According to the Evidence

by Bernard Knight

  ‘So what is the relevance to this case, doctor?’

  ‘The second post-mortem on Mrs Parker was not carried out by Dr Smythe until the third day after death. Though the results of the three researchers are not identical, it is patently obvious that the concentration of potassium found by Dr Smythe is well within the expected levels for that period of time, some seventy-eight hours. So the interpretation that this level must have been due to the injection of extraneous potassium is now quite unacceptable.’

  Nathan Prideaux wanted to nail this idea down firmly in the minds of the jury, who by now were looking bemused at this sudden turn of events.

  ‘Dr Smythe claimed that the eye fluid is immune from the changes after death that make the blood levels of potassium useless. What do you say to that?’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s just not true. This was assumed, but until now no one has actually investigated it. Admittedly, it is much slower than in the rest of the body, but this new research shows that potassium leaks out of the cells in the retina – the inner lining of the eye that allows vision – and this is why they hope it will provide a new method of determining the time of death.’

  Richard Pryor, at Nathan’s request, went on to quote facts and figures from the research papers to consolidate what he was claiming, while the judge, barristers and prosecution expert followed it on the documents they had been given. From the glazed look on the faces of some of the jury, it was obvious that they had no idea of what he was talking about, but soon Prideaux put them out of their misery by diverting on to a new tack.

  ‘Dr Pryor, I think you also have a second reason for disputing Dr Smythe’s conclusions?’

  ‘Indeed, though I admit that I, too, was unaware of it until I began researching all aspects of potassium and eye fluid. Unlike the new discoveries in Germany and America, apparently this has been known to physiologists and biochemists for a long time. I’m afraid it’s a problem with all sciences, that there is so much knowledge available, but it tends to be kept in separate boxes, until someone actively seeks it out.’

  ‘And what was in this particular box, doctor?’

  ‘Dr Smythe quite correctly said that death occurs very rapidly on injection of strong potassium chloride solution – which is the allegation in this case. The heart stops very quickly, perhaps not instantly, but within a few moments. That is why it is used by vets to dispatch animals.’

  ‘And what is the significance of that?’ asked the QC.

  ‘When substances such as potassium are injected into the bloodstream, it takes up to three hours for the substance to reach its maximum concentration in the eye fluid. This “equilibration” as it is called, cannot proceed if the heart has stopped, as there is no circulation to drive the substance around the body to reach the eyeball. So if an injection of potassium is sufficient to cause rapid death, there is no way that this extraneous amount can get into the eye fluid! Any rise in potassium must therefore be due to post-mortem leakage from the cells in the retina.’

  He lifted up another document from his collection. ‘Though I said this has been known for years, I sought advice from clinical biochemist Professor Lucius Zigmond of St George’s Hospital in London, who is an expert in what are called “electrolytes” such as potassium. He has provided a statement in which this delay in equilibration is positively confirmed, and which is also contained in a number of standard textbooks.’

  This statement was again handed around the court as a sheaf of carbon copies, the sworn original going to the judge for his inspection.

  Nathan Prideaux took over again and asked the judge to accept all these papers as sworn evidence, entering them with exhibit numbers into the trial record.

  There now seemed to be a hiatus in which the whole court was holding its breath, waiting to see what was to happen next in this drama.

  Mr Justice Templeman finished reading the last of these documents, then looked down at both the leading counsel. ‘Where does this leave us now, gentlemen?’ he asked evenly. ‘Do you want to cross-examine Dr Pryor first, Mr Gordon? Or do you wish to have Dr Smythe back in the witness box, Mr Prideaux?’

  The prosecuting counsel shook his head almost helplessly as he declined the invitation. He would dearly like to have had the chance to discuss this turn of events with his expert, but once any witness began giving evidence no communication was allowed between him and counsel.

  ‘If it pleases your lordship,’ replied Nathan, in the traditionally obsequious language of the courts, ‘I would like to hear Dr Smythe’s reaction to these propositions.’

