A Private and Convenient Place

by Michael G T Stokes

  Cronshaw decided to reveal the absence of the Attorney.

  ‘I would like him to be here when I call Duffy. He’s dealing with Hanlon tomorrow and he needs to hear what Duffy’s says.’

  ‘Where is he?’ asked Everdene. ‘I thought he would be here by now.’

  ‘Important government business in London. He’s supposed to be on the train that gets in at eleven–o-five.’

  Everdene glanced at his watch.

  ‘He’s cutting it fine!’

  ‘Well the judge won’t wait for him, whatever the reason,’ said Marcus. He wants to get on. I’ll go and have a word with him, but I can’t promise anything.’

  Fifteen minutes later the judge came into court followed by the High Sheriff, resplendent in his black velvet suit, jabot and sword. The usher had warned the jurors the High Sheriff was sitting with the judge and as they walked into court they cast only a fleeting glance in his direction. Jimmy Murphy looked paler than usual as he slumped into his seat. He would not be taking in much of the evidence this day. He was not ill, merely paying the penalty for a night of excessive drinking with the man he had signed into the Irish Club. He had made a mental promise to avoid alcohol for the rest of the week and as if to underline his promise, he was wearing his dark suit and a tie. Miss Duston almost failed to recognise him.

  ‘You’re OK are you?’ asked the judge, looking in his direction. Jimmy nodded but said nothing. ‘It is important, members of the jury, that we try and start on time. It’s very expensive running these courts. Do try and remember that.’

  He looked towards Markham-Moore who had remained standing.

  ‘Marta Lenaerts, please She will need the interpreter, my Lord.’

  ‘Very well.’

  The French interpreter stepped forward as Marta came into the courtroom. Marta looked about her and was gently directed towards the witness box. The interpreter stated his name and took the oath, undertaking to interpret faithfully and true explanation make of everything said by the witness. Marta then took the oath following the words spoken by the usher – in English. The judge smiled.

  ‘So you speak some English?’

  ‘Of course,’ she replied in a heavily accented voice. ‘Most people in Belgium do. I will need ‘elp with some words – maybe.’

  The judge looked at counsel. ‘Take your own course Mr Markham-Moore, but shall we try and stick to English if we can? The interpreter can assist where necessary.’

  Counsel asked the witness to state her full name and occupation then turned to the question of the Defendant’s suitcases.

  ‘You were the chambermaid who cleaned the Malmaison suite on the seventh floor of the Steingenberger Grandhotel in Brussels when Mr Savage and Miss Hamilton – he pointed to the dock – stayed there at Easter last year?’

  ‘I know that!’ replied Marta indignantly.

  ‘Do you remember the lady?’

  Marta glanced at the dock. ‘Yes. The beautiful English lady.’

  ‘Do you remember her luggage?’

  ‘Pardon?

  The interpreter intervened. ‘Les bagages.’

  Marta nodded. ‘Oui – yes.’

  ‘Do you remember the style of the bagages?’

  ‘Of course. It was, ‘ow you say, very expensive. Diane Von Furstenberg – deux pieces.’

  ‘Two cases,’ translated the interpreter.

  ‘One case was larger than the other?’

  ‘Of course.

  ‘What happened to the larger one?

  ‘C’est disparu.’

  ‘It disappeared,’ explained the interpreter.

  ‘One day it was there – then it was gone.’

  ‘When did it disappear?’

  ‘The second day. It was there in the morning. Not there in the evening.’

  ‘Did you see it again?’

  ‘Non.’

  ‘The other case, you saw that?’

  ‘Yes. It was there all the time.’

  ‘There were two beds in the suite?’

  ‘Yes, there are two beds in all the suites on that floor.’

  ‘Were they both occupied?’

  ‘Yes. The lady did not sleep with the gentleman.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  Marta smiled.

  ‘Je connais ces choses. I know!’

  She looked at the jury, smiled more broadly and nodded her head.

