‘I was captain.’
‘That must be a record!’ Steine seemed to be about to raise both hands in the air in astonishment, but after the first slight movement he dropped them to his side. ‘And the defendant? Did he assist you in any of these duties? Was he, so to speak, your understudy?’
‘No.’
‘He didn’t have the illustrious career that you did?’ Steine’s voice suggested he found everything highly amusing.
‘Perhaps,’ said the judge, ‘it would be better, if you really consider such evidence necessary, if the accused himself told us what he achieved at school?’
‘Quite so, my Lord, and I believe he will readily admit that his schooldays were hardly epoch-making, and when he was expelled no one was less surprised than he was.’ Steine looked blandly at the judge as a slight murmur of astonishment followed his words. ‘Sergeant, were you head of school when the accused was expelled?’
‘Yes.’ Rusk tried to make out where in the devil Steine was going to? Why was the defence deliberately presenting Kremayne in a bad light?
‘If I can recollect my schooldays (and although they did not take place at your illustrious institution, my school was — in my humble submission — of comparable standing and one which produced similar human reactions to given situations) your feelings for the accused on his being expelled must have been anything but friendly?’
‘It’s all a long time ago.’
‘It’s strange, isn’t it, how the young see everything only in terms of deepest black or brightest white?’
The judge said: ‘Are you, Mr Steine, asking the court to consider that acute observation?’
‘My Lord, should they do so at any length, I feel certain they would find it as shallow as your lordship has done.’
Rusk, studying the judge, was glad to see the latter was as perplexed as he was by counsel’s tactics.
‘You served in the war, didn’t you, Sergeant?’ said Steine.
‘I did.’
The judge removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘Mr Steine I am most unwilling to interrupt counsel, normally believing that they are the best judges as to the course of conduct they pursue, but I feel constrained to ask you if, in the present case, the detective-sergeant’s past attainments are of any possible relevancy to the matter in hand?’
‘I hope, very shortly, my Lord, to show that they are.’
‘Then I trust, Mr Steine, your measure of time is accurate.’
Steine leaned against the desk behind him and he stared up at the point where the wall and roof met. His voice was casual, unconcerned, even perhaps a little bored. ‘You served in the war, I believe. Were you commissioned?’
‘I eventually became lieutenant-commander.’
‘I believe the accused was declared medically unfit for duty?’
‘I can’t say from my own knowledge.’
‘Of course not, and very rightly put … The result of your training as a barrister, no doubt?’
‘It might be.’
‘Did you practise for very long after you completed your pupilage?’
‘No.’
‘Your next move, then, was to join the police force?’
‘That is correct.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘Just over ten years.’
‘The county constabulary must have been grateful to receive someone with your qualifications?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘Perhaps that’s being a little too modest,
Sergeant. — When did you next meet Kremayne after your schooldays had ended?’
‘I went to his house, about three months ago.’
‘I just want to make quite certain about this point. You hadn’t seen him from the time he was expelled from school to a day about three months ago?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘Frithton Look, the defendant’s house, is quite a big place, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘The total holding of land is about a thousand acres?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘When did you first meet Mrs Kremayne?’
‘The day I called at Frithton Look to see the accused.’
‘Had you not met her before this time?’
‘No.’
‘Was this visit of yours made in an official or an unofficial capacity?’
‘Official.’
‘How long were you there?’
‘Not very long.’
‘When did you next visit the house?’
‘That same evening. I was invited to dinner.’
‘I imagine this was in the nature of an old school reunion?’
‘Yes.’
‘Looking back on it, would you say it was a happy evening?’
‘Quite enjoyable.’
‘No more than quite?’
‘I enjoyed it.’
‘Were you made to feel welcome?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was the defendant at all surprised to learn you were in the police force?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Did he comment at all on the fact?’
‘I think he did.’
‘In what form?’
‘I can’t remember his exact words, but he had said in the morning he thought I was joking when I gave him my official rank.’
‘Did he in the morning laugh and remark that you must be the Chief Constable at the very least?’
‘He did say something to that effect.’
‘No doubt because he remembered your many successes at school and thought you must have risen higher than in fact you had?’
‘Possibly.’
‘However, by the evening he had no doubt become accustomed to things as they were. What was the defendant like as a host?’
‘Quite amusing.’
‘Did he drink a lot?’
‘A fair amount.’
‘Would you say he was drunk?’
‘No.’
‘But very loquacious?’
‘Yes.’
‘Perhaps he told his wife what a big bug you were at school and what a small bug he’d been?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did you get on with Mrs Kremayne?’
‘We were friendly.’
‘Did she try to apologise to you for her husband’s condition?’
‘Why should she have done?’
‘It might have caused you some embarrassment.’
‘I don’t think it did.’
‘Did she apologise for him?’
‘No.’
