Corridors of the Night (36 page)

‘They could have been anybody.’ Rathbone tried to keep his voice level, reasonable, but the horror and the pity strained him beyond control. They were somebody’s children, whatever they died of. Why were they not in a churchyard, a grave in hallowed ground, like other dead children of the village?

Juster saw his face, and he did not waste words on answering.

‘Will you help me?’ His mouth twisted in that odd, wry smile of his. ‘To keep me within the law, if nothing else!’

Rathbone sighed. ‘I suppose I’d better do that. I owe you a debt of considerable gratitude. I would certainly like to see Rand put away, but fairly.’

Juster nodded. That was good enough.

The second trial of Hamilton Rand opened to a courtroom so packed that no one could move in the gallery without jostling his neighbour. People stared at the witness box or the judge, Patterson again, because there was no room to turn their backs to stare across at the jury. Still less was there room to crane their necks to look up at the dock where Hamilton Rand sat between two gaolers. He seemed to be looking beyond the court to some distant sight that only he could see.

He was charged this time with the murder of the woman who had been his co-defendant in the previous trial when both were charged with kidnap, and – by default – been found not guilty.

Juster began his prosecution very carefully, laying the scene piece by piece, as Rathbone had counselled him to do. He opened by calling as his first witness the man who had found the body while riding his horse early in the morning. The animal had smelled something that had disturbed it and had stopped in the middle of the road, unwilling to go on.

The man described his actions, and what he had found. He had then ridden back at some speed to ask a neighbour’s assistance to guard the body, and send for the police. He had not touched the dead woman, except to assure himself that she was cold, and beyond human help.

Counsel for the defence was a man named Lyons, who had fading red hair, and who was in fact far older and wiser than he looked. Rathbone knew him only by repute, but he had a considerable respect for him. He was not surprised when Lyons declined to distress the witness by asking him for any further and unnecessary details.

The police evidence was exactly what everyone expected. The surgeon was brief, as if he disliked describing the dead woman, now unable to defend herself, from the somewhat prurient interest of the public. He spoke of her with the slight euphemisms he might have used were he speaking of someone still alive.

Juster found it annoying. It blunted the edge of what had been done to her. Rathbone could see it clearly in his face.

‘Don’t,’ he warned very quietly.

‘He’s making it almost as if she weren’t really hurt!’ Juster hissed the words between clenched teeth. ‘She didn’t lie down in the ditch and go to sleep. She fought for her life when she realised he was trying to kill her! I’ve got to make the jury see—’

Rathbone tightened his grip on Juster’s arm until he winced.

‘No you haven’t! He’s made her seem human! He’s left her dignity intact rather than allowed you to speak of her as a piece of evidence in the case. He’s inviting the jury to see a real woman, one to protect, not exploit. Use it, Juster. Use it!’

‘Mr Juster?’ Patterson asked politely. ‘If you have no further questions for this witness, perhaps you would oblige me by allowing Mr Lyons to conclude?’

‘Thank you, my lord,’ Juster said with a slight nod. ‘I think the police surgeon has given us an excellent medical account of the tragic death of this young woman, at the beginning of her own life, after her selfless devotion to her father in his long illness. I don’t think we need disturb her peace with anything further.’

Lyons’ face was a picture of distaste as he rose to his feet. He knew precisely what Juster had achieved and was not fool enough to earn the jury’s disfavour by harassing the surgeon for more detail. He made his question brief.

‘Was there anything in the poor woman’s injuries to indicate the height or weight of her attacker, or anything else about him?’ he asked.

‘No, sir, except that he was far stronger than she was,’ the surgeon replied. ‘And he had the advantage of surprise,’ he added.

‘She was unaware of his approach?’ Lyons asked, raising his eyebrows.

‘No, sir. From the positioning of his hands on her throat, as I think I said before, she was facing him. She did not expect him to attack her.’

‘So it would be reasonable to suppose that he was someone known to her, and trusted by her?’

‘It would.’

‘Thank you. I have nothing further.’

Other professional testimony such as that of the police, who had conducted various parts of the investigation so there could afterwards be no detail misinterpreted, took up the afternoon. The following morning when they continued, the courtroom was so crowded doors had to be closed half an hour before the trial recommenced.

