‘Who discovered the supposed bloody thumb print on the bathroom tap?’ Charleston asked.
‘That was one of the Forensics team,’ Barnes replied confidently.
‘When you arrived at the scene, Constable Barnes, did you undertake any cursory examination of the property?’
‘I briefly scanned the property for any sign of life, in case the intruder was still present, but the place was empty.’
‘I see. Did you look in the victim’s bathroom during this cursory glance?’
‘I poked my head around the door, but that was all.’
‘And at what point did you look in the bathroom?’
‘I don’t understand the question.’
‘Apologies,’ said Charleston. ‘Let me rephrase: can you tell the court the manner in which you undertook your search of the property. Which rooms did you look in and when?’
‘I see. We opened the door into a small hallway, which led to the living room and bathroom. There was a smell coming from the living room and it was there that we found the body.’
‘Who is ‘we’?’
‘Police Constable Taylor and of course Mrs Bascombe; she was Miss Tropaz’s neighbour.’
‘The same neighbour who had discovered the body?’
‘That’s right, yes.’
‘I see, I see. So she entered the property with you?’
‘No. Mrs Bascombe opened the door of the flat for us but then we asked her to remain outside while my partner and I entered the living room.’
‘Just clarify for me, Constable Barnes, was this neighbour standing in the hallway or outside the property?’
Barnes thought for a second, not certain, but answered, ‘Outside.’
‘And was the door left open or was it closed?’
‘Open.’
‘Please continue Constable Barnes; where did you go next.’
‘My partner remained with the body while I entered the first bedroom, which was attached to the lounge and then headed to the kitchen. When they were both clear, I headed for the bathroom to check that it was also empty.’
‘And how long do you think this would have taken?’
‘How long? I’m not sure. Twenty seconds maybe? Maybe thirty seconds. It was certainly under a minute.’
‘And all this time, your colleague was standing by the body?’
‘That’s correct. It’s protocol that the body and any evidence are secured as quickly as possible.’
‘I know it is, Constable Barnes, but thank you for confirming it to the court. Where was Mrs Bascombe during this time?’
‘I told you, she was standing outside the property.’
‘That’s right, you did say that. Mrs Bascombe, the same neighbour who had discovered the body and called the police was standing outside the property with the front door open and probably three metres at most from the bathroom where the blood thumb print was located.’
‘That’s correct.’
‘Did your partner have her eyes on Mrs Bascombe the whole time that you were searching the bedroom and kitchen?’
‘No…well, I don’t…I’m not sure. You’d have to ask her that.’
‘Don’t worry Constable Barnes, I will do in due course. I have one more question for you, please: in your experience is it possible that while your partner was guarding the victim and you were out of sight for twenty to thirty seconds that somebody could have entered the bathroom and interfered with the apparatus in there?’
Barnes paused.
‘Would you like me to repeat the questions, Constable Barnes?’
He remained silent and then looked apologetically over at Collinghurst and Cat Jurdentaag. He then returned his gaze to Charleston as he answered, ‘Yes, it is possible.’ He was about to add that this had not happened and that he or his partner would have heard or noticed if someone entered the bathroom, but Charleston was already sitting down when he uttered, ‘No further questions.’
Collinghurst’s heart sank. She knew the defence had just played their first card: they had called into question the legitimacy of the thumb print found at the scene.
Judge Adams declared it was time to break for lunch and everyone shuffled from the court, leaving Cat and Elizabeth alone.
‘That wasn’t good, was it?’ Cat eventually offered.
Elizabeth turned, startled by the voice. ‘It wasn’t my finest moment,’ she admitted.
‘Do you think it will affect the jury’s decision?’
‘That depends on how well I can prove that he didn’t have an alibi for his whereabouts at the suspected time of death. Don’t worry, there is still a long way to go.’
‘How does someone do something like that?’
‘What? Murder?’
‘No, I mean the other barrister. How can he sleep at night, knowing he is defending someone who is guilty of such despicable crimes?’
