A few minutes later the body of the court was empty. Two policemen reappeared, escorting the red-haired man. He was offering no resistance and looked puzzled.
“Bring him up here,” said Norrie. “I want your name and address.”
“You’ve got no right. I’ve done nothing.”
“Concealing your identity and your address when questioned by a magistrate or policeman is an offence. I’ll have you held in custody until you produce it.”
The man appeared to be thinking about this. Then he said, “Ernest Simpson. 3 Hornsey Lane Gardens, N6.”
“Evidence of identity.”
The red-headed man fumbled in his pocket and finally produced a banker’s card and a driving licence. It seemed possible that he really was Mr. Simpson.
Nome said, “You’re a long way from home, Mr. Simpson. What brings you down here?”
“I read the papers.”
“And that’s the only reason?”
“I didn’t need a reason. This is a free country.”
Norrie was puzzled by the accent, which seemed to be deliberately flat and classless. All the same, an educated man.
“Well, Mr. Simpson,” he said, “you’ll be charged with a breach of the peace, obstruction of the police and the much more serious offence of attempting to obstruct the course of justice. When we’ve verified your address you may go.” He then turned to the Clerk. “Continue reading the charge against these five accused, if you please, Mr. Combs.”
The proceedings which followed were very brief. Nabbs, looking ruffled, applied for an adjournment. Dan Sullivan, who seemed to have enjoyed his unusual morning in the sticks said that the defence had no objection. Mr. Norrie said, “In view of what happened this morning, you will understand me if I say that we want no unnecessary delays in this case. I’ll adjourn it for fourteen days. Can the prosecution be ready in that time?”
“I’m sure they’ll do their best,” said Mr. Nabbs.
“The defence also,” said Sullivan.
When Eric Lording arrived at the Brixton Remand Centre the warder, who knew him, let him straight in and took him down to the Interview Room.
“Normally,” he said, “that is, usually, you get half an hour for an interview, but seeing there are five of them we could stretch a point and call it an hour.”
“I doubt if I shall need as long as that,” said Lording with a smile.
When he went in the young policeman, who had been standing by the window, went out, shutting the heavy door behind him. What Lording saw was five boys dressed in the scruffy everyday clothes of youth.
What they saw was a man dressed in a neat black coat, a white shirt and well creased pin-striped trousers. The only splash of colour was the tie he was wearing, dark blue with light blue diagonal stripes.
Lording sat down at the table, opened his notebook and said, “Right. Now let’s get to know each other.”
After five minutes he had identified them against the names in the charge sheet and was clear that the tall, solemn one, Salim Kahn, was the leader. He addressed most of his remarks to him. He said, “Your father has instructed the firm of Macintyres—” A pause for reaction, but the name clearly meant nothing to them. “Well, they’re a big outfit in the City. I believe he got in touch with them through your Probation Officer, Mr. Leone—” yes, they knew about him, “And I, in turn, was instructed to handle your defence. At the start, that is. Later on there’ll be a leader involved.”
“A leader?” said Salim. “You mean a QC? Why do we need all that?”
“It’s early days to say what you’re going to need. But there are one or two things I have to make as plain to you as I can, now, right at the start.”
Five pairs of eyes centred on him.
“What you’re charged with is being concerned with taking four bags of cordite from an army store. There are two quite different ways that this could be looked at. One way would be to call it a fairly innocent prank. You meant to cause an explosion – Guy Fawkes plus, you might call it – and give the other boys you’d been feuding with a bad fright.”
Four heads nodded emphatically. Salim, he noted, remained impassive.
“The alternative version is much more serious and could lead to charges of arson and possibly murder.” He paused to give the words their full effect. “But whichever path the prosecution takes, it seems to me that it would be useless, indeed possibly dangerous, to deny that you took the cordite. The soldier concerned, Sapper Sunley, has made a statement about this. We could suggest that he was bullied by the Military Police; I expect you remember that case in Cyprus. But if we try to shake his evidence and fail, the impression will be that you’ve got something to hide. And that will lead people to believe that you had got more serious plans for using the stuff. You follow me?”
They all nodded, but Lording realised that only Salim was following him properly, and that he had possibly worked it out for himself already.
“Then before I ask you any questions, let me make one further point. If you tell me anything but the truth, you’re tying my hands behind my back.”
“There is no cause for anything but the truth,” said Salim. “I persuaded Sunley to steal the explosive.”
“You. Not your sister?”
“My sister had nothing to do with it. It was I who persuaded him.”
Lie number one, thought Lording. But understandable.
“What you said about its use is true. We intended no harm to any person. That was the object of the time-fuse.”
“Explain about that.”
“It was not difficult. This book explained it. You needed a clock. A cheap alarm clock was best.”
“You had one?”
“No. We stole it. From a shop in the High Street. That seemed the safest way. We removed the minute hand and bored a hole in the face of the clock beside the number eight. One wire from a battery was sticking out through this hole. The other was fastened to the central pin behind the minute hand. The opposite ends of the wires would go to a detonator. None of that was difficult to me. I work in an electrical firm.”
