‘Mr Boyd, let me explain. As Miss Shearer’s executor, I shall have to go through her effects and find anything that is relevant to her estate, as well as anything that could be relevant to the mystery of her death. At least that’s what I’m going to have to do when I can lay hands on her records, which I’m afraid I haven’t been able to do so far.’
‘Have you anything here? Anything I could look at now?’
Thomas found the question deeply impertinent, as well as touching a nerve. There was so little to look at.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Not yet.’
‘But her things will come to you?’
‘I live in hope, Mr Boyd. We lawyers do. She’d just moved house, you see, so certain items seem to have gone astray. All I can tell you is that when I get them and go through them as I must, should I come across anything unduly personal which refers to you, I’ll be sure to let you know if you leave me your number. Other people’s lives really aren’t my business, you know, only hers. I’ve no wish to withhold anything. And,’ he added in a moment of mischief, ‘perhaps I could put you in touch with her brother? I’m sure you’d like to share your grief and he knows more than I.’
‘Oh yes. Her heir, you said? The only one? How sad she had no children.’
Thomas wrote Frank’s address busily, then beamed, gravely, getting up and going towards the door while Boyd wrote down his own number and left it on the desk, muttering thanks, suddenly humble and charming all over again. Thomas remembered to keep his hands on the door to avoid another crushing grasp and listened while the Defendant went downstairs, taking his awful coat and moving very quietly. Thomas shut the door and found himself leaning against it. That had not gone well, no, it hadn’t gone well at all. He was short of breath.
The files in the corner of the room were all he had of Ms Shearer’s personal effects, sent from her chambers. They consisted of pens, pencils and otherwise entirely of that box labelled R v Boyd. It contained nothing but a transcript in six volumes. There was nothing of the usual, untidy detritus of a trial, no old notebooks, photos, bits of paper. Just the transcript, as if she was begging him to read it. Marianne had talked about it. She always talked about her triumphs, but he had never seen her in action. Idly, he began to read, picking passages at random.
After an hour he was thinking what a bitch, and wondering why he had ever liked her at all. Then another parcel arrived. It was more than he could handle. Thomas phoned Peter Friel, expecting, and receiving, an immediate reply.
‘Get over here, Peter. Don’t argue. I know you’re unemployed with nothing better to do. Need to discuss. What the hell was she playing at? I can’t open this. I need you. Get here NOW.’
EXTRACT FROM TRANSCRIPT: R v BOYD
Cross-examination of Angel Joyce by Marianne Shearer, QC
MS. So, Mz Joyce. Are you Ms or Miss? Speak up. No? OK, I’ll call you Missy, if you like.
You’ve told the court that the Defendant, my client, kidnapped you. That’s a charge which has been argued away, but I take it you know what it means. You made it. Basically it means you were taken away against your will, but you went willingly, didn’t you?
AJ. Whispers. Yes.
MS. In fact, it was your suggestion, was it not?
AJ. NO.
MS. Oh, come on, Angel. I know you aren’t very bright, but can’t you at least concede that it was a joint idea, perhaps? Unless you’re saying you never have any ideas of your own? Clearly not. Speak up, Miss Angel Joyce, otherwise the Court can’t hear you.
AJ. It wasn’t my suggestion, but yes, I went along willingly with it at first. Rick said he had a business opportunity in Birmingham, provided we got some money, it was there for the taking. That was part of the reason why I went. I got some money.
MS. You tried to seduce him with the prospect of money, didn’t you, Miss Angel? Sorry, I mean Ms Joyce. I do apologise, but I simply can’t call you Angel, it’s such a silly name for a woman of your age, but I don’t want to get you confused with the other Ms Joyce when I come to repeat suggestions she’s already made in her evidence. Anyway, Miss Angel, you wanted to get him away from the temptation of students far prettier than you.
AJ. No.
MS. There must have been plenty of those. He wanted nothing to do with the money your parents were willing to give you both just to get rid of you, did he? It was you who offered it, wasn’t it?’
AJ. Long pause. He… asked me about money the first time we were together.
MS. Slept together, you mean? The first time you fucked? Interruption: Ms Shearer explains to HHJ McD that it is important to use plain language.
MS. All right. The first time you were together, in a manner of speaking, he expressed concern for you because you didn’t look like a person who took care of herself, a bit of a fat slob. If he mentioned money to you then, it was to offer it to you, wasn’t it? Don’t just shake your head, please. The shorthand writer can’t record a movement.
AJ. I don’t remember.
MS. What do you mean, you don’t remember? You’ve just said you did. Oh come on, Miss Angelic, it wasn’t your first time with drink, drugs or sex, was it?
AJ. No.
MS. But it was the first time you’d been with any man who was good-looking and cared for you and wanted a future with you?
AJ. Yes.
MS. And you would have done anything for him?
AJ. Yes. No. Yes. Anything. Not anything, yes, no yes.
MS. Which is it, no or yes? Please stop this pathetic whispering. You were loud enough when you complained. Speak up, the jury can’t hear you.
CHAPTER SIX
It was dark by the time Peter arrived. People scurried across the Fields like lemmings, towards the underground station at Holborn. He had to push his way between them out into the cold air. On his way to Thomas’s office, he noticed that the museum he had never yet managed to visit was closed. One day he would get there.
‘Rick Boyd said what? He came here?’ Peter Friel said. ‘What on earth for?’
‘I thought you might be able to tell me. I was rather caught short, if you see what I mean. He revealed all my inadequacies in one fell swoop. First I fancied him, then I loathed him, then I put him in touch with Frank Shearer, ha ha! Interesting to see if those two touch base, they’re as awful as one another. I forgot, you haven’t met Frank yet, have you? Ah well, a pleasure best postponed. I’ve had a horrible day, then that parcel arrived.’ He pointed in the direction of a large paper sack in the corner. The office looked positively littered. There was the sense of an inner sanctum being invaded, quite different from when Peter had visited the day after the death.