  ‘Merci, madame.’

  Markham-Moore sat down.

  Felicity Garrard, a fluent French speaker, stood to cross-examine. Everdene appreciated this witness was a potential problem. By letting his junior question her, he hoped the jury would regard her evidence as peripheral or unimportant.

  ‘Tell us about the gentleman’s bagages.’

  ‘What you want to know?

  ‘What did it look like?’

  Marta screwed her face up as if she did not understand

  ‘A quoi cela ressamblait-il? asked Garrard in perfect French.

  ‘I don’t remember. It was nothing special.’

  ‘But you remember one of the lady’s cases vanished?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘It wasn’t in the wardrobe? L’armoir?’

  ‘Not that I noticed.’

  ‘Did you look?’

  ‘I don’t think.’

  ‘Madame Lenaerts, did you look for it in the armoir?’

  ‘I didn’t look for it, as you say, but if it ‘ad been there I would ‘ave noticed it.’

  ‘You are simply mistaken? That is where it was all the time, isn’t it?’

  ‘I ‘ave not come all this way to be mistaken.’

  She glared at counsel.

  Garrard resumed her seat. The Attorney had still not arrived.

  ‘Thank you, Madame,’ said the judge. ‘You are free to go.’

  Marta smiled at the judge and left the witness box. Cronshaw was now on his feet.

  ‘The next witness, my Lord, is Derick Duffy. As your Lordship knows, special arrangements are in hand for him to give evidence. He has to come up from the cells. Arrangements have been made to bring him up into court two and walk him through to this court. It will take a little time. And he may wish to refresh his memory from his witness statement.’

  ‘You want me to adjourn for a few minutes?’

  ‘No more than ten, my Lord.’

  Perhaps the Attorney will be here by then? thought Cronshaw.

  The judge sighed. ‘Very well. Ten minutes, members of the jury. If you would go to your room? You will be brought back into court when Mr Duffy is safely ensconced in the witness box.’

  Chapter Twenty

  As had happened before, and would happen again, the ten minutes requested stretched into almost twenty. Duffy required a change of clothes and, as Cronshaw had anticipated, requested the opportunity to read his two lengthy witness statements before he was brought up. There was still no sign of the Attorney-General. In the jury room, Jimmy Murphy was sitting silently in a corner, while the other jurors discussed the evidence of Marta Lenearts and the phonetics expert from the day before. Jimmy was smartly dressed in his dark grey suit. Not a single tattoo was visible. His mother had inspected him carefully before he left the house and insisted he attended court despite his hangover. She had also cross-examined him about the evidence but he had told her that the judge had said he hadn’t to discuss the case with anyone. Her questioning had reminded him that he had done precisely that and in some detail with the man he’d met in the club, but he didn’t suppose there was any harm in that. No-one would ever know.

  ‘She’s probably got it wrong,’ suggested the most elderly of the male jurors. ‘Why would a chambermaid look in the wardrobe anyway?’

  ‘Perhaps she was being nosey. Not that she admitted she’d looked in there.’<
br />
  ‘Could have been putting something away,’ said another. ‘They tend to tidy the room up in my experience. Not that I’ve stayed in a hotel like that one. Far beyond my means a place like that.’

  Jimmy Murphy did not contribute to the discussion. He was still feeling unwell. Miss Duston offered him some coffee from her thermos, but he shook his head and declined, politely.

  ‘I think you had too much to drink last night, didn’t you?’ she suggested.

  He nodded. ‘Never again,’ he said. ‘I feel terrible.’

  ‘I don’t know how you can afford to drink so much. The price of things today…’

  Jimmy half laughed.

  ‘Don’t worry. I shan’t be doing it again. My mother got a bit angry with me this morning. She said I was a bad example to my younger brother, Martin.’

  ‘What does he do?’

  ‘He’s still at school. He’s doing his A levels soon. They reckon he’s bright enough to go to Oxford. My other brother’s already at University.’