  There was a general shuffling about, as Richard came down to sit on Angus’s chair, while the Scot hauled himself back up into the witness box. As they did so, the two prosecuting barristers engaged in an animated, muttered discussion, while their defence counterparts sat back impassively until the judge invited Prideaux to begin his cross-examination.

  ‘Dr Smythe, you have heard what Dr Pryor had to say and you have seen the various sworn statements of the other forensic experts. Is there anything in them which you do not accept or wish to dispute?’

  Richard, sitting below the high witness box, fully expected the fiery Angus to begin a staunch counter-attack and was amazed when the man from Oxford immediately capitulated, contradicting his reputation for doggedly fighting off any opposition to his opinions.

  ‘I have no option but to agree with all Dr Pryor’s propositions,’ said Angus. ‘These are reports from reputable scientists – in fact I know of Dr Stoddart from other work. The publications have been accepted by well-known international medical journals. I did not know of this new work – and I very much doubt if the majority of my colleagues know of it. The delay in equilibration seems to be a long-accepted fact, but again I confess that it had never come to my knowledge, as I had never had occasion to seek it out.’

  He nodded an acknowledgement down to Richard Pryor.

  ‘I can only compliment Dr Pryor on such a diligent search of recent research and literature, and I unreservedly accept the conclusions which he has put forward. I withdraw my previous interpretation, which I now admit to being erroneous.’

  Amid another buzz of excitement in the court, Nathan Prideaux turned to the judge.

  ‘My lord, at this juncture I would like to make a submission to you.’

  Doris hissed in Moira’s ear. ‘He’s going to ask the judge to consider directing the jury to return a verdict of not guilty.’

  But for once, Doris was wrong, as Mr Justice Templeman held up a hand towards the defence counsel.

  ‘I think, Mr Prideaux, that will not be necessary. I am sure that Mr Gordon will not contest the fact that his witness has withdrawn virtually all his expert opinion which goes to the heart of this case. In my view, there is nothing left that can go to the jury for their decision. I therefore intend discharging the jury and also discharging the defendant forthwith.’

  That evening Siân stayed behind to greet the victor, Moira having been unable to resist ringing Garth House from a phone box near the Shire hall with the news of the collapse of the prosecution case.

  When they returned, an impromptu celebratory party was held in the staffroom, with a couple of bottles of Lutomer Riesling and a flagon of Buckley’s Ale for Jimmy, who came in from the garden for the occasion. Moira related the dramatic scenes in Gloucester and extolled the triumphant success of Richard in the witness box.

  ‘I should have let you go to the Brecon inquest and gone to the Assizes instead,’ said Siân, wistfully.

  Richard was as diplomatic as usual. ‘Next time, Siân! There’ll be plenty more opportunities, now that our reputation is spreading!’

  He held up his glass in a toast. ‘To our team, folks! I just fired the shots in the witness box, but you all were involved – everyone played a part! Angela is the brains and keeps me from the worst of my wild excesses, Siân is our queen of the laboratory and without Moira we’d not only starve but wouldn’t have any reports to flash around. And Jimmy calms me
down, hoeing weeds from my vines, as well as nagging me about bloody strawberries!’

  Amid the celebrations and good humour, two pairs of eyes viewed Richard Glanville Pryor speculatively, as both Angela Bray and Moira Davison wondered what the next six months might bring. But fate was not willing to wait that long – indeed, it was the very next morning that the settled routine of Garth House was upset.

  ‘There’s a personal call on the line for you, Dr Bray,’ said Moira, calling through from the office to where Angela sat at her bench.

  As Angela came through to pick up the phone, Moira tactfully moved into the laboratory to be out of earshot and hovered over Siân in the biochemistry section.

  ‘It must be her father,’ she murmured to the technician. ‘He asked to speak to his daughter.’

  Siân looked up in concern. ‘Neither of her parents has ever rung here before. I hope it’s not bad news.’

