by H S Chandler
Lottie caught Imogen Pascal’s half eye-roll before the barrister brought her expression back under control and forced a polite smile. ‘That’s quite something,’ Miss Pascal said. DI Anton had overplayed his hand, Lottie thought. It was too much. They had all seen Edward Bloxham for themselves. No need to big it up in the courtroom. Lottie turned to Cameron who gave a slight shake of his head, evidently feeling the same. ‘Could you describe the scene on a factual basis for the jury, please, DI Anton.’
‘Yes, right. The kitchen was almost immaculate, which made me wonder if the defendant had spent time cleaning up before realising that she couldn’t get rid of the body and deciding to call the police instead.’
James Newell got to his feet, arms crossed. ‘That’s speculation, Your Honour. I wonder if Miss Pascal could explain in plain terms to DI Anton what the word factual means.’
Imogen Pascal narrowed her eyes at DI Anton and tried again. ‘Just tell us what you saw with your own eyes, please, officer.’
‘Sorry, yes, there was a body on the floor, face down. It’s a large kitchen with a central dining table and five chairs around it. The man’s head was facing towards the rear door that accesses the garden, and his feet were pointing diagonally towards the pantry. His hands were out to either side of his head. As I arrived in the kitchen the paramedics were starting to turn him over to secure a line for intravenous fluids.’
‘Was anything in the kitchen disturbed?’ Pascal asked.
‘Nothing was broken. The only blood was in a pool on the floor, and covering Mr Bloxham’s body and clothing. Mrs Bloxham obviously had blood on her hands and we sealed each of those in an evidence bag for forensic testing. The rest of the house was likewise undisturbed. There was no suggestion of a physical fight anywhere. There was an unbroken mug in the sink and a pile of post on the kitchen table. Apart from that it was all tidy.’
‘Thank you, detective,’ Miss Pascal sighed. ‘And did you arrest the defendant?’ she asked.
‘I did. However, she fainted at the scene when I explained that the air ambulance was on its way to transport her husband to the hospital.’
‘Fainted?’ Miss Pascal enquired, sending a quick glance in the jury’s direction. She’s making sure we’re paying attention, Lottie thought, pleased that she was starting to recognise the lawyers’ tactics. ‘Was the reason for that apparent?’ the prosecutor continued.
‘I’d say it was the shock of realising that her husband was still alive. It was clear from her phone call to the emergency services that Mrs Bloxham believed him to be dead.’
James Newell sighed loudly as he got to his feet. ‘That’s speculation,’ he moaned to the judge.
Imogen Pascal nodded an apology, although the upturned corners of her mouth told Lottie that she was content the point had already been scored.
‘What happened to the defendant next?’ Imogen Pascal asked DI Anton.
‘Having regaining consciousness, she was cautioned at the scene, then driven to the police station. At that stage Mrs Bloxham was seen by a doctor to ensure that she was unharmed and fit for interview. After that we offered her a lawyer, as is standard practice. She said she didn’t need legal advice.’
‘Can you summarise the interview for us, DI Anton?’
‘I can, I’ll just consult my notebook.’ He flicked through a few pages, then began reading. ‘Mrs Maria Bloxham, aged thirty nine, was given her rights. I told her that she did not have to answer questions but that if she failed to do so the jury might take her silence into account as part of the case against her. I repeated that warning twice, and asked her to confirm that she understood what it meant. She did. I then proceeded to ask her questions about the injury to her husband.’
‘What information did the defendant provide about the attack itself?’ Miss Pascal asked.
‘Absolutely nothing,’ DI Anton said. ‘She didn’t answer one single question.’
‘Do the Bloxhams have any children?’
‘None,’ Anton replied, pulling his shoulders back.
‘And their financial situation, what can you tell us about that?’ Pascal asked.
‘There are substantial assets, both in bank accounts, savings, some stocks and shares. The house is in a good area, very sought after,’ DI Anton reported.
‘And who would benefit from Dr Bloxham’s death?’ Imogen Pascal hammered the point home.
‘Mrs Bloxham. We tried to contact his family while he was in hospital, but he has no siblings and no living parents. The defendant is literally the only family Dr Bloxham has.’ DI Anton shook his head slightly, adding emotion to his speech before glancing back momentarily at the dock. Lottie was glad it wasn’t her sitting in there. If looks could kill.
