The Waxwork Corpse: A legal thriller with a chilling twist (Charles Holborne Legal Thrillers Book 5)

by Simon Michael

  ‘What’s your view about telling the jury that your client has pleaded guilty to impeding the coroner?’

  ‘I have no objections. They’ll find out as soon as I start cross-examination in any event.’

  ‘OK.’

  The court clerk is telling the jury the charges faced by the defendant. He finishes and sits down, and the Recorder nods at Charles. Charles opens his notebook and rises, gathering the wings of his gown about him.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I appear on behalf of the Crown in this case. The Defendant is represented by Mr Beaverbrook, who sits nearest to you on the front bench, and, behind him, Mr Day. My purpose is to tell you something about the case that you will hear. What I say — indeed, what any of the barristers say — is not evidence, and you will not decide the case according to what we tell you. The outline I give is intended to assist you when you come to hear the evidence, so that you can put it in context. It’s the evidence you hear from that witness box —’ and Charles points across the courtroom at it — ‘or that you hear read to you by the court clerk, that will decide this case.

  ‘That’s particularly important in a case like this. You’ll all have heard television and radio reports about this trial. I am sure some of you will have read accounts in the newspapers. All of that you must now put out of your heads. Some of you may know (and I suspect you all will, by the end of this trial) that reporters and commentators deal in speculation, gossip and opinion. Sometimes they’ve part of the truth; often they’ve none of it. The only people who hear everything, that is, all the evidence from beginning to end, are we in this court. And the only people who have any part in the decisions that have to be reached on the facts, are you twelve, as assisted by his Lordship. Your job is to hear the evidence, sift it, decide what you and you alone think about it and then, subject to his Lordship’s directions as to the law, reach verdicts. It is critically important to put aside anything you may have heard about the case already, or anything that you may hear about it, unless you hear it in this court.’

  He pauses to see if the jury are following him. They are. Two or three nod slightly and the others have all their attention on him.

  ‘You know that the defendant is a very senior judge. He is also a knight of the realm, as are all judges of the High Court or higher. That should neither count for him nor against him. He is, of course, a man of good character, and his Lordship will direct you as to how you should treat that fact when he comes to sum up. But let me say this now: everyone, whether humble or mighty, has a good character at one time, and every man or woman who is convicted of any offence loses it. The fact that a judge’s fall from grace may be from a greater height does not affect that.

  ‘I now propose to give you an outline of the case before I turn to some of the detailed evidence you will hear. As the court clerk just told you, the defendant faces two charges, murder and manslaughter. Also, before you were sworn in, he pleaded guilty to a third count, that of obstructing the coroner in the execution of his duty, by failing to report the death of the deceased, his wife, and by unlawfully disposing of her body.’

  Several members of the jury turn their heads towards the dock suddenly, shocked at Charles’s words. He waits a few seconds and continues.

  ‘You can see therefore that each of the three charges against him represents a different level of guilt. He may, firstly, be guilty only of having unlawfully disposed of his wife’s body. Secondly, he may be guilty of having killed her, albeit without malice aforethought, or for some other reason which reduces the charge to manslaughter. Thirdly, he may have killed her, intending to do so, or to do her serious harm. That is murder.

  ‘He has admitted the first to you by his plea; it is for you to decide if he has committed the second or the third or neither of them. The Crown’s case is that he is guilty of the highest level of guilt: that he murdered his wife in cold blood.

  ‘Why? Firstly, he had a very strong motive. His wife was an adulteress, many times over. She taunted him with her affairs, conducted them right under his nose, and repeatedly embarrassed and humiliated him in public. Furthermore, she was dependent on alcohol, and her outrageous behaviour was such that his career — he was, at that time, a very successful junior barrister — was unable to progress while he was married to her. Divorce was something he would not consider, firstly because of the scandal but, perhaps more importantly, because it would mean losing his three children, of whom he was extremely fond.

