by John Wilson
– I don’t know what you’re going on about.
– I’m sorry, Betty. I’m rambling. Here we are. Let me take your coat. I’m famished.
They had had a long late lunch and it was almost six before he got back to Chambers. Blytheway had already left for the evening and so he had gone back to his room. He had been preparing for an early night when Barry knocked to remind him he was on fire duty again that night. It had been another quiet night and he had been able to sleep several hours at his post before, at 4 a.m., he Barry and Roberts had decided to call it a day and return to their beds.
Why not just climb back into bed? Then he remembered. He needed to talk to Blytheway before he went off to court again. He stumbled to his feet, pulled off his pyjamas, washed and then put on a different suit. There was an air of normality around the Temple, despite the brick dust and the smell of burning. He hurried to Lamb Building but he was too late. Roly had already left. He put a call through to Jones but he was also out at court. Adam returned to the Clerks’ Room.
– Do you mind telling me where Mr Blytheway is today?
– He’s in court, sir.
– I know he is in court. But which court?
– Old Bailey, sir. He’s doing a treason trial.
Adam froze. He felt the air escape from his lungs so that, for a few seconds, he could not speak.
– A treason trial?
– Yes, sir. I’ll just get the diary.
His senior clerk picked up the heavy leather book and leafed through to the 3rd April and ran his finger down the initials of his barristers, arranged in descending orders with silks first.
– Let me see …
Adam knew what he would say before he looked up.
– Hoffer, sir. He started it yesterday.
– Which Court? Which Court!?
– Six, sir.
Adam was out of the door without saying thank you, goodbye or where he was going.
He ran, walked, ran down Fleet Street and across Ludgate Circus. Security was minimal at the Central Criminal Court. He took the stairs two at a time up to the public gallery. A crowd of disgruntled people was milling around the entrance and a security guard was keeping them at bay.
– How long before we can get in, then?
– I don’t know, sir. As soon as I am told anything I will pass it on.
Familiar with the building, Adam went down to the main entrance to the court. There were swing doors on either side of the well of the court. In his time, as Counsel, he had passed through one or other of these doors. On either side, beyond them was another set of glazed doors. Counsel for the prosecution would sit on the left of the court, nearer the witness box. Counsel for the defence would be on the right, nearer the jury. Adam went to the left-hand window first. He saw the familiar silky shape of Peter Preston KC sitting somewhat slumped over his notebook. Beyond him, in the witness box, was a man in an expensive suit whom he had never seen before. He was in his early forties, and despite the comparative cold he appeared to be sweating as he answered questions. Every now and then he would turn towards the trial judge with a look of entreaty on his face, his arms held out as though begging. Adam took the widest angle he could in order to see who the judge was. It was Mr Justice Sherdley. The same judge who had presided over Novak’s trial. With some reluctance the judge was waving down the witness’s pleas. On more than one occasion Preston rose a little unsteadily to his feet to make a point, only to be told to sit down.
Adam moved to the right-hand window. Blytheway in his less glamorous junior’s robes was on his feet asking questions with that obvious precision which Adam had cause to fear. The jury appeared to be enraptured by the exchange. Eventually, Blytheway bowed deferentially to the judge, gave the jury what Adam could only imagine was a complicit look, and then slid back into his seat. Adam returned to the left-hand window. Preston was on his feet. Watching his body language from behind it was all too clear that he was trying, unsuccessfully, to undo some great damage to the case for the prosecution.
The witness was released and after a brief exchange the judge made some sort of an announcement to the ushers before rising, nodding to counsel and leaving the court room. Someone shouted something up to whoever was in the public gallery. He heard a shuffling of feet on the floor above him, realised that the public gallery was again being opened to the public, and ran for the stairs.
It was virtually full by the time he got there, so he had to squeeze himself in. It was 11.15 a.m. His view from the back row was restricted. He could see the witness box and the judge’s seat. He could see Leading Counsel’s row. But junior counsel’s row and the dock were out of sight. Blytheway and Katya Hoffer, if she was in the dock, were beyond his view. Why hadn’t Blytheway mentioned anything of this to him?
There was a murmur of gossip in the public gallery. It became apparent that Preston had presented the case for the prosecution the previous day. He had adduced, properly this time, evidence to the effect that Katya’s fingerprints were on the cardboard cylinder under Novak’s floorboards. He had told the jury, as he was of course obliged to do, that Novak had been acquitted of all charges, that he knew nothing of the cylindrical tube. And then, at about 3.30 p.m. the previous day the public gallery had been cleared. The people around him were in no doubt as to Katya’s guilt.
– Court rise!
There was a shuffling noise and the sound of wooden chairs flapping backwards as counsel rose and Mr Justice Sherdley entered again and bowed at counsels’ rows. There was a settling noise as everyone sat down again. Adam heard Blytheway’s familiar voice, calm as ever, from beyond his sightline.
– My Lord, I call Mrs Katya Hoffer.
