A Mind to Kill

Chapter Twenty-one

The diminutive judge was the main target of Jane’s attempted abuse, trying to get Jennifer to call him a dwarf and Santa’s little helper and a short-ass, but she also tried with every formal witness with whom Keflin-Brown opened the prosecution. Almost every time Jennifer beat her, lips clamped against the outbursts. She did practically as well against any uncontrollable movement, arms rigid by her sides to hold the chair edge, her feet entwined around the seat legs. Had it not been secured to the floor to avoid its use as a weapon by a berserk prisoner, that unbalanced posture would have worked against her, bringing her crashing down entangled in the chair, when her body lurched violently sideways. As it was, the movement, the worst, stopped the court again. The motherly wardress who’d kept a handkerchief ready since the dribbling episode managed to snatch out, stopping Jennifer being thrown off, and Jarvis warned Jeremy Hall yet again. That was the occasion Jane tried to make her call the judge Santa’s little helper at the same time as telling him to keep his rat-trap mouth shut.

Keflin-Brown, even more adept at ingratiating himself with a judge than he was with a jury, managed to create a very visible contrast between Jennifer’s impromptu interruptions by the efficient quickness with which he called his technical witnesses.

A police photographer produced an extensive portfolio of pictures, individual copies of which were distributed to the jury and among the assembled lawyers. The man quickly itemized each print. Copies were not given to Jennifer but she could see some open in front of the lawyers that included Gerald’s blood-soaked body and the gore-splattered office and the lip-clamped shuddering the sight caused her had nothing to do with Jane. The photographs were supplemented by the official plans of the Enco-Corps’ office, which were sworn by the architect as those he’d drawn to rebuild the property after the IRA bombing but which had been additionally marked for the trial showing the positioning of Gerald Lomax’s permanently visible office and its glass-sided approach corridor in relation to the open trading floor from which the murder had been witnessed by so many people.

It was Jennifer’s own revulsion that again shook through her at the evidence of the Home Office pathologist Felix Hewitt, its awfulness worsened by the clinically unemotional way the man presented his post-mortem findings. He described the injuries as massive. The aorta artery and ventricle chamber had been penetrated – the aorta twice – and one knife wound had entered the brain through the left eye, inflicting huge damage to the frontal lobe and into the cortex. The carotid artery in the neck was also severed as well as the femoral artery in the groin, which was the worst of seven cuts and stabs to the genital area. The face was also extensively lacerated, the nose practically severed. In Hewitt’s opinion six of a total of thirty-two severe stab and cut wounds would have been fatal. There were numerous others, less severe, to the arms and hands consistent with attempted self-defence. Death would have occurred in minutes, from a combination of the fatal stab wounds, extensive and immediate blood loss and shock.

‘ Tried to cut his cock off. Bastard deserved to lose it. Thought I’d managed it. He’d have felt it, though. Been in agony. Like that one in the eye: that would have hurt! ’

By the time of the luncheon adjournment Jennifer felt totally exhausted, her arms and legs cramped from the way she’d forced herself to sit. The muscles in her arms and legs trembled and she needed the support of both wardresses either side to reach the downward steps and for them to be at her front and back to guide her down into the cell. The once crisp and pure white voile shirt was grey and limp from perspiration, sticking to her back and shoulders like another skin: sweat had soaked through into the suit, too, which was sagged with creases and damply uncomfortable. Her handkerchief was sodden with spittle, too wet for her to wipe herself dry any more. Her make-up would be totally destroyed, she realized. She shook her head against the motherly wardress’ suggestion of food: nausea churned her stomach, bringing her close to vomiting.

She found it difficult even to look up at Jeremy Hall’s entry from the table at which she was slumped. The solicitor was not with him.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Of course I’m not all right!’

‘ She’s insane. Everyone knows that! ’

‘Shut up!’ To Hall she said, ‘She’s saying I’m insane, like she always does.’

‘Was it bad?’

‘You saw how bad it was!’

‘I meant how much did you manage to stop?’

