“Yes, well you don’t know how fucking rough it was …”
“Language, please, Mr Wade,” said Lorna, with a condescending smile. “So where have you been getting your supply from for the last couple of months?”
“You can’t expect me to tell you that.”
“Why not, Mr Wade. Or is it because there is no-one, in fact, and that Jack – or Jake – has never been your supplier either?”
Jeremy Forsythe got to his feet.
“M’lord, I can’t see any relevance in pressing the witness to name any other dealers. It was indeed a risk for the witness to come forward anyway, but …”
“Your honour,” put in Lorna, “I don’t think Mr Wade has any qualms about naming dealers. After all, if he is to be believed, he fingered his long term supplier because of one bad batch. He seems to have little or no loyalty towards his chain of supply. So why should he not name the latest link – unless, of course, there isn’t one and his whole story is a fabrication?”
“M’lord,” Jeremy spread his arms in a gesture of incredulity, “how can my learned friend possibly draw that conclusion from the witness’s reluctance to …”
“Ms Prentiss,” said the judge, “there are limits to the conjecture we can exercise in a court of law, and I think you are close to those limits. I do not see how Mr Wade’s not naming someone whose identity has no relevance to this case can be construed as obstructing the process of law.”
“With respect, m’lord, I did not say it did, but …”
“No, not in so many words, but I’d like you to move on if you have anything more to ask this witness.”
Lorna was silent for a while.
“Mr Wade, can you recall the times that you met with Mr Tomlinson-Brown just prior to when you received – allegedly – the bad package?”
“No, of course not,” said Billy.
“You said ‘same place, same time’, didn’t you? So you must know.”
“It wasn’t always the same day, though. Could have been any day.”
“Well, just one day, then. You must remember at least one occasion when the actual day sticks in your mind.”
“No, sorry.”
“Very convenient, isn’t it? If we can’t establish any precise times for your dealings, we can’t check out any possible alibis. No chance for the defendant to deny meeting you with any chance of proving it.” She turned to the jury. “When you hear the statements of the other three users read out, you may be surprised at how similar they are to each other and to Mr Wade’s testimony. I encourage you to make the comparison and consider how four disparate individuals could come up with statements so alike.”
Lorna sat down.
*
Grace looked with a morbid fixation at the information on the PC screen in front of her. She had seen it all before, of course. It was nearly six weeks ago when she first received the details of the post mortems carried out on the remains of the two bodies retrieved from the wire. But now she was reviewing them in a different and closer context.
‘The corpses of the two men had been on the fence for nine days’, said the preamble to the main findings. ‘They were mutilated by the constant attention of sea-birds feeding on them. However, the cold conditions helped in preserving enough to determine the injuries received prior to their climbing the superstructure. Also, these injuries seem to point to the reason why they undertook the climb’.
She scrolled down to a summary of the findings.
“Extensive bruising on both specimens where enough skin remained to enable an examination,” she read from the report. “Specimen one – stress fracture of left forearm and three fingers on left hand. Damage to right patella. Nose broken and damage to left eye socket. Severe abrasions …”
She minimised the document and, after a moment’s hesitation, clicked on the icon titled ‘Conclusions’.
‘Both men died from a combination of hypothermia and trauma caused by injuries sustained either in an assault by other inmates or in a fight with each other. There is also evidence to suggest that they were attacked by sea birds whilst still alive, which may have accelerated their dying’.
Grace closed the document and then the file with a feeling of sickness rising in her stomach, and reflected, not for the first time, on the level of fear which would be needed to drive someone with such injuries to make that sort of climb.
*
“Dr Brotherton,” said Jeremy, pacing around the area between the jury and the witness stand, “please tell the court the position you currently hold and the work you have carried out for this case.”
Simon Brotherton was a tall, thin man in frameless glasses. He had wispy receding hair combed straight back and long enough to hang over the collar of his brown sports jacket which he wore over a check shirt.
“I am Senior Scientific Advisor to NCSRA – that’s the National Controlled Substances Research Agency – based here in Guildford. I have undertaken extensive examination of samples of the drugs provided by the users who came forward and those found at both houses, and compared these with each other and with samples from batches confiscated in recent similar cases.”
“And what can you tell us about the results of this extensive testing?”
“As far as is possible, I can confirm that the drugs at both locations and those handed to the police were from the same or very similar batches and hence most probably from the same source or sources.”
“And what did you find regarding the quality of these drugs, specifically in relation to the sickness described by Mr Wade earlier and in the statements read out in court?”
“The cocaine was significantly contaminated, certainly enough to produce the effects described by the witnesses.”
“Thank you, Dr Brotherton. One last question; is it possible that the substance found at the homes of the defendants could have been from the same batch as that which led to the death of Vincent Remus …?”
Lorna was quickly on her feet and shouting. “The Prosecution has no right …!”
“Mr Forsythe!” Miles Pendle boomed and turned an admonishing glare on the offending counsel.
