by Anne Perry
Hillyer looked utterly bewildered. He had been informed, of course, as was required, but he had no idea who Mullane was.
Mullane accordingly took the stand. He faced Daniel and waited.
“Where do you live, Dr. Mullane?”
“On the island of Alderney. It is one of the smaller Channel Islands.”
“And you are a doctor of medicine?”
“Yes.”
“You were Miss May Trelawny’s doctor?”
“Yes. It is a very small island.” Mullane looked patient, solid, comfortable with himself, but at the moment burdened by a sadness.
“You were called when the body of May Trelawny was found?” Daniel sensed the judge’s growing impatience and asked the next question without waiting for Mullane to answer. “What was the cause of her death, Doctor?”
“It seemed that she was kicked to death by one of her horses,” Mullane said quietly.
There was an indrawn breath of horror around the crowd in the gallery. Two of the jurors shook their heads.
“An accident?” Daniel asked. It all hung on this. He must not seem to prompt the doctor.
“I thought so at the time,” Mullane answered. “But after the evidence was appraised more closely by Dr. fford Croft, I saw that it was in fact contrived. I imagine you will wish to see the evidence of that.”
No one in the court was moving, barely even breathing.
“Let me be clear, Dr. Mullane. Are you saying that Miss Trelawny was murdered?”
“Yes, I am.”
The judge interrupted sharply. “Are you going to tell us that this, too, is Philip Sidney’s work, Mr. Pitt?”
“No, Your Honor, I’m going to show that it is the cause of the framing of Philip Sidney. Because he knows the motive behind this death, and who committed it, only he does not realize it yet. He has all the pieces, he just has not put them together. The man behind it needs to discredit him, even destroy him, before he can move forward with his plan.”
If someone had dropped a pin on the floor, Daniel believed it would have been heard. Not a juror moved. They could have been made of the same carved wood as the bench on which they sat.
“Then you had better do so, Mr. Pitt,” the judge warned. “And to my satisfaction. Proceed.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Daniel turned back to the witness. “Dr. Mullane, that is a very big change of mind, from an accident to deliberate murder. Could you describe the original evidence, briefly, and then the new evidence that changed your mind? What caused it to come to your attention? And remember that we are not doctors, so in as plain a manner as you can, please.”
Mullane looked pale, and he was evidently distressed, but he chose his words carefully.
“Certainly. I admired May Trelawny very much. She was a woman of courage and high intelligence, good temper and considerable wit.” His voice cracked only for a moment, and he recovered. “To the best of my knowledge, she had no enemies. Alderney is a small island. We know each other well. As the island doctor, I would say I know most people as my neighbors and my friends, as well as from time to time as my patients. It had never occurred to me that anyone would wish her harm. I did not look further than what seemed to be obvious. She had severe injuries to her head and shoulders, as if she had tripped and fallen in the stable, behind the horse. It had become startled and lashed out. Perhaps she had screamed, maybe for help. Maybe simply in pain. That had further panicked the animal and…the tragedy had happened.” He stopped abruptly, his pain at the image of this clear.
Daniel allowed him a few moments to collect himself, and for the jury to absorb the emotional impact, then asked him to continue.
“It was the questions of Dr. fford Croft that made me look further,” Mullane went on. “She discovered a partially healed injury on the horse’s back, still suppurating under the skin, as well as a thorn in May’s saddle. She had the only side saddle on the island. The injury was concealed by the lower part of the horse’s mane, and one would not find it without deliberately looking. And there was no bruised wood in the stable, no marks of blood on the wood, but signs of there having been a great deal of blood on the stable floor.”
“It had been cleaned from the floor in the intervening time?” Daniel asked.
“Yes. It was cleaned a day or two after, but the stains remained. We couldn’t let it…just stay there. It…” He floundered for a moment, overcome by emotion.
Daniel felt it, too. He had seen the stains. He could all too clearly imagine the depth of wet, scarlet blood that had made them. He wanted the court, the jury, to imagine it, too.
