A Private and Convenient Place

by Michael G T Stokes

  ‘Very well. We’ll have a short break before the next witness,’ said the judge. ‘Ten minutes, members of the jury.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘What did you think of him?’ asked one of the jurors as he gulped down a rather tepid coffee in the jury room that had been assigned to them by the attentive jury bailiff.

  ‘I don’t really know,’ replied a female juror. ‘I think it’s too early to reach any conclusions yet. There are quite a few other witnesses to come.’

  ‘I don’t know about you,’ interrupted the youth with the tattoos, who’d asked the other jurors to call him Jimmy, ‘but I reckon he was really taken with her. Mind you, who wouldn’t be? She’s a real beauty.’

  ‘But she’s not for the likes of us,’ said another young juror, slightly older looking than Jimmy. ‘You’d have to be pretty loaded before she would show any interest in you.’

  ‘Do you think he knew she was pregnant?’ asked the woman, who introduced herself as Hannah Mathews, a nurse at the Queen’s Medical Centre. ‘She must have been at least three months gone by then, so he must be very unobservant if he didn’t notice anything, especially as they shared a bedroom for nearly a week. But I suppose some men are like that.’

  ‘Well, there must be a reason why he never managed to get anywhere with her. I’d not have been able to keep may hands of her, know what I mean?’ said Jimmy.

  ‘I don’t think we should jump to any conclusions yet,’ cautioned Miss Duston as she drew a thermos flask from her handbag. ‘The defence barrister obviously knows what he’s doing. I suspect he was laying the ground to undermine some of the later witnesses. I must say, I do find the case very interesting. Much better than sitting at home doing The Daily Telegraph crossword!’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Jimmy, ‘and what was all that about motorcycle boots. I can’t see her in motor cycle boots, not dressed like she was.’

  ‘That’s what I mean. If you remember what the Attorney-General said when opening the case, the prosecution reckon she went to Hastings on the same day she had dinner with Savage in London. If she did, she’d have had to have moved very quickly to get from Hastings to London. A motorcycle seems the obvious means of transport.’

  ‘She could have got the train,’ said another juror. ‘My husband used to work on Southern Rail. There’s lots of trains between Hastings and various London stations, Charing Cross for one.’

  ‘But how did she get to Hastings from Leicester? That’s the real question and we haven’t heard anything about that yet.’

  ‘I can’t see it,’ said Jimmy, rolling up his sleeve and examining the tattoo on his left arm. ‘She’d hardly have travelled all that way in a little blue dress on a motor bike.’ He paused. And she didn’t have a bag with her. Savage was quite clear about that. And another thing, does she even have a motorbike? We haven’t heard anything about a motorbike, have we?’

  ‘Perhaps someone else gave her a lift?’ suggested Hannah Mathews. ’Isn’t that what the prosecutor said?’

  ‘Yeah, but he didn’t say who that was did he?’

  ‘Let’s just wait and see, shall we,’ said Miss Duston, finishing her coffee and twisting the top back onto her thermos flask. ‘There’s a long way to go yet.’

  * * * *

  The next witness was Sara Howick-Baker, the immediate neighbour of Julia Hamilton’s mother in Thrussington. She recollected seeing both Julia and her mother over the week-end of the twelfth of March 1999. But she had seen no sign of life at Sycamore Cottage after lunch time on the Sunday. She agreed when questioned by Everdene that it was perfectly possible that they had left sometime that afternoon. Then, she suddenly remembered a taxi pulling up outside just after six o’clock. She didn’t see who got into it – she insisted that she was not a nosey neighbour – but the property was obviously unoccupied when she and her husband got up early for work the next morning.

  ‘Mrs Hamilton had mentioned she was going back to Portugal when I spoke with her very briefly on the Saturday.’

  ‘You have no recollection of a motorcycle calling at Sycamore Cottage?’ asked Everdene

  ‘You mean over that week-end?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘No. But years ago when Julia was still a young teenager, her father had a motorcycle. I remember that.’