  ‘Secondly, opportunity. He was the only person in the house on the afternoon the deceased disappeared. The last person to see her before then was her lover, some hours before, whose evidence you will hear, and who himself has an unassailable alibi that has been verified by numerous witnesses. The defendant admits that there was a terrible row that afternoon. The deceased was never seen again alive after that row. However, when the body was discovered, thirteen years later, it was wearing the very clothes in which the lover had last seen the deceased and which, the Crown say, she must have been wearing at the time of the row.

  ‘Thirdly, the scientific evidence. The bedroom in the house that was the matrimonial home, the very bedroom where this terrible row occurred, has been minutely examined. The floorboards were stained in huge areas with human blood. There was so much blood that it dripped though the floorboards and ran down a light flex where it collected in a brass lamp hanging from the dining room ceiling. Blood was found under paint and wallpaper on the walls, on the cornices and on the ceiling of that bedroom. Tiny droplets and splashes of it, suggesting either that it sprayed out of the deceased’s body through some wound, or that it was flung off as a result of violent blows.’

  Charles sees the winces of some of the members of the jury, and one or two of them turn again to examine Steele in the dock as if asking themselves if it was possible for this man to have done that. Charles presses on, his voice forceful but not dramatic, trying to make a jury, hardened by newspaper and television portrayals of violence both true and fictional, see the real horror of real crime.

  ‘As to blows, you’ll hear evidence from the pathologist that there were marks at the side of the deceased’s neck consistent with strangulation. He was unable to find any other injury, illness or disease that would account for Lise Steele’s death.

  ‘Finally, you will hear from a witness who was at the time, and remains to this day, a nanny at the house, a Miss Jennifer Sullivan. We do not suggest she had anything to do with the death of the deceased. What she has said however, is that the defendant came to her, highly distressed, and admitted killing his wife, albeit, so he claimed, in self-defence. She says that she was asked by him to go out and buy paint and wallpaper so that he could cover up the evidence. Having done that, she left the house with the children for a few days to let him get on with it. Now, obviously, her statement cannot help you decide if the defendant is guilty of murder, as she was just repeating what he told her, but it constitutes an admission by the accused that his wife met her death in that bedroom at his hands. Now, and this is important: when he was asked by the police, he denied any such event. He claimed instead that his late wife stormed out of the house after the argument, alive and well. The Crown rely on the evidence of Miss Sullivan to prove, firstly, that the accused lied to the police when challenged about the events and, secondly, that Mrs Steele met her death at the accused’s hands, in their bedroom on that afternoon.

  ‘What makes us say that you can be sure he’s guilty of murder? Well, in addition to the fact that he’s the only person with both motive and opportunity; in addition to the blood and other scientific evidence — the clothing, the plastic and the wire which you’ll hear about, and which he used to truss her up; in addition to the lies he told the police; we rely on the planning, the intricate, careful, scrupulously-executed, planning.

  ‘Two complete rooms in the house were redecorated, the floors scrubbed, stained and re-varnished, the walls repapered, the ceiling repainted. The body was somehow smuggled out of the house, wrapped
up so that, no doubt, no blood would drip from it. It was then taken from the home to Wastwater. The accused must have obtained a kerbstone from somewhere, and a boat, as you cannot get a body into the middle of the deepest lake in England, weighted down with a kerbstone, without a boat.

  ‘Why go to all this trouble if her death occurred at someone else’s hands, or, perhaps, at your own hands but by accident or in self-defence? Surely the sensible, lawful, and obvious thing to do is to telephone the police immediately and tell them what happened. This is a barrister we’re speaking about, a man who knows the law, and what’s more, is likely to be believed. The Crown says that the most obvious indication of the accused’s guilt is the very fact that he covered up the death. Had he been innocent of his wife’s death, it was something he had no need to do — indeed, it was an illegal, dangerous, career-threatening thing to do.

  ‘That, members of the jury, is the basic outline of the Crown’s case. I shall now tell you a little more about the witnesses and their evidence, so that you will know who each of them is when they come before you.’