Daniel drew a deep breath. “It seems a mixed message to me. The wound on the horse and the thorn embedded in the saddle imply either an accident or a deliberate attempt to cause a bad fall. But she was found in the stables, as was all the blood. What do you deduce from that?”
Mullane shook his head. “It does not lie within my skill, Mr. Pitt, but I cannot imagine May mounting a horse inside the stable. She was a tall woman, too tall to ride out sitting side-saddle. There was a mounting block outside in the yard; she would have used that, as was her habit.”
“Did you observe Dr. fford Croft taking samples of blood from the stable floor and from the horse in question, Dr. Mullane?”
“Yes, I did. And I have photographs of that and of the saddle, and the injury to the horse.”
“Have you photographs of Miss Trelawny’s injuries also?”
Mullane winced and closed his eyes. “Good God, no, man! Why on earth would I want such a thing! As if I could forget…”
“But they were consistent with being repeatedly kicked by a horse?”
“Yes.”
“Or having fallen from a horse, and being dragged, perhaps?”
“No,” Mullane answered sharply. “No, they were not. Having fallen would have left bruises on the body, which there were not. Being dragged would have left lacerations, abrasions, drag marks, perhaps dirt or gravel. There were not.”
“Then what was there?”
Mullane stared at him. “You know what there was, Mr. Pitt. She was beaten to death, and then the horse was blamed, albeit because of a thorn caught under the saddle.”
“I’m sorry to distress you, Dr. Mullane,” Daniel apologized. “I know Miss Trelawny was your friend, and by every account a fine woman. But have you any idea, with hindsight, why anyone might kill her?”
“None at all,” Mullane replied. “Unless it was for the house. There were people trying to buy it. She wouldn’t sell. Can’t think what the devil they would want it for. Was nice enough, but rather dilapidated. Too small to be a hotel. Isolated. And there were other houses in better condition coming up for sale.”
“In St. Anne?”
“Yes. Nicely situated.”
“But not isolated, with its own bay, out of sight of others?”
“No, but…” Mullane tailed off.
“But?” Daniel prompted.
Mullane was dismissive. It was clear the subject was painful. “If you’re thinking of a good secret place to land a smuggling ship, there’s not much of that going on now, and what there is could come ashore anywhere on the island. Or on other islands, for that matter. It’s certainly not worth killing anyone for.”
“Actually, it wasn’t smuggling I had in mind,” Daniel said with a twisted smile. He must not lose either the jury’s sympathy or, above all, their interest. “But it is a good, private, deep-water harbor nonetheless?”
One of the jurors craned forward. Another sat up straighter.
“I suppose so,” Mullane agreed.
“Dr. Mullane, do you recognize Mr. Sidney? Have you ever seen him before?”
Mullane looked toward the dock. “No.”
“You haven’t seen him on the island? Inquiring about buying Miss Trelawny’s house, for example?”
Daniel pressed.
“I haven’t seen him at all.”
“Thank you. Please wait for Mr. Hillyer to speak to you.” Daniel sat down, his mind racing to think if he had asked everything he could. A chance missed now was gone forever. He glanced at Kitteridge. Did he want to add something? But Kitteridge gave a slight shake of his head and smiled. He was satisfied. Or at least he could think of nothing to add now.
Hillyer rose to his feet and hesitated for a moment. Perhaps he realized that Mullane was a sympathetic witness, and cross-questioning him would gain nothing. “I have no questions for this witness, thank you,” he said quietly, and sat down.
Daniel called Miriam fford Croft to the stand. He had her recite her qualifications and the reason she did not have a medical practice, only an occasional consultation on pathology. He hated doing that, because his own anger on her behalf was difficult to hide, but he knew it would get in his way. If the jury sympathized, or thought it was unfair, unjust, that was enough. Perhaps they would remember that Mullane had called her “doctor.”
Daniel cleared his throat. Hers was the evidence upon which it would all turn.
