecution Service. If that is what you believe, that all these people, with hitherto blameless characters, did conspire against the defendants you will doubtless find them not guilty, and a new form of police institution will be required. On the other hand, should you choose to dismiss the defence hypothesis, you should find the defendants guilty.’ Mr Justice Quigley paused and replaced his glasses. ‘The defence throughout made much of the fact that eyewitness identification testimony is unreliable. When you retire to consider your verdict, I want you to consider the implication of this also, for it reaches far beyond this trial. If such testimony is in future to be held up to ridicule, it leaves the armoury of the police in their fight against crime sorely depleted. It leaves them without the invaluable support of ordinary people like yourselves who are prepared to step forward and assist when assistance is needed.’ He removed his glasses again and tapped them against one thumb and smiled at the jury. ‘I want you to go away now and consider your verdict.’