Every time she saw Will Churchill in court, Sarah experienced a fierce rush of hatred. It was not normally like this. In the past there had been a few police officers — like Terry Bateson — whom she liked, a majority whom she tolerated, and a few whom she despised. She had never hated one before. But then, no policeman had ever charged her son with murder before.
Churchill appeared to be enjoying the trial, patting his officers on the back, cracking jokes with Phil Turner, and trying to chat up the forensic scientist, Laila Ferguson.
When he saw Sarah watching, his laugh grew louder.
On the witness stand he explained why he had searched Simon’s house and what he had found there, and how he had arrested Simon in Scarborough two weeks later.
Phil Turner nodded. ‘When you arrested Mr Newby, did you caution him?’
‘Yes, we did.’
‘So he was told, was he, that there was no need for him to say anything, but that anything he did say might be used in evidence?’
‘He was told that, yes.’
‘Did he appear to understand it?’
‘Yes. He was fully awake and I spoke the words of the caution slowly and clearly.’
‘Very well. And after he had been arrested and cautioned, did he in fact say anything?’
‘Yes. He said that he hadn’t killed Jasmine Hurst and that he hadn’t seen her for several weeks. He repeated those statements several times.’
Sarah glared at the judge. She had argued in chambers for this damaging evidence to be excluded. But Turner had played the tape of Simon’s interview, arguing that although Simon had retracted the statements he had made in the car, he had admitted making them. (‘But you did say it, didn’t you …’ ‘Yes, but …’) To Sarah’s disgust, judge Mookerjee had agreed with him.
‘Where was Simon Newby when he made these statements?’
‘In the police car on the way from Scarborough to York. With DC Easby and myself.’
‘How did you respond?’
‘I said he would be interviewed at the police station. That’s correct police procedure.’
Turner nodded approvingly. ‘Nonetheless, it is also correct procedure, is it not, to make a note of any comments an arrested person may make after caution. Did you make such a note?’
‘I did, yes.’
‘Would you read it to the court, please?’
In his flat estuary English Churchill read: ‘At 3.45 a.m. on Monday 31st May, DCI Churchill of York police, accompanied by DC Easby of York police and DS Conroy and DC Lane of Scarborough police, entered room 7 of Seaview Villas in Whitton Street, Scarborough … After being cautioned, Mr Newby stated that he had not killed Jasmine Hurst, and that he had not seen her for weeks. He repeated this statement several times.’
‘When you arrived at the police station, was Mr Newby given access to a lawyer?’
‘He was, yes. Mrs Lucy Parsons.’ Churchill eyed Lucy contemptuously.
‘Was Mr Newby cautioned again?’
‘He was, yes.’
Sarah shifted restlessly in her seat. In his slow, painstaking way Turner was walling Simon in. The more solidly he built his case, the harder it would be for her to tear it apart.
‘Did you show Mr Newby this note?’
‘I did. I asked him to sign it as a correct record of what he had said.’
‘And what was his response?’
‘He refused. At first he claimed he hadn’t said those things at all. Then when I challenged him, he agreed he had said them but wanted to change his story. He admitted that he had met Jasmine Hurst on the day she was murdered, after all.’
‘I see.’ Turner paused, letting the words resonate in the jurors’ minds. He was making Simon look like a panic-stricken liar, who made up his story as he went along. And it was about to get worse.
‘He changed his story after meeting Mrs Parsons, his solicitor, you say?’
‘That’s right, sir. Yes.’
‘I see.’ Turner gazed at Lucy, sitting stony faced behind Sarah. His look was thoughtful, one eyebrow slightly raised. A brief glance, followed by a long pause, while the jury stared at Lucy too. Thinking, no doubt, she told him to change his story.
You devious old bastard, Sarah thought. Once she might have admired his court craft; now icy fury flooded through her.
‘So what happened next?’