  ‘I think, perhaps, Mr Holborne, that you’d best do that at five past two,’ interrupts the Recorder, nodding at the clock, which says a minute past one.

  ‘Certainly, my Lord.’

  ‘All rise!’

  The court rises while the Recorder leaves the bench, and Charles turns to speak to Jones. Something makes him look up at the public gallery. Waving shyly from the front row is his father. Harry points to the door questioningly. Charles nods and puts up one hand, five fingers splayed, to indicate five minutes. Harry nods understanding and leaves his seat.

  ‘Anything we need to discuss?’ asks Charles of Jones.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Nice opening, Charles. Put like that, it seems an almost impregnable case.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it. There’s a long way to go yet.’

  ‘Did you have any idea about the plea to count three?’

  ‘Day said something to me in the Bar Mess, but I wasn’t sure if he was serious or just sounding me out. I assumed that it wouldn’t be acceptable?’

  ‘You assumed right.’

  ‘Good. My father’s somehow got himself into the public gallery, so I thought I’d have some lunch with him.’

  ‘Fine. I’ve got to call the office anyway. See you at two.’

  CHAPTER 23

  ‘Do you think he did it?’

  Harry and Charles sit at a small table in the Magpie and Stump, the pub in Old Bailey so close to the court and usually so full of barristers and solicitors that it’s known to everyone in the profession as “Courtroom No 10”. Harry will, of course, eat nothing as the food isn’t kosher, but he sits with an untouched glass of water while Charles munches his way through an egg sandwich, wishing he’d had the courage of his convictions to order the ham, which looked better.

  ‘I really don’t know, Dad. You never really know until all the evidence has been heard. And not always then.’

  ‘I don’t suppose anyone ever really knows, do they? Not unless they’re the accused…’ muses Harry, ‘or God, I suppose.’

  ‘You think He knows?’ asks Charles.

  ‘I sincerely hope so, son,’ says Harry.

  ‘It’s nice of you to come down, Dad. What made you?’

  Harry shrugs and smiles gently. ‘I don’t know really. I’ve never seen you in action before, so that’s one thing. And I’ve watched you get nervous and distracted over the last few weeks, and I wanted to see for myself what the fuss was about.’

  ‘I’ve told you what the case is about, and how important it is.’

  ‘I know, and I read the newspapers. But that never gives you the real answer, the truth.’

  ‘The truth? Now there’s a rare commodity. And how on earth did you get a front row seat in the gallery? It was packed hours before we started.’

  ‘I told the man in uniform…’

  ‘The sergeant at arms.’

  ‘Yes, him … I told him I was your father, and that you’d promised me a seat.’

  ‘And he believed you?’

  ‘After I showed him photos from your bar mitzvah, then your graduation, and then your Call night. Then he believed me.’

  Charles laughs. ‘Good for you! Will you stay for the rest of the afternoon?’

  ‘No, thank you. It’s Erev Rosh Hashanah, as you know … I need to get changed and ready for shul.’

  Jewish days run from sunset to sunset, so the New Year begins at sunset on the eve of New Year’s Day.

  They fall silent and Charles finishes his sandwich. Harry watches his son patiently. After a while he speaks.

  ‘Nu?’ he asks.

  Charles looks up.

  ‘You think I don’t know when you’ve something on your mind, Charlie? So, spit it out.’

  ‘Well…’ Charles starts haltingly. ‘I have been meaning to say something.’

  ‘I know. Say it, already.’

