Leeminster kept silent, leaving this to the court.
“No,” said Gunn, after a brief pause. “As it is a defence of alibi, the police will have every right to insist on a remand. When can you produce your witness, Chief Inspector?”
“I would hope within the week, sir, but I cannot say for certain until we have completed our enquiries.”
“And you still ask for a remand in custody?”
We do, sir.”
“On what grounds?”
“That the accused’s life could be in jeopardy, or alternatively that he could leave the country,” Leeminster stated.
Gunn did not speak immediately, but pursed his lips, leaned back in the beautifully carved oak chair and looked up at the intricately decorated ceiling. He was aware of the way everyone looked at him, knew that his decision would be as important to the police as to the accused and his lawyer. He, Charles Gunn, was suddenly and unexpectedly presented with a very difficult problem. He was quite sure that the police would not have asked for custody on any grounds unless they were convinced of the need, and the decision rested solely on him. With Farriman, stickler for the rule and regulation, breathing stertorously below him, West, the prisoner and this young woman staring at him intently, he felt very much on the spot.
Suddenly, he leaned forward.
“Mr. Farriman—”
Farriman climbed slowly, arthritis-bound, from his — chair, and his head and shoulders appeared over the front of the bench. He kept his voice low so that no one else could hear.
“Yes, your honour?”
“Is there any provision, Mr. Farriman, for hearing a witness in order to assess the advisability of bail or otherwise?”
“There’s no provision, sir, but I have known such an occurrence. I have indeed. There is no provision specifically against it.”
“Thank you,” said Gunn, sitting back, and linking his fingers together. “I would like to hear one of your witnesses, Miss Warrender, before making any decision. I trust,” he went on, peering down at Leeminster but more concerned with West’s reaction, “that the police have no objection.”
Leeminster, obviously taken off his guard, hesitated, then turned and sent a silent appeal across the courtroom to his superior. And on that instant, all eyes turned towards Chief Superintendent Roger West.
Chapter Two
DECISION
Roger West had been virtually sure what would happen, and there was no reason for him to hesitate; yet he did. Magistrates, even considerate ones like Gunn, had a certain sense of their position and did not like to have their decisions anticipated. Moreover, it was never wise to look slick and over clever in front of the Press; further, he did not want to make Leeminster feel small. So he paused for a few seconds before mouthing “no objection” so that Leeminster could turn immediately and say, “I’ve no objection, sir.”
“Then if Miss Warrender will call a witness, we can proceed.”
Soon, from the well of the court, came a buxom girl in her early twenties, fair-haired, blue-eyed, fresh-com- plexioned. She wore a loose-fitting, loose-knit jumper in sky blue and a black mini-skirt which showed very long, very white legs, tiny ankles and surprisingly small feet. She took the stand, hesitating about taking the oath on the Bible, until Rachel Warrender said, “You are going to tell the truth, aren’t you?”
“I certainly am.” The fair girl’s lips had a tendency to pout, and were too-heavily lipsticked with bright red. “That is all you’re promising,” said Rachel. “. . . so help me God,” said the girl.
“Your name,” demanded Farriman, formally.
“Maisie Dunster of 41, Concert Street, Chelsea, S.W.3,” stated the girl.
Farriman wrote very slowly, very deliberately, and the court paused as if for breath.
“Very well—please proceed.”
“Miss Dunster,” said Rachel Warrender, “did you see the accused, Mario Rapelli, at all last evening?”
The witness’s eyes were turned towards Rapelli, and she nodded.
“I did.”
“Will you tell the court what time you were with him?”
“From seven o’clock until nine,” answered the witness, precisely.
“Seven o’clock until nine,” echoed Charles Gunn, frowning. He had a feeling that this over-made-up young woman was enjoying herself, finding this appearance before the court quite fun. He felt disapproving, not at all sure that she would hesitate to perjure herself, but that wasn’t his chief anxiety. It would be difficult to make sure that the evidence was keyed to the remand, and he had a feeling that Rachel Warrender proposed to bring evidence about the accusation. He alone was the authority in the court, and he alone could decide how far to let her go with her witnesses.
The fair girl, at all events, was under oath. He glanced down at Farriman, who came into his own at last.
“Will you please read the charge, Mr. Farriman, and all relevant statements made in court?”
“Gladly, sir! The police witness, on oath, stated that he called on the accused, Mario Lucullus Rapelli, at his home at eleven sixteen o’clock last night, Thursday, May 21st, and first cautioned and then charged him with assaulting a Mr. Ricardo Verdi at 17, Doons Way, Hampstead, last evening between eight o’clock and nine o’clock and of causing Mr. Verdi grievous bodily harm by striking him over the head with an electric guitar. The accused denied the charge. After cautioning the accused for a second time the witness stated he told him he was under arrest. He took him to the Mid-Western Divisional Police Station and there he was lodged for the night.”
Leeminster gave a little nod.
“Thank you,” Gunn said, and at last looked at the witness. Before he could speak, she burst out, “He couldn’t have attacked Ricky, he was with me, in Chelsea, in my flat.” Then she drew herself up and thrust her provocatively lifted bosom forward, adding in a ringing tone, “In my bed! And I’ve two witnesses to prove it.”
Someone gasped; two or three tittered; the newspapermen made notes with great eagerness, and Maisie Dunster surveyed the court with an air of triumph at having created a sensation. And she had. Gunn kept his self- control with an effort. He should have questioned the witness himself, of course; by allowing Rachel Warrender to do so he had invited trouble. It was partly because he wanted to hear what would be said. Then, almost unbelieving, he saw Roger West stand up and ask in a most casual-seeming voice, “As a point of interest, Miss Dunster, were the other two witnesses in your bed at the same time?”
Maisie Dunster turned to look at him.
“As a matter of fact, they were,” she said defiantly. “Have you never heard of a sex-party?”
Charles Gunn sat very still and expressionless. He was of a generation which could still be shocked, yet not surprised, by Maisie Dunster’s brazen statements; at such moments he concluded that he was much more Victorian than he had realised. But the essential thing was to rebuke West, and he said in his sternest voice, “Superintendent, you have no right at all to intervene. Such intervention amounts to contempt of court, as you must know.”
Farriman, glaring at Roger, obviously agreed. West’s expression was difficult to assess, and Gunn knew he had been fully aware of his offence but had taken the risk in order to throw some doubt on to the reliability of the witness.
“I am very sorry, sir,” he said. “Very sorry.”
Gunn growled, “Very well. I will overlook your intervention. As for the witness’s evidence, I do not see its relevance to the issue of a remand.” He glowered at Rachel Warrender, then went on in a clipped voice, “The accused is remanded for eight days on two sureties other than himself of five hundred pounds each. Will you make any arrangements you think necessary below the court,” he added to Rachel Warrender. “Failing the two sureties then of course the accused must remain in custody.” He rapped the bench with his gavel. “Next case, please.”