‘ Not enough! ’

‘A lot. Nearly all the outbursts. A lot of the movement, too. But I know it wasn’t enough. I’ve annoyed the judge, haven’t I?’

‘Do you want a doctor? An adjournment?’

‘ No! You’ve got to go on suffering! ’

‘What would that achieve?’

Hall made an uncertain movement. ‘Tranquillizers might help.’

‘ No! Say you don’t want them.’

Jennifer found herself clutching the underside of the cell chair. ‘Are they permissible?’

‘ No! Won’t stop you being my puppet. ’

‘I think so. I’ll try to arrange something. It wouldn’t be possible for Mason to hypnotize you. He’s to be called as an expert defence witness.’

‘You didn’t question any of the witnesses this morning?’ Jennifer challenged.

‘There was nothing to ask them.’

‘The women you so carefully got on the jury were appalled at the photographs. I saw their faces.’

‘Don’t try to anticipate reaction.’

‘I didn’t have to try.’

Hall shifted, discomfited. He’d come to the cells because he’d felt he had to but Perry had been right: there was nothing he could say or do. He hadn’t expected to hope this soon that Jarvis would terminate the trial. ‘Anything you want? Anything I can do?’

‘The tranquillizers might help.’

‘ Waste of time! ’

‘I’ll find the court doctor.’

‘And can you let me have a handkerchief? This one’s no good any more.’

Without her intending it to happen Jennifer’s throat closed against the Librium the court doctor offered. She choked against regurgitating, coughing afresh at the water she gulped to help swallow them. She finally managed it, her eyes and nose running. She was still weak-kneed and unsteady on her feet, glad of the two women to help her back to the court: wanting to anticipate each and every problem, although do nothing to alert Jane in advance, she abruptly asked to use the toilet as they passed it, even though she hardly needed to when she entered. Almost at once her bladder collapsed and she only just managed to avoid wetting herself.

‘ Difficult to keep up, isn’t it Jennifer? But you can’t relax, not for a moment. Not ever. Not until I’ve taken away so much of your mind that it doesn’t matter any more.’

Jennifer clutched apprehensively at the dock rail, her escorts tight on either side, for the judge’s entry but no feeling was taken from her legs this time and she only had to remain standing for seconds. She grabbed at once for the seat as she sat, entwining her legs again. She felt desperately, achingly tired, tremors constantly flickering through her muscles. It all had to be from the strain of the morning: the tranquillizer would not have had time to work yet. She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them wide, against the desire to close them altogether.

‘ Tired, Jennifer? Want to sleep a little. Go on, close your eyes .’

Jennifer stopped herself by continuously stretching and unstretching her face until she realized people were looking at her: two women jurors were shaking their heads, sadly. Abruptly she stopped. The pain of biting the inside of her lips helped fight off the tiredness as well as keep them closed, to stop herself being Jane’s ventriloquist’s dummy.

‘ Can’t relax, not for a moment. Forgot again, didn’t you? ’

It was the prosecuting junior, Robert Morley, who took forensic scientist Anthony Billington through his evidence. Keflin-Brown sat relaxed beside the man, legs fully outstretched, head sunk on his chest as if he, too, was about to sleep.

Billington was a large, fat man who’d either put on a lot of weight since buying the over-stretched suit or been misled over its size. His deathly pale although heavily freckled face heightened the redness of his disordered hair.

As he began responding to the younger barrister’s lead Jane said, ‘ This is what’s going to convict you, so listen up, you hear? Don’t want to miss a word of it.’