  They waited for Angela to finish her call and come back into the lab, but after a few minutes they heard the phone go down and her heels clicking away down the corridor.

  ‘She’s gone down to Richard’s room,’ whispered Moira. ‘I wonder what’s going on.’

  Ten minutes went by before both Angela and Richard came back to speak to them.

  ‘Unfortunate news, I’m afraid,’ said Richard gravely. ‘We’re going to have to do without Dr Bray for a while.’

  Angela, looking pale and strained, explained the problem. ‘My mother has had a stroke. It’s not life-threatening, thank God, but she’s lost her speech and is partly paralysed down one side. I’ll have to go home to stay with her for a while. My poor father is hopeless at looking after himself, let alone a sick wife. Just to complicate matters, my sister’s just gone to New York on a three-month design course, so I’ve drawn the short straw, I’m afraid.’

  The two other women clustered around full of sympathy and commiseration, asking if there was anything they could do to help.

  ‘You’ll have to go home straight away,’ said Richard. ‘Don’t worry about things here, we’ll cope somehow.’

  He offered to drive her to Berkshire, but Angela said she was fine to drive herself.

  ‘I’ll just finish this batch of bloods,’ she said, waving a hand towards her bench. ‘Then I’ll pack a suitcase and be on my way. With luck, my mother will recover quickly and I’ll soon be able to get back.’

  Within two hours she had gone in her little white Renault, leaving the house and its occupants strangely forlorn.

  ‘How are we going to deal with her cases, Dr Pryor?’ asked Siân over a consoling cup of coffee. ‘There’s no problem with your post-mortems, and I can handle the histology and the chemistry, but I haven’t much idea of these paternity tests and bloodstains that she does.’

  ‘Depends on how long she’s likely to be up in Berkshire,’ observed Moira. ‘If it’s only a few days or a week, I suppose things can wait until she gets back. But if it’s going to be a lot longer . . .’ There was a silence as her voice tailed off.

  ‘Haven’t they got a housekeeper or something?’ asked Siân. ‘They must be pretty well off, all that business with breeding horses and the like.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll get in a private nurse,’ said the ever-practical Moira. ‘But it’s not the same as having your own daughter, at least in the early stages. Pity her sister is abroad just when she’s needed.’

  Richard was philosophical about the crisis. ‘Nothing we can do or even plan for until we hear how long Angela is likely to be away. She did mention to me, before she left, that she might know of a former colleague of hers who might be available as a locum. But let’s not cross our bridges until we come to them, eh?’

  When the phone rang later that evening it sounded ominous to Richard, now alone in the large, empty house. It was Angela, reporting that her mother, though in no danger, was very incapacitated. She had been taken to hospital in Reading the previous night, but later in the day a consultant advised her husband to have her back at home, as there was little they could do for her, except wait for the expected gradual improvement.

  Their family doctor had arranged for a nurse to come in twice a day, and their daily woman from the village had agreed to increase the number of hours she put in and to add cooking skills to her duties.

  ‘But I’m rather saddled with organizing things and keeping Mother company,’ admitted Angela. ‘My father is great with horses but clueless when it comes to anything inside the house.’

  Richard took this as a coded message that his partner was going to be stuck a hundred miles away for some time to come. ‘You must stay there for as long as you’re needed,’ he reassured her. ‘We’ll cope somehow. I’ll just have to divert any serological requests to one of the university departments in London or Scotland who’ve got the proper facilities.’

  Privately, he was quite anxious, as Angela had built up quite a clientele among solicitors in respect of paternity tests and other biological investigations. It brought in an appreciable part of their income, and to be deprived of it just when the Garth House consultancy was beginning to take off was a serious blow. However, his partner had a glimmer of hope to offer him.

  ‘There’s no way I can get back within a month or so, Richard, but remember that I mentioned the possibility of finding a good locum for us?’

  Angela went on to say that she had already made a phone call to locate the person she had in mind. ‘She wasn’t there, but I’ve left a message and hopefully she’ll call me back very soon.’