Juster called Hester Monk. He intended keeping Radnor himself until last. Anything Hester failed to do to engage the jury’s sympathy, Radnor was certain to do. Juster felt confident, which was clear from the grace of his step as he walked out into the open space and faced the witness stand. It was in the smooth ease of his voice when he spoke.

‘I am sorry to have to put you through this ordeal again, Mrs Monk,’ he said. ‘This time I hope we will have a less unfortunate outcome.’ He smiled very slightly, facing the witness stand and the jury, not the gallery. This might be a superb performance, but there was only one audience that mattered, those who would deliver the verdict. Rand’s life depended upon this, and – in a larger sense – justice itself and the belief that in the end it prevailed.

‘Mrs Monk,’ Juster began, ‘I know that you have given evidence before on a great many of the things that I will ask you, but remember that to this jury, it is all new. Have patience with me.’

It was not a question and she did not answer. Rathbone thought she looked pale, and very tired, even touched by grief. She might be the perfect witness, better even than Radnor, since he had to be emotional about his daughter’s death. Indeed, it would be conspicuous if he were not.

‘Mrs Monk,’ Juster continued, ‘will you tell the court briefly how you came to know Mr Rand, and Miss Radnor?’

Hester was very brief indeed, as if she had rehearsed it in her mind, but did not leave out anything essential.

‘I took a temporary post as night nurse at the annexe of the Greenwich Royal Naval Hospital. A friend from my nursing days in the Crimea had to take leave because of illness. I said I would fill her place as long as necessary, if I was satisfactory to Dr Magnus Rand, who is in charge of the annexe. During my service there I had occasion to meet Mr Hamilton Rand, who is a research chemist. Miss Adrienne Radnor came in when her father was admitted as a patient.’

‘And what was your duty?’ Juster asked.

‘To assist Mr Rand and Dr Rand in Mr Radnor’s treatment.’

‘Why you?’ Juster affected interest, as if he did not already know.

Rathbone glanced at the jurors. Most of them were leaning a little forward, waiting for the reply.

Hester answered without the slightest change of expression in her face.

‘Because I have more experience in serious injury involving great loss of blood than most nurses have.’

‘Indeed? Why is that?’

Hester answered very briefly, describing her time in the Crimea as an army nurse, sometimes actually on the battlefield.

Juster did not have to pretend his admiration. The battles and their losses were still sharp in public memory, and the name of Florence Nightingale was known everywhere. Many people had family or friends who had fallen at Balaclava, Inkerman, or the Alma.

Rathbone had heard this before, but it still gave him a shiver of horror, pity, fury for the incompetence, pity for the terrible losses.

There was not a man in the jury who did not listen to Hester with awe now. Lyons would be a fool to attack her, whatever she said.

‘Did you know what these treatments were going to be, before you began?’ Juster asked.

‘No.’

‘And when you did?’

She hesitated for several moments.

In the body of the courtroom no one moved.

‘I could see the enormous potential.’ Hester chose her words with almost painful care. ‘If it worked it would result in the saving of more lives in the future than we could ever guess. Thousands, tens of thousands of people. Not just soldiers in war but people in any kind of accident – industrial, railway trains – women with difficult births, and of course all sorts of diseases of the blood. There is no end to what could be achieved.’ There was a very slight flush to her face and her knuckles were white where she gripped the rails of the witness stand.

Juster nodded slowly, not wanting to break the spell before he had to.

‘So he is a hero?’ he said at last.

‘A flawed one,’ she said quietly.

Now the jury were straining to catch every word.

‘Why?’ Juster pressed her.

‘Because of the means he used to obtain the blood he gave to Mr Radnor.’ She shook her head and lowered her eyes. ‘There is always cost to experiment. Success is not certain, or it is no longer an experiment. But those who pay the price must do it knowingly, and willingly.

‘Mr Radnor was willing?’

She stared at Juster. ‘Of course he was. He had no choice: he would have died without the treatment. But the children whose blood Mr Rand used were too small to have choice. And their parents had no idea what was going to be done. It is beyond the imagination of most of us.’