‘The defence is free to cross-examine,’ Imogen Pascal said, sitting down.
James Newell took his time, finishing writing a note and consulting with the lawyer behind him before standing up. ‘So by the time you interviewed Maria Bloxham, she had already called the police and explained that she had hit her husband over the head with a chair leg,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ DI Anton said, pulling himself up straight.
‘She’d handed over the chair leg as evidence,’ Newell continued.
‘I’ve said that,’ Anton said.
‘She had neither fled the scene nor made any excuses for what had happened,’ Newell finished.
‘Your point being?’ DI Anton asked him.
‘The point being, detective inspector, that Mrs Bloxham did not need to answer your interview questions because she had already fully confessed what had happened. You knew the how, the where and the when. So suggesting that the jury should hold her silence in interview against her is rather harsh, isn’t it?’
DI Anton opened his mouth to answer, looked at Imogen Pascal who – Lottie noted – simply looked away, then shut his mouth again.
James Newell continued. ‘Did you see a landline telephone in the property?’
‘I don’t believe so,’ Anton replied.
‘Did Mrs Bloxham have a vehicle at the property?’ Newell asked.
‘Not that I was aware of,’ Anton said.
‘And you say you investigated the couple’s financial situation?’ the barrister went on.
‘Yes. The accounts and shares total around £380,000. The house has no mortgage, and is estimated to be worth between £750,000 and £800,000. In addition there are royalties from Dr Bloxham’s books. That would all have gone to Mrs Bloxham, if her husband had died,’ Anton finished.
‘Is the implication that Mrs Bloxham might have hit Mr Bloxham over the head to have inherited all the money?’ Newell asked slowly.
‘It’s a motive, yes,’ Anton replied.
‘But she immediately phoned the police and admitted what she’d done. Tell me, detective inspector, how she could possibly have thought she would get away with that?’
There was no reply, although DI Anton was looking increasingly fed up, and running his finger around the inside of his collar.
‘About those bank accounts,’ Newell went on. ‘How many of them did Mrs Bloxham have access to, either as a signatory or by having the account in joint names?’
‘I’m not sure, actually,’ Anton said.
‘Let me assist,’ Newell replied, handing over a series of bank statements for the usher to give DI Anton who flicked through them. ‘Can you answer the question now?’
‘Uh, it actually looks like none of them,’ Anton said.
‘None, officer. All that money, a variety of accounts and Maria Bloxham did not have access to a single penny of it. Can you confirm that you found no accounts in her sole name?’
‘We didn’t,’ Anton said.
‘And was she insured to drive Mr Bloxham’s car?’ Newell asked.
‘No,’ Anton said.
‘When you searched the house, what passports did you find?’
‘Dr Bloxham’s passport was located in his office. We didn’t find one for Mrs Bloxham,’ Anton said.
‘So Maria Bloxham was not allowed access to money, nor was she allowed to drive, nor could she leave the country. There wasn’t even a landline phone in the house,’ Newell summarised.
‘There was a mobile phone found in one of her shoes, hidden at the back of her wardrobe,’ Anton responded.
‘Did it have any credit on it?’ Newell asked.
‘No, but it might have had previously,’ Anton said.
‘And is there a record of any calls being made from it?’
‘No, it was pre-paid. No billing. She was obviously hiding it from her husband,’ Anton finished smugly.
‘Thank you, DI Anton, it’s very helpful to hear you draw that conclusion. Hiding it from her husband is exactly what she was doing. The pile of post you’ve said was on the kitchen table, who was that addressed to?’
‘All the letters were to Dr Bloxham,’ Anton confirmed.
‘At what address?’ Newell asked.
‘I’m not sure. It didn’t seem relevant at the time,’ Anton said.
‘Very well. No further questions,’ James Newell said, sliding back into his seat.
‘That is the close of the prosecution case,’ Imogen Pascal said.
There was a flurry of activity as Tabitha waved a sheet of paper in the usher’s direction, who moved to retrieve it and pass it to the judge.