  ‘Who is this Good Samaritan?’ he asked.

  Angela explained that several years ago she had had a junior colleague in the Metropolitan Police Laboratory, doing the same work as herself. ‘She’s called Priscilla Chambers. Has a London degree in physical anthropology and worked in the Natural History Museum for a bit, but then took a master’s in serology and came to the Met Lab for a few years.’

  Richard pricked up his ears at the mention of anthropology – a useful speciality when it came to identifying skeletal material. ‘Why might she be available as a locum?’ he asked.

  ‘Priscilla left the Met about three years ago, as prospects of promotion were grounded by budget cuts, as I well know! She took a job in a forensic institute in Australia but came back about six months ago.’

  Angela paused. ‘I think she had a bad experience with a man – another broken engagement,’ she added rather bitterly. ‘We forensic biologists seem to be prone to that sort of thing!’

  ‘Is she free at the moment, then?’ he enquired.

  ‘She’s been doing short-term work at a couple of archaeological digs, but at the moment she’s “resting”, as they say in the theatre!’

  Before she rang off, Angela promised to let him know as soon as she had contacted her former colleague, leaving Richard to tramp up the stairs in the echoing house, wondering what a former museum employee and itinerant archaeologist might look like – a mannish suit and rimless glasses, or long straggly hair and projecting teeth?

  He gave the news to Moira and Siân next day and they all anxiously awaited another call from Angela Bray. Like Richard the previous evening, the two women wondered what any new locum would be like, if she materialized.

  ‘Why can’t Dr Bray find us a handsome young man instead?’ said Siân wistfully. ‘All these biologists seem to be women!’

  It was almost the end of the week before Angela rang Richard again. Her mother had slightly improved in that she could speak a little in a slurred way, but her arm and leg showed no sign of recovering, so there was no chance that Angela could leave her.

  Her main news was that she had tracked down Priscilla Chambers and in principle the lady was quite keen to help out on a temporary basis. Richard and Angela agreed on a salary regime for the locum, Angela insisting on paying most of it from her share of the profits of the partnership.

  ‘She can come down next Monday, Richard, and start immediately on a one-month agreement if she likes the look of the place. She doesn
’t have a car, but she can use the train.’

  ‘Where can she stay? In that bed and breakfast you were in down in the village?’

  ‘That’s up to her, I suppose. She could use my rooms in the house, but that would cause another scandal in the valley!’

  When Richard relayed this to Siân and Moira, they were relieved to hear that someone could take over Angela’s work, but rather apprehensive at a stranger invading the cosy little world of Garth House.

  ‘I’d better check with Mrs Evans that she’s got a vacancy at her B&B,’ said the efficient Moira.

  ‘Dr Bray mentioned that she could stay here in her rooms upstairs,’ said Richard mischievously.

  This went down like a lead balloon with the two women, and Moira went straight off to telephone the lady who ran the bed and breakfast in Tintern Parva.

  Angela rang again on Sunday evening to say that Miss Chambers intended catching the twelve o’clock express from Paddington next day. Richard offered to drive to Newport Station to pick her up, and just after two o’clock Siân and Moira heard the Humber roll up the drive and stop in the yard.

  They hurried to the back door in time to see Richard opening the passenger door, from which a shapely pair of nylon-clad legs emerged, followed by a willowy redhead of about thirty.

  With Richard grinning like a Cheshire cat behind her, she advanced towards them, elegant in a slim A-line suit under a swinging green topcoat, a tiny hat on her auburn curls.

  Miss Chambers pulled off a glove and held out a hand, her perfectly made-up features breaking into a smile.

  ‘Hello, I’m Priscilla! What a lovely place you have here.’

  As the two residents went out to meet her, Siân whispered in Moira’s ear, ‘My God, she’s gorgeous!’

  ‘When Angela gets back,’ hissed Moira, ‘I’m going to kill her!’