‘She must be a very nice character?’
‘I don’t think I need answer that.’
‘Are you disputing the fact that her character is nice?’
‘I suggest …’ began the judge.
‘Quite so, my Lord. — Did you visit Frithton Look again, Sergeant?’
‘Yes.’
‘Officially or socially?’
‘Both.’
‘I take it, then, that a friendship had sprung up between you and the defendant?’
‘I had a duty to perform.’
‘But you’ve just told us your visits were social as well as official.’
‘I combined the two.’
‘You’re saying that under the cloak of friendship you were carrying out your professional duties?’
Rusk was silent.
‘How well did you like Kremayne?’
‘That’s difficult to answer.’
‘Were you very friendly with him at school?’
‘Not very.’
‘So any real friendship must have started after your first visit to Frithton Look and was, therefore, in agricultural parlance, quick-ripening?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Was it?’
‘What?’
‘A quick-ripening friendship?’
‘I can’t answer for him.’
‘How about Mrs Kremayne? Were you friendly with her?’
‘She made me welcome.’
‘Even when her husband wasn’t there?’
‘Yes.’
‘How often did you visit the house when the defendant wasn’t there?’
‘Once or twice.’
‘During the day-time?’
‘Yes.’
‘Never at night-time?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Then you weren’t at Frithton Look from nine-thirty one evening until one o’clock on the following morning at a time when Kremayne was in France?’
‘As a matter of fact I was there one evening, but I left before midnight.’
‘Tell me, Sergeant, was that when you first committed adultery with Mrs Kremayne? Was that when you first decided you had to get her husband out of the way? Was that when you arranged to fake the evidence of Kremayne’s car trip on the night of the murder and to introduce into his house a false metal buckle you’d made, which was supposedly the one missing from the belt that had belonged to Fiona Johnson?’
CHAPTER 13
Steine’s voice was followed by a short silence. Steine looked superbly arrogant. His head was high and his nose jutted forward like the figure-head of a clipper. The expression about his mouth was now one of tight, remorseless antagonism. He had come to bury the reputation of a witness.
‘That’s ridiculous,’ shouted Rusk suddenly. It was the signal for a rising murmur of excited voices that had to be silenced by the usher.
Steine smiled mockingly. ‘Let’s take a second look at some of the facts in this case. A second and more penetrating look. — May I have exhibit number thirteen, please?’
The usher crossed to the clerk’s table and picked up the buckle which he passed to Steine. Steine held the buckle up in the air with his right hand and slowly turned it over and around. ‘Exhibit number thirteen. The buckle from the dead girl’s belt … Sergeant, you weren’t in court earlier on when I was cross-examining Inspector Carren, were you?’
‘No.’
‘After I’d discussed the evidence with him, we agreed on a very interesting fact. The early clues in this case could apply to, and identify, a great number of persons — by that, I mean they are of such general application that until you produce someone and say “look, he and his actions fit the clues” they cannot have specific application. The kind of sheath knife used has been bought in its hundreds, similar plimsolls are worn in their thousands, the blood group and its characteristics are possessed by three million five hundred thousand people in the British Isles. Infinite variety and hardly guilt-making, even when there’s a man coming within the influence of these clues, who has a scratch on his forearm, and a car with blood on its steering wheel. He could never be arrested. But then … ! But then add two more clues, two clues that pin-point the suspected man as the murderer: and all clues now lead to only one person. And who produced those two vital clues which were directly and solely responsible for Kremayne’s being arrested. ‘You, Sergeant, the friend of Mrs Kremayne.’
‘I found …’
‘Just one moment, please.’
‘You’ve made a ridiculous …
‘All in good time. Tell me, Sergeant, did you find this buckle?’ Steine slowly twisted the buckle backwards and forwards.
‘Yes.’
‘In the study in the defendant’s house?’
‘Yes.’
‘Were you alone at the time?’
‘Yes.’
‘There’s no one, then, who can corroborate your story?’
‘No.’
‘Will you take this — exhibit number thirteen — examine it, and say whether it’s what you found in the office of Frithton Look. Be very careful, Sergeant, and take your time.’ Steine lowered his right arm. If his arm had become tired from having been aloft for so long, he gave no sign of it.
The usher carried the buckle to Rusk. Rusk held it in the palm of his right hand and stared at it. He turned it over and looked at the back. ‘This is the one.’
‘You’re quite certain?’
‘Yes.’
‘And so far as you know, it’s the missing buckle from the deceased’s belt?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your assumption is wrong. Sergeant, as you well know. The buckle you now have is a cleverly faked reproduction of the missing one.’
The judge spoke. ‘You will, of course, Mr Steine, be bringing evidence to support your contention?’
‘I shall be calling two expert witnesses to give evidence on this particular point.’
‘Very well. And what do you say about the evidence that Mr Johnson and Mr Haze have given?’