The body of a man identified to him as Gerald Lomax had still been in situ although already dead upon his arrival, Billington agreed, to Morley’s opening question. Mrs Lomax, whom he recognized in the dock, had also been there and identified to him. Both had suffered severe injuries, the man far more extensively than the woman. These injuries had caused widespread bloodstaining illustrated in the photographs, which Morley showed the man. Billington said he had taken numerous blood samples, which he had later identified. One, AB Rhesus Positive, was that of Gerald Lomax. The other sample was O Rhesus Negative. At Morley’s urging the scientist isolated three pictures from the portfolio showing finger and palm prints in a splayed, arced pattern, where someone with blood-soaked hands had stood, supported on outstretched arms. At the scene was a German-made kitchen knife, heavily bloodstained on both blade and handle, which he again identified from the picture file. The fingerprints in the blood on the handle of the knife matched those on the window that overlooked the trading floor. Mrs Lomax had substantial cuts to her hand. The blood on the handle and the window was O Rhesus Negative. On the blade there was also a considerable amount of AB Rhesus Positive.

Jennifer had by now been lulled by the tranquillizer and Jane’s absence for several minutes, so the sharp return almost caught her out. But oddly the slowing of her reaction at the same time gave her time virtually to hold it back, as well as to keep her lower lip tight between her teeth.

‘ Tell him Rhesus is a monkey and he’s a fucking ape.’

Jennifer stopped the sentence halfway through and coughed to cover the words she did utter. The urge was to throw her arms wildly up in the air and make the animal grunting sounds echoing through her head but she fought the movement by hanging on to the chair and for once the permanently irate judge did not appear to notice. She thought some people in the court had detected it, like they’d seen her contorted face. There was a nudge from the friendly wardress, who offered Hall’s handkerchief. Hurriedly Jennifer mopped her face, conscious that saliva speckled her suit front. She cleaned that off, too.

‘ Get you a bib. That’s what we’ll have to do. And some adult diapers for when you piss yourself.’

After his scene-of-crime examination Billington said he was later given samples of debris scraped from beneath the dead man’s fingernails by the pathologist, Professor Hewitt. It included O Rhesus Negative blood and skin particles consistent with a self-defence struggle and with the extensive scratch marks on Mrs Lomax’s arms and hands.

‘ Couldn’t stop me though, could he? ’ demanded Jane, as Morley sat down.

For the moment he had to go through the motions of presenting the defence demanded by his client, thought Jeremy Hall, rising for the first time.

‘Did you take any further samples, for forensic examination?’

‘Yes.’

‘Which you haven’t presented in court?’ Hall asked the question half turned, accusingly, towards the prosecution.

‘I was not asked about them,’ reminded the scientist, defensively.

‘Then I shall ask you now,’ said Hall.

‘If you must,’ intruded Jarvis, wearily.

‘ He’s going to be so pissed off at the end of all this it’s going to be unbelievable! ’

‘Perhaps you would tell the court what other samples you took,’ persisted Hall.

‘There was considerable evidence of a struggle,’ said the man. ‘The desk was greatly pushed out of the position indicated by indented pressure marks upon the carpet and what had obviously been Mr Lomax’s chair was overturned. Articles from the desk had been thrown to the floor and two decorative pots smashed. I examined several of these articles for fingerprints, to establish if anything had been used as a weapon-’

‘Had anything been so used?’ broke in Hall.

‘There was some hair adhering in blood to one of the broken pots.’

‘Whose hair?’

‘Mr Lomax’s.’

‘Anything else?’

‘There was other hair, which matched both Mr and Mrs Lomax, on the chair and against the window at which Mrs Lomax was slumped when I entered the office.’

‘I’m sure the prosecution are greatly obliged for your assisting their case, Mr Hall,’ broke in Jarvis.

‘What about fingerprints?’ continued Hall, determinedly.

‘Widespread, throughout the office.’

‘Of Mr and Mrs Lomax?’

‘Yes.’

‘But of no-one else?’

‘Mr Hall!’ said the judge, pained.

‘ Shut the fuck up, you silly little bastard! Tell him! ’

Jennifer had the first word half-formed before she was able to stop herself, so the sound came out as a sibilant hiss.

Billington hesitated, unsure whether or not to answer. At an impatient nod from the judge, he said, ‘There was a third set of fingerprints, which were found to be those of the cleaner.’

‘Not of any other person, apart from the cleaner?’

