‘Not if he were careful to …’
‘Do you know as a fact that the murderer was careful to … ?’
‘No, sir.’
‘More surmises?’
‘You can call them that, but …’
‘There are lots of things I might call them. — I believe you asked the defendant how the blood could have come on to the steering-wheel?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And he replied that it must be from the scratch on the palm of his hand — a scratch that had been caused by a bramble. Were you able to prove he had not been scratched by a bramble?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Were you able to prove that the scratch on his forearm had not been caused, as he said, by something in a bale of hay he had been carrying?’
‘No, sir.’
Steine held up his right hand with fist clenched. As he made each point, he raised a finger. ‘We have heard of a sheath knife that could probably be bought anywhere in the country: plimsolls that could certainly be bought anywhere in the country: a blood-group belonging to three million five hundred thousand people in the British Isles: tyre-marks made by a car that probably had nothing to do with the murder: blood on the steering-wheel of the defendant’s car that came from his hand … Tell me, Inspector …’ Steine lowered his by now fully outstretched right hand and clasped his hands together behind his back, ‘tell me, Inspector, had this been the sum total of your evidence against my client, would you ever have dared to charge him?’
You sneaky bastard, said Carren’s expression. ‘I don’t know, sir.’
‘Perhaps you’d care to have a guess: an inspired guess? Would you have dared to charge him on such shaky evidence?’
‘I tell you. I don’t know.’
‘The witness is perfectly entitled to say he does not know the answer to a purely hypothetical question,’ said the judge.
Steine just smiled. ‘I suggest, Inspector, that you had to have further incriminating evidence. Which, of course, you did have?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What was this further evidence?’
‘The knowledge that the accused was out in his car at the time of the murder and the fact that the buckle missing from the girl’s belt was found in the accused’s possession.’ The DI tried to keep his voice neutral, but failed. There had been far too much pleasure gained from slapping that lot on defence counsel’s head.
‘Ah, yes, of course … Did you personally have direct knowledge of the accused’s movements on the night of the murder?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Who did?’
‘Detective-Sergeant Rusk.’
‘Who found the buckle?’
‘Detective-Sergeant Rusk, sir.’
‘In your presence?’
‘No.’
‘Thank you, Inspector.’ Steine sat down. There was surprise that Steine should cut short his cross-examination and a break of almost half a minute followed. The judge eventually looked across at Cletford, and Cletford hastily broke off the conversation with his solicitor and briefly re-examined.
When Carren left the witness-box, the judge looked up at the large-faced clock on the north wall. ‘We will adjourn until two o’clock.’ He shut his notebook, stood up. He bowed to counsel, turned, and walked to the rear of the dais. The usher held the door open for him.
*
Police called from other divisions to attend as witnesses at Assizes were allowed to eat in the canteen of the main police station of U division — the canteen was less than a quarter of a mile from the courtroom. It was a strangely decorated place. The walls were divided in two, with a fawn-coloured paint up to the half-way mark and a darker chocolate hue above; while the floor was covered with hay-coloured plastic tiles that were repeated up the side of the self-service counter. Food would have had to be very excellent to remain appetising in such surroundings.
Rusk and Carren ate at the corner table by the window. A chief inspector in uniform came up to the table and sat down. ‘What are you doing in this part of the world. Rusk? Been sent up to HQ for your sins?’
Rusk pushed the portion of cabbage to one side of his plate. ‘The Kremayne case, sir.’
‘That one, eh? Got him safely landed, I hope?’
‘He’ll cook,’ answered Carren. ‘We tied him up good and proper. Bloody thing is, he won’t swing for it. By God, I’d have liked to have a few abolitionists along to look at the girl’s body.’
‘As they’d have quickly told you, you don’t gain anything by killing again,’ said Rusk.
‘Gain anything? Who the hell cares about that? I want to swing the bastard and get him out of the way so he won’t do for any more girls when he’s let out: and as a warning to anyone who’s like-minded.’
‘As you should know, sir, in a case like this, precept means nothing, revenge never deterred. If Kremayne had known beyond doubt that if he killed the girl he’d be caught, and if caught, he’d be hanged, he’d still have killed.’
Carren leaned forward and waved his fork in the air. ‘So he’s got a fixation and you say he’s nuts so you mustn’t top him. So he goes to jail and after a bit he’s let out because he’s done his time. What’s his next move? Another girl to rape and kill. Whose life is most important? That innocent girl’s, or his: a man who’s already murdered … ? Now wriggle out of that one, if you can.’
‘He may be cured during his stay in prison.’
‘So much bull! — You know, you’re just the kind of bloke to come out with that sort of cant. If you had the chance, we’d see you on the Aldermaston marches or squatting in some London square.’
Rusk smiled. ‘Aren’t you for peace, and a life spent away from the shadow of the bomb?’
‘If I were you,’ said the chief inspector to Carren, ‘I’d give up. He’s been taught to talk the most utter crap and make it sound reasonable … Are you an abolitionist, Rusk?’
‘Far from it, sir.’
