A Fatal Verdict (17 page)

The tears had stopped. Kathryn seemed mollified, but still clung onto Miranda’s hand for support. ‘But I ought to speak for Shelley, didn’t I? I’m her mother.’

‘Not if it makes matters worse. Look, the only solid fact that the court needs to hear from you is that two nights before she died Shelley told you she was leaving David. That’s in your statement to the police. Now with luck the defence will accept that statement unchallenged. That will mean it’s read out in court to the jury, but no one can challenge it or try to twist your words to mean something they don’t. That’s what I think you should do.’

Kathryn sighed, twisting a tissue in her hands. She had steeled herself for so long to confront David in court. The prospect terrified her, but it seemed like her duty. Could she give it up now without betraying her daughter? She shook her head slowly.

‘I don’t know. Let me think about it overnight.’ She looked down at the table, shaking her head sadly. ‘But if you really believe Shelley was murdered, how could you come out with all those questions just now?’

‘I’m an advocate, Mrs Walters. I’m trained to argue both sides of a case. But that doesn’t mean I can’t make up my mind about which one is true. In fact it helps me to do that.’

‘All right.’ Kathryn stood up. ‘So what about David, when he goes on the stand? Will you question him as hard as you questioned me, just now?’

‘Kathryn, I was just playing with you, to let you see what it could be like. Don’t worry. With him, it’ll be the real thing.’

The trouble is, Sarah thought later as she rode away, tough questions only hurt people with soft consciences. Villains like David Kidd have souls made of alligator hide.  

21. Queuing Very Fiercely

On Monday morning, the prosecution team met in a hotel for a working breakfast. Mark Wrass, the CPS solicitor, was in bullish mood.

‘Just a few more nails to bang into place, and the scaffold is built,’ he said cheerfully, through a mouthful of sausage and egg. ‘Do you anticipate any problems?’

‘A couple,’ said Sarah thoughtfully, sipping orange juice. She was finding Mark’s cheerfulness hard to cope with today. It wasn’t his fault; she had spent the weekend vainly trying to understand Bob’s sudden urge to move house; a discussion that somehow, never quite reached the main point. The move, it seemed, was all part of her husband’s need to redefine himself, make a new start. But quite why this mattered so much now, was far more obscure. As was the even deeper question: did this new start include her?

She sighed, and brought her mind back to the meeting in hand. She confirmed that Kathryn Walters had decided not to give evidence. ‘That’s the right decision, I think. But what worries me more is that they’re going to call the girl’s psychiatrist.’

‘Just because she was depressed doesn’t mean she killed herself,’ mumbled Wrass, mopping up egg with fried bread. ‘You can nail that one, surely.’

‘I’ll try,’ said Sarah. ‘But the way she insisted on seeing Kidd alone, and maybe had sex with him too - it all builds their case for suicide, doesn’t it?’

‘How so?’

‘Well, look at it this way. She’s bi-polar, he claims, so when she’s up she’s really up - cheerful, energetic, assertive - but when she’s down she’s the opposite, self-doubting, unsure, a pushover for a bastard like Kidd. That’s probably what attracted her to him; he’s a strong character with no qualms about telling her what to do. Just like her mother, probably, which explains why those two hated each other on sight. So Shelley tried to dump him, but felt guilty, wondered if she’d made a mistake, and went back to see him one more time - she didn’t really need that stuff in her bag. And she did forgive him, didn’t she, so it seems? She let him make love to her.’

‘Let him?’ Terry said. ‘More like rape, I’d have thought.’

‘Well, we can’t prove that. But even if it was, that just helps their case, don’t you see? It explains what happened next. He goes out to the shop, and she suddenly realises what she’s done, is overcome with remorse, grabs a knife from the kitchen and kills herself. Psychologically, it works fine.’

‘Yes, but there are his fingerprints on the knife, the bruises on her neck, and the way her wrists were cut,’ said Mark Wrass firmly. ‘They all point to him.’

‘I agree. They’re hard facts, not psychological speculation. But other facts are less good for us. This timing issue, for instance. Terry, I’ve got the shopkeeper this afternoon.  Will he stand up to questions in court?’

‘I suppose so.’ Terry frowned. ‘But Will Churchill interviewed him, not me.’

‘Churchill?’ Sarah asked, surprised. A worm of doubt stirred uneasily in her stomach.  ‘I thought this was your case, not his.’

‘Yes, but the day I was going to see him, Esther was rushed into Casualty with suspected meningitis.’ He shuddered at the memory. ‘So Will Churchill took his statement, not me. But it’s clear enough, isn’t it? What’s the problem?’