“What about the detonator?”
“That was more difficult. It is a small copper tube, you understand, with a primary charge at one end and a plug at the other.”
“You got this out of a book, too?”
“Yes. From an engineering manual. It was the most difficult part. The book spoke of a match head inside the detonator. It did not explain what it was, but I concluded it was stuff which would heat up when the wires were connected. After some experiments I produced one which I thought would work.”
“You thought?” said Lording sharply. “Explain, please. You mean you never tried it?”
“We had no opportunity. When we heard of the explosion we took everything, that same night: the bags of powder, the clock and the detonator and dropped them in the river.”
Lording sat staring at him, for a long moment, in silence.
“Well,” said Brace, “did you recognise any of the men who attacked – what was his name – Ghulam Kahn?”
“Oh yes, sir,” said Sergeant Ames. “They were local characters. I recognised almost all of them.”
“Then why haven’t they been charged?”
“Ghulam refused to make a complaint.”
“A citizen doesn’t have to complain. You saw a crime being committed, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir. But—”
“But what?”
“I had a word with Ghulam as we were going home. He said that if we started any proceedings, he would deny that any attack had taken place.”
“Deny it?”
“Yes, sir. He’d say I’d made the whole thing up.”
“He must have been scared stiff,” said Wynn-Thomas.
“Oh, he was sir. What he said was, he was sure there was bad trouble coming and he didn’t want to be, what he called, a target.”
“Pity it had to be Ames,” said Brace, after Sergeant Ames had shambled out. “
We’ve got officers on this force would have gone for the nearest trouble maker, no matter what the odds were. Then we should, at least, have had a charge of assaulting the police.”
“It takes all sorts to make a police force. When Ghulam talked about trouble I suppose he was thinking of this meeting.”
“No doubt,” said Brace. He had picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. “Kind of them to send us a copy.” The heading was in scarlet letters, ‘The Wick Lane Massacre Action Committee’. It announced that a public meeting would be held at 6 pm on Thursday November 27th at the Victory Club in Berridge Road.
“You realise why they chose that particular title,” said Wynn-Thomas. “It was the name of the committee the West Indians formed after the New Cross fire. Now the boot’s on the other foot. You see the idea?”
“I can see they’re asking for trouble,” said Brace. “And I’m proceeding on that assumption. I’ve applied to District for help. They’re sending us thirty men and three vans. All leave will be stopped here, as from tonight. Will you get out the necessary order?”
“Will do,” said Wynn-Thomas. It was one of the moments when he was glad Brace was in charge, not him. He added, “I almost forgot to tell you. We’ve had one bit of luck. Lampeter – he owns that shop in the High Street that sells Army Surplus stuff and things of that sort. He says there was a group of boys in there about a fortnight ago, fooling round near the door. He thought they were up to no good and chased them out. When he was checking stock later he discovered that a clock was missing. One of the cheap tinny alarm clocks. There’s so much shoplifting and this particular item was so unimportant that he didn’t think it was worth reporting.”
“Being overinsured also,” suggested Brace.
“Maybe so. Anyway, when he read the report of the inquest and the suggestion of some timing device, he started to put two and two together and came along.”
“Did he recognise the boys?”
“Not all of them. But the two Rahmans definitely. He knows their father who’s a locksmith and does work for him.”
“And he won’t be scared to give evidence – like Ghulam?”
“You’ve got this wrong,” said Wynn-Thomas. “He’ll be absolutely delighted to give evidence. He’s on the popular side, this time.”
On Wednesday morning Anthony was in a second-class carriage, sitting beside Azam Kahn, who had summoned him urgently by telephone.
“Salim is a sensible boy,” he said. “Very level-headed. He does not take wild or extravagant views. I was allowed to speak to him, you understand, yesterday evening.”
“And you say he didn’t approve of Mr. Lording?”
“He recognises that he is an experienced and skilful advocate. What he said was, he is not really on our side. That was why he wished us to see him, so that we could form our own opinion.”
“Does Mr. Sullivan know that I am coming too?”
“Yes. He does not object.”
The train they were in was a stopping one. Up to that point the carriage had been empty. Now it started to fill up. People got in, people got out. Irritatingly it was never empty again. When they arrived at Charing Cross Anthony said, “Our appointment isn’t until eleven. We’ve got plenty of time. Why don’t we walk?” Azam agreed at once. Clearly he had something on his mind.
They made their way down Villiers Street and out on to the Embankment. The pavement on the riverside was clear. When they reached Temple station they still had twenty minutes in hand and sat down, overlooking the river. The tide was making, pushing the grey waters upstream towards Westminster Bridge. For a full minute Azam sat staring ahead of him. Then he said, “I have a question to ask you, Mr. Lee-own.”
“Shoot,” said Anthony.
“Do you think that violence should be met by violence?”
“No, I don’t. Violence, counter-violence, more violence.”
Azam thought about this.