Carren cut the end off the remaining sausage on his plate and speared the end with his fork. ‘Then why make out you are one? If you want my opinion, the police force could do with people who do less thinking than you.’
‘It usually gains them, sir.’
The chief inspector chuckled and Carren belatedly realised the reference might have been meant to include him.
The chief inspector said: ‘When’s the case finishing?’
Rusk answered: ‘Tomorrow evening, maybe. Old Finnley doesn’t like to hang around. But Mr Carren will tell you how it’s moving so far — he’s been in the pulpit this morning.’
‘What’s it like?’ asked the chief inspector.
Carren swallowed his mouthful and began to pack another slice of sausage and some mash on to his fork. ‘Defence is a snarky bastard.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Chap called Steine.’
‘I’ve met him. Nothing he likes better than to make the police force appear absolute fools and their case a ridiculous waste of time and public money.’
‘This job’s bad luck for him then,’ retorted Carren.
CHAPTER 12
Rusk sat down and watched the people as they passed through the main hall from which the courtroom led off. He looked up and studied the niches set half-way up the walls, in some of which were the busts of past mayors of the town. These gentlemen seemed, without exception, to be equipped with self-satisfied smiles. He wondered if he could ever have made money, or whether he was inevitably one of those people whom money passed by with a sneer. One or two of the chaps he’d been at school with were now tycoons in the City, selling and buying vast properties, manipulating the Stock Exchange, or whatever it was tycoons did. One or two others had, as he had, travelled hard and long in the opposite direction. Could anything have brought about a change in position, or were all of them always cut out for their respective positions? Predestined to arrive or not to arrive? Rusk was never happy with predestination: it offered too facile an excuse for failure and he was t
he kind of person who, having failed, refused to admit any excuse which would explain away some, or all, of that failure.
He lit a cigarette. He’d looked to see whether Anne Kremayne was in court but he hadn’t seen her. It wasn’t surprising. It would have been like watching a bull fight. The bull, brave and initially filled with fight, slowly crippled and his head brought low and ready for the final sword thrust, the moment of truth.
He tipped the cigarette so that the ash fell into the tall brass ash-tray. The matador would soon be delivering the death stroke and the Jerk would be brought low to the blood-stained sand.
*
Johnson was a tall, thin, carefully dressed man with grey hair and a well-cropped moustache. He wore a black tie and a black arm-band. His voice was controlled, but so carefully that all who had any sense of sympathetic understanding could judge a little of the tragedy.
‘My daughter left the house with Robert Haze at about six in the evening.’
‘Will you please tell the court what dress she was wearing?’ said Cletford.
‘It was blue and short; ballet-length, I think it’s called — I’m sorry,’ he said very stiffly. ‘I’m not very good at describing dresses.’
‘Please don’t worry on that score, Mr Johnson. What jewellery was she wearing?’
‘The pearl necklace her mother gave her and the pearl ear-rings I gave her on … on her twenty-first birthday.’
‘Was she wearing any accessories?’
‘A belt which was secured in front by a very large buckle.’
‘When you were first asked to identify the clothing, did you notice if anything was missing?’
‘I didn’t, but later on I was asked to look again and this time I realised that the buckle was not there.’
‘Can you describe the buckle?’
‘I always considered it too large for Fiona, but she liked it very much and frequently wore it. The motif was two entwined snakes and it was made of highly polished brass that had been coated with some sort of transparent plastic.’
‘Will you look at this buckle … exhibit number thirteen … and tell me whether you recognise it?’ Cletford gave the buckle to the usher who crossed the well of the court in front of the clerk’s table and passed it to Johnson.
Johnson took hold of the buckle with obvious reluctance. ‘This was hers.’
‘We must be very careful here, Mr Johnson. Can you say of your own knowledge that this is the buckle your daughter wore, or do you merely testify that it is similar in all respects?’
Unwillingly, he looked down again at his right hand. ‘The initials …’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Johnson, but you can only refer to those if you knew of them from your own experience.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Then would I be correct in saying that you identify the buckle you hold as being, so far as you know, the one your daughter wore, but that from your own knowledge you cannot say more than that?’
‘That is correct.’
‘Thank you.’ Cletford sat down, picked up a pencil and wrote in his notebook.
Steine half rose. ‘No questions.’
Johnson left the witness-box, walked past the jury and came level with the dock. He paused, turned, and looked at Kremayne. His expression was one of contempt. He then continued and sat down in the second row of the benches that were being kept for witnesses after they had given evidence.
‘Mr Robert Haze,’ said Cletford.
Haze was twenty-two and good-looking in a rough way. He was dressed conservatively in a light charcoal-coloured suit. He took the oath in a low voice; and when he’d finished speaking went to put his hands in his pockets, but hastily checked himself at the last moment and clasped them behind his back. He gave his full name and address.
‘How long had you known the deceased?’ asked Cletford.
‘Over a year and a half, sir.’
‘Were you friendly with her?’
‘Very.’ The words suddenly came in a rush. ‘We were going to get married as soon as we could afford it.’
‘Will you please tell us what happened on the night of the twenty-third?’