‘He’s answered the question, Mr Hall!’ said Jarvis.

‘With respect, my Lord, I think it could be more fully responded to.’

This time the nod of permission was accompanied by a heavy sigh. Red patches of anger were picked out on Jarvis’s cheeks.

Billington said, ‘Apart from the cleaner’s fingerprints, there was no forensic evidence whatsoever of anyone having been in the office other than Mr and Mrs Lomax.’

He’d made the pretence, thought Hall, gratefully sitting under the glare of the judge.

‘I call Superintendent John Bentley, the arresting officer,’ declared the younger prosecuting barrister and Jane said, ‘ I’m not going to be able to do anything here to make you sound more of a loony than you did yourself.’

The detective entered the box only just short of a swagger and gave the smallest bow in the direction of Jarvis before looking towards the press gallery and smiling, to old friends. Jennifer saw several actually smile back.

Having allowed his junior the crumbs of establishing the technical, bottom-of-the-page evidence, it was Keflin-Brown who stood to take Bentley’s account. The suave superintendent, flamboyantly immaculate in brown pinstriped suit complete with a deep red carnation, recited his rank and position and followed the older barrister’s direction with accustomed ease, a well rehearsed double act. At precisely three-thirty on the afternoon of the 14th, he and Detective Inspector Malcolm Rodgers had responded to an emergency call to the City premises of Enco-Corps, off Leadenhall Street. In the third-floor office they found the heavily bloodstained body of a man subsequently identified as Gerald James Lomax, the managing director of the commodity trading company. He was already dead, from numerous wounds. Slumped against a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the office’s working area they saw Mrs Jennifer Lomax. She was alive although bleeding profusely from a number of injuries and appeared to be in a state of deep shock. Because of that, which was confirmed by an on-the-scene paramedic team, Mrs Lomax was conveyed to St Thomas’s Hospital, for subsequent interview.

‘Did you form an opinion of what had happened in that office?’ demanded Keflin-Brown.

‘I did, sir,’ replied Bentley. ‘From my observations and from interviewing witnesses at the scene I concluded there had been a violent altercation between Mr and Mrs Lomax, culminating in Mr Lomax’s death.’

‘Mr Lomax’s murder,’ clarified Keflin-Brown.

‘Resulting in Mr Lomax’s murder, yes, sir.’

Keflin-Brown allowed himself a tit-for-tat sideways look at Hall before asking, ‘You came upon no evidence, nor did you form the opinion, that anyone else had been involved in this altercation?’

‘No, sir.’

‘What did you then do?’

‘After ensuring that statements were being satisfactorily taken from the large number of witnesses to the incident I went with my inspector to the hospital, where Mrs Lomax was being treated for her injuries. I established from the doctor that she was sufficiently fit to be interviewed…’

‘… There was no question of her fitness?’ slowed the barrister, wanting what he was sure to be the following morning’s headline delivered at the pace he intended.

‘None, sir. In fact, the doctor decided that Mrs Lomax was not, after all, suffering from shock.’

‘What then?’

Knowing his part in the publicity act, Bentley concentrated everyone’s attention by laboriously taking a notebook from his pocket. ‘The accused identified herself as Jennifer Lomax. I asked her if she knew why my inspector and I were there and she replied “Gerald”-’

‘Nothing else, simply “Gerald”?’ broke in Keflin-Brown again.

‘That’s all, sir. I then formally cautioned her and asked her if she had anything to say…’ Bentley paused, expectantly.

‘And what did she say?’

Bentley looked up from his notebook, directly towards the press. Quoting, he said, ‘“It wasn’t me. It was Jane.”’

There was an electric ripple throughout the journalists and a murmur from the public gallery above Jennifer. The jury exchanged frowned glances.

‘“It wasn’t me. It was Jane,”’ echoed Keflin-Brown.

‘That is correct, sir.’

‘Help us if you will, Superintendent. Who is Jane?’

‘The first wife of Gerald Lomax,’ said Bentley, jolting the media with another electric charge.