  ‘OK. But, Dad, I’ve not really worked out exactly what it is, so bear with me if it takes a couple of goes. OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘You know how sorry I am about everything … between you and Mum —’ Harry holds up his hand; this he doesn’t want to hear, but Charles presses on. ‘No, it’s not what you think. I just wanted to say that … well, two things, really. Firstly, although I’m so sorry that you two are living apart at present … I’ve really enjoyed your being with me. The silver lining to all this is that I’ve got to know you better. I wish I’d done it sooner, but I thought … well, you’ve disapproved of me so much that … anyway… And, secondly, I think you’ve been taking my part with Mum, and … if that’s part of the reason you two have fallen out … well, your support means a lot to me, but I don’t want it to continue at that price. You two belong together, and I couldn’t bear to be part of the reason you’re not. On top of everything else.’

  Harry smiles sadly, but says nothing. He leans forward and takes Charles’s square hand in his veined and spotted ones, and squeezes.

  ‘Maybe … maybe there were three things, actually,’ continues Charles. He leans forward to ensure that no one at the adjoining tables can hear him. ‘I don’t remember saying it for a long time actually, but I love you.’

  Harry’s rheumy eyes lock onto Charles’s and fill with tears. He squeezes Charles’s hand again. ‘I know,’ he replies. ‘I love you too.’

  He releases Charles’s hand, takes a handkerchief from his pocket and blows his nose noisily. He catches sight of the clock above the bar. ‘Haven’t you got to be back at five past two? You’ve less than ten minutes.’

  ‘Shit! Yes! Let’s go.’

  ‘No, I think I’ll pop into St Paul’s — it’s years since I’ve been in the cathedral — and then go back to the flat to get changed.’

  ‘Will you be all right?’ asks Charles, standing.

  ‘I know this city better than you, boychick. I got here without your help and I’m sure I’ll find my way back. I’ll be fine.’

  Charles downs the last of his half-pint and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘OK, then. I’ll see you after shul this evening. Give my love to … everyone.’

  ‘I will. Oh, Charles, I meant to tell you.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Sally telephoned the flat this morning, after you’d gone. She wanted to wish you luck.’

  ‘Really?’

  This is the first time Sally’s made any contact with Charles since they split up. He ponders the news, wondering if he should read anything into the call. Probably not.

  ‘That’s kind of her.’

  ‘We had a nice chat, actually. If you want my opinion, the girl misses you.’

  Charles shakes his head. ‘No. She’s got a new bloke.’

  ‘Did you know that she’s back living with her mother in Romford? I may be wrong, but I got the impression she wasn’t with that chap any longer. Anyway, it’s almost two.’

  Charles casts another look at the clock,
swears again softly, and runs out of the bar.

  Back in No 1 Court, Charles’s opening only takes another hour. He senses the jury becoming restive; they’ve had enough of being told what evidence they’re going to hear; they want to hear it. So he cuts short his overview and by three o’clock is calling his first witness.

  The divers are the first to give evidence, starting with the woman from the club who found Lise Steele’s wrapped up body, and then the police frogmen who got her to the lakeside. The Defence told Charles they wanted the witnesses to be called live rather than having their statements read as agreed evidence, but after Charles finishes taking each witness through their evidence in chief, to his surprise, Beaverbrook stands briefly and announces that he has no questions. The same occurs with the dentist who matched the jaws of the deceased to her dental records and the succession of police officers who dealt with the chain of custody of the exhibits, the clothes, the body and the cord used to tie it. Charles has the clerk read as agreed evidence the statements from the companies that produced the plastics and the cords, but by four fifteen he has run out of live witnesses to call, and the pathologist has still not arrived. He rises to explain to the Recorder, but the latter puts up his hand.

  ‘Before you address me, Mr Holborne, I have a question for your learned friend.’

  He turns to Beaverbrook, who also stands.

  ‘Much as I am delighted at the speedy progress we’ve made this afternoon, Mr Beaverbrook, I am concerned at the waste of public money. None of these witnesses needed to have given evidence at all. Their statements could have been agreed months ago. Would you mind telling me what’s going on?’

  ‘My Lord, I am extremely conscious of the way in which matters have proceeded, and I apologise. I regret that I am not able to explain to your Lordship. Your Lordship will, I hope, understand my position, which is a difficult one.’