‘Mrs Parsons handed me a statement which Simon had written himself.’ Churchill read the statement aloud.‘I met Jasmine Hurst a year ago and became very fond of her. In October she came to live with me at 23 Bramham Street and she stayed until March, when she left me. She said she was tired of me and had a new boyfriend. His name is David Brodie and he lives with her at 8a Stillingfleet Road. I went there once to ask Jasmine to come back and live with me but she wouldn’t. I’ve met her a few times since then but only briefly. On Thursday 13th May I met her by the river and she came back to my house for a meal. I asked her to come back and live with me but she wouldn’t. We argued about this and then she left. When she left I was upset so I decided to go to Scarborough for a holiday, to try to get over her. I drove to Scarborough that night and didn’t see Jasmine again. I had no idea Jasmine was dead until the police arrested me this morning. I did not kill her and I don’t know how she died. Simon Newby.’
‘So this was quite different to what he had told you an hour before, in the police car?’
‘Yes, it was.’
Turner rubbed his nose thoughtfully. ‘Chief Inspector Churchill, you have many years experience of interviewing criminal suspects, have you not? In your experience, is it usual for a defence solicitor to come into the police station, confer with her client, and then begin the interview by producing a written statement of this kind?’
‘No, it’s very unusual.’ Churchill smiled. ‘In fact, it’s the first time I’ve seen it myself.’
This was too much. Sarah stood up. ‘My Lord, I really must protest. It seems that my learned friend is attempting to imply some form of professional misconduct on the part of Mrs Parsons, but there is no basis for this whatsoever.’
Judge Mookerjee raised his eyebrows. ‘Mr Turner?’
Turner glanced at Sarah in mock surprise. ‘My Lord, I’m merely trying to establish how the defendant arrived at his version of events.’
‘Which implies that he was influenced by his solicitor,’ Sarah insisted. ‘My Lord, there was no impropriety whatsoever in my colleague’s behaviour and on her behalf I most strongly resent the implication.’
‘If there is such an implication of course I withdraw it.’ Turner bowed to the judge. ‘I am happy to agree that Mrs Parsons has behaved entirely within the law.’
Judge Mookerjee studied the two barristers. ‘Does that satisfy you, Mrs Newby?’
Within the law, Sarah saw, was a stroke of genius. It was impossible to challenge and yet it suggested that Lucy had done something wrong, even if technically legal. Probably half the jury had missed Turner’s subtle innuendoes; now she had emphasized them. Not for the first time in her career, she had been outsmarted. There was nothing for it but to back out as gracefully as she could.
‘Indeed, my Lord. For the present.’
‘So, Chief Inspector Churchill,’ Turner resumed. ‘What was your response to this unusual written statement?’
‘Well, Mrs Parsons said that if I had no evidence against Mr Newby, he should be released immediately. I said that we did have evidence. I showed him the trainers which we had found in his house, with the mud and grass stains and blood on them. I explained that they matched the footprints near the body.’
‘And what was his response?’
‘He said they weren’t his trainers.’
‘Did he suggest who else they might belong to?’
‘No sir. I asked if anyone else kept their trainers in his house, and he said they didn’t.’
‘Did you show him any other evidence?’
‘Yes. I showed him the breadknife, and told him it had blood with Jasmine’s blood group on it. AB negative. The same blood group as on the trainers.’
‘What was his response to that?’
‘He was very angry. He got to his feet and threatened me. At first he said it wasn’t his knife at all. Then he said that it couldn’t be her blood because he didn’t kill her.’
‘I see.’ Again Turner paused, and the eyes of the jury strayed to Simon in the dock, imagining him threatening two policemen, and lying about the ownership of the knife. Sarah guessed what was coming next.
‘At this point, did Mr Newby mention anything about Jasmine cutting her finger with the breadknife?’
‘Nothing at all, sir, no.’
‘Did he ever suggest that to you?’
‘No, never.’
‘So it’s fair to say, is it, that this explanation for the blood on his knife and trainer is something that he now relies on for his defence, but which he failed to mention when interviewed?’
‘It is, sir, yes.’
‘Very well. Let us move on to another aspect of the defence case, if we may. Can I ask you to look back at that statement which Mr Newby wrote, after meeting Mrs Parsons. Does it say anywhere that Simon made love to Miss Hurst on Thursday 13th May?’
Churchill pretended to consult the document, then looked up. ‘No, it doesn’t.’
‘What does it say happened that afternoon?’
‘It says ‘I met her by the river and she came back to my house for a meal. I asked her to come back to live with me but she wouldn’t. We argued about this and then she left.’ That’s all. Nothing about making love.’
‘So at what point did Mr Newby mention this to you?’
