‘More autographs?’ demanded Jennifer.
‘What?’ frowned Hall.
‘What’s all that about?’ she demanded.
‘Nothing for you to worry about. Is everything all right?’
‘How do I know?’ Jennifer was at once aware of the self-pity. ‘Yes. I’m OK.’
‘You’re going to be fine.’
‘Am I?’ Hall wasn’t standing as close to the dock edge as he could have done.
‘ Not if I can prevent it. ’
From the bench there were demands for silence from the clerk. Hall hurried towards his place as Jarvis strutted into court, glowering towards the media. He remained looking in their direction when he sat. ‘Your editors are already aware of my feelings about press intrusion. If your behaviour in this court offends me, then I shall conduct the remainder of this trial in camera, excluding you all. I want what I have said reported, verbatim, by whichever of you represent news agencies, so that all editors are aware of my feelings. I want that done now. I will not reconvene this court until it is done.’
Two men and a woman rose sheepishly from their places and hurried out. There were four court artists now, all sketching. Jennifer was conscious of every single person in the court staring at her. And that despite their undertaking, neither Ann nor Kathleen had their seats as close to her any longer.
‘ Freak. ’
Not going to get me convicted of murder, thought Jennifer.
‘ Never intended to, remember? ’
Jarvis had so subdued the court that the return of the news agency reporters was audible before they came into Jennifer’s vision to regain their seats.
‘Mr Hall?’ invited the judge, with the briefest grimaced smile.
There was no swagger this time when Superintendent Bentley approached the witness-box. The suit, blue, was as immaculate as before but there was no buttonhole carnation.
‘You headed the investigation into the murder of Gerald Lomax?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Sir’, noted Hall. ‘There are certain standard procedures in such investigations, are there not?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Is one of those standard procedures taking fingerprints from an accused, once that accused has been charged?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Bentley wasn’t addressing the assembled journalists, nor smiling in their direction.
‘Did you or one of your junior officers do that, in this case?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Why not?’
‘Mrs Lomax declined to make a statement after I charged her,’ tried the detective. ‘That refusal was confirmed by her solicitor and by you.’
Hall stretched the pause as long as he felt able. Then, ‘Superintendent, we are not discussing statements here, are we? We are talking of standard, operating procedures in murder investigations.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You ignored the standard, operating procedures you should have followed in the case of Mrs Lomax, didn’t you?’
‘She was too ill to be fingerprinted on the day of the murder,’ Bentley fought, desperately. ‘After that our enquiries were obstructed.’
‘Obstructed?’ seized Hall. ‘Obstructed by whom?’
‘My officers and I were denied the opportunity of interviewing or taking a statement from Mrs Lomax by yourself and by her solicitor.’
Hall wasn’t perturbed the cross-examination was temporarily going sideways: the detective was damning himself with virtually every answer. ‘Did you. at any time, approach myself or Mr Perry, my instructing solicitor, with a request to fingerprint Mrs Lomax?’
‘No, sir,’ admitted Hall, miserably, all the bombast gone.
‘ Perry Mason shit. Who’s impressed? ’
‘I am: you should be, thought Jennifer.
‘ Guy’s an amateur. Dumped on you.’
‘Did you instruct any of your junior officers to make such a request?’
‘No, sir.’
‘So no official police fingerprints were obtained of a person whom you had charged with murder?’
‘No, sir.’
‘That was a grave mistake, wasn’t it, Superintendent? A clear failure to follow standard operating procedures?’
‘Yes, sir,’ conceded Bentley. His face was blazing.
‘I didn’t hear that,’ protested Jarvis, glaring down.
‘Yes, sir,’ repeated Bentley.
‘Yes, sir, to what?’
‘It was a grave mistake for us not to have taken fingerprints.’ Bentley practically choked on the words.
‘In your evidence-in-chief you were obviously proud of your conviction record. Twelve, was it not?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Do you consider yourself an expert in murder investigations, Superintendent?’
Bentley did not immediately reply, fervently seeking an answer that couldn’t be turned against him. In the end, hoping formality would save him, he said, ‘I have brought to a successful conclusion twelve murder investigations.’
‘An enviable record,’ agreed Hall. ‘So murders are a crime you have wide and long experience of investigating?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘After the conclusion of yesterday’s hearing, you were present with myself and others when the fingerprints of the accused – fingerprints you had failed to obtain – were finally taken?’
Bentley squirmed. ‘Yes.’
He could be forgiven for finally omitting the ‘sir’ but for nothing else, Hall decided. ‘Were you given the opportunity last night to compare Mrs Lomax’s fingerprints with those lifted from the glass wall of Gerald Lomax’s office?’
‘I was.’
‘And were you in court this morning to hear the evidence of the prosecution’s forensic scientist, Doctor Billington?’
‘I was.’
‘They don’t match, do they?’
‘No.’
‘You also heard Doctor Billington’s evidence about blood type and grouping?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mrs Lomax’s blood does not match any of that found in Gerald Lomax’s office, does it?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Superintendent,’ said Hall, allowing the patronizing tone. ‘As an expert in murder investigations – a man who has successfully brought twelve murderers to rightful justice – would you have charged Mrs Lomax with murder if you’d properly carried out the investigation you should have done, from which you would have realized the fingerprints upon the bloodstained murder weapon were not those of Mrs Lomax?’
‘Sixteen people witnessed her do it!’ protested Bentley, writhing.
‘Her fingerprints are not on the knife, are they?’ persisted Hall.
‘No.’
‘Her blood isn’t at the scene, is it?’
‘No.’
‘So answer my question. Would you have charged her with murder?’
‘I would have referred it to higher authority,’ said the detective.
‘Superintendent, who, in your expert opinion and now with the benefit of the forensic evidence you did not earlier have, do you believe murdered Gerald Lomax?’
Bentley looked desperately around the court, as if seeking inspiration. As with Billington, earlier, Keflin-Brown steadfastly refused any rescue because no rescue was possible.
‘Answer the question, Superintendent!’ demanded Jarvis, a bully with a new target.
‘I don’t know, sir,’ Bentley finally capitulated.
‘You do not know who killed Gerald Lomax?’ echoed Hall, triumphantly.
‘No.’
‘I am grateful, finally, for your honesty,’ said Hall to Keflin-Brown’s headshake against the offer to re-examine. As Malcolm Rodgers was summoned, the older barrister leaned sideways and said quietly, ‘You’re not taking prisoners, are you?’
‘Not as readily as everyone else was prepared to do,’ said Hall. He’d made his decision upon that morning’s idea. Perry would probably argue against it. So, most definitely, would the heavy breathing, unctuous Feltham along with Sir Richard Proudfoot. So they wouldn’t get the opportunity: they’d be presented with a fait accompli.