‘Oh Charleston’s not all that bad. He is a smarmy trickster who knows how to pick holes in evidence and ask difficult questions, but he has morals. He would only take on the case if he believed that correct protocol had not been adequately followed, and if that is the case, then his client won’t have received a fair trial and therefore is right to be acquitted. It’s a strange system.’
‘You’re telling me!’
‘You did well yesterday.’
‘You think?’
‘Yes I do. I know he was attempting to discredit your story but I think you gave an honest enough account of what happened. It just hinges on me convincing the jury that he is responsible for the three crimes.’
‘The police reckon he is guilty of more than just these three. What do you think?’
‘Well, if he was capable of doing what he is accused of, then I’m sure he will have attempted to do it earlier. People like him practise the art of what they do, until they achieve the satisfaction they are searching for, no matter how gratuitous.’
‘Is that why you took this case?’
‘Sort of. Look, I need to do some preparation for this afternoon, would it be okay if you left the court now?’
Cat nodded her understanding and made her way back to the small canteen outside the room. She found Sharon at a small table with two Styrofoam cups of tea.
‘You look like you need this,’ Sharon said as Cat took the seat next to her.
10
THURSDAY
Judge Thomas Adams took a long slurp from the mug of coffee his wife had so kindly left for him on the breakfast bar, while he had been in the shower. He had not slept well. The trial he was serving on Crown vs. Green had lasted nine days so far, but now the end was very much in sight. The jury had been sent out, to deliberate all the evidence they had seen and heard, at eleven a.m. the previous morning and the Clerk of the Court had indicated at four forty-five the same day that a verdict had been reached on the main charge, that of the murder of Patricia Tropaz. The fact that verdicts had not been confirmed on the other two assault charges, suggested to Adams that the first outcome was likely to be guilty as the additional charges were made on the assumption of the first.
Whilst there was no scientific evidence to confirm Adams’ suspicions, a quick verdict, in his experience, often meant a guilty verdict. But he knew there was always a first time for him to be wrong. The case had affected him deeply, more so than any other he had ever presided over, yet he couldn’t quite decide why. He had heard a handful of sexual assault cases before and this was certainly not the first murder trial he had witnessed in his twenty years on the bench, but there was just something about this case.
‘Everything okay, dear?’ asked his wife over his shoulder when she saw how pensive he looked.
He forced a reassuring smile, ‘Just work, that’s all.’
The response seemed to pacify her as she wandered out to the garden to attack some weeds in a flower bed. Adams quickly glanced through the main headlines of the newspaper that had been delivered earlier but his mind kept returning back to Nathan Green and the photographic ev
idence provided by the police. Some of the accounts of what had happened to each of the three victims made his blood boil, and although he was required to remain impartial, he knew if he was responsible for the verdict, Green would already have been found guilty.
Adams finished dressing and made the short drive to Rickmansworth Underground Station and then caught the first train to Central London. He arrived at the Old Bailey at eight forty-five and entered his office to review the other impending cases that he could preside over. A little before twelve p.m. a knock on the door was followed by a message that the jury had now reached a verdict on all three charges. Adams wondered whether he should delay resuming court until after lunch but thought better of it and began to put on his robes. By twelve twenty, everyone was seated back in the courtroom and the foreman of the jury was asked to stand and read out the verdicts. There was a resounding cheer when the announcement was made: guilty on all three counts.
Unanimously.
Adams watched the defendant as the words were read out, looking for any kind of emotional response from him. He saw Green’s shoulders shrink slightly, and the smirk that he had worn since the first day was now gone, but there was little else to confirm Green had heard what had been said.
Adams ordered Green be taken back to the holding cells beneath the court until sentencing and once he was gone, he turned to the jury and thanked them sincerely for their careful deliberation, and urged them to consider themselves heroes for taking one more killer and rapist off the streets. Once the jury were dismissed, he declared that they would break for lunch and that sentencing would be later that afternoon.