‘ There you go, Jennifer. Off to the funny farm with the kind men in the white coats.’

It took the choleric Jarvis several minutes to bring the court to order. Throughout the delay Keflin-Brown retained a statue-like pose matched by that of Bentley, upright and expressionless in the witness-box. Every member of the jury and all the press were looking at Jennifer: the two artists were sketching even more rapidly.

There was a hurried gesture from the wardress with the handkerchief, which Jennifer snatched to clean her face. It meant she was only holding on to the chair with her left hand. She was lurched furiously sideways, to her left, dislodging her grip. She grabbed out frantically, at first missing the wardress’s offered hand and briefly disappeared from sight beneath the court rail, as if trying to hide from the attention, before they righted her again. A fresh hubbub arose, which the agitated Jarvis once more shouted to control.

In Jennifer’s head the voice chanted in rhyme: ‘ Peekaboo, peekaboo. Can’t see me if I can’t see you.’

‘I shall clear this court if this behaviour doesn’t cease!’ threatened Jarvis. ‘Proceed, Mr Keflin-Brown. Let’s stop this nonsense.’

‘Were you subsequently able to discover from Mrs Lomax what she meant by that remark?’

‘Not one that made any sense to me, no.’

‘Did she decline to make a statement?’ demanded Keflin-Brown, eyes wide with feigned surprise.

‘On the evening when I formally arrested her she refused to make a statement without the presence of her solicitor. I made another attempt, later, to interview Mrs Lomax at the hospital, prior to the taking of a formal statement. At that time her barrister, Mr Hall, and solicitor, Mr Perry, were present…’

‘… You were pursuing your enquiries?’

‘I was, sir. Yes.’

‘A particular line of enquiry?’

‘Yes, sir,’ agreed Bentley, alert for Keflin-Brown’s guidance on how far he was expected to go.

‘This was in a police-guarded hospital ward?’

‘But the attempted interview was to be taken in strict accordance with the required rules. By which I mean there was an audio recording.’

‘What was Mrs Lomax’s demeanour?’

‘One of anger, mostly. She seemed upset that her legal advisors, their having apparently earlier told her to say nothing, had now agreed to our conducting the interview without prior consultation with her.’

‘Was that all?’

‘There were some remarks from Mrs Lomax which were disorientated.’

Hall rose to his feet, stopping the other barrister. ‘I wonder, my Lord, if we are not endangering privilege here?’

‘The witness has testified to having given Mrs Lomax an official caution. And you were present,’ said Jarvis.

Hall ran his hand over the papers before him. ‘There was no indication that this would be included, in the prosecution’s disclosures.’

‘I’m prepared to admit it,’ ruled Jarvis.

‘I’m obliged, my Lord,’ said Keflin-Brown as Hall sat. Then he said, ‘Angry and disorientated? Anything else?’

‘She demanded the presence of a doctor, to act as an independent witness.’

‘So she was agreeing to be interviewed?’

‘I believed that to be the case.’

‘Why should Mrs Lomax have needed an independent witness with her lawyers being present?’

‘It was never made clear, sir. She seemed to believe she would be cheated. At one stage she indicated she was dispensing with her legal representatives.’

‘Cheated!’ said Keflin-Brown, stressing artificial bewilderment. ‘Cheated of what? By whom?’

‘I never discovered that, sir.’

‘Was there a particular line of enquiry you were pursuing at this time?’

It was coming, thought Jennifer, and Jane said, ‘ You bet your sweet ass it is.’

‘There was, sir.’

‘Tell my Lord and the jury what that was.’

‘I had discovered Mr Lomax’s involvement with a member of staff and wanted to establish Mrs Lomax’s awareness of it.’

‘You mean a sexual involvement? An affair?’

‘Yes, sir.’

There was a stir from both the jury and the press.

‘What was Mrs Lomax’s reaction?’

‘She became hysterical. And collapsed.’

‘Were you able to resume that interview at a later date?’