  Further conversation was cut short as the jury bailiff knocked, waited then entered the room.

  ‘We’ll be another few minutes,’ he said. ‘The witness is not up yet. I’ll let you know when.’

  ‘So much for ten minutes!’ fumed one of the jurors. ‘Honestly, does anything here run on time?’

  ‘Duffy’s a particular case,’ said Miss Duston. ‘He’s serving a long prison sentence. They have to be a bit careful with someone like him I would have thought.’

  ‘They must be pretty desperate relying on a major criminal – after what he’s done,’ said the man. ‘Mind you, it should give us some insight into the criminal mind. Always fascinated me that has. They’re not like us, you know.’

  ‘Oh, do you think so?’ said Miss Duston. ‘I think people are very much the same. It’s just that they’ve taken a different path in life, that’s all. Any one of us could have got involved in crime if our circumstances had been different. That’s what makes it so interesting. Knowing that anyone of us could have done what they have done.’

  ‘What? Armed robbery? I don’t think so!’

  The university student smiled but said nothing. He was still reading War and Peace. He reckoned he’d finish it well before the end of the trial. He’d have his say then, when all the evidence was in.

  ‘What did you reckon to that so-called expert yesterday?’ asked Hannah Mathews. ‘How are we supposed to be sure it was the defendant making that call if he isn’t?’

  ‘He said it could be her; he just couldn’t be sure.’ said the man.

  ‘I think the prosecution is relying on the fact that she was there in the vicinity of the telephone box. It’s a bit of a co-incidence if it were not her, don’t you think?’

  ‘But no-one saw her any where near the phone box, did they?’

  Miss Duston smiled. She was beginning to think that some of her fellow jurors were not too quick on the uptake.

  ‘Perhaps someone was setting her up?’ said the man.

  On the other hand… thought Miss Duston, perhaps some of them have an overactive imagination!

  Jimmy Murphy suddenly stood up and rushed into the toilet area. He could be heard retching for fully two minutes. But when he emerged he seemed brighter and the colour was returning to his cheeks.

  ‘Feeling better?’ asked Miss Duston, sympathetically.

  Jimmy nodded.

  ‘I hope you haven’t made a mess in there,’ said the man. ‘We all have to use that, you know.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When the court reassembled, Derick Duffy was already sitting in the witness box. He was smartly dressed in a tweed jacket, beige shirt and knitted tie. His hair was much shorter than Cronshaw remembered from his appearance at the Old Bailey. He seemed alert enough but nervous. Duffy realised, of course, that any chance he might have of gaining earlier release from his sentence than had already been agreed would depend very much on his performance.

  Cronshaw looked towards the court door. There was still no sign of the Attorney. He glanced at his watch. It was twenty-five past eleven. Markham-Moore concentrated his gaze on Duffy who was wiping the sweat from his brow with a white handkerchief.

  ‘He looks as nervous as a long-tail cat in a room full of rocking chairs,’ he whispered to his leader.

  ‘That’s a colourful figure of speech,’ smiled Cronshaw. ‘I’ve never heard it before. American I suppose?’

  ‘Undoubtedly. I read it somewhere.’

  ‘Well, wherever it comes from, it’s highly apposite. And his nervousness is hardly surprising. By giving evidence in open court he opens himself up to the risk of serious repercussions. He’s already been warned off and assaulted. Let’s hope the jury understands. It might enhance his credibility.’

  The usher called for silence as Duffy stood to take the oath. He held the testament aloft in his right hand and spoke hesitatingly as he swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. He glanced uneasily towards the judge as he re-took his seat, still gripping the handkerchief in his left hand.

  ‘Tell the jury your full name, please?’

  Duffy cleared his throat.

  ‘Derick David Duffy,’

  ‘You are presently a serving prisoner at HMP Long Lartin?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘And your total sentence?

  Duffy’s voice dropped.

  ‘Twenty years.’

  ‘Do speak up,’ said the judge, wearily.