  ‘You remember her father had a motorcycle?’

  ‘Oh, yes. But he died several years ago and I know Margaret got rid of it.’

  ‘Margaret?’

  ‘Mrs Hamilton. That’s her name, although we all knew her as Peggy in the village in those days.’

  ‘How do you know that she got rid of the bike?’

  The witness looked at Everdene as if he came from another planet.

  ‘Because my husband bought it off her, that’s how! He doesn’t have it any more. He traded it in for a newer model about five years ago.’

  Everdene decided to sit down. Deciding when to sit down is a much undervalued skill when it comes to criminal advocacy. The court then rose for lunch.

  ‘Another bit of good fortune,’ said Felicity Gerrard as she and her leader made their way to the robing room. ‘I wonder why our client never mentioned that her father had a motorcycle?’

  ‘It was some time ago,’ replied Everdene, ‘and she probably didn’t think it significant, but you can go down and ask her after we’ve had a bite to eat if you like. I didn’t want to push things any further with that witness. There’s no saying what she might have come out with.’

  ‘She certainly didn’t harm us. If Julia Hamilton had been picked up by a motorcyclist her neighbour would definitely have known about it.’

  ‘But it doesn’t explain the motor cycle leathers. They put her in close connection with Doyle, which we could do without.’

  ‘Doyle used to have a bike. That’s clear from the unused material. Cronshaw won’t dispute that.’

  ‘I’d have much preferred it if he hadn’t.’

  * * * *

  In the afternoon, Edward Markham-Moore read out a number of agreed statements, including those of Judge Campion and his wife. The jury sat open-mouthed, mesmerised by the events described in great detail. Hannah Mathews had to fight back the tears when she heard Mrs Campion’s account of how she and her son were manhandled and placed in a damp, dark cellar, not knowing what fate awaited them. He then called the stylist from the hair salon. Hayley Nugent was an attractive woman in her middle twenties with long mid-brown hair. She was casually but fashionably dressed and had no hesitation in answering the questions put to her. She explained that Julia Hamilton was in the salon for well over an hour that afternoon and that she had tried to make a telephone call using her mobile phone.

  ‘She couldn’t get a signal,’ said the stylist. ‘She seemed quite frustrated about it. Mind you, it’s very difficult to get a signal in the village. Very hit and miss.’

  ‘Did you chat to her while you were doing her hair? I believe that is what usually happens?’

  ‘Yes. I asked her if she was going somewhere special that evening and she said she was going to a big dinner in Leicester.’

  ‘Did she say with whom?’

  ‘Oh, yes. She was quite open about it. Some important barrister, she said, but I don’t remember his name.’

  ‘You can lead on it,’ whispered Everdene.

  ‘Bill Savage?’

  ‘That’s it, yes. She said he was picking her up from her mother’s house on Rearsby Road later on. She wanted me to do a particularly good job on her hair, not that you could do anything else. She has lovely hair. It’s quite exceptional.’ Hayley stole a glance towards the dock.

  ‘Was she a regular client?’

  ‘Pretty much, yes. But she’s got such beautiful hair that she doesn’t need as much attention as some. But I would see her four or five times a year, I guess.’

  ‘Over what
sort of period of time?’

  ‘Well, I’ve worked there for about four years and she’s been coming fairly regularly during that time.’

  ‘Do you remember how she would get there – if she wasn’t at her mother’s cottage?’

  ‘She sometimes arrived and left by taxi. I rang for one a couple of times. She would usually be going to Leicester. She had a really nice apartment there, she told me.’

  ‘But not on this occasion?’

  ‘No. I told you. She was staying at her mother’s.’

  ‘Did you see her mother that week-end?’

  ‘As a matter of fact I did. I saw her in the pub the following day. At lunchtime. I said hello. She’s one of my customers too. But she’s abroad a lot. She has a villa in Portugal, you know.’