‘No, sir. When I attempted to do so I was told by Mrs Lomax’s legal advisors that she declined to speak to me further.’

‘How long have you been in the police force, Superintendent?’

‘Twenty-eight years, sir.’

‘A man of considerable experience?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Including, regrettably, experience of murder cases?’

Speaking directly towards the jury again, Bentley said, ‘A total of twelve. All of which have led to a conviction.’

‘In that considerable experience, have people collapsed under questioning before?’

‘Several times.’

‘And in your opinion, based upon your considerable experience, was Mrs Lomax’s collapse genuine? Or faked?’

‘In my opinion, sir, it was faked.’

Keflin-Brown turned away from the detective, to face the jury again. ‘As I told you at the beginning of this case, you must at all times be guided on the questions of law by my Lord. But I would advise you that it has been the law in this country, since 1994, that juries are allowed to draw inference of guilt or innocence from a defendant’s insistence upon remaining silent.’

Jeremy Hall was annoyed but professionally so, still totally under control. Keflin-Brown had massaged the presentation to within a hair’s-breadth of what was permissible and if he’d been the counsel to attempt it Mr-Justice-Bloody-Jarvis would have cut him off at the knees. But then it had been a very long time since anyone had seriously tried to advance a case that the law, any more than life, was fair.

‘There is a lot more with which you can help the court, isn’t there, Superintendent?’ Hall spoke as he stood, a Keflin-Brown type mannerism.

‘I’m not sure that I can.’

No ‘sir’, Hall noted. ‘You were aware of something else at the time of the attempted interview about which you’ve told the court, quite apart from any affair that Gerald Lomax might have been involved in, weren’t you?’

‘I am not sure,’ repeated Bentley.

Trying to hold the knee-jerk temper, gauged Hall. ‘That surprises me.’

‘I am afraid I don’t understand.’

‘You’re a police officer of twenty-eight years’ experience? You’ve successfully solved twelve murders, a commendable record?’

‘Is there a point here, Mr Hall?’ demanded Jarvis.

It was an attempt to help the detective, but Hall saw at once how to use it to his advantage. ‘Very much indeed, my Lord. I am seeking to establish the credibility of this witness.’

‘Credibility?’ queried Jarvis, still to Hall’s benefit although not intending it to be.

‘Very much so, my Lord.’

‘How?’

Beside Hall, Keflin-Brown stirred, discomfited. In the witness-box the colour had begun to suffuse Bentley’s face. Hall said, ‘Upon the very essence of detection, I would have thought. His observation – about which Superintendent Bentley has already talked to this court – and of an incomplete record of an encounter at which, to the great benefit perhaps of my client, I was fortunate to be present.’

‘ Watch him drop you right in the shit! ’

Jennifer tightened her slightly relaxed grip but there was no movement.

‘Proceed,’ allowed the judge, reluctantly.

Bentley’s face was blazing and Hall was surprised it had been so easy. He said, ‘Mrs Lomax’s remark about Jane didn’t remain inexplicable to you, did it?’

Expectation surged through the press gallery.

‘No.’

‘Did you not make some comment about it, during the aggressive and unsuccessful interview with Mrs Lomax to which you’ve referred?’

‘I may have done.’

The qualification was a mistake, which the man appeared to realize as soon as he spoke. At once the impatient Jarvis said, ‘Well did you or didn’t you, Superintendent? Yes or no?’

‘I made reference to Mrs Lomax hearing voices in her head.’

‘Be quiet!’ snapped Jarvis, at the noise that rippled through the media.

Jane said, ‘ Jeremy’s on my side, not yours! He’s making it easy for me! I can relax! ’

Once more there was no impulse to move. Remembering, Jennifer looked enquiringly at the handkerchief-holding wardress, touching her mouth. The wardress shook her head.

‘Voices?’ pressed Hall. ‘Or just one voice?’

‘Just one voice.’

‘Mrs Lomax’s defence to this charge is that she is possessed, by the first wife of Gerald Lomax, isn’t it?’

