Left You Dead

72

Kosmos Papadopoulos sat in the glassed-in dock of Court 3 at Lewes Crown Court. A tall, confident-looking man, with slicked-back hair, he wore an expensive suit, stylish cream shirt and blue silk tie, accessorized with bling rings and an even blinger watch. He could have done without the unwanted accessories on either side of him, a male and female security guard, in their shabby outfits. But at least his brief, Kiaran Murray-Smith, a sharp-eyed QC in his early fifties, and his junior, Madeleine Wade, had been doing a pretty good demolition job of the prosecution, so far.

His legal team had been doing so well that Papadopoulos could scent victory in the expressions of the jurors.

And now, the neatly dressed woman in her mid-thirties, with long hair the colour of straw, who was taking the oath in the witness box, didn’t look like she would say boo to a goose. Yet another in a string of so-called ‘expert’ witnesses called by the prosecution.

She swore on the Holy Bible to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Yadda, yadda, yadda. The poor deluded woman actually sounded like she meant it. Yeah, good luck with that one, lady. When you arrive at the Pearly Gates, if you’re expecting St Peter to unclip the crimson rope and let you turn left, you could be in for a spot of disappointment. But hey, that’s for later.

The witness over the next hour relayed to the court her evidence. She gave this in a quiet and assured manner, concentrating on conversations of the defendant that she had witnessed. Once the prosecution counsel had finished with the witness, the defence counsel got to his feet.

Murray-Smith was straight on it, going for the jugular.

‘Sharon Orman, could you please tell the court your academic and professional qualifications?’

‘I left secondary school with nine GCSEs and three A levels in mathematics, computer science and biology,’ she replied.

There was a short silence while he let the jury absorb this.

‘And, subsequently, what further qualifications did you achieve?’

‘None,’ she said falteringly. ‘I saw an advert for Sussex Police, looking for people to join under their diversity programme. I joined the Digital Forensics Team before moving to the Surveillance Unit.’

Murray-Smith gave her a big, confidence-boosting beam and a sarcastic tone. ‘Would this have been because you fancied a career change?’

There was a brief interruption as the prosecution counsel objected. The judge allowed the defence counsel to continue.

‘In your evidence, as an expert witness, Ms Orman, which was pretty damning, you claimed that you had watched, via binoculars, the defendant in conversation with another person. You read out from your notes your recording of what Mr Papadopoulos had purportedly said. I will repeat it, just for the avoidance of any misunderstanding.’ He picked up a sheet of paper and read aloud from it, directing his words at the jury box.

‘You told this court that, according to your interpretation, my client said, “There’s a drop in the Channel, one mile north of the Palace Pier. Eight million quid’s worth of crack cocaine at street value. I have two other bidders for this — do you want in? If so, give me your price by midday tomorrow.”’

Murray-Smith looked up from his notes, straight at the woman. ‘Is that correct?’

‘It is,’ she confirmed.

‘Word perfect?’

No hesitation. ‘Yes.’

‘So, Ms Orman, as we have heard, you’ve had no formal qualifications or training in the art of lip-reading. Yet you claim to have observed my client in discussions over what might or might not have been a business deal. Pretty damning evidence if true, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘I would,’ she said.

Murray-Smith went in for the kill. ‘So, as I understand it, Sharon Orman, you have no qualifications and no formal training to be a member of the Surrey and Sussex Police Surveillance Unit. Is that also correct?’

‘No, I have had surveillance training,’ she replied.

‘So, it is agreed,’ the defence counsel pounced, the bit between his teeth now. ‘We’ve asked what training you’ve had and you have told us. We have asked what qualifications you have to give this evidence and you’ve replied that you have no qualifications. So, you have come to court as a so-called “expert” witness, telling this court very damning evidence about what my client is alleged to have said. You’re not qualified to give this evidence. What gives you the authority to come here and tell this court what you have? Why should any of us here in this court believe what you have said?’

Calmly, her voice more assured now, Sharon Orman said, ‘Well, in childhood I lost my full hearing. I’ve spent the last twenty-five years of my life reading people’s lips, watching their movements — just like I’ve been reading yours. That’s the way I survive in the modern world. I think that’s all the qualification I need, wouldn’t you say?’

For a fleeting instant, Murray-Smith’s suave features took on an appearance of a bone-china cup that had been dropped from ten storeys onto a concrete block. Instantly regaining his composure, although not his confidence, he turned to the judge. ‘No further questions.’