“You remember, when I first spoke to you, I said that some years ago there had been much in the papers about the sport of Pakibashing. And that it had stopped. I understand that one reason for this is that the people who were being hit were prepared to hit back.”
“Self-defence. Certainly. But not counter-attack.”
“You think that would be wrong?”
“Not wrong. Injudicious. And now will you tell me why you asked me?”
“I have been approached by a number of our people. They wish to set up an organisation.”
“You already have one. The Community Relations Council.”
“An organisation prepared to fight. Not just to talk.”
“I’ve told you my answer to that. There are times and places where a militant organisation might be necessary. But not in this country, not now. You have the protection of the law. That should be sufficient.”
“And do you think that the law extends into the back streets and housing estates of London?”
“Yes,” said Anthony shortly. “I do.” He certainly hoped so. The alternatives were uncomfortable. Nothing more was said as they walked up Essex Street and climbed the steps that led to the Middle Temple.
When they reached the building to which they had been directed Anthony stopped to check the names painted inside the entrance hall.
“Can this be right?” said Azam. “It seems to be the residence of a number of noblemen.”
The list was headed by Lord Winterhouse and Lord St George. Below them were four knights and three names prefaced by the word Judge. Below that again more than twenty names. Eric Lording was about two-thirds of the way down the list.
“I think the top two must be Law Lords,” said Anthony. “The ‘Sirs’ will be High Court Judges. The ‘Judges’ are people who function in the Crown Courts. Come on. They can’t eat us.”
The Clerk, who had the bearing and presence of a family butler, seemed pleased to see them. Dan Sullivan was already there, talking to one of the Junior Clerks. They were led up a flight of polished stairs, along a carpeted passage hung with framed legal caricatures, to one of the rooms at the end. The Clerk went in first. There was a murmur of voices and he came out, followed by two beautifully dressed young men.
“Just clearing the decks for you,” said Lording. “Please sit down.” And when they had found seats, “As I think you know I saw my five clients last night. What they told me disturbed me. Very considerably. They admit that they took the explosive. That was sensible, as I told them. There is no point in contesting the evidence of Sunley on that point unless we are sure we can shake it. They then went further. It seems that they had made all the necessary preparations to explode the cordite. They had succeeded in manufacturing a detonator and had constructed a time-fuse out of a clock which they stole from a shop in the High Street.”
“Stole?” said Sullivan. “They admit that?”
“Yes. What they actually said was that stealing seemed the safest way.”
“And now that they have told you,” said Azam, “will you have to tell the prosecution?”
“Certainly not. I shall say nothing about it. But it may be awkward if your son was asked about it when he gives evidence.”
Sullivan said, “Have you decided to call him?”
“We shall have to, if we are to run either of the defences which are open to us. But I have not yet told you the really disturbing information which I received. It seems” – Lording was speaking more slowly now – “that when they heard of the explosion in Wick Lane they immediately threw all the stolen cordite, and the other items, into the river.”
Sullivan said, “Christ!” under his breath.
“You see the vital importance of this, of course. Four pounds of cordite are known to have been stolen. If we could have produced them, the more serious case would have fallen to the ground. If we can’t, then the situation, as I see it, is simply this. The Army has reported – it is in the newspapers – that all their other stores of explosive have been checked and found correct. Private firms that handle explosive cann
ot give such a blanket clearance, but there is no reason to suppose that they do not take the sort of precautions that the Clipstone Chairman mentioned in his letter. So – if the explosive was not this stolen cordite – where did it come from?”
There was a long silence. Then Sullivan said, “You mentioned possible defences.”
“Two lines are open to us. The first is to deny that this explosion was caused by cordite. I thought that the evidence of Major Webster was not very convincing. First he thought it was open-cast gelignite. Now he thinks it might be cordite. To run that line we should want a top-class scientific expert prepared to give evidence.”
“Might not be easy to find,” said Sullivan “I agree. The more hopeful line, in my view, is to persuade the court that the disaster was accidental. That the accused had no intention of harming anyone. I found their statements convincing on that point. And that is why we shall have to put at least one of them in the box.”
“And if you get home on that, you reduce the charge to theft and arson?”
“I am afraid that is unavoidable.”
Azam said, suddenly and angrily, “Do you think that my boys and their friends murdered the white boys?”
“That is a question you must never ask Counsel,” said Lording. “His job is to present the best case on behalf of his clients. His own belief in innocence or guilt is immaterial.”
After Azam had stalked out, followed by Anthony, Sullivan said, “I’ve heard you give that little homily on Counsel’s duty before, but I’ve rarely heard it go down so badly.”
“It’s difficult for a layman to understand the rigid rules which constrain members of the Bar.”
“Difficult for solicitors too, sometimes. But now that we are off the record, tell me, what do you think happened?”
“I think that the Pakistanis did construct an explosive device. I think they managed to conceal it in the headquarters of their opponents. I am fairly certain they did not intend it to go off until much later that night, when the place would be empty. By their account it was set on an eight hour delay. They weren’t experts. They made a mistake and the thing went off prematurely. That’s the only explanation that accords with the facts.”
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