  ‘Twenty years,’ repeated the witness more distinctly.

  ‘You pleaded guilty to a number of offences, I think?’

  ‘Yes. Conspiracy to kidnap, conspiracy to blackmail and conspiracy to rob.’

  ‘And…?’

  ‘Oh yes. Possession of a firearm. I’d forgotten about that. I received a concurrent sentence for that.’

  ‘Your name when you were younger was Maguire?’

  ‘Yes. It was my mother’s surname. I never knew my father. It turned out that his name was Duffy. I changed my name after my mother died. It was only after her death that I found out about him.’

  Duffy was beginning to sound a little more confident, his nervousness subsiding as he described his family circumstances.

  ‘He’s dead now, I think?’

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Duffy without emotion. ‘He died in Parkhurst.’

  ‘The prison on the Isle of Wight?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You have other convictions which preceded your latest offences?’

  ‘A bit of shoplifting when I was younger – and there were the armed robberies, of course. I got ten for those, reduced to eight on appeal.’

  ‘And when you came out of prison for those offences you changed your name again?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘To Patrick Lafferty?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To get a fresh start. Patrick Lafferty was the name of someone who died in a speedboat accident in Corfu. We were about the same age and apparently he looked a bit like me, not that I ever met him. He didn’t need it any more, so I took it over.’

  ‘Took it over?’ interjected the judge. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s a long story, your Honour.’

  ‘I thought it might be. Do go on Mr Cronshaw.’

  ‘Did you have assistance in “taking over” this identity?

  ‘Yes, from Gus Grayling.’

  ‘Who is or was Gus Grayling?’

  ‘A businessman who lived in Hastings. He’s dead now. Died last year.’

  ‘A businessman? I think he was a bit more than that Mr Duffy?’

  ‘He dabbled a bit in crime, but he never got done for anything. He was always too smart for that. Never laid a glove on him the police, not that they didn
’t try.’

  Duffy now sounded more self-assured as he glanced occasionally at the jury. Linking himself with Grayling seemed to enhance his standing, at least in his own eyes.

  ‘The man who died in Corfu, he was a distant relative of Grayling?’

  ‘Yes. And my Kelly’s mother was a niece of his. So I was almost family.’

  ‘Whose idea was it that you should use his identity.’

  ‘It was a joint decision.’

  ‘Obviously, but whose idea was it?’

  ‘Gus was the ideas man, I suppose.’

  ‘When did you come out of prison for the previous robbery offences?

  ‘Eh, let me think. It was nineteen ninety-five. Nearly five years ago.’

  ‘You were granted parole?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘To live at a flat in Worksop?’

  ‘Is that what it is was?’ He glanced at the jury. ‘It was a dump.’

  ‘But you lived there for nearly six months, complying with all the conditions of your parole licence.’

  ‘I did, yes. Gus insisted.’

  ‘And then you vanished, seemingly without trace. It was even thought you might have died.’

  Duffy smiled.

  ‘That was the general idea. Duffy was no more. Along came Patrick Lafferty.’

  He laughed, but awkwardly.

  ‘You lived in South Wales, near Swansea?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And ran a haulage business there.’

  ‘Yes, and it was perfectly legit?’

  ‘All provided by Gus Grayling?’

  ‘He set it up, yes. But I built up the business. It was doing quite well until I was arrested.’

  ‘And you kept in touch with Grayling?’

  ‘Yes. I saw him sometimes when I drove a truck to Dover. And we did business together, of course – or I wouldn’t be here.’

  Everdene stood up.

  ‘I have not objected to my learned friend leading the witness on these preliminary matters, but we are now reaching the stage where leading should cease.’

  Cronshaw indicated his agreement. Duffy then gave his account of the conspiracy to rob the security vehicle transporting millions of pounds in used notes from Retford to Loughborough, how that had already been planned and the necessary personnel recruited and why much of the same team had been used to kidnap Judge Campion’s wife and son.