The reaction, which was varied but all noisy, was general throughout the court and the judge’s fury wasn’t specifically directed. It still took several minutes to subside. Eventually Bentley said, ‘That is what I understand it to be.’

Hall felt very much in charge, enjoying himself. ‘Do you believe in ghosts, Superintendent?’

The tight-faced man allowed himself a frigid smile. ‘No.’

‘Or spirit possession?’

‘No.’

‘ He’s opening the door to the asylum for you! ’

‘And you didn’t believe Mrs Lomax’s collapse was real, either?’

‘No.’

‘Despite the fact that a doctor – a doctor who will be called during this trial to testify – categorically assured you that it was, within a very short time of it occurring?’

‘No.’

‘You have medical training then?’

‘No.’

‘So you are prepared to argue a medical, clinical opinion with a qualified doctor?’

‘In my professional opinion, it was a faked collapse,’ persisted Bentley, temper completely lost. ‘I’m certainly prepared to argue about ghosts and people being possessed!’

‘You shall, Superintendent, you shall,’ promised Hall, abruptly sitting.

Malcolm Rodgers, who followed Bentley into the witness-box, loyally supported his chief that the collapse was phoney and even agreed the apparent intention to fire her legal team could have been intended as a diversion, to avoid an interview. Conscious of looking remiss to a jury he intended to show he’d overlooked nothing, Keflin-Brown took the inspector in detail through every minute of every encounter with Jennifer Lomax. Who sat listening to Jane’s mental reminders of how insane it made her sound, although not needing to be told because that was precisely how every accurately recounted word made her appear.

‘Did you properly and completely carry out every part of a murder investigation, with the exception of a satisfactory interview or of obtaining a statement from the accused?’ concluded Keflin-Brown.

‘I did, sir,’ agreed Rodgers.

‘Absolutely?’

‘Absolutely.’

Jeremy Hall had no questions, which Jarvis seized to end the day’s proceedings. As they were tidying their files, the clerk hurried up to Perry with a folded note, from which the solicitor immediately looked up to Hall.

‘Jarvis wants to see us in chambers before we start tomorrow.’

Overhearing, Keflin-Brown said, ‘I’ll still take the lesser plea, if she’ll agree.’

Which Jennifer didn’t, fifteen minutes later, when Hall reached her in the cell. He thought Jennifer looked more than simply drained: she appeared hollowed out, a shell of a person.

‘I wasn’t sure where your cross-examination of Bentley took us,’ she said.

‘ First stop the madhouse.’

Hall wasn’t, either. ‘It dented his credibility.’

‘For which Rodgers more than compensated.’

‘It’s a long list so there’s no guarantee we’ll reach her, but Rebecca Nicholls is listed as a witness tomorrow,’ warned Hall.

‘ This we’ve both got to hear! ’

‘I think the tranquillizers helped today.’

‘I’ll see you have them again tomorrow.’

Jeremy Hall had a good note and an even better verbatim recall and went directly from court to chambers to compare what he considered relevant from the case notes with that day’s evidence. It took him two hours and ended with a feeling of frustration he couldn’t properly identify or even understand. ‘What is it?’ he demanded of himself, aloud and unembarrassed, in the solitude of his cramped back room. ‘What the fuck am I missing?’ Fuck wasn’t a word he normally resorted to but it seemed in very common usage these days.

His room was so remote that it was served by narrow back stairs so there was no collision as they left but he emerged at practically the same time as Sir Richard Proudfoot, Humphrey Perry and Bert Feltham leaving from the main entrance with two men he didn’t know. For several moments they remained looking at each other, startled. Then Proudfoot said, ‘Working late?’

‘Yes,’ said Hall. Then, uncaring, ‘You, too?’

‘Something like that,’ said the chamber head. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight.’

In Jennifer’s one-person prison ward the matron said, ‘There’s the magic to make you sleep, my lovely. Now nursey will just rub you, very gently, so you’ll relax.’

‘Give me the cheque-book,’ said Jennifer.