Adams returned to his office and, opening his briefcase, he found a small paper bag containing a bacon and stilton roll. His wife had scrawled a handwritten note on the top corner of the bag: I know you’ll do the right thing, all my love!
He smiled as he read the message. He knew he was lucky to have her.
He picked up his fountain pen and began to write what would become his sentencing speech.
*
‘It always frustrates me,’ Adams began, when the court resumed, ‘when someone like you comes before me, Mr Green. Clearly you have come from a good background: your father and brother are present today in the courtroom to lend their support despite your despicable crimes. You have come from a background of privilege, afforded the opportunities that others in the country are not entitled to, and what have you done with it? Squandered it by recklessly breaking the law. You could have been anything you wanted to be, achieved a lifestyle that most would envy, and yet you chose to wilfully turn your back on the chances afforded you in order to pursue a perverse and painful path that would ultimately destroy the lives of the three victims in this case.’
Adams paused to look into the eyes of Green.
‘Your actions in nineteen ninety two were truly horrendous. What drove you to such deplorable deeds is simply beyond me and I fail to understand why you continue to show no remorse for what you have done. The family of Patricia Tropaz will never again be able to watch their daughter, sister and auntie laugh, sing or dance. You are the reason for that. They will now begin to grieve properly but I would confidently suspect that each of them would give anything just to have her back with them once more
‘Sarah Hanridge has been so deeply traumatised by the brutal assault you conducted on her that she could not even bring herself to set foot in the same room as you, instead reliving and relaying what happened on that terrible day to a group of strangers so that her words could be heard in this trial. She was a very promising doctor by all accounts but has been forced to turn her back on that vocation, all so that you could satisfy your twisted sexual fantasies. You should understand and consider the cost of your own gratification.
‘Cat Jurdentaag has shown immense bravery to stand before you and relive what you did to her. She told with pained resonance how you hand-picked her as a victim and refused to hear her pleas for mercy before you beat, slashed and raped her. She has shown incredible strength to be here but I am sure that her psychological scars are still very fresh and will remain so for some considerable time, if they ever heal. You picked on her like the merciless bully that you are and for that reason I believe that the sentence you receive for your horrid crimes should be suitably severe to adequately represent what you have done.
You have today been found guilty of murder in the first degree as well as three vicious sexual assaults. I will pass sentence for the crime of murder first. For that I do not believe that anything short of a life sentence will suffice. For the three sexual assaults, because of the degradation each victim was forced to endure, I believe that fifteen years a piece is fitting, with the latter three sentences to run concurrently. You will spend the next forty years in prison for your crimes, Mr Green, with no chance of parole until at least thirty years have been served. Please take him down!’
Adams watched as Green was led away and then looked over to where Cat Jurdentaag had sat for most of the trial. He could see a tear rolling down her cheek, and he imparted a smile and small nod of the head in her direction to indicate he meant every word he had said.
*
‘Are you ready for this?’ Sharon asked Cat as they walked out of the courtroom and sat down in the small canteen area, where they had rested so many times in the past fortnight. Cat knew Sharon was referring to the gathered journalists and photographers, who seemed to have doubled in number since the verdict had been delivered.
‘Do I have to speak to them?’
‘No, not at all,’ said Sharon, rubbing her hand reassuringly. ‘I’m sure Ms Collinghurst and Mr Charleston have probably already shared their thoughts on the verdict, and if they haven’t they will soon enough. Barristers love the limelight, that’s why they do so well in the courtroom. If you don’t feel like talking, you don’t have to. We can exit out the back again if you prefer, or we can hang about a bit longer until the throng has died down. It’s up to you.’
‘Thanks,’ said Cat, conscious that, with the case now over, Sharon was no longer responsible for her well-being. ‘Were you surprised by the sentence?’
Sharon considered the question for a moment before smiling, ‘I think we had a good judge on our side.’
‘I was surprised by his damning condemnation of him. I didn’t realise he could be so…blunt.’