“I was merely trying to put into the jury’s minds,” he responded, with exaggerated deference, “the possible severity…”
The judge cut him short.
“I know very well what you were trying to put into the jury’s minds. Let me make it clear to all present. This court is not concerned in any way with the quality of the substances involved, or the consequences – real or suggested – of that quality, except in establishing a link between the witnesses and the drugs found at the two addresses. Otherwise, we are only concerned with deciding whether the defendants are responsible for selling these drugs, and I take a dim view of anything or anyone that causes us to be deflected from that objective, or who confuses the process of reaching a proper conclusion.”
He turned to the jury.
“You are to ignore the last question put by the Prosecution on the basis that it has no relevance to this case whatsoever and I trust,” turning back to the barrister, “I shall not have to intervene again to remind you of your duties in this matter.”
Jeremy Forsythe bowed his apology and spoke again to the witness.
“Thank you, Dr Brotherton. No further questions.”
He resumed his seat.
Lorna rose to her feet.
“Dr Brotherton,” she said, “in your opinion, would the symptoms described by the witnesses and confirmed by you normally require treatment – at a hospital, for instance, or by a GP?”
“Not necessarily …”
“But normally?”
“There would be no permanent damage – providing the user got over the initial effects – and that would depend on quite a number of factors.”
“Such as?”
“Well, primarily the amount they took, their general health at the time, their living conditions …”
“These people are addicts, Dr Brotherton, with a hard drugs dep
endency. You wouldn’t expect their general health and living conditions to be conducive to fighting off the effect of a toxic dose of cocaine, would you?”
“I must protest, m’lord.” Jeremy was on his feet. “We have no specific evidence relating to the health and accommodation of these witnesses. If my learned friend is about to produce some, then, having failed to disclose it to the Crown beforehand, I suggest that it should be deemed inadmissible.”
“Like the Prosecution’s last question to this witness,” Lorna snapped back. “Nothing further, m’lord.”
She sat down.
*
Week 9; Thursday, 21 May…
Jo took a deep breath and fixed her eyes on the Prosecution counsel.
“Detective Inspector Cottrell, could you describe for the benefit of the court, the events of the morning of Tuesday, 14th April this year?”
“On that morning, I was in charge of a police raid on the property of the Home Secretary, Tom Brown, and his wife, Maggie Tomlinson-Brown. We entered the grounds of the property at exactly 5.00 am and …”
“When you say ‘we’, Detective Inspector, who exactly was with you?”
“Along with myself, a total of twelve police officers, in five vehicles, including four dog-handlers with their dogs; plus one scene-of-crime unit with four personnel. We were prepared for an initial search of the house and grounds.”
“Thank you, please go on.”
“I knocked on the door and rang the bell, and requested entry into the house. Then …”
“Were you granted immediate access?”
“Yes,” said Jo, a little too quickly. Jeremy raised his eyebrows.
“Really? And who was in the house, and where, when you entered.”
“The Home Secretary, his wife and son were all in the hall.”
“And then what happened?”
“Jack went up to the first floor and we followed him to his bedroom. He briefly locked himself in his room, saying he was getting dressed. After a short delay, he opened the door and …”
“How short, would you say?”
“Well, I wasn’t actually timing it, but …”
“Ten seconds? Twenty seconds? A couple of minutes?”
“About three or four minutes, I suppose.”
“Three or four minutes. Certainly ample time for him to get fully dressed. DI Cottrell, please tell the court what the defendant was wearing when you first entered the house.”
“Just a pair of shorts.”
“Shorts?”
“Boxer shorts.”
“Boxer shorts. And when you gained entry to the defendant’s bedroom, what was he wearing then?”
“The same.”
“So he had clearly not been getting dressed?”
“Clearly.”
“So, what had he been doing?”
“He had removed some magazines from the bottom of his wardrobe and was putting them into a holdall. When I asked why he was doing that he said he was just tidying up…”
“Even though the magazines were inside the wardrobe.” Jeremy turned to the jury as he spoke to emphasise the point. “Detective Inspector, did the defendant at any time change his story about why he was moving the magazines?”
“Yes, on being questioned later he said he simply didn’t want the police to find them.”
“Thank you. Please continue.”
“The dog started pawing at the remaining mags in the bottom of the wardrobe. That is when I asked the family to leave the room and brought in the forensic team. We moved the rest of the magazines out of the wardrobe and removed the base panel. Under the panel we found forty-eight bags of a substance which was later confirmed as crack cocaine.”
“And please tell the court, Detective Inspector, what else you found in the room.”
“Under the panel in the wardrobe next to where the drugs had been hidden, we found a mobile phone and some surgical gloves.”
“And were you able to establish a connection between the phone and the drugs?”
“I had with me the two numbers we had been given by the people who had contacted the police, so I used my phone to call both numbers. The first call was answered by DI Waters using a phone he had found with the drugs at the Midanda’s house. I called the second number but with no response. However, it was later shown to be the number of the phone we had found at Etherington Place.”