‘When I told him that Miss Hurst had been raped before she died. I said we’d found traces of semen, and so DNA analysis would identify the man who raped and murdered her.’
‘And what was his response?’
‘At that point he said that the semen would be his. He claimed that he had made love to Jasmine earlier that afternoon.’
‘Did he admit that he had raped her?’
‘No sir. I asked him about that and he said he had not.’
‘I see. But again it’s fair to say, is it, that in his original handwritten statement he made no mention of this act of sexual intercourse which he is now trying to use in his defence? He only came up with it when confronted with the evidence.’
‘That’s correct, yes.’
Phil Turner waited for a moment, rubbing his ear as though wondering if there were anything he had missed. Several jurors were scowling at Simon with unconcealed disgust.
‘Thank you, Chief Inspector. Wait there, please.’
When Sarah stood up, Churchill faced her with a polite, contemptuous smile. The trick in situations like this, as they both knew, was to put the police in as bad a light as possible.
‘Mr Churchill,’ she asked, refusing to dignify him with his rank. ‘What time of day was it that you arrested my son?’
‘At 3.47 a.m., madam.’ Madam was an exquisite touch. As he spoke he looked away from her towards the jury, to suggest that she was troubling him with trivialities.
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’ Reluctantly he looked back at her.
‘Why did you arrest him so early in the morning?’
A look of amazement crossed Churchill’s face. ‘He was the suspect in a serious murder case. I arrested him as soon as I could. The Scarborough police spotted his car late that night and I drove immediately to Scarborough to arrest him.’ What’s wrong with that, his look said.
‘So he was asleep when you arrived, was he?’
‘He was in bed asleep, yes.’
‘And did you make the arrest alone, or with other officers?’
‘With two Scarborough officers and DC Easby.’
‘I see. So at quarter to four in the morning, Simon Newby was asleep in his bed. Two minutes later, four policemen burst into his bedroom and arrested him. You told him why he was being arrested and informed him of his rights. In a loud, slow voice, I think you said.’
‘I spoke slowly. I didn’t say my voice was loud.’
‘While he was still in bed?’
‘Yes.’
‘And then you handcuffed him?’
‘Yes.’
‘And took him outside to your police car?’
‘We did, yes.’
‘What was he wearing at this time?’
‘His pyjamas.’
‘I see.’ Sarah looked at the jury to see what effect, if any, her questions were having. Most looked reasonably alert, at least. ‘So let me get this picture right. Here we have a young man, fast asleep in his bed at 3.45 in the morning, when suddenly he wakes up to find four police officers in his bedroom shouting at him. Before he can get out of bed they tell him his girlfriend is dead and that he is being arrested for her murder. Then they handcuff him, drag him downstairs and put him in a police car. Is that what happened?’
‘Madam, he was being arrested on a very — serious — charge.’ Churchill spoke slowly and clearly, as though explaining to a slow-witted child. Someone in the public gallery laughed.
‘And then you interrogated him,’ said Sarah coldly.
‘I beg your pardon? When, exactly?’
‘In the police car. You asked him questions in the police car, didn’t you? On the way back from Scarborough.’
‘No, madam, we did not. I’ve already explained that.’
‘I think you did. My client remembers very clearly that you asked him questions in the police car.’
‘No, madam, we didn’t ask him any questions until we got back to York.’
‘Well, you say that, but I put it to you that you did ask him questions in the police car.’
‘No.’
‘My client clearly remembers that you did. He will give evidence that you did.’
‘We did not.’
‘You see, this is a vital point, isn’t it, Mr Churchill? I suppose even you can appreciate the feelings of a young man who has been dragged out of his bed by four strangers in the middle of the night, forced into a car, and told that his girlfriend is dead. How would you expect that young man to feel? Confused, perhaps? Terrified? Overcome by grief? All of those things?’
‘He might be overcome by guilt.’
‘Not if he was innocent.’ She paused and glanced at the jury. ‘Mr Churchill, there are rules to protect suspects in these situations, are there not? Do you remember what they are?’
Churchill sighed, and spoke in a monotone as though deliberately reciting something he had learned off by heart. ‘A suspect who has been arrested should not be questioned further until he is in an interview room in a police station where the interview can be recorded on tape.’