  Cronshaw tugged at Markham-Moore’s gown. ‘That’ll do.’

  Markham-Moore sat down. Everdene was very brief with the witness. He was only interested in the telephone box by the village green.

  ‘You never saw Miss Hamilton using the telephone box across from the salon?’

  ‘No. If she couldn’t get a signal, she would use our phone. Like I said, she did phone for a taxi sometimes. It’s terrible in the village you know. I’ve had to go to up the Seagrave Road to get a signal sometimes. You know, when I wanted to get in touch with my boyfriend. I couldn’t do that in the salon. Too many ears.’

  ‘You have my sympathy. Can you remember what time Miss Hamilton arrived for her appointment?’

  ‘I don’t remember her being late. She was usually on time. Unlike some I could mention.’

  ‘And the appointment was at two o’clock?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was she, perhaps, a little early?’

  The witness paused. ‘She might have been. I seem to remember I hadn’t quite finished with the one-thirty. So she might have been. That was just a cut and blow dry, Yes, I remember now, the one-thirty was a bit late arriving and Julia had to wait. Just a minute or two.’

  ‘You can see the telephone box from the window of the salon?

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You didn’t see anyone using it that afternoon?’

  ‘No, not that I looked. And as I remember there was a removal lorry parked opposite the salon for most of the afternoon, so I couldn’t have seen it anyway.’

  ‘Thank you. One last thing. What was the weather like that day, can you remember?’

  ‘It was fine, as I recall. Mind you it had been throwing it down the day before. The floor inside the salon was quite wet when we arrived for work. Some water had got in under the door. I remember helping to clean it up.’

  ‘No further questions’

  Markham-Moore had only one question in re-examination.

  ‘So, you cannot say precisely when Julia Hamilton arrived at the salon?’

  ‘Not really, no. But she was never late. I always noticed her time-keeping. She was very good about that.’

  The judge thanked the witness and told her she could leave.

  ‘Can’t I stay, sir. I’ve taken the day off and I’ve never been involved in a trial before. It’s very exciting.’

  Is it? thought the judge. He smiled.

  ‘Of course. Just take a seat in the public area, if you can find one.’

  Cronshaw then dealt with the tape recording of the call made from the telephone box on the village green in Thrussington. Cronshaw first read to the jury an admission that Everdene had agreed. The call was timed, he told the jury, at precisely 1.57pm and 54 seconds and lasted exactly one minute and twenty-six seconds. The call therefore finished forty seconds before 2pm. It would have taken about fifteen seconds to walk quickly from the telephone box to the salon, assuming the individual concerned walked across the green. It would have taken nearly a minute and a half to follow the road around the green.

  He then called Dr Peter Rogerson, the forensic phonetics expert. As the court waited for the witness, Cronshaw very fairly pointed out that the prosecution was calling him simply to demonstrate that the defendant could not definitely be excluded as the caller. The Crown was not seeking to prove by expert evidence that the voice on the tape was the defendant’s. It was the surrounding circumstances from which the jury would be invited to infer that it must have been her. The other party to the conversation was undoubtedly Grayling. That much was agreed. Peter Rogerson came into the courtroom carrying a large bag. He took the oath, gave his name and stated his numerous qualifications then listened intently as the tape was played.

  ‘Is that the best we can do?’ asked the judge, unhelpfully, as the recording came to an end. ‘It’s very difficult to make out what is being said.’

  ‘We shall provide an agreed transcript,’ countered Cronshaw, ‘after Dr Rogerson has completed his evidence.’

  The judge nodded.

  ‘Very sensible. Could we not see that now?’

  ‘Very well.’

  Copies of the transcript were produced and handed by the usher to the jury, one between two. An additional copy was handed to the judge. The witness then explained how he had carefully enhanced the recording before comparing it against several recordings of Julia Hamilton’s voice captured on tape during her cautioned interviews. There were several similarities both in tone and pronunciation, but few words were replicated when comparing the tape with her interviews. He was unable to say that it was her voice on the tape.

