He raced up the steps and almost bumped into Runcorn just inside the doors. Why was he so overwhelmingly relieved? He should have trusted the man. There was no time or opportunity to speak to him now. It was his own fault for being late. Coniston was standing a few yards away, and Pendock was coming down the hallway. If he attempted to confer with Runcorn, he would look as if he were uncertain about what evidence Runcorn had to offer. That was a gift he could not offer Coniston.
Fifteen minutes later he was behind his table. His notes were in front of him, a letter from Runcorn on the top. He tore it open and read the few lines.
Dear Sir Oliver,
All ready. Been looking into a few other things of interest. Don’t know for certain, but I think Mrs. Monk has been looking for the doctor.
Runcorn
Again Rathbone blamed himself for lacking in trust.
“Please call your witness, Sir Oliver,” Pendock ordered. His voice gravelly, a little tight, as if he also had slept little.
“I call Superintendent Runcorn of the Blackheath Police,” Rathbone replied.
Runcorn came in, watched by every eye in the room as he walked past the gallery. He was an imposing figure: burly, exuding confidence. He took the oath and stood upright waiting for the questions. His hands were by his sides: no clinging to the railing for him.
Rathbone cleared his throat. “Superintendent, you are in command of the police in the Blackheath area, are you not?”
“Yes, sir,” Runcorn said gravely.
“Were you called out when the body of Joel Lambourn was discovered on One Tree Hill in Greenwich Park nearly three months ago?”
“Yes, sir. Dr. Lambourn was a noted and much-admired figure in the area. Because of his importance, the investigation into his death was extended to include my force in Blackheath.”
Coniston rose to his feet. “My lord, we have already heard about Dr. Lambourn’s death in some detail, and the accused’s reaction to it. I fail to see what Mr. Runcorn can add to what has already been said. My learned friend is desperate and wasting the court’s time. If it will help, the prosecution will accede to the facts as already presented.”
Rathbone would see Runcorn’s testimony barred before he had even begun. He interrupted before Pendock could speak.
“Since it was presented by the prosecution, my lord, it is really meaningless to say that they accede to it.”
“It is wasting the court’s time to hear it again,” Pendock snapped. “If you have nothing new to add, Sir Oliver, I sympathize with your predicament, but it is not my place to indulge it. Mr. Coniston’s point is well taken.” He turned to Coniston. “Mr.-”
“My lord!” Rathbone raised his voice, trying hard to keep his emotion out of it. “Mr. Coniston introduced evidence regarding Dr. Lambourn’s death, but for some reason best known to himself, he did not question Superintendent Runcorn, the man in charge of the inquiry into it. Had he not considered the matter relevant he would not have raised it at all. Indeed, your lordship would not have permitted him to. With respect, I put to the court that the defense has the right to question Mr. Runcorn about it, now, in light of further evidence discovered.”
There was total silence in the room. No one moved.
Pendock’s mouth was closed in a thin, hard line. Coniston looked at Pendock, then at Rathbone.
Runcorn stared across at the jury and smiled.
One of the jurors fidgeted.
“Keep to the point, Sir Oliver,” Pendock said at last. “Whether Mr. Coniston objects or not, if you deviate from it, then I will stop you.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Rathbone said, keeping control of himself with an effort. Again he was sharply aware that Pendock was watching to catch him in any error at all.
Rathbone turned to Runcorn again.
“You were called to the death of Dr. Joel Lambourn when his body was found on One Tree Hill.” He said this to the jury, even though it was Runcorn he addressed.
“Yes.” Runcorn took it on, adding to it. “A man walking his dog had found Lambourn’s body more or less propped up-”
Coniston rose to his feet. “My lord, Mr. Runcorn is suggesting that-”
“Yes, yes,” Pendock agreed. He turned to the witness stand. “Mr. Runcorn, please watch your language. Do not make suggestions outside your knowledge. Simply what you saw, do you understand?”
It was patronizing in the extreme. Rathbone saw the color wash up Runcorn’s face, and prayed he would control his temper.
“I was going to say ‘propped up by the trunk of the tree,’ ” Runcorn said between clenched teeth. “Without its support he would have fallen. In fact he was leaning over anyway.”
Pendock did not apologize, but Rathbone saw the irritation with himself in his face, and the jurors must have seen it, too.
Rathbone forced himself not to smile. “He was dead?” he asked.
“Yes. Cold, in fact,” Runcorn agreed. “But the night had been chilly and there was something of a light wind, colder than usual for the time of year. His wrists had been cut across the inside and he appeared to have bled to death.”
Pendock leaned forward. “Appeared? Are you implying that it was not the case, Mr. Runcorn?”
“No, my lord.” Runcorn’s face was almost expressionless. “I am trying to say no more than I was aware of myself at the time. The police surgeon confirmed that. Then the autopsy afterward added that he also had a considerable dose of opium in him, but not sufficient enough to kill him. I presumed at the time that it had been taken to dull the pain of the cuts in his wrists.”
“At the time?” Rathbone said quickly. “Did you afterward learn anything for certain? Surely the police surgeon could not tell you the reason for taking the opium, only the facts?”
Runcorn stared back at Rathbone. “No, sir. I changed my own mind. I don’t believe Dr. Lambourn cut his own wrists, sir. I believe the opium was to make him sleepy, slow to react, possibly even unconscious, so he would not fight back. Defensive wounds would be very difficult to explain in a supposed suicide.”
Coniston was on his feet again.
Pendock glared at Runcorn. “Mr. Runcorn! I will not tolerate wild and unprovable assertions in this court. This is not the reopening of a case already closed and with a verdict returned, the fact of which I know you are perfectly aware. If you have something to offer pertinent to the murder of Zenia Gadney, then tell us. Nothing else is permissible here. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, my lord,” Runcorn said boldly. There was no defensiveness in his voice or his manner. He stood head high, his gaze straight. “But since we now know that Zenia Gadney was also Joel Lambourn’s wife, a fact we were not aware of at the time of his death, the manner of it, so shortly before her murder, seems to raise a number of questions. It is hard to be sure there is no connection.”
“Of course there is a connection!” Pendock snapped. “It is Dinah Lambourn, the accused! Are you going to tell me that she murdered her husband also? That is hardly of service to the defense, who have called you.”
Coniston almost hid his smile, but not quite.
The jury members were looking completely bemused.
“It seems likely that it was by the same person,” Runcorn answered Pendock. “At least a possibility it would be irresponsible not to look into. But after questioning Marianne Lambourn, I am satisfied it could not have been Dinah Lambourn. Marianne was awake in the night, having had a nightmare. She heard her father go out. Her mother did not.”
Rathbone was stunned. Was Runcorn sure of what he said? What would happen if he called Marianne to the stand? Would Coniston then tear her apart and show that she could not possibly be certain she had not fallen asleep, and simply not heard her mother leave also?
Even if that happened, it would buy him at least half a day! Had Monk found nothing further yet? Had Runcorn any ideas at all?
Coniston was staring at Rathbone, trying to read his face.