‘Of course it is,’ Juster agreed. ‘But Mr Rand has already been charged with kidnapping you, and been found not guilty of that. There was some question that you might have gone willingly, in the interest of the great experiment. You do admire him, do you not?’

She looked at him with patience. ‘If I had gone willingly, Mr Juster, I would have informed my family, not left them to be frantic with worry for me, and no idea where I was, or even if I were still alive.’

‘Of course,’ Juster agreed.

Lyons rose to his feet. ‘My lord, I am sure everyone in this court has undying admiration for Mrs Monk’s past heroism, and can understand her interest in such a medical breakthrough, but I see no direct connection with the murder of Adrienne Radnor. Indeed, I would understand if Mrs Monk bore a considerable grudge against Miss Radnor for being complicit in her imprisonment and forced assistance in the whole affair. Surely my learned friend is not going to suggest that Mrs Monk had involvement also in Miss Radnor’s death?’

There was a shout of protest from somewhere in the gallery, a glare from the judge, and considerable fidgeting of embarrassment and discomfort in the jury.

Juster smiled. ‘My lord, Mr Lyons makes my point for me. Miss Radnor was indeed party to Mrs Monk being held prisoner during the experiment. Therefore if there was a crime in that, or in the treatment of the children whose blood was so often taken from them and used, then Miss Radnor could have testified to it, perhaps in more detail than we have heard so far. Provable detail, that is.’

Lyons swung around and faced Juster angrily.

‘Mr Rand has already been charged with that offence, and found not guilty. Whatever your opinion of him, it is irrelevant. He cannot be charged again.’

‘Not with that crime,’ Juster agreed. ‘But Miss Radnor spent many days in the cottage in Redditch, and, unlike Mrs Monk, she was free to wander wherever she wished. What else did she discover? Did she, perhaps, discover the secret of the mass graves the police have since found there . . . graves of other people, other children?’

A wave of horror spread through the court like a wind through dry trees.

Patterson called for order and was ignored until he shouted above the roar. ‘I will have order! Or I will clear the court!’

Slowly the noise subsided and people standing took their seats again.

Lyons was still on his feet. ‘My lord, Mr Juster’s suggestion is monstrous! There is no evidence whatever to say when those bones were buried or whose they were, as he well knows. For God’s sake, they could have been plague victims from the Middle Ages!’

‘Rubbish!’ Juster said fiercely. ‘They cannot be dated, not exactly, but we know perfectly well they were centuries more recent than that.’ He turned to face Patterson’s glare. ‘My lord, all I want to imply was that Miss Radnor was party to the imprisonment of the children whose blood was used. She may have had knowledge of further involvement of Mr Rand’s keeping other . . . blood suppliers . . . against their will. Does this court really think he developed such extraordinary skill in the art of taking blood from one person and giving it to another at his first attempt? It is a marvellous thing he has done. Superb! It is a triumph of skill, science, art and persistence. It is not some lucky guess that nobody has tried to achieve before him.’

Patterson’s face was still grim.

‘Your point is taken, Mr Juster, but you are very close to being in contempt of this court, or even of earning a dismissal of the case and a retrial, in which you will not appear. Perhaps Mr Lyons will be able to question Mrs Monk and give her room either to substantiate your accusations or dismiss them. If that is not so, then I will consider whether to continue with this trial. Do you understand me, sir?’

Juster bowed. Perhaps it looked humble, to the body of the court, but Rathbone saw the satisfaction on his face. He had established a perfect motive in the eyes of everyone, most especially the jury. Imagination would do the rest.

Juster very wisely yielded to Lyons.

Rathbone was so tense he could feel his nails digging into his palms again as Juster sat down near him. He wanted to tell Juster exactly how dangerously he was behaving, that he had overplayed his hand and jeopardised the whole case. Patterson could declare a mistrial for the way Juster had introduced the subject of the bones from the orchard, which had no proven connection with Rand, or anyone else still alive. Ordering the jury to ignore it was pointless. How could anyone ignore such a thing? It would haunt the imagination of every person in the court, or who read of it from the newspapers afterwards.