“Miss fford Croft, we have been discussing the death of Miss May Trelawny, even though the case that the prosecution is bringing is one of embezzlement of money from the British Embassy in Washington. Were you consulted on that, in your capacity as a specialist in the detection of forgery?”
“Yes. I was,” Miriam replied.
As rapidly as he could, Daniel had her explain to the judge and jurors the details of particular interest in a forged signature, the drag marks in tracing a signature, the difference in little spikes of ink where a pen had been used carefully, rather than spontaneously, so that each member of the jury could see them for himself. They must truly believe it, not just because Daniel or Miriam said so.
“Do you draw any conclusions from these signatures, Miss fford Croft?” he asked at length.
“Yes. Some of these signatures are genuine, but at least half are forged. You cannot see it with the naked eye, and very few people even possess a microscope. Still fewer are likely to put it to a signature on the transfer of a relatively small amount of money,” she replied.
Daniel did not need to look at the jury to know that he had their attention. They liked Miriam’s brevity, and that she had brought them pictures they could very clearly understand. It was also a relief to be talking of petty theft, rather than violence.
Daniel smiled at Miriam. “Does this mean that wherever the money went, either to the correct place or some other, Mr. Sidney did not sign it out?”
She had the papers in two piles in front of her. “He signed these ones,” she answered, pointing to one pile. “He did not sign those.” She touched the other pile.
“Thank you, Miss fford Croft. Now, to turn to the far grimmer matter of Miss Trelawny’s death. Have—”
At last Hillyer stood up. “Your Honor, Miss fford Croft can have no knowledge in this matter. I don’t doubt her forensic skills, but we are not accusing Sidney of having had any part in Miss Trelawny’s death. Miss fford Croft’s speculation on the matter, however percipient, is completely irrelevant here.”
The judge looked at Daniel, his eyebrows raised.
Hillyer was right. Daniel felt as if a hole had opened up in the floor in front of him, and he had fallen straight into it. He should have guarded against this.
“Uh…if you please, Your Honor,” he began, aware of all eyes in the room upon him. “The question arose of…Mr. Sidney having been guilty of the assault on Miss Thorwood, and of stealing the pendant that had belonged to Miss Trelawny. It seems to be the beginning of—”
“Yes, yes.” The judge agreed impatiently. “The theft of the piece of jewelry seems to be the beginning of whatever the point is that you are laboring to reach. You are leading us on a winding trail, Mr. Pitt. Does it lead anywhere? Did Mr. Sidney steal it or not?”
“No, Your Honor, he did not,” Daniel said firmly. “Miss Trelawny was murdered, as Dr. Mullane testified. Her possession of the house on Alderney was the key to it, and the fact that she bequeathed it to Miss Thorwood.”
“Well, tie it up, Mr. Pitt. The court’s patience is not endless.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Daniel did not look toward Hillyer. “Miss fford Croft, did you this last weekend go to Alderney and visit the house of the late Miss Trelawny?”
“Yes, I did. I will summarize for the court what I found relevant, if you wish?”
“I do…thank you,” Daniel agreed.
“Keep it relevant, Miss fford Croft,” the judge warned. “And with minimum displays of your undisputed skills, if you please.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Miriam said meekly. “I believe Dr. Mullane has told you how Miss Trelawny died. If his account is correct, then there’s evidence to substantiate it: injuries such as he described would have left a great deal of blood. I searched the stable floor for the stains that would unavoidably have been left. I found the massive stains of blood and took samples.”
“But you said it had been washed out!” Daniel interrupted her. The jury had to follow this, and believe it.
“Yes,” Miriam agreed. “But roughly washed out. It was a concrete floor, full of irregularities. Lots of places had been missed. And it was covered with straw. I also examined the horse and found on it, not yet healed, the wound of the thorn that came from the saddle.”
“And what do these things prove?” Daniel asked.
“A very elaborately set-up plot,” she replied.
There was silence in the room. Every eye was upon her.
“How?” Daniel prompted.
“The blood was that of a pig,” Miriam replied.
The judge leaned forward. “What did you say, madam?”
