The Killing of Katie Steelstock (32 page)

“It’s not a question of troubling me. My function is to arrive at my best estimate of the evidence. How can I do that when part of it is kept from me?”

“There was no intention—”

“This report says, ‘On close examination of the depressed fracture in this case, I was struck by the marked similarity to the fracture in the earlier case and concluded that they had both been made by the same instrument.’”

The press box was drinking this in with the gratification of puppies presented with an unexpected meal. Mr. Appleton glanced at them and said, “Since these proceedings are being publicly reported, I should perhaps explain that this second report concerns a body, since identified as a Mr. Lewson, which was recovered from the river some miles below Whitchurch. There seems to be evidence that it entered the water at Hannington on the evening that Miss Steelstock was killed.” He turned to Mavor. “Did that not seem to you to be important?”

“Having considered the matter carefully, sir, we came to the conclusion that Dr. Carlyle must have been mistaken.”

“I see.”

“Although,” said Mrs. Bellamy, “his conclusions were supported by Dr. Summerson, who is possibly the most experienced pathologist in the country. There is a note by him to that effect, at the foot of the report.”

“In spite of that,” said Mavor stolidly.

“I have said this before and I will say it again,” said Mr. Appleton. “It is not the job of the police to pick and choose what evidence they will give. It is their duty to present all the evidence. Have you any more questions, ma’am?”

“No more questions,” said Mrs. Bellamy, subsiding gracefully.

“George Courtenay Mariner.”

Mr. Mariner took the oath in a confident voice, identified himself and proceeded to describe the quarrel which had taken place in the Tennis Club bar. Mrs. Bellamy appeared to be so far uninterested in what he was saying that she spent most of the time in a whispered colloquy with Sophie. It was clear, however, that her attention had not wandered, for when Mavor said, “Was there, to your knowledge, an earlier occasion when the accused engaged in an altercation with a Mr. Windle?” she was on her feet in a flash.

“I must object to that,” she said.

“If your objection,” said Mavor, “is that evidence about the earlier occasion would better be given by Mr. Windle himself, I can assure you that it is my intention to call him.”

“My objection, as my learned friend well knows, is that the earlier episode can only be referred to as evidence of the general character and disposition of the accused. It cannot be adduced in committal proceedings.”

Mr. Appleton looked lost. His clerk rose to his feet and said something to him. Mr. Appleton nodded several times and said, “The objection is supported.”

“I have no questions for this witness,” said Mrs. Bellamy. She managed to say it in a tone of voice which implied that his evidence was unimportant and irrelevant. Mariner looked surprised and left the box. It was difficult to say whether he was relieved or disappointed at not being cross-examined.

“I should explain,” said Mavor, “that my next witness, Arthur Simpson Havelock, is a boy of nine. His mother is in court and if you feel it advisable that she should stand near the boy, we should have no objection.”

“He’ll be all right,” said Mrs. Havelock, “as long as you don’t frighten him.”

Sim, looking minute but quite self-possessed, took the oath. The Magistrate, who knew Mrs. Havelock and all her children, said, “Look at that gentleman, Sim. The one standing up. He’s going to ask you some questions.”

“All right.”

“How old are you, Sim?”

“I’m nine.”

“And you’re old enough to understand that this is a law court and that you’re giving evidence and must speak truthfully.”

“O.K.”

“You see Mr. Limbery. Over there. You know him, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever see him with Miss Steelstock?”

“With Katie?”

“Yes.”

Mavor waited patiently. His training and his instincts had been against calling the boy, and if his evidence had not been vital to his case he would not have done so.

Sim said, “Do you mean about seeing them at the boathouse?”

“If you saw them at the boathouse, then you can tell us about it.”

“Well, we did.” Sim paused and added, “We saw them twice. Once was in May and once was in July.”

“And what were they doing?”

The court held its breath.

“They were lying on the ground. The second time we didn’t see much because they went into the boathouse.”

“When you did see them, Sim – on the first occasion – can you tell us what they were doing?”

“Not really. It was getting dark.”

“I see. So it would have been sometime about nine o’clock.”