‘We have a request from the jury,’ Her Honour Judge Downey told the barristers. ‘They would like to visit the Bloxham’s property. I don’t suppose there can be any sensible objection to that. Miss Pascal, we will take a short break while you see if arrangements can be made. Members of the jury, please remain in your room until you have confirmation, after which you may leave the courtroom ready to reconvene tomorrow.’
‘Bloody Tabitha,’ Cameron whispered to Lottie as they left the courtroom. ‘Jack was right that her little posse was up to something this morning.’
‘Maybe it’s a good thing,’ Lottie said. ‘It might help us set the scene more clearly, and I’m curious about it. I want to understand what their lives were like. It’s true you never know what happens behind closed doors. This might be the closest we can get to seeing the truth for ourselves without either the prosecution or the defence putting their spin on it.’
‘Yeah, sure, I agree. I was just hoping we could get another day off. Yesterday seems too long ago already. Here, you go ahead,’ he said.
‘Waiting for something?’ Lottie asked him.
‘No, I just want to be able to watch you walking.’ Cameron got close enough to whisper in her ear that Lottie could feel his face brush against her hair. ‘Just like you knew I did earlier.’
16
The jury deliberation room was sealed off from the outside world, relying instead on an ancient air conditioning system that was no match for the hottest day of the decade, as the newspapers were dramatically proclaiming. What little air was circulating was dry, visibly dusty and only slightly cooler than the outside temperature. The long rectangular table of deep cherry wood had become increasingly sticky, and the straight-backed chairs offered little in the way of comfort. Eleven of them sat around in their habitual places, sipping water and waiting for Cameron to reappear.
‘I don’t see why we can’t leave the building,’ Pan complained. ‘They’ve got our mobile numbers. I could have walked to the shops, bought my wife’s birthday present and been back by now.’
‘Rules are rules,’ Tabitha replied. ‘The case is too important for us to be wandering off. The judge simply asked us to wait for confirmation of the visit to the Bloxham’s house tomorrow. I’m sure it won’t take long.’
The eye-roll equivalent of a Mexican wave circled the table, but no one bothered to respond to Tabitha’s lecturing. That would only encourage her to add further commentary. The heat had them all at a loss. A crash the other side of their door preceded a stream of cursing. Tabitha pursed her lips but managed to say nothing for once. Lottie hid a smile. It was Pan who got to the door first and opened it.
Cameron grinned at them from the corridor, clutching two large saucepans full of ice. ‘Ta da!’ he sang as a spontaneous round of applause erupted.
Across the corridor another jury room opened and a head appeared in the space between door and frame. ‘Do you mind?’ an elderly man hissed. ‘We’re deliberating.’
Jack leaned to his right to whisper in Lottie’s ear. ‘See, it’s not just us. Every jury has its Tabitha.’ Lottie covered her mouth to hide a laugh, but her eyes were already on Cameron as he entered the room, tan lines showing from their illicit walk along the Portishead seafront the previous afternoon. Today his T-shirt was that bit tighter and she could see the point where the deep brown of his bicep reddened then blanched beneath his sleeve. The heat she felt inside was a match for the record temperatures outside. She focused on nibbling a snagged thumb nail, studiously not watching as he arranged the ice in central bowls for everyone to reach.
Around their side of the table, Cameron leaned between Lottie and Jack, stretching across to deliver dozens of ice cubes. Jack grinned at him, fanning himself.
‘You are absolutely amazing,’ Jack proclaimed, reaching for a cube and running it over the back of his neck.
Cameron took his time picking up the stray cubes that had attempted escape. Lottie tried not to look at where his T-shirt had risen above the line of his belt, exposing a slab of flat stomach, nor at the muscle definition lines that ran down from his abs into well-filled jeans. Every part of his body was so toned, it was hard not to stare. Harder still not to compare Cameron’s body to her husband’s spongy flesh, not fat exactly, just not … she searched for a word that was fair rather than gratuitously insulting. Just not in prime shape, she thought. Since hitting his mid-thirties, Zain’s previously sleek body had first softened then expanded. Cameron took his seat to her right. Normal conversation resumed, pairs and trios forming to chat. Cam shifted his chair a fraction closer to hers, pouring himself a glass of water and settling in.
‘I still have sand in my shoes,’ he whispered. ‘Do you think we’d get in a lot of trouble if the rest of them found out?’