People in the public gallery were straining to see her. Adam only saw her as she reached the witness box. She seemed thinner and paler than before. She had been in prison for less than a month and, to Adam’s shame, he had temporarily forgotten of her existence. He tried to imagine what the last few weeks would have been like for her. She was on trial as a traitor, facing the death penalty whilst overhead the state that she was alleged to be supporting was trying to kill those down below: judge, counsel, jury and even those in the public gallery. If that were not enough she had been plotting to kill them using their own water supplies. Katya took a deep breath and looked out on the court room, dignity and self-belief recovered. She looked down into the well of the court and Adam imagined her eyes locking with those of Roland Blytheway.
He asked her to give her full name and address. Then:
– Mrs Hoffer, would you mind telling the jury of your nationality?
– I am from Czechoslovakia.
– And, if you don’t mind, your religious persuasion.
– I am a Jew.
A rustle ran through the gallery. Weren’t the Jews as bad as the Germans?
– You are not German?
– No.
– Are you a supporter of the Nazi party?
– No! I am not!
Her vehemence echoed down to her from the ceiling.
– Why is that?
– The Nazis! They killed my mother and my father! They are holding my brother hostage!
– Now, Mr Preston, King’s Counsel, says that your fingerprints were found on that tube, the one that was found under the floorboards of Mr Novak’s room. Do you accept that?
– Yes.
– So do you accept that you placed the tube where it was found by the police?
– I placed it there.
– Where did you get it from?
– I was told before I left Czechoslovakia that I would receive it. It was left for me at the bookshop where my husband was working. There was a note which said that it had to be placed under the floorboards by the next day. So I put it where I was told to put it.
– Under the floorboards in Mr Novak’s room?
– Yes.
– Why did you do this?
– They had my brother. They said they would kill him if I did not.
– The Nazis!
She spat out the words.
– Did you know what was in the tube?
– Yes. It contained some old plans.
– How did you know this?
– I wanted to see what it was that I was putting there.
– And how were you able to get into Mr Novak’s rooms?
Katya lowered her head and her voice dropped to a whisper.
– It was supposed to be a room for me and Milo.
– Milo?
– My husband.
– If it was supposed to be your room what was Mr Novak doing living there?
– I persuaded Mi … my husband to give the room to Tomas … to Mr Novak.
– I’m sorry, Mrs Hoffer. That is a partial explanation, of course. But if you gave the keys to Mr Novak, how was it that you were able to gain access to the room?
There was a long pause. Katya Hoffer looked around the court room, first down at Blytheway, then at the judge, then Preston, then over at the jury and on to the public gallery – Adam cowered away from her gaze – then back at Blytheway. Her lips quivered and her chin began to wobble. Her eyes filled with tears and she brushed a hand through her gorgeous mop of auburn hair.
– Because I loved him … I love him!
There was a long silence. Adam imagined Blytheway standing still and erect, perhaps chancing a slight sympathetic glance in the direction of the jury, allowing them to think what the word “love” meant in this context, and then taking several beats before his next question.
– Did you have any idea that you might be putting his life in danger?
– No! No! I did not! It was just some old plans!
– Why then did you not simply occupy the rooms yourself?
– I was scared.
– Scared of what?
– I don’t know. I was scared of getting into trouble.
– So you knew it was wrong?
– It was just some old plans!
– But if you loved him why did you put him in a place where you were scared to go?
Katya bowed her head.
– I loved my brother more than I loved Tomas.
– Do you know how to make a bomb, Mrs Hoffer?
– No. I do not.
– To your knowledge, did Mr Novak know how to make a bomb?
– No.
– Then … what was the purpose of putting the plans under the floorboards?
Before she could answer Adam saw Preston rising to his feet.
– My Lord. At this point a matter of law arises. I would appreciate the opportunity to discuss this in the absence of the jury. I would also ask that the public gallery be cleared.
– Do you have any objections, Mr Blytheway?
– No, my Lord.
The jury was ushered out and the door into the public gallery opened and everyone there was also asked to leave. They shuffled out, grumbling and complaining. More than one person said “Not again”. Adam went to the Bar Mess for a cup of tea. It was only 11.45 a.m. He wished he had brought something to read. How long would this “point of law” last?
It was almost one o’clock and there had been no indication that the trial had started up again. Bored of sitting around, he went back up to the public gallery only to find the door guarded. This was taking a long time! He went down the stairs to the entrance to Court Six. He could look in through the windows and at least see whether the court was in session. He looked through the right-hand window first and was able to see Blytheway sitting in junior counsel’s row. To Blytheway’s right Adam saw the jury. The trial was continuing but the public gallery remained closed. The jury were all staring intently across the court room. Mr Justice Sherdley was also visible, listening intently to something. He did not appear to be looking in the direction of Peter Preston KC.
Adam went to the left hand window. Peter Preston KC was on his feet. Looking beyond Preston, Adam saw Katya Hoffer in the witness box. She was being cross-examined. It was she who the judge and jury were looking at.