‘Exactly. And one of the purposes of those rules is to protect the accused, isn’t it? From being unfairly harassed when he is handcuffed in the back of a police car, for instance.’
‘That may be one purpose, yes. Another is to protect the police from false accusations by unscrupulous lawyers.’
Touche, she thought. But Sarah was playing the game for real today. ‘I put it to you, Mr Churchill, that you knowingly and deliberately broke these rules in the most cynical manner. Not only did you arrest this young man quite unnecessarily in the middle of the night, in a way calculated to terrify him out of his wits; you then handcuffed him, told him his girlfriend was dead, and then interrogated him inyour car while he was overcome with grief and shock.’
‘No …’ Churchill shook his head.
‘You did all this deliberately to confuse him and get him to say something to incriminate himself. And you were successful, weren’t you?’
‘He made these statements voluntarily. There was no interrogation in the car.’
‘Voluntarily, you say? When he was dragged from his bed in his nightclothes, and handcuffed in the car with two strange men? How was he handcuffed, Mr Churchill? With his hands in front of him or behind?’
‘His hands were behind him.’
‘Was he restrained in any other way?’
‘He was strapped into his seat, yes, for his own safety.’
‘And you call this situation voluntary?’
‘His situation wasn’t voluntary, madam, no. He was under arrest. But he made his statements voluntarily, without any interrogation. As I have already said.’
‘So you handcuff a young man, in his pyjamas, in the middle of the night, with his hands behind his back, drive him fifty miles through the countryside with two strange men who accuse him of murdering his girlfriend, and then you call his statements voluntary?’
‘He made his statements voluntarily, and I recorded them in the normal way.’
‘Most people would call that intimidation, Mr Churchill. So now of course we understand why he made this foolish mistake of saying he hadn’t seen Jasmine for weeks. He lied because he was terrified out of his wits, because you had been bullying him ever since you woke him up at quarter to four in the morning …’
To her surprise, Phil Turner was on his feet. ‘My Lord, is there a question in all this?’
Judge Mookerjee peered at her. ‘Mrs Newby?’
‘I was coming to that, My Lord. How long is the drive from Scarborough to York?’
‘About an hour, at that time in the morning. But …’
‘So for all that time, while Simon was adjusting to the shock of hearing his girlfriend was dead, you were interrogating him, accusing him of murder. No wonder he was terrified, no wonder he felt he had to lie to save himself!’
‘We did not ask him any questions in the car. This arrest was conducted according to the rules, and his statements were recorded according to the rules as well. That’s why I showed him a written record of his comments at the start of the interview in the police station.’
‘When he immediately denied them, is that right?’
‘After he he’d had legal advice, yes.’
Churchill nodded at Lucy, to remind the jury of the implication that she had done something unethical. Swiftly, Sarah challenged him again.
‘That’s not true, though, is it, Mr Churchill? My son didn’t have time to discuss your notes with his solicitor — he denied them immediately you showed them to him.’
‘At first he did, yes. Then he agreed that he had made those statements, but changed his story to say that he had seen Jasmine Hurst on Thursday 13th after all.’
‘Yes. So as soon as he was in a proper environment, where he had a solicitor with him as was his legal right, and he was no longer handcuffed in a car being shouted at by two men who told him his girlfriend was dead, he began to tell the truth. Is that what you’re saying?’
Churchill smiled dismissively. ‘He changed his story, yes. After he’d seen his lawyer.’
‘All right. Let’s look at what he did after he had spoken to his lawyer. Not only did he begin to co-operate with you, Mr Churchill, but he actually did something quite unprecedented in your experience. He volunteered a written statement of the truth, isn’t that right?’
‘He gave me a statement that was partially true, yes.’
‘Partially true, Mr Churchill? Would you read the statement again, please, and tell me which parts of it you think are not true?’
To her delight Churchill fell into her trap. He picked up Simon’s statement and began to read through it. The court fell silent, waiting. After nearly a minute, he looked up.
‘I mean that the statement was incomplete. It missed a number of crucial details.’
‘So there is nothing in his statement that is untrue. Is that what you are saying?’
‘It’s incomplete. For example …’
‘But it’s all true, isn’t it? Every word of that statement is true?’