“Just so there is no confusion, could you explain why your second call was not picked up.”
“Yes, it appears the phone had been left switched on and the battery had fully discharged.”
“Thank you, Detective Inspector.”
Jeremy turned to the jury again, this time with an exaggerated shrug of the shoulders as if to ask if they needed any more convincing.
The counsel for the Defence rose slowly from her seat and smiled warmly at the witness.
“Detective Inspector, in your opinion, when you attended the house that morning, did the defendant’s behaviour suggest …”
Jeremy was quickly back on his feet. “M’lord, we are here to consider the facts, and one person’s opinion will add nothing to …”
“I would point out, m’lord,” Lorna interrupted, “that Ms Cottrell has had ten years experience as a detective, the last two-and-a-half at inspector level. Not wishing to embarrass her, she has also recently been identified among the ranks of her peer group as exceptional in her job, resulting in her current assignment to Guildford. I cannot imagine that she has achieved all this without her expressing along the way opinions of great value to the course of criminal investigation and, ultimately, justice. And I am surprised,” she added, “that the learned counsel should be so dismissive of one of his own key witnesses.”
Miles Pendle could hardly suppress a smile at her last remark, as the chastened gentleman sat down with an apologetic look to Jo. “Please put your question, Ms Prentiss.”
“Thank you, m’lord. Detective Inspector Cottrell, when you attended the house that morning the drugs were – clearly – already concealed in Jack Tomlinson-Brown’s room. There is no question of that; we do not dispute it. Our contention – as you are aware – is that he did not know they were there.
“When, soon after arriving,” she went on, “you gained access to his room, Jack would have realised – if he had known they were there – that he was minutes away from being arrested for an extremely serious offence. In your opinion, was his behaviour consistent with someone in that situation?”
“No, it was not.”
“So, in your opinion, he did not know they were there?”
“His behaviour suggested he didn’t know.”
“Isn’t that the same thing, Detective Inspector? What I think you’re saying is …”
“I think, Ms Prentiss,” the judge interrupted, “the Detective Inspector has answered your question. You asked for her opinion regarding the defendant’s behaviour. I paraphrase – ‘was this normal behaviour for someone on the point of being exposed as a serious offender?’ Answer; ‘no, it wasn’t’. That is clear enough. It is for the jury to decide whether that indicator is significant when considered along with everything else. I do not think you need to embellish the point by trying to draw any further conclusions from this witness.”
“Thank you, m’lord. In which case may I please ask again my penultimate question, which you seemed happy for the witness to answer, so I can ensure I have not inadvertently confused the court?”
The judge nodded, with a degree of impatience.
“Detective Inspector, in your opinion and experience, was the defendant’s behaviour consistent with someone who knew he was about to be arrested for a very serious crime?”
“No it was not,” said Jo.
“Thank you. No further questions.”
Jeremy Forsythe sprang to his feet.
“If it pleases, your honour, just two further questions to the Detective Inspector.”
The judge sighed his assent.
“DI Cottr
ell, in order to leave no doubt in the jury’s mind that I do value your opinion,” he beamed at Jo and then the jury, “could you answer me this? You told the court how the defendant, Mr Tomlinson-Brown, claimed his hurried clean-up operation behind his locked door was because he was concerned that you would discover certain magazines in his possession. Would you say these publications were in any way extreme in their content, in terms of the level of pornography, I mean? Any disturbing images, for example?”
“No, they were relatively mild.”
“Very mild, I would say, Detective Inspector. Now, in your opinion, is it likely that a highly intelligent young man of nearly twenty years could seriously believe the police would raid the Home Secretary’s house at five in the morning to confiscate some lads’ mags?”
Jo hesitated before replying. “I would have to say that it is unlikely, although it would explain why he seemed surprised that …”
“You would say it is unlikely that he would believe that,” the Prosecutor interrupted. “Thank you, Detective Inspector. No further questions, m’lord.”
Jo stepped down from the stand, glancing briefly towards Jack as she left the courtroom. Jeremy turned to the Judge.
“I would like to recall Detective Inspector Harry Waters to the stand, m’lord.”
*
“Under-Secretary Harding to see you, sir.”
“Send him in, please, Kim.”
Jonathan Latiffe stood to receive his visitor and leaned across his desk to shake his hand. The Minister of Justice was a huge man, six-foot-three inches tall with broad shoulders and a significant girth. A native Black South African of forty-five years, his tight curls had started to turn grey along with his neatly-trimmed full beard, adding a distinguished element to his impressive bulk. His eyes were deep blue and twinkled with life.
“Lawrence, do sit down,” he said.
His visitor seated himself on one of the wing chairs in front of the large oak desk with its green leather inlaid top as Jonathan settled back in his own chair. Kim Lacey, Jonathan’s PA, entered the office with a silver tray on which was a cafetiere, cups, saucers, milk and sugar. She placed it on the desk.
“Shall I …?” She looked at Jonathan.
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