‘We were going to a dance and I was to pick her up and take her. My car broke down so she … picked me up. After the dance, she drove me home and left to return to her place.’
‘Have you any idea what time this was?’
‘Just after one o’clock.’
‘Was that the last time you saw Fiona Johnson alive?’
‘Yes, it was.’
‘Were you called upon to identify the clothes she had been wearing?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you notice anything in particular about them?’
‘The buckle of her belt was missing.’
‘Was there any particular reason why you should have noticed that this was missing?’
‘It was very special to us. I know it’s going to sound stupid …’ He became silent.
‘I can assure you,’ said the judge, and he seemed to be regarding the people in the public benches, ‘that no one here will find it so.’
Haze gulped. ‘We weren’t officially engaged, but to show we soon would be, I’d scratched our initials on the back of that buckle — which I gave her.’
‘How did you arrange the initials?’
‘FJ on top and RH underneath.’
‘How did you make the marks?’
‘With the point of an old school protractor.’
‘Would you recognise this buckle?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Will you please examine exhibit thirteen.’ There was silence in the courtroom, except for the slap of the usher’s shoes as he carried the buckle to the witness. Haze took it and his mouth twisted. He examined the top, turned it over and looked quickly at the back, returned it to the usher.
‘Do you recognise that?’ asked Cletford.
‘It’s the one I gave her,’ muttered Haze. Cletford consulted his proof, sat down. Steine stood up. ‘I don’t want to worry you any longer than I have to, Mr Haze.’ There was sympathy in his voice. ‘When did you give this buckle to the deceased?’
‘About a year ago.’
‘Did she wear it very often?’
‘Whenever we went out together and it could be made to go with the clothes she wore.’
‘Can you indicate the frequency with which you think she would have worn it? Once a month, once a week?’
‘At least twice a week.’
‘At least twice a week,’ repeated Steine, and the sharp tone of his voice captured the attention of the court. Steine spoke to the judge. ‘My Lord, I have finished questioning the witness for the moment, but perhaps I may be allowed to recall him later in the trial?’
‘Recall him, Mr Steine? If you can foresee the necessity of that now, why can you not put your questions immediately?’
‘I suggest it must be in the other order, my Lord.’
‘Then, Mr Steine, I think we had better wait and consider your application, should it be made, when it is placed in context.’ The judge leaned back in his red-leather-backed, gold-crested chair.
‘Much obliged, my Lord.’ Steine sat down, turned and spoke to his junior.
Cletford stood up. ‘Detective-Sergeant Rusk.’
The policeman on door duty left the courtroom. Outside, he shouted: ‘Detective-Sergeant Rusk.’ Under his breath, he added, ‘Get a move on, cock, or they’ll’ave you for breakfast.’
*
Rusk both liked and disliked giving evidence in court. The atmosphere, which would remain restrained no matter how sensational the evidence that was being given, fascinated him because of such contrast, and in addition he was equipped to appreciate the finer ploys of counsel. His dislike arose from the bitter knowledge that he should have been asking the questions and someone else should have been in the witness-box, answering them.
‘Detective-Sergeant Rusk,’ bellowed the white-gloved constable by the door.
Rusk stood up a
nd walked across. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Like a lamb, Skipper, and if they still hung the bastards you’d see the shadow of the rope round his neck.’
Rusk entered the courtroom. He walked in front of the jury-box and climbed the two steps into the witness-box. He picked up the New Testament from the shallow shelf. ‘I swear by Almighty God …’ If ever there were a legal anachronism, it was the oath. People were as willing to lie on the Bible as off it: more so, sometimes. Rusk remembered the chap who’d been only too pleased to take the oath because he’d been convinced that by doing so he legally discharged himself from any fear of being had up for perjury.
Prosecuting counsel began to question him. He answered, almost automatically, as he watched the Jerk. You had to hand it to the man — he was calm enough to be no more than a disinterested bystander. He looked fatter since he’d been in prison awaiting trial. Perhaps it was the paradoxical lack of strain he enjoyed in confinement as opposed to the time when he’d been free and had been forced to search for women …
Steine prepared to cross-examine.
Rusk had once devilled a case for Steine, just before Steine took silk.
‘You’ve given your evidence clearly and very fairly, and I don’t think I have much to ask you. Sergeant. Just one or two small points to clear up.’
Even as a junior, Steine had always had
‘just one or two small points to clear up.’ It might be the prelude to a five minute or five hour cross-examination. Rusk leaned against the front of the box and took the weight off his right foot.
‘When you were at school, Sergeant, did you hold any position of authority?’
‘I was a prefect, then head of school.’
‘That was quite a high position, wasn’t it?’
‘Can you suggest a higher one, bar the headmaster?’ asked the judge.
Steine smiled. ‘Well, my Lord, some people would have it that the captain of cricket held a more impressive position … You weren’t by any chance captain of cricket, Sergeant, were you?’
‘I was.’
‘Indeed? Well, that rules out the possibility you were also captain of rugby?’
Exhibit No. Thirteen Page 11