‘True as far it goes, yes …’
‘Thank you.’ For a second, Sarah thought that she had him. But she was wrong.
‘It doesn’t say that he had sex with her, which he is now relying on for his defence. It doesn’t say that he hit her in the street, leaving a bruise on her face. Those are pretty important omissions, in my view. It doesn’t say that he spied on her when she was with David Brodie, and had a fight with him outside his house. That’s true as well, Mrs Newby, you know.’
Shit! She’d had him on the ropes, but he’d winded her with three heavy blows to the body. Her mind froze and she reeled, eyes glazed, waiting for the knockout. Then she hit back.
‘That doesn’t alter the fact that everything in that statement was true. If I asked where you were last night, Mr Churchill, you might say you were with a young woman, but you wouldn’t necessarily tell me what you did in bed with her. You’d be embarrassed, wouldn’t you?’
As Churchill hesitated, surprised by the question, a smothered male laugh came from behind her in the courtroom. A look of fury crossed his face, followed, to her delight, by a faint but unmistakable blush. I’ve touched a nerve I didn’t know existed, she thought, delighted.
‘Perhaps I would, yes. But then no one’s accused me of murder.’
‘Nevertheless, that’s why my son didn’t write down that he had sex with Jasmine that afternoon. He had no idea it was important at the time, had he? He simply told you he’d been with her, which was true.’
‘Possibly.’ Churchill was looking daggers past her, at whoever had laughed. She longed to look round herself.
‘There you are then. As soon as my son was at the police station, he gave you information that was entirely true. And in the course of that interview, when everything else he said was true, did he at any time admit to killing Jasmine Hurst?’
‘No, he denied it.’
‘Exactly. He’s always denied that, hasn’t he?’
‘Yes.’
She had almost finished with Churchill. She glanced at her notes to remind herself how she had planned this last night. Surprise him now, keep him off guard.
‘When did you first tell him that Jasmine was dead?’
‘I … when we arrested him. We told him then.’
‘Pretty shocking news, wouldn’t you say? Especially when it’s brought to you by four policemen in the middle of the night. How did he react to it?’
‘He claimed he didn’t know she was dead.’
‘He claimed he didn’t know.’ Sarah let the words hang a little in the air. ‘I suppose it never crossed your mind, Inspector Churchill, that this claim might actually be true? In which case your manner of breaking this terrible news was — what shall we say? Brutal?’
‘I believed that he had murdered her.’
‘You believed that, yes, but what if you were wrong? What if you were quite wrong and he really thought Jasmine was alive? What sort of reaction would you expect?’
Churchill shrugged. ‘If he really believed Jasmine was still alive, I suppose he would have been shocked.’
‘And how did he behave?’
‘Well, he appeared to be upset, of course. He said he didn’t know she was dead and started screaming at us. But in my view it was all fraud. He was shocked to be caught, that’s all.’
‘He appeared to be upset, you say. Did he ask you how she had died?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was this in his room, or in the car?’
‘In the car.’
‘When he was handcuffed and strapped to his seat. Did you tell him how she had died?’
‘In general terms, yes. I told him she’d been raped, and had her throat cut.’
‘And what was his reaction to this news?’
‘He appeared to be upset.’
Again Sarah let the words hang in the air. The longer she waited, the more callous she hoped they might sound. But it was only a hope. The jury might equally well sympathize with Churchill’s cynicism.
‘Describe this appearance of being upset for us, Inspector, if you will. Did he seem shocked? Did he weep? What did he do?’
Churchill looked up at the ornate domed ceiling for a moment and sighed, as though to indicate his impatience. ‘As I recall he fell silent for a while. Then he started shouting at us and saying he hadn’t seen her for weeks.’
Damn! She had walked into that. I need an exit strategy, quick.
‘So, to sum up your evidence, Mr Churchill. Four policeman woke my son in the middle of the night, handcuffed him and told him his girlfriend was dead. He appeared to be upset by this. You told him she had been raped and had her throat cut and he appeared to be even more upset by that. Correct so far?’
The mocking smile again. ‘If you put it like that, yes.’
‘Then, when he is handcuffed in your car and still appears to be upset by this truly shocking news, you accuse him of murder and start to question him …’
‘No!’ Churchill shook his head vigorously. ‘We did not question him in the car.’