“That the blood was that of a pig, Your Honor,” Miriam repeated.
“And how on earth would you know?” he asked. “Blood is blood.”
“With respect, Your Honor, it is now possible to tell the source of blood, animal or human. This was pig’s blood, and most definitely not that of Miss Trelawny. And incidentally, the horse was uninjured, apart from the sore made by the thorn.”
“And how do you explain this?” the judge asked, his face puckered with concentration.
“I don’t, Your Honor,” she replied. “All I can say is that I do not believe that Miss Trelawny died in the stable, but somewhere else, probably close by. It is a small island. And the place would have been one out of sight of any dwelling. And it has rained several times since her death. We also looked for the weapon used and did not find that either. My guess is that it is in the sea, probably in the deep water close to Miss Trelawny’s own property. It would not be hard for a strong man to hurl it into the sea, only fifty or so yards from the house itself.”
“Thank you, Miss fford Croft,” the judge acknowledged. He looked at Daniel. “Have you anything further to ask this witness?” There was both apprehension and curiosity in his expression.
“No, thank you, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Hillyer?”
Hillyer rose to his feet. “Thank you, Your Honor.” He turned to Miriam. “Miss fford Croft, did your inquiries uncover anything at all to indicate who killed Miss Trelawny? I mean proof, not speculation.”
“No, sir…only how brutally, and for what reason.”
That was clearly not the answer that Hillyer had wanted, but he could not refuse it now. He had invited it himself. “Why? And not guesses, please. I do not want anything for which you have not powerful evidence.”
Miriam smiled briefly. “A buyer had been most persistent in his attempts to purchase the house. He had visited the island at least twice. He was present over the time of her death. I believe he is still trying, and now Miss Thorwood, who has inherited the property, is the focus of his attention.”
“Proof
?” Hillyer repeated.
Miriam faced him without her expression changing at all.
Daniel knew the instant before she answered that she was going to say what they had concluded. If he had said it, it would have been dismissed, but Hillyer had asked her. He had walked into the snare set for him.
“I believe Mr. Sidney has that,” Miriam replied, “only he does not know it. He has not put the pieces together. It is imperative to the would-be buyer that he does not, that Mr. Sidney’s reputation be completely destroyed and he be imprisoned for whatever crime they can blame him, before he understands what those pieces are and how they complete the puzzle.”
Once again there was silence, except for indrawn breath, and somewhere at the back of the gallery, a man stifling nervous laughter, perhaps at Hillyer’s discomfort.
The judge closed his eyes and took a very deep breath.
Hillyer shot Daniel a look of exasperation.
“Mr. Pitt!” the judge said loudly. “I will not have my courtroom made into a theater of the fantastic. Bring me some tangible proof of this…this pile of supposition, fancy stories, and horror! Or give me your closing argument and we will let the jury decide if Mr. Sidney is provably guilty of anything, apart from almost unbelievable clumsiness and misfortune.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Daniel replied. “Thank you, Miss fford Croft. I call Sir Thomas Pitt.”
“What?” Hillyer demanded. “What are you…?”
Daniel did not answer.
Thomas Pitt came to the stand, climbing the steps easily and facing the court. He was immaculate in black, even elegant. He swore to his name and the fact that he was head of Special Branch.
Daniel could feel the sweat break out on his body as he faced his father and drew in his breath to question him on the stand.
“Sir Thomas…” His voice almost choked in his throat. In his mind he had tried a dozen ways of beginning this. All of them seemed inadequate now: too direct, not direct enough, giving away information that should be secret. He began again. “Sir Thomas, England has always been highly dependent on its navy for its defense.” He must come quickly to the point, or either Hillyer or the judge would stop him. “It was founded by King Alfred well over a thousand years ago, and has saved us often since then. But is it vulnerable to submarines? Modern ships that move and survive totally beneath the surface of the sea, and come in for supplies in very deep-water harbors, such as the one lying close to the island of Alderney, by the land owned by the late May Trelawny. And now by Miss Rebecca Thorwood.”