‘Well, you remember how Savendra worried away at Dr Tuchman, cutting down the time Shelley could have lain bleeding in the bath and still been alive when the ambulance crew came? He got him down to fifteen or twenty minutes. So if the shopkeeper says David was out of the flat for more than say, thirteen minutes, then since the ambulance took seven minutes to arrive, our case is blown out of the water. If he’d cut her wrists before he went out, she’d have been dead when he got back.’

‘Unless he cut her wrists after he came back?’ Terry said. ‘That’s the other possibility, you know.’

‘Not now it isn’t!’ Sarah glared at him, her hazel eyes making her displeasure clear.
You should know this,
the look said. ‘Didn’t you see what happened last week, with the priest?’

‘No,’ Terry frowned. ‘I didn’t stay for his evidence. What happened?’

Sarah sighed. ‘That priest told Savendra exactly when he saw Kidd outside his flat. Six minutes to four, he said; he was late for evensong so he checked his watch. And Kidd called 999 at 3.56 - two minutes later. It’s too quick, Terry, he couldn’t have killed her in that short time. Anyway, think what he told the operator: “My girlfriend’s dead, she’s killed herself.” He’s not stupid - he wouldn’t have said that if he’d cut her wrists just a minute before. He’d have waited, given her time to bleed to death first. Which is why he went out to the shop - to give her time to die. So what matters now is exactly how long he was away.’     

‘He was in the shop for less than five minutes,’ Terry replied bluntly. ‘The shopkeeper says that quite clearly.’

‘Yes, well let’s just hope he sticks to that in court,’ Sarah said thoughtfully. ‘Otherwise we’re sunk. You do realise that, don’t you?’‘

The shopkeeper, Mr Patel, was a small, rotund elderly Asian gentleman, who surveyed his impressive surroundings with nervous awe. Sarah led him gently through the preliminaries. His shop, he said, was about forty yards from David Kidd’s flat. A minute’s walk, no more. On the night Shelley died, David came into the shop, and bought some olive oil and flowers. He seemed quite keen to talk, Mr Patel said. He was cooking a meal for himself and Shelley. The flowers were a present for her.

‘And what else did you talk about?’

‘Football. I had watched Leeds beat Arsenal in the cup the day before. He asked me about the match and I told him.’

‘And how did he look, during this conversation?’

‘A little agitated, perhaps. Sweating, as though he was hot.’

Sarah smiled encouragingly. So far everything was going to plan. In his statement Mr Patel had said that David had only been in the shop for a maximum of four minutes, meaning that he was away from his flat for no more than six minutes in total, thus making it quite possible for him to have cut Shelley’s wrists before he went out, and return to find her still alive. Hesitantly, he confirmed this for Sarah now.

‘I think that is probably right, yes. I mean, that is what I told the policeman.’

‘Detective Chief Inspector Churchill, you mean?’ Sarah had the witness statement in front of her, with Churchill’s signature beside Patel’s on every page. The shopkeeper’s words were faithfully recorded in Will Churchill’s smooth, rounded handwriting.

‘Yes, I believe that was the officer’s name.’

‘Very well. And you stand by that statement now, do you?

‘I ... well, it’s hard to remember exactly after such a long time, you see, madam, but ...’

Don’t hesitate now, Sarah thought, for Christ’s sake. Not when we’re almost there. Yet it seemed if that was exactly what the man was doing. Small beads of perspiration were appearing on his domed brown forehead; he was looking around the court nervously. She was concerned, but not particularly surprised. Many witnesses found it an ordeal to give evidence in open court, particularly in a serious trial like this, with the man accused of murder only a few yards away, glaring at you from the dock as David Kidd was doing now. Smoothly, she moved to help him.

‘But at the time you gave this statement, on the 25th of May, your memory of the events was much clearer, presumably? Only four days after Miss Walters died?’

‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

‘So you were clear enough in your mind then. David Kidd was in your shop for no more than four minutes, you said. Is that correct, Mr Patel?’

‘That ... is what I told the Inspector, yes.’

‘Thank you.’ Sarah gave him a warm, encouraging smile. You have done your public duty admirably, the smile was meant to say. Just stick to your story for a few more minutes and your ordeal will be over. You can go back to your shop and sell baked beans in peace.