‘All right. When you are not questioning him in the car but you are describing to him how she was killed and simultaneously accusing him of her murder while driving him through the darkened countryside in his pyjamas with his hands cuffed, and according to you he appears to be upset, at that point he starts to lie and say he hasn’t seen her for weeks. Is that right?’
‘It’s your way of putting it, I suppose.’
‘Is any of it untrue?’
He thought back over what she had said. ‘Not in detail, I suppose, but …’
‘Very well, then. You then take him to a police station where he is allowed to see a lawyer and has a few moments to take in this appalling news without feeling that he is being kidnapped by two strangers who don’t believe a word he says, and at that point he immediately begins to co-operate and tell the truth. Is that right?’
‘Not all the truth, no. He told us he didn’t kill Jasmine.’
‘Apart from that, what else did he tell you in that interview that you don’t accept as true?’
Churchill paused before answering, searching swiftly through his mind for a detail she had forgotten. Then he grinned.
‘He said he’d made love to her in the afternoon. I don’t believe that.’
‘You may not believe it but you’ve no way of knowing whether it’s true or not, have you? The pathologist has already confirmed that it’s possible.’
Churchill shrugged dismissively, without answering.
‘You don’t believe he was genuinely upset to hear of her death, but it’s perfectly possible that he was, isn’t it? If he didn’t kill her?’
‘If he didn’t kill her, yes.’
‘So, if we accept that he didn’t kill her, Mr Churchill, everything that he did and said becomes perfectly comprehensible, doesn’t it? He was shocked, upset and terrified in your police car, when he panicked and told you a lie; but after that he recovered and everything he told you was completely one hundred per cent true. If we accept that he didn’t kill her, that is.’
Churchill spread his hands in exasperation. ‘Well, if you accept that, Mrs Newby, yes. But I don’t accept it, you see, not for a moment. I think he killed her.’
It was the best she could do. Quickly, to show she was not at a loss but was where she had wanted to be, Sarah smiled. ‘Thank you, Mr Churchill. That’s all I want to ask.’
She folded her gown about her, and sat down.
‘You stitched him up, the sod.’
‘Did I? I hope so, Simon. He’s a difficult witness to shake.’
‘You made him look like a thug. He is too.’
‘Let’s hope the jury agree with you.’
‘They will. Anyone could see what a pig he is.’
‘That was the plan, certainly.’ Sarah paced the brief length of the cell and back again. The adrenaline was still flowing in her, making it hard to stay still. Churchill had shaken her as much as she had shaken him. ‘It must be hard, watching all this.’
‘Not when you’re doing so well. You’re brilliant, Mum — honest!’
The enthusiasm, even the choice of words, reminded her of the small boy he had once been. Before all the teenage rebellion and hatred and … this. The brief light in his face brought her a keen joy and regret for all that was gone. She squeezed his arm briefly.
‘I wish all my clients were so grateful. But we’ve a long way to go yet.’
The cell door opened and a guard put a tray with pre-wrapped sandwiches, an apple, and coffee on the bench beside Simon.
‘Such luxury,’ Sarah said. ‘Lucy’ll be down to eat with you. I’ve got some notes to check in my chambers. See you this afternoon, OK?’
Outside, there was the usual shock of sunshine, tourists, traffic and a warm autumn wind that caressed her face and played with her gown as she walked. It was always so strange to step out of the all-absorbing world of the trial into this sound, bustle and colour. Like stepping out of the program into the adverts. She walked past children climbing the grassy slopes of Clifford’s Tower, a French tour guide giving a lecture. She waited at the traffic lights, one hand clutching her wig to stop it blowing off in the wind. A man pressed the button beside her.
‘How’s it going, then?’
‘Who — oh, Terry. Hi.’ They crossed the road, squeezing through a line of German school children. ‘It’s, er … OK so far.’
‘You had my boss on the stand this morning. He’s not your greatest fan.’
Sarah grimaced. ‘Nor I his. But I made a little progress, I think.’
‘How’s your son bearing up? Simon.’
‘He thinks we’re doing well.’ She looked at Terry thoughtfully, wondering how far she could go. ‘But that’s probably because he knows he’s innocent. No one else does. What I really need, is to know who did kill her. David Brodie, for instance?’