“About then.”

“Were they lying close together?”

“Quite close, yes.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Mavor could see Mrs. Bellamy watching him like a hawk. He thought that the last answer was almost what he wanted. If he went any further he might spoil it. He said, “Thank you,” and sat down.

Mrs. Bellamy said, “When you were answering the gentleman, Sim, I couldn’t help noticing that you said, ‘We saw them.’ Was someone with you?”

“Roney wa”Is Roney your brother?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose he’s younger than you?”

For the first time Sim smiled, exposing a gappy set of front teeth. He said, “Roney isn’t younger than me. He’s eleven. Nearly twelve.”

Mrs. Bellamy looked at the Magistrate, but he already had the point. He said, “I take it that the other boy is being called?”

Mavor’s sigh was almost audible. He said, “I understand, sir, that there was some sort of difficulty about the older boy.”

“What sort of difficulty?”

“He wasn’t willing to give evidence.”

The Magistrate looked puzzled. He said, “If the two boys were together on both occasions, surely it would have been preferable to have called the older boy. There’s no rule that I know of against issuing a subpoena to a minor.”

“It would be unusual,” agreed Mavor. “But I know nothing against it.”

“Is the boy available?”

Mrs. Havelock said, “He’s in the waiting room.”

“I should like to hear his evidence.”

Mavor hesitated. He said, “I shall have to take instructions, sir.”

“Very well.”

Two whispered conferences began. The first between Mavor, Knott and the solicitor acting for the police; the second between Mr. Appleton and his clerk.

“Like amateur theatricals when something goes wrong,” said Group Captain Gonville. “The only difference is they haven’t got a curtain to lower. Are they going to let Roney loose on us?”

“They’re in for trouble either way,” said Mrs. Havelock grimly.

As the conferences came to an end, the Magistrate said, “I’m told that I’ve got no right to call for any particular witness. That’s not my job. It’s up to the prosecution to produce exactly what evidence they wish. I’m going to say this, however. If the older boy, who could clearly corroborate his brother, is
not
going to be called, I shall have to regard what the younger boy says as being, to a certain degree, suspect. I don’t mean that I shall disregard it altogether, but I shall accept it only with considerable caution.”

Mavor said smoothly, “We have decided that there is no reason why the other boy should not be asked to give evidence. If he refuses to speak, no doubt the court will have to decide whether it has any power to make him do so.”

“Obdurate witnesses used to be pressed between heavy weights,” said the Group Captain. “Perhaps he’ll be too nervous to say anything.”

“Don’t you believe it,” said Mrs. Havelock.

After this preamble, Roney’s entrance into the witness box had something of the effect of a star actor whose entrance onto the stage has been carefully delayed and prepared for him by the supporting cast. He smiled cheerfully at the crowded court and took the oath in a clear and confident voice. A murmur from the female members of the public, although not formulated into words, clearly expressed the mass view that he was a sweet little boy.

“We have one or two questions to ask you,” said Mavor. “I’m sure you realise the importance of giving truthful answers.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your brother has told us that you were with him on two occasions, once in May and once in July, when you saw Mr. Limbery with Kate Steelstock near the boathouse.”

“That’s right, sir. We saw them there.”

“Could you tell us what they were doing?”

“Just sitting together talking.”

“Sitting?”

“Sitting on the ground.”

“They weren’t lying down?”

“Oh no, sir. Just sitting. Talking and laughing.”

“You’re sure they weren’t lying down.”

“Quite sure.”

“You realise that you are giving evidence on oath.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if you don’t speak the truth, the consequences can be very serious.”

“That’s right,” said Roney. “It’s called perjury and you can be sent to prison.”

“Then let me repeat the question. Are you sure that they weren’t lying together on the ground quite close to each other?”

“I won’t have this witness intimidated,” said Mr. Appleton. “He’s told you once. What’s the point of getting him to say it again?”

Roney flashed a grateful smile at Mr. Appleton and said, “He isn’t frightening me, sir. Mother told me that if I had to give evidence, I’d only got to tell the truth and no one could do anything to me.”

