“What did Thomas say when he answered?”
“He just asked who I was. That’s all, sir. Then he opened the gates.”
“Without saying anything else?”
“That’s right.”
“Now, Officer, could you see the front door of the house when you were outside the gate?”
“No, sir. I was able to see it once I drove in and parked the car but not before.”
“Was the front door of the house open or closed when you first saw it?”
“It was open. Thomas Robinson was at the top of the steps about four or five yards from the door when I first saw him. There are six quite distinctive trees in front of the house, and he was standing between the first two of them. He seemed quite distressed, sir.”
“Was he crying?”
“No. He was agitated though.”
“What was said?”
“Officer Jones and I got out of our car, and I asked him what had happened.”
“How did Thomas respond to your question?”
“He told us that two men had entered the house through the front door and that he recognized one of them from the night of his mother’s murder. He said that he had seen them approach the house from the direction of a lane, which he pointed to. It was across a wide lawn on the north side of the house.”
“Yes, you will see that the lane and the house are shown on the plan that the usher is placing in front of you.”
“Yes, sir. Thomas said that the intruders had left by the front door moments before.”
“What did you do when you had obtained this information, Officer?”
“I left Officer Jones with Thomas and drove round into the lane. I went up as far as the door in the north wall of the grounds, but there was no sign of the intruders.”
“Did you try the door?”
“Yes. It was locked, sir.”
“Did you see any footprints?”
“No. It had not been raining, and I would not have expected to find any footprints at this time of year.”
“Did you see any other sign of intruders?”
“No, but I didn’t make any close examination of the area, sir. I left that for the crime-scene officer. Detective Constable Butler arrived about one hour after Officer Jones and myself.”
“I see. What did you do after you checked the door in the lane?”
“I returned to Officer Jones. He had gone back inside the house and Thomas Robinson was showing him an old black bench in the hall where he said he had hidden from the intruders.”
“You also located the key to the front door, did you not?”
“Yes, sir. Thomas showed it to me.”
“You asked him about it?”
“Yes. It was hanging on a nail in the hall. Thomas said that the intruders had opened the door using a key and that they had run out the same way when they heard our siren.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hughes. I’ve got nothing else.”
“Any reexamination, Mr. Sparling?” asked the judge.
“Just one question, my Lord. Officer, you’ve said that you parked outside the front gate. Could you see the exit from the lane from where you were?”
“No, sir. The gate is set back from the road a little way, and there’s a row of trees between the wall and the curb. We wouldn’t have had a view from where we were parked, sir.”
“Thank you, Officer. That’s all.”
Police Constable Hughes put on his cap and headed for the door on his way back to Carmouth and obscurity.
The day wore on. At one o’clock everyone broke for lunch. John Sparling wasn’t hungry but made a concession to the time of day by picking at a green salad, which he washed down with a glass of mineral water in the barristers’ canteen upstairs.
Miles Lambert, however, took his bulk round the corner to a little Italian restaurant where Dino kept him a table in the corner. A glass of thick red wine and a plate of Dino’s mother’s special lasagna fortified him for the afternoon. Afterward he ordered himself a cup of sweet Turkish coffee and sat back in his chair wearing an expression of heavy contentment.
Miles felt well pleased with how the trial had gone so far. The prosecution’s case was not standing up to cross-examination, and he could hardly wait to get at their main witness. It was obvious that Thomas had gotten the old housekeeper and his schoolfriend to back up his story. And he’d also made up the Lonny and Rosie characters, for whom there was not a shred of evidence outside of his statement.
Miles knew that he could rely on his client to put on an Oscar-winning performance in the witness box when her turn came. Every day he grew more confident of an acquittal, and he felt sure that that would be the right verdict in this case. Miles had decided long before the trial began that Lady Greta was the most beautiful client he had ever had. Now, having seen Sparling’s witnesses, he had no doubt of her innocence.
Detective Sergeant Hearns had, of course, precisely the opposite view of the defendant, and he ruminated on her guilt in the police room as he chewed the big cheese-and-pickle sandwiches that he had brought down with him from Ipswich.
At two o’clock he fastened his double-breasted jacket over a pickle stain in the center of his polyester shirt and went down to court to begin giving his evidence. It was a hot day and the jurors were sleepy. Sparling asked questions to which they felt they already knew the answers. It was only when Miles Lambert got to his feet and asked for them to be sent out of court that they really started paying attention.
“Will this take long, Mr. Lambert?” asked the judge.
“No, my Lord. Not long.”
The jury filed out looking perplexed, and Miles waited to speak until the door had finally closed behind them.
“It’s about my client’s character, my Lord,” said Miles. “You will see that she has one minor indiscretion recorded against her from nearly eleven years ago but nothing since.”
“A conviction, Mr. Lambert. Not an indiscretion.”
“Yes, my Lord, but it is only for possession of a very small amount of drugs.”
“Cocaine, Mr. Lambert. A class-A drug.”
“Yes, my Lord, but she was a juvenile at the time.”
“What’s your application?”
“For my client to be treated as a lady of good character. The conviction is old and not serious in nature.”
“What do you say, Mr. Sparling?”
“I’d say that possession of cocaine is not minor, my Lord. Mr. Lambert does not need to raise the issue of his client’s character, but if he does so, the jury should know all about her. Of course your Lordship has discretion.”
“Yes, I do, and I shall exercise it in favor of the defendant on this occasion. The conviction is indeed old and it is not for violence or dishonesty. Lady Greta may be presented as a lady of good character, Mr. Lambert.”
“Thank you, my Lord.”
“Sergeant Hearns, I want to ask you about a conversation you had with my client outside the House of the Four Winds,” said Miles once the jury was back in place.
“I’ve only ever had one conversation with her there, sir, and that was when Sir Peter drove down with her after I told him about the murder.”
“That’s the one. Now you’d already spoken to Thomas Robinson.”
“No, sir, I hadn’t. He was too upset. I spoke to Christopher Marsh, who spoke to Thomas. I did that because I needed to know where the perpetrators had gone in the house. And the grounds, sir,” the policeman added as if it were an afterthought.
Sergeant Hearns’s lugubrious smile was set in place above the big tie and the bulging stomach. He was clearly determined not to let the lawyer set the pace of their exchanges.
“All right, you’d spoken to Christopher Marsh and you had discovered that Thomas had found the study window open on his return to the House of the Four Winds.”
“At about half past eight. Yes, sir.”
“Now, you asked my client about whether she was responsible for leaving the window open, did you not, Sergeant?”
“No, sir.”
“No?”
“No, I asked Sir Peter. He said that he had not been in the study, and then Sir Peter asked your client and she said that she may have left the window open.”