Terry met her gaze seriously, knowing he didn’t have the answer. ‘I’m sorry, Sarah. But I’m afraid at the moment …’
A hand touched her shoulder. ‘Excuse me, ma’am, but would you mind posing for a photo next to my wife here? We’re from Kansas, and we so admire your quaint British law dresses …’
Stifling a groan, Sarah posed next to the woman for a second. Then she hurried upstairs to her chambers where coffee and sandwiches were waiting. To prepare for the afternoon, and the next witness.
The first witness after lunch was Simon’s neighbour, Archibald Mullen, who had dressed for the occasion. Instead of his old carpet slippers and cardigan he wore a jacket, shirt and tie. His sparse hair had been plastered to his scalp with Brylcreem. His pipe, which Sarah had seen him smoking in the foyer, had been extinguished and stuffed into his pocket.
Phil Turner took him slowly through his evidence — how he had seen Simon and Jasmine often, and recognized them; how he’d seen them arguing in the street on the night she died; how Simon had hit her and she had run off, crying; how Simon had gone back into his house and then come out later to drive away in his car. It was a crucial, damning part of the case against Simon.
Watching, Sarah thought, the old buzzard’s giving the performance of his life. He must have been standing in front of the mirror practising this for weeks.
If Bob hadn’t met him, Simon might never have been arrested.
When Turner sat down Sarah hesitated. She was debating with herself whether to ask the old crow anything at all. Foolishly, she stood up, and instantly his old dark eyes swivelled to find her, like a thrush focussing on a worm.
‘Mr Mullen, you must have been watching this incident with great care.’
‘I saw what happened, right enough.’ The Adam’s apple in his leathery old throat bobbed sharply as he spoke.
‘I just want to get a picture of this,’ Sarah probed cautiously. ‘You were cleaning your teeth, when you heard a noise outside. A door slamming and people arguing, you said.’
‘Aye. Shouting at each other, like.’
‘So when you looked out of the window, the argument had already begun?’
‘Aye. Going at it hammer and tongs, they were.’
‘But you didn’t see the start of the argument, did you?’ This, really, was the only useful point Sarah had to make.
‘I saw best part of it. I saw him hit her, any road.’
‘Yes, I’m not disputing that. But you hadn’t been watching the street all evening, had you? You’d been watching television.’
‘True.’ The old man squinted at her suspiciously.
‘So when these two people slammed the door and started arguing, a minute or two passed before you started watching them. Isn’t that right?’
‘I saw him hit her,’ he insisted stubbornly. ‘You’ll not change me tale on that.’
‘Yes, but … Mr Mullen, which of these two slammed the door? Simon, or Jasmine?’
‘Him, likely.’
‘How do you know? Did you see him do it?’
‘No, but it’s his house, in’t it? Stands to reason.’
‘Women slam doors too, Mr Mullen.’
‘Aye, but she came out first. She were leaving, not him.’
‘But you didn’t see either of them slam the door, did you, Mr Mullen?’
‘I didn’t have to. It don’t really matter, anyhow, does it, lass?’
The jury probably agreed, Sarah realized. She was failing dismally to establish a rather unimportant point. She tried again. ‘What matters is how much of the argument you saw, and how much happened before you started watching. Which of them started shouting first?’
‘Nay, it were six of one and half a dozen of t’other. Both yelling at once, like.’
‘So the fact is, you were cleaning your teeth when you heard a door slam and people shouting at each other. You put down your toothbrush, walked to the window, and looked out to see what was happening. That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘Nay. I kept a good grip of me brush. Tha can watch a scrap and clean thi teeth at same time, lass.’ He made the point with such delight that several people in the public gallery exploded with suppressed laughter.
Sarah sighed. This was going nowhere. ‘I’m sure you can, Mr Mullen. The point I’m trying to establish, though, is this. You didn’t see all of the argument, although you did see the young man hit the girl. But it’s perfectly possible that she hit him first, before you started watching, isn’t it? Which would explain why he was angry, and hit her back.’
‘Nay lass, I saw what I saw, and it were none of that. Tha’ll not put words in me mouth.’
The old buzzard can go on like this all night, Sarah thought. With the jury happy to watch him, and no benefit at all to Simon. She sat down abruptly.
‘No more questions, my lord.’