‘I suggest, my Lord, that their honesty is in no way impugned. They genuinely believed, and believe, that this was the missing buckle. After all, my Lord, it is a well-known fact that if one is asked to identify an object that is exceedingly familiar, and if one is shown something that appears to be exactly as such object should be, one is predisposed to accept it as genuine. Exhibit thirteen is exactly similar in form to the missing buckle and it has two sets of initials scratched in exactly the right spot. To both Mr Johnson and Mr Haze, there was no question but that it was the buckle Fiona Johnson wore.’ Steine faced Rusk again. ‘Around about lunch-time on the day the deceased’s body had been found, a buckle similar to the missing one was bought by the police at a local store and on this buckle was scratched by Robert Haze the initials as exactly in position as he could remember them. This buckle was then photographed. Did you see a copy of that photograph?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did you know that a buckle similar in all respects could be bought in shops all over the country?’
‘I knew it was easily obtained.’
‘You were, then, one of the few people in a position to fake this vital piece of evidence?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘My question, Sergeant, was whether you were in a position to fake it. Were you?’
‘I could have done.’
‘Thank you. Will you examine the strip of the buckle on which the movable arm rests when the belt is fastened. Will you tell the court what you see there.’
Rusk stared at the buckle. ‘Nothing.’
‘That is why it can be stated beyond any shadow of doubt that this buckle is a fake.
The buckle is a cheap one, produced down to a price, and the quality of the brass is poor, as is the quality of the plastic covering. After being used a while, the plastic becomes broken by the arm of the buckle and the brass in that area is dulled by its contact with the air, and both the tip of the arm and the bar on which it rests show signs of wear because the brass is soft. Tests have shown that if one of these buckles suffers the equivalent of being worn twenty-five times, the wear of the metal is perfectly obvious to the naked eye. Is there any wear on that buckle in your hand?’
‘None.’
‘Yet Robert Haze testified that the deceased wore her buckle at least twice a week for about a year … ?’
‘All I know is, this is the one I found in the house.’
‘After you’d planted it there.’
‘Mr Steine,’ said the judge, ‘I should like to examine the buckle and then the jury had better do the same.’
The usher took the buckle from Rusk and carried it to the judge.
Steine waited to resume his cross-examination until the buckle had been passed round the jury and they were once more giving him their full attention.
‘Sergeant, I put it to you that you planted that faked buckle in the defendant’s house, that you did this to make certain he was accused of the murder of Fiona Johnson, that your motive was to get him out of the house so that you could carry on your affair with his wife without risk to yourself.’
‘Lies.’
‘We’ve talked a little about your schooldays … Will you now say what you really thought of Jonathan Kremayne then?’
‘I don’t really remember. It was all a long time ago.’
‘Not so long ago, I’m happy to say, t
hat we can’t refresh your memory. Do you remember ‘Lefty’ Bates?’
‘The name could be familiar.’
‘He was in the sixth form at the same time as you and Kremayne. He’ll be giving evidence later on. His evidence will be that you openly expressed the greatest dislike and contempt for Kremayne because he was no scholar, no good at sport, and he smoked and drank … Would it be correct to say, do you think, that when Kremayne was expelled you declared it was the only possible punishment for such an out and out rotter?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘The real truth is, isn’t it, that you loathed and detested Kremayne because he was so antipathetic to the spirit of your school, a spirit you had taken to your heart and openly worshipped?’
Rusk made no reply.
‘You thought that if he went to the devil immediately, it wouldn’t be soon enough. You didn’t willingly soil your shoes by walking too close to him. — You were known at school as “little god,” weren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘What was it like when, many years after he’d left school, little god met the devil again?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Had the devil suffered the fate that it had been so obvious at school he would suffer? Or had he become a respected, wealthy, happily married man? Had little god soared higher and higher, to untold planes of success? Or had little god failed at the Bar, failed to gain promotion in the police force, failed to enjoy a happy marriage?’
‘I obviously hadn’t done as well as he.’
‘You must have resented that fact?’
‘No.’
‘Do you ask the jury to believe that this meeting didn’t awaken in your mind the picture of the ironic twists to which your respective lives had been subjected?’
‘I noticed it.’
‘You’re quite certain of that, are you? You’re quite certain it was sufficiently obvious for you … ? Would you call the defendant a tactful person?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Did he at any time point out in some detail the different paths the two of you had trodden in the world since you left school and how contrary they were to those that were expected?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘I suggest you remember very clearly. That first night, Kremayne had drunk too much and he repeatedly told you how amazing it was that there he was, wealthy and successful, and there you were, poor and unsuccessful. He insulted you left, right, and centre. He left you in no doubts as to the pleasure he was gaining from the situation. Did you enjoy being jeered at?’
Exhibit No. Thirteen Page 12