Lunch time arrived and the court rose. For some reason Adam didn’t want to confront Blytheway. He probably had enough on his plate. Instead he left the building and found the nearest public house, ordering a pint of bitter and a fish-paste sandwich. The bread was stale and scratched his lips as he chewed. Why hadn’t Roly told him what was going on? He had been living under his roof for the previous few days – and for a fortnight prior to that. Was he not trusted? He remembered Roly’s comments about “compartmentalisation”. Was this simply part of his desire to keep things separate? Didn’t he want or need Adam’s help?
It was two o’clock. Adam headed back into the Old Bailey. He didn’t trouble with heading up to the public gallery but went directly to the left-hand court room door. Preston was still on his feet. He could only see his long silk gown and the head bowed under the grey wig, looking at his notes rather than the witness as he spoke, his junior rattling into a blue notebook behind him. Mr Justice Sherdley hardly looked at Leading Counsel but appeared to be reserving all of his attention for the witness.
Adam moved to the right-hand window. Blytheway, in junior counsel’s row, appeared to be making a languid note. He turned suddenly to speak to his solicitor and in that instant caught Adam’s eye through the glass. He flickered and smiled and then concentrated on his solicitor. To his surprise Adam saw Jones leaning forward to speak with his counsel. After a few moments Blytheway turned back to his notebook. The jury were straining forward, gripped by the drama that was unfolding before them and fixed with a sense of responsibility that, perhaps, only the unexpected necessity of signing the Official Secrets Act could impart. Adam returned to the left-hand window and looked up towards the witness box. Katya Hoffer was giving her answers vehemently.
The cross-examination was coming to an end. Preston slumped back into his seat. The sign of an unsuccessful cross-examination. No meaningful glances in the direction of the jury. There was no elegant slide from being upright to being seated. Preston looked behind him and shrugged at his junior. He did not notice Adam watching him.
He rushed back to the right-hand window to see Blytheway asking a few perfunctory questions of Katya. Mr Justice Sherdley had no questions. Katya nodded in the direction of the judge and then of the jury, and allowed herself a shy smile. Then she stepped down and returned to the dock.
Blytheway stood again and said something to the Judge. The attention of those in court then shifted to the very back of the court. Something was happening beyond Adam’s line of sight. He felt a sense of anticipation rippling silently around the room. He couldn’t see what was happening and so returned to the left-hand window. And then all became clear. Tomas Novak was being brought up from the cells to testify. He recognised his old client, also thinner and still wearing the same suit as before, being escorted to the witness box.
The usher handed him a card and he held it up in his right hand. He pulled some spectacles out of his breast pocket and balanced them on his nose before picking up the card and reading the affirmation. He stumbled over the words. When he had finished he handed the card back to the usher and looked directly at where the dock must have been. He stared for a long time and Adam imagined Katya returning his gaze, her face a mixture of entreaty and contrition. Finally, he looked in the direction of Blytheway, listened to a question and gave his name and address – Adam was able to lip-read that much.
In profile Novak was as thin as a stick. His suit hung off him and his shoulders were stooped with the effort of carrying his head. It cost him an effort to look up, and his eyes when answering questions flickered between Blytheway, the judge and Katya – but mostly Katya. Adam was able to pick up bits of the familiar story. Novak was speaking of the boat trip from Gibraltar and made references to lifeboats and stars. He waited for, and caught, Novak saying “happy” more than once, looking over at Katya as he said it. Mr Justice Sherdley was rapt in his att
ention, taking a careful note and asking the occasional question of the witness.
Adam needed to see how the jury were taking it. He went to the right-hand window and saw Blytheway standing languidly as he asked his questions. The men and women of the jury were leaning forward in their seats, apparently oblivious to one another as they stared across at Novak and occasionally slipped a glance in the direction of Katya. None of them seemed to look at Blytheway. It was as though he had made himself invisible – a disembodied voice asking questions. Adam looked at his watch. It was a half past three. Blytheway turned towards the jury – Adam imagined a brief smile in their direction – and then looked at Mr Justice Sherdley, bowed and sat down.
Returning to the right-hand window he saw Preston climbing to his feet. His body language was aggressive, and, for the first time, Adam actually heard something of what was going on. Preston was pointing his finger and shouting at Novak. Adam could not make out what was being said. Novak became angry in return. His eyes blazed as he answered the questions asked of him. On more than one occasion he curled his lip in contempt of his inquisitor and Adam remembered the arrogant man he had first met in the prison cells at Brixton. He appeared to be beside himself with rage and he began gesticulating as he answered: stretching out both his hands, placing them over his heart, hammering the top of the witness box with his fist. And all the time his main attention was not upon Preston but on Katya. It was impossible to tell how effective Preston was being. Adam went back to the left-hand window. Blytheway did not appear to be taking a note of the exchanges although he appeared to be concentrating deeply on something. The jury now were alternating their gazes between Novak, Katya and Blytheway and looking more and more frequently in Roly’s direction. Adam caught a flash of silver and saw Blytheway admiring his right hand, the fingers splayed out. He had been filing his nails.