But first, the shopkeeper had to face Savendra, who had been  watching him like a hawk. Last night Savendra had studied this man’s witness statement with unusual care - a task made the more pleasant by the faint traces of Belinda’s scent which still clung to his copy of the document. The longer he watched Patel in the witness box, the more his confidence grew. This man was the keystone of Sarah’s case; if he couldn’t stand the pressure, the arch of evidence she was trying to build would collapse in rubble and doubt. And the shopkeeper had been sweating, even before a friendly advocate.

The man’s eyes followed Sarah regretfully as she sat down. Savendra rose and waited, saying nothing, until the shopkeeper reluctantly turned to face him.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Patel. My name is Savendra Bhose. I am defence counsel for Mr Kidd.’

‘Good afternoon, sir.’

That one word, ‘sir’, was important. It was an acknowledgement of Savendra’s social and professional status; a level far superior to that of this elderly shopkeeper or, probably, anyone in his family.

‘Just now, Mr Patel, you told my learned colleague how difficult it was to remember events that took place some six months ago.’

‘Yes, sir. I did.’

‘I am sure the members of the jury appreciate your difficulty. I doubt if many of them could remember events that took place so long ago. And it’s fair to say, isn’t it, Mr Patel, that you had no idea, when Mr Kidd came into your shop, that his visit that day was an important one, that you should try to remember. You thought he’d just popped in to buy some food, didn’t you? Like any other customer.’

‘Yes, sir, of course.’

‘Quite. Could you give this court an estimate of how many customers come into your shop every day? In general terms, I mean. How many? Fifty? A hundred perhaps?’      

‘On a good day, sir, perhaps two or three hundred.’ The shopkeeper swelled with defensive pride. ‘I have a thriving business. I have a large family and it supports them all.’

‘I am glad to hear it, Mr Patel. Very commendable too. So, of these two or three hundred customers, do you remember in detail what each one of them buys, how long they spend in the shop, and so on?’

‘Not in detail, sir, no, of course not.’

‘Some of them talk to you, no doubt. Do you remember what each of them say?’

‘One or two, perhaps. Not all of them, no.’

‘And you gave this statement to DCI Churchill when? Four days after Shelley Walters died. Well, today is Monday. Can you remember, for instance, who came into your shop last Thursday?’

‘I ... well ... some of them, perhaps. I’m not sure. It’s hard to say.’

‘You see, the reason I ask, Mr Patel, is that in this statement you gave the police some very precise details about one of your customers who’d been in your shop four days before.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You say - let me see, I have it here...’ Savendra looked down at the words he had highlighted in yellow on the fragrant statement in his hand. “...he knew where everything was in the shop and he found it quickly. We had a brief conversation about football but it didn’t last long because there were some ladies behind him queueing very fiercely. He couldn’t have been in the shop more than four minutes in total.” It’s very precise, isn’t it, Mr Patel. “Ladies queuing very fiercely ... four minutes in total.” Do you really remember all of those things?’

‘I ... I remembered them when I spoke to the police officer. It’s a long time ago now.’

‘You remember them less well now, you mean?’

‘I am less sure, perhaps.’

‘Less sure. You see, this is a very important matter, Mr Patel. You do realise that, don’t you? A man could go to prison for life on the basis of your evidence. You have sworn an oath to tell the truth in this court of her Majesty the Queen. With her royal coat of arms above the learned judge’s throne.’

Watching, Sarah felt her own concerns increase. The sweat on the shopkeeper’s brow was more prominent now, his anxiety greater. The jury were watching him doubtfully.

‘Yes, sir. I understand that.’

‘Yet you still stand by this statement, do you? You mean to tell this court - this jury - that you remember clearly how long this man, Mr Kidd, spent in your shop more than six months ago?’

‘It is very difficult, sir. That is what I told the policeman.’

‘I see.’ Savendra sighed as though dissatisfied with the answer. ‘Let’s look at your statement, shall we? You have a copy in front of you. Is that your handwriting?’

‘Mine? No, sir. The policeman wrote it.’

‘The policeman wrote it? Not you? So he wrote it, and you just signed it?’

‘Yes, sir, that was the way.’

Sarah leaned her elbows on the table, massaging her forehead with her fingertips. This was a familiar issue to both barristers. Police regulations advised that, whereever practicable, witnesses should write out their statements in their own hand, but in practice this seldom happened. It took twice as long, and many witnesses were simply not up to the task, crossing things out, including masses of irrelevant details, and being unable to spell or punctuate. So the police officer did it for them, in the process fashioning a statement that simultaneously suited the purposes of the investigation and laid them open to the charge of putting words into the witness’s mouth.