The girl was passing the public benches and approaching those where the police and the solicitors and officials sat. She was very striking-looking, her slender figure making her appear taller than in fact she was, and wore an olive green suede suit and tightly fitting hat, which practically covered her short, chestnut-brown hair. She glanced coldly at West, and Gunn felt sure the two had met before. He was mildly amused, for West had the reputation of being a ladies’ man.
The girl came straight up to the bench. The prisoner seemed to shape his lips to speak and his grip on the rail became very tight. West moved back in his seat—amused? wondered Gunn; or resigned?
Farriman, who had also been distracted, had taken his time writing down the police request. Now, pretending not to notice the girl, he said, “The police request a remand in custody, sir. The usual period is eight days.” Farriman must have irritated a dozen magistrates by that piece of gratuitous information.
“I would be grateful for a hearing now, your honour,” the girl said clearly.
Gunn realised that she was nervous. The formal words, the over-precise enunciation, the huskiness of her voice, all told him that. But at close quarters she was astonishing-looking, with a superb, near-olive coloured complexion, beautiful brown eyes, a short, narrow-tipped nose, bow-shaped lips and a pointed chin. Her face was unusually narrow, which somehow made her looks more striking.
“What qualification have you to address the court?” demanded Farriman. He would never learn to allow the man on the bench to give a lead as to his own attitude.
“I am a solicitor,” she stated, her voice still husky, “and I would like to represent the accused.”
“The prisoner has already pleaded,” Farriman fussed, and at last looked up at Gunn. He could only see Gunn’s head and shoulders, and Gunn could only see a foreshortened view of his grey hair with the pink bald patch, his pince-nez on a flabby nose.
“He pleaded not guilty,” Gunn said mildly.
“I should think so,” said the girl, with greater assurance. “I think—”
“Please, please,” interrupted Farriman. “If the bench would like to hear you then will you please—” He broke off.
“Do you wish to be represented by this young lady?” Gunn asked Rapelli.
Rapelli moistened his lips and said something.
“Speak up, speak up!” Farriman urged.
Gunn opened his mouth, on the verge of angry reproof, checked himself, scribbled “leave this to me” on a slip of paper and leaned forward and handed it down to Farriman who adjusted his pince-nez, frowned, read and read again. There was a fresh tension in the court, and now everyone was watching Rapelli closely.
“Let me ask you another question,” Gunn said to the accused. “Do you know this young lady?” He smiled down at the girl. “Perhaps you will turn round so that the accused may see you.”
She narrowed her eyes in a frown which brought a deep groove between her eyes, then turned abruptly, and said, “We know each other very well. Don’t we, Mario?”
The young man moved his lips, and admitted “Yes.”
“Do you wish to be represented by her?” Gunn asked again. “You may be, and I am quite prepared to allow you time for discussion in private.”
Farriman wriggled in disapproval. Everyone, including Roger West, was staring at the couple. There was a facial similarity between them and their lean, spare figures made them look as if they might be brother and sister.
“I would like her to represent me,” Rapelli said at last; and he closed his eyes.
“Very well. If you will give the Clerk your name and qualifications, we may proceed,” said Gunn.
In a clear voice, she gave her name: Rachel Warrender. She was a junior partner in the firm of Warrender, Clansel and Warrender, of Lincoln’s Inn. She asked if she could consult with her client while he was in the dock, having no wish to take up the court’s time. She went up to Rapelli, and placed a hand on the rail, obviously for no purpose but to touch his. Only the warders could hear what they said, but it was obvious that Rapelli spoke in little more than monosyllables.
At last, Rachel Warrender turned and looked at Chief Inspector Leeminster. Leeminster had not moved from the time she had arrived, and in some way—a way which made him invaluable as a detective—he seemed to have faded into the background. Only now did anyone appear to notice him.
“I confirm my client’s plea of not guilty,” she said, “and I would like to ask for a dismissal of the charge, which has no justification whatsoever.”
“Oh,” said Gunn, and pursed his lips. “Dismissal.” If this young woman persisted in her request then he would have to decide how to respond: order an eight day remand, the normal way, without taking evidence; or accept evidence now, which he could by stretching a point. If he did this the court would have to call police and other witnesses, hear much more than the simple evidence of arrest already given. It could take an hour; several hours, perhaps. Well, this was his job and time wasn’t vital; but there were at least six other cases waiting, each of them likely to be one for summary justice. He might have to adjourn and make arrangements for another magistrate to take the waiting cases.
“The police submit that they will need at least six or seven days in which to complete their enquiries,” Leeminster stated. “We respectfully repeat our application for a remand in custody, your honour.”
“The enquiries can be completed in this court, in ten minutes,” stated Rachel Warrender with stinging acerbity.
“I think I can satisfy the court that there is no case to answer.”
“Do you propose to bring witnesses?” asked Gunn.
“Yes, sir. Three witnesses who will state—”
“Really!” Farriman exploded. “We cannot be told in advance what witnesses will state.”
“We can and should be told in advance what the accused’s representative expects to establish,” Gunn said urbanely. “What do you hope to establish, Miss Warrender?”
“That my client could not have committed the crime he is accused of because he was at least six miles away from the place where it was committed,” stated Rachel. She spoke much more clearly now, her voice was firmer and her manner assured. She glanced at Farriman, as if to say: I know what I’m doing as well as you.
Gunn said, “And what have the police to say?”
“The police are quite satisfied that they can prove the charge,” Leeminster declared with equal firmness.
“And can you bring witnesses?”
“We can, sir, in due course.”
Gunn contemplated them both, aware of West watching him intently, and sensed that, for a reason which he couldn’t yet see, this was an important issue for the police. There was another point: the prosecution, in this case the police, could not be denied a remand to enquire into an alibi. If she were a good lawyer, the young woman certainly knew that as well as the police. So they were deliberately sparring, as if each was anxious to find out how far the other would go.
So Rapelli would have to be remanded. The only question was whether it should be on bail or in custody.
“How long do you say it will take the police to prepare their case?” he asked.
“About a week, sir,” Leeminster repeated.
“I can submit the defence now,” said Rachel Warrender. “I have my witnesses outside the courtroom.” She really was pushing hard, as if hoping that the police would yield, even withdraw the case, or at least withdraw their opposition to bail. When Gunn didn’t respond she went on with a touch of impatience, “If there are three witnesses who can state categorically that my client could not possibly have committed the crime since he was in another place at the time the crime was committed, surely that would justify a dismissal, your worship.”