The crowd loved this. Mavor said, “Very well,” and sat down. Mrs. Bellamy said, “I’d like to ask you a question, Roney.”

“Yes?”

“You were just outside Mr. Limbery’s house in Belsize Road when a policeman came to ask him some questions.”

“Sergeant Esdaile. Yes, I saw him.”

“Were you close enough to hear what the Sergeant said to Mr. Limbery?”

“Oh yes, quite close enough.”

“Then could you tell us what he said?”

A slow flush crept up over Roney’s pale cheeks. He said, “It was rather rude.”

“We’re quite used to hearing rude words in this court,” said Mr. Appleton. “No one’s going to be shocked. Just see if you can remember.”

“Well, sir, he said something like Johnno—I mean Mr. Limbery— being a long-haired nuisance. Then he called him a bastard. I can’t remember what came before bastard, but it was a sort of rude word.”

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Bellamy. “Thank you very much.”

At about this time, Sergeant McCourt was looking for the Surrey and Berkshire Dockside Mission. He knew of its existence and like other charitable-minded inhabitants of Hannington had contributed small sums toward its upkeep. He had stopped doing so when he discovered that George Mariner was running it.

The mission house had not been easy to find, being tucked away in a back street in Stepney; and when found, it had not been easy to enter, since the front door was locked and bolted. Exploration down a side street had led him to the missioner’s flat and persistent hammering on the door had produced the missioner’s assistant, an earnest young man with a crew-cut, wearing overalls liberally splashed with fresh whitewash.

“Excuse my appearance,” he said. “Just trying to smarten the place up. Police? Good heavens, what have they been up to now?”

“Nothing to do with your young charges,” said McCourt. “I just wanted to find out if you had recently come into possession of an electric typewriter.”

“Quite recently. Last week, in fact. Don’t tell me it was stolen. Mr. Mariner—”

“It was Mr. Mariner gave it to you?”

“That’s right. He knew our old one was broken. He’d just bought himself a new portable and told Commander Bellairs to come down and collect his old one. Why?”

“It’s just a matter of checking a lot of local machines. We want to find out how one particular note came to be typed. That means elimination of all other possible machines.”

“Elimination?”

“That’s right.”

“It sounds mad to me. But come in.”

If McCourt had looked back as he followed the young man in he might have noticed an inconspicuous person busy lighting a cigarette ten yards down the pavement. Had he been even more alert, he might have noticed that the same person had been hanging about outside the barrier of the arrival platform at Paddington, but his mind was fixed on his quest.

As the door shut behind McCourt, the person showed signs of activity. He moved quickly back into the High Street and without actually running, but without wasting any time at all, reached a telephone box, dialled a number, said, “Blaine here,” and asked for Captain Smedley.

The Captain listened to what Blaine had to say, thought about it for a moment and said, “Good show. I guessed it would be worth keeping an eye on that young man. Stay with him.”

Most of the excitement in the afternoon was caused by one man and two women fainting. They were carried out of the packed and stifling hall, but this had not diminished the crowd, since three more people from the head of the queue were allowed in.

Mavor had been dealing with the discovery and identification of the note. Listening to him as he pieced together the evidence of Sally Nurse, her father and mother, Sergeant Shilling and Walter Steelstock, Mrs. Havelock had appreciated for the first time how a prosecution case had to be built up. Not by one or two dramatic witnesses but by a lot of humdrum people contributing each their own small share, a brick at a time in the edifice of the Crown.

The only light relief had been Walter’s bashful explanation of what he understood LYPAH to mean. The press had enjoyed that.

As the afternoon drew toward its close, Mrs. Steelstock was in the box. She had identified her own signature on the envelope which contained the note and Mavor was now moving on, cautiously, to a different topic.

“Can you tell us,” he said, “from your own observation, something of the relationship between your daughter and the accused?”

“To start with, they seemed to be good friends.”

“Yes?”

“More recently I should have said that any feeling my daughter may have had for Mr. Limbery had ceased.”

Jonathan, who had appeared to be dozing in the dock, sat up.