Sharon smiled again, ‘As I said, I think we had a good one.’
‘If I do decide to…speak to them, what am I allowed to say or not say?’
‘I’m probably not the best person to ask…we have a media-relations contact I can put you in touch with…from my understanding you are free to say whatever you want from this point…within reason, that is. They probably wouldn’t print anything that couldn’t be substantiated…’
‘And if I were to…sell my story?’
Sharon smiled conspiratorially, ‘I can’t really comment on that, but,’ she added, glancing around to check that nobody was listening, ‘after what that bastard put you through, you should try and get every penny you can.’
Cat was relieved that Sharon hadn’t admonished her consideration. She had yet to decide whether she would give any interviews but she definitely wanted a holiday: a chance to escape the madness. Selling her story to the highest tabloid bidder could cover the cost of such a trip.
‘I think I’ll take the back exit again, if that’s okay? I’ll catch a taxi home or something.’
‘Don’t be silly, Cat. My car is parked around the corner; I’ll give you a lift home. It’s no bother.’
Cat thanked Sharon and the two women headed out to start the rest of their lives.
MONDAY 11 NOVEMBER 2013
11
Nathan Green sat up in bed and threw his legs over the side of the bunk, before hopping down. His cellmate was facing the wall, still snoring. Green put on his light grey jogging bottoms and dark grey sweatshirt. He glanced briefly at his reflection in the small tile of mirror on the window ledge. Despite his forty six
years of age, he had maintained a youthful and rugged complexion, something that had not particularly served him well since his incarceration two decades earlier. Not that he could really complain, he had been guilty of the three crimes he had been convicted of and more besides. His only regret was that he hadn’t cleaned the bathroom adequately enough after Patricia Tropaz had collapsed. He hadn’t meant to kill her but during the act he had placed his hands around her throat to increase the sensation; he had got lost in the moment and she had inadvertently asphyxiated. He had spent an hour wiping all the surfaces that he might have come into contact with but had failed to consider the taps where he had washed his hands before leaving. His barrister had seemed confident of getting that particular piece of evidence dismissed as unsound due to the opportunity somebody would have had to plant it when the police had failed to adequately secure the crime scene. His barrister later claimed that the judge was the only one who could have ruled it as inadmissible but had been hell bent on allowing the evidence to stand. Charleston had offered to appeal the case on Green’s behalf but he had decided against it after the original trial had wiped out his few savings.
There was a rumour circulating that an imminent cell search was to be carried out, so, reaching around the bottom of the cell’s drainage pipe, he removed the small shiv he had crafted from a plastic comb. He knew the weapon wasn’t up to the standards of other inmates but if he was jumped on, he would be able to take at least one with him. He ran his finger along the pointed tip and was disappointed that it failed to draw any blood; it was about as useful as a biro in terms of a weapon, but it would have to do. He never knew when it might come in useful. He slipped the item into his trouser pocket and began to brush his teeth.
He had already served twenty years of his two life sentences and on the whole, he had made the most of his incarceration, studying for and obtaining a degree in art history, a subject that had always interested him. He had also behaved well enough to earn additional privileges, including a small patch of garden in the prison’s allotments. There he was able to grow a small selection of perennials, and he found the process of planting and nurturing quite cathartic. It was this that had helped keep his other desires firmly in check. He had determined quite early that the best way to complete his time was to behave well; after all parole boards rarely looked favourably on trouble makers. He was also conscious of how rapists were viewed by the prison officers who looked after the wing and knew that they wouldn’t hesitate to turn a blind eye to rough treatment if it was inflicted on a trouble maker. He wanted to stay on the right side of his captors, and that meant doing as he was told, and going out of his way to curry favour. There were a couple of guards that he had provided some gardening advice to, and he knew they would keep an eye on him when he was out and about. It didn’t provide much security, but it was better than nothing.
Trespass (P.I. Johnson Carmichael Series - Book 2) Page 6