  ‘There is too much distortion,’ he added. ‘I cannot exclude the possibility that it may have been someone else. I must also point out that this area of scientific forensic examination is still in its early stages of development and such evidence must be treated with considerable caution.’

  The judge directed that the recording be played again. The whole court listened in silence. Defence counsel then stood to cross-examine. Everdene’s questioning of Dr Rogerson followed the research Felicity Garrard had recently carried out.

  ‘It would be quite unsafe, would it not, Dr Rogerson, for the jury to proceed on the basis that the voice on the tape is that of the defendant?’

  ‘Based on my findings alone, yes.’

  ‘Indeed, it could well be the case that the voice is that of someone else entirely?’

  ‘Yes, that’s perfectly possible. Based on the scientific evidence alone.’

  ‘The distortion on the tape makes a precise assessment and comparison very difficult?’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘And as you have already said, this forensic technique is still in its early stages of development?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And recordings from telephone calls present a particular difficulty, do they not?’

  ‘Yes. The signal carries insufficient information. It doesn’t really allow for graded distinctions. And, as I said, the distortion doesn’t help.’

  ‘You have provided us with voiceprints.’

  ‘Yes.’

  The judge interrupted.

  ‘Has the jury seen copies?’

  ‘No, my Lord. And for a very good reason. My learned friend and I agree they are not reliable. Isn’t that so. Dr Rogerson?’

  The witness nodded.

  ‘Voice print analysis is just as problematical as sound comparisons. In this case, in particular. Because the original recording is from a telephone call, the difficulties simply multiply. I would not place any reliance on voiceprints in this case at all.’

  ‘It is also right, is it not, that in the United States and elsewhere there have been several miscarriages of justice because convictions have been based on unreliable so-called scientific comparisons?’

  ‘So it has been suggested. My field of expertise should only be used to exclude a suspect. It is never enough on its own to convict anyone, unless the case were exceptional. It is much safer to look to other evidence. In this case, I cannot exclude the defendant as
being the person who made the call, but I cannot say and do not say that it is definitely her voice. And one has to consider the possibility of the speaker attempted to disguise his or her voice.’

  ‘This is, in fact, a very controversial area, is it not?’

  ‘Where it is misused, yes. But in this country, we are very careful to keep the technique within its proper parameters. I suspect in years to come, as techniques improve, greater certainty will be possible.’

  ‘And you would expect to find some similarities between almost any two speakers?’

  ‘Unless they had decidedly different accents, yes. The speaker in this recording was fairly typical of a well spoken and educated woman from this part of the UK.’

  Everdene sat down. Cronshaw re-examined.

  ‘Of course, Dr Rogerson, it is equally possible that the caller was deliberately trying to disguise her voice?’

  ‘Oh yes. That is not uncommon in my experience and easily done. The distortion in this recording suggests to me that the caller was holding something between her mouth and the phone. That is also quite common. In my opinion, there’s no other sensible explanation for what we hear on the tape. Some sort of obstruction is definitely present. Of course, in my laboratory that aspect of the matter is much clearer than when we listen to it here in the courtroom. The technical equipment here is of a pretty low standard.’

  He looked contemptuously towards the table on which the recorder and speakers were placed.

  ‘We must do the best we can, re-joined Cronshaw. ‘Thank you very much, unless your Lordship has any questions?’

  ‘Just one,’ said the judge. ‘If the voice is disguised, how can you be so sure that it was a female speaking? Surely, there must be cases where a man disguises his voice as that of a woman and vice-versa?’

  ‘Yes, my Lord. That sort of thing does sometimes happen and I cannot exclude it being the case here, although I think it unlikely. In a murder trial in which I gave evidence nearly two years ago, the person who made the nine-nine-nine call to the emergency services disguised his voice as a female. He was a particularly good mimic. It misled the police for quite some time.’