The rest of them. At some point since that exhilarating, uncomfortable first day, the rest of the jury had become a separate entity to her and Cameron, save for Jack who was sweet but quiet. Day after day of moving from the courtroom to their allocated jury room, constantly waiting but rarely being informed of the reason for the delay. Hours of being forced together and finding allies, unable to explain it adequately – at all, in fact – to anyone else. It was like being on a government sponsored desert island.
‘We didn’t discuss the case details,’ Lottie replied quietly. ‘So I don’t think we broke the judge’s rules, although perhaps we strained a few of the extra ones Tabitha’s made up. Where did you get that ice?’
‘Used my natural charm on the catering staff. Don’t let me forget to take the saucepans back later. Anything exciting happen while I was away?’
‘I don’t think anything exciting’s happened to me for about a decade,’ Lottie sighed. She looked away, embarrassed. That was too close to the truth. The jury room was no place for confessions.
‘I’m pretty sure I can change that,’ Cameron said.
He leaned forward, taking a handful of ice and dropping all but a single cube into his water.
‘Have you got your book with you?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Why?’
‘Open it,’ he said. ‘Get reading.’
‘I don’t …’ He was already spreading his newspaper out on the table, finding the sports pages and settling down to pass the time.
Lottie shrugged, bemused. Yesterday they’d talked for hours. Now, it seemed, he just wanted to switch off. Perhaps he was regretting having told her about his fiancée. She opened her book and set her elbows on the table, trying to concentrate in spite of the sweat that was trickling down her back. Absolutely typical that she had to end up doing jury duty during a heatwave – the ice stung momentarily as it
touched the inside of her right thigh. She whipped a hand down below the table to rub the spot, and connected with Cam’s arm. Lottie stared at him. He didn’t look up, apparently engrossed in his paper, giving only the tiniest shake of his head. She opened her mouth to speak, knew there was nothing she could say aloud, closed her lips again. Reopening her book, she glanced around the table. Jack was doing another crossword. Tabitha was holding court with her cronies. Pan was typing furiously into his laptop. Jen was filing her nails. No one seemed to have noticed.
When the ice touched her a second time she was ready for it. Cameron’s little finger hooked the hem of her dress and lifted it ever so slightly as he rested his wrist an inch above her knee. The chill on her flesh was delicious. Tiny cascades of ice water ran down the inside of her thigh, making miniature puddles on the seat. Lottie didn’t care. They would dry in a matter of minutes. She allowed herself a grin, keeping her eyes firmly on the page. Cameron’s arm was completely still. Only his hand was moving, his fingers making a circular pattern over her skin.
It was fun. Nothing more. Cameron being Cameron, making even the dullest morning a playground for himself. She told herself not to take him too seriously. It was all a joke. The ice cube melted, the warmth of his fingertips quickly replacing the frozen water. Breathing out and feeling light-headed, Lottie contemplated the guilt she’d been ignoring. Yesterday’s trip to the pub had been nothing more than friendly. Holding hands as they’d walked to his van had been flirtatious. This, though, was a neon red line. It was the point at which she had to say no or start lying, both to herself and to Zain. Pan stood up and left the room as Tabitha started a conversation about local elections. Lottie bent her head further forward towards her book, hoping no one would try to speak to her, terrified that someone would notice what was happening.
Cameron reached forward again, his long fingers slipping deftly into the central bowl to grasp more ice cubes. Lottie watched him draw his hand slowly back, slipping one cube into his mouth, his eyes never wavering from the page. As his left hand disappeared beneath the table once more her stomach tightened, knowing what he was about to do. She closed her thighs as his hand reached them, concentrating on maintaining a neutral expression, finding the heat in the room suddenly overwhelming. The ice cube slid into the valley between her legs, moistening her skin, helping his fingers push her thighs apart. Lottie’s eyes closed as a burning trail of want trickled through her from stomach to groin. His fingertips were firm but gentle as he ran his nails along her soft flesh, a millimetre at a time. She was all liquid. The air around her was short on oxygen. Flexing her toes, she commanded herself to stay still and not respond. When her legs parted she gasped, betrayed by her own body. Jack looked up from his puzzle book.