Sir Julian had already set up his little stand, and Grace was double-checking the pages of his manuscript were all in order. Clare sat on the bench behind them, ready to hand over an urgent scribbled note should anything unanticipated arise.
Booth Watson lounged at the other end of the bench, the only person in the crowded courtroom to acknowledge the defendant as he took his place in the dock, accompanied by two officers who looked as if they hoped he’d try to escape.
When the judge appeared, everyone in the court rose and bowed. He returned the compliment as he sat down in the high-backed chair in the centre of the raised platform. Once he’d settled he peered down at the jury over his spectacles and smiled. He finally turned his attention to the prosecution’s leading advocate.
‘Sir Julian, are you ready to sum up on behalf of the Crown?’
‘I am indeed, m’lud,’ said the Crown’s leader as he rose from his place, tugged at his gown, and adjusted his wig, showing that some things never change.
‘M’lud, members of the jury, what an extraordinary case this has turned out to be. In the end, I would suggest it simply comes down to who you believe. You could be forgiven for wondering who was on trial, as the defendant refused to answer any questions after he was arrested, and again failed to do so in the presence of my learned friend, and finally we were deprived of any explanation he might have to offer when he was given the chance to tell you his side of the story from the witness box. Not unlike Banquo’s ghost; you can see him standing there, but he doesn’t answer any of Macbeth’s questions.’
‘As is his legal right,’ grumbled Booth Watson from a sedentary position at the far end of the bench.
Sir Julian turned, smiled at his rival and said, ‘At last we’ve found something we can agree on.’ One or two members of the jury also smiled.
‘Had he done so, m’lud, I would have been able to ask the defendant why he had entered the home of a leading drug dealer at one o’clock in the morning, and what was in the Sainsbury’s bag he was carrying when he came back out twenty minutes later. Perhaps there’s a simple explanation. If so, we haven’t been given the opportunity to hear it.
‘And why, you may ask,’ he continued, turning to face the jury, ‘did the accused then drive to the home of an equally notorious drug dealer, who was clearly expecting him, because as Inspector Warwick pointed out, the front door was immediately thrown open to welcome him even before he had a chance to knock? When Summers emerged half an hour later he was no longer carrying the Sainsbury’s bag. What can have been in it? you may ask. Perhaps he was delivering the groceries?’
This caused more than one member of the jury to smile.
‘And then there’s the mysterious trip to the Playboy Club, when he was seen apparently parting with a large sum of money. But was he actually losing it, or was he simply exchanging it? Because three hours later he left the club with a cheque for almost exactly the same amount he’d started out with. I’m sure there’s another simple explanation he just didn’t feel he could share with us.
‘Even more inexplicable is how he came to be in possession of a diamond ring worth over three thousand pounds, which was found in his flat by PC Bailey. My learned friend deftly tried to place the blame onto Constable Bailey herself, by claiming that the dates didn’t fit. I’ll tell you one date that does fit, and which my learned friend avoided mentioning. The burglar who stole that ring from a house in Mayfair was arrested, charged and remanded in May, long before PC Bailey had even met the defendant, so it can’t have been her who stole the ring, which rather narrows down the field.
‘Had the accused chosen to appear in the witness box, and taken an oath to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, I might have been tempted to ask him how he came to be in possession of the latest Sony television set, a brand-new VHS recorder, two designer watches, not to mention the latest Jaguar, and furnishings that could have graced a mansion in Mayfair rather than a small flat in Romford.
‘However, there is one thing my learned friend and I can agree on.’ Sir Julian glanced across to see Booth Watson, head bowed, giving the impression he was fast asleep. ‘Namely, that only one person could have stolen all those items, including the ring.’ He turned once again to face the jury. ‘And it certainly wasn’t a naive, impressionable young woman who — perhaps unwisely — fell in love with the accused and ended up bearing his child. A child he has made no attempt to acknowledge. In fact, he went on holiday with another woman while PC Bailey was pregnant, and when they returned from that holiday, the other woman was wearing the engagement ring. Members of the jury, you may ask how any man could stoop so low as to try to place the blame for the theft of that ring on an innocent young woman, the mother of his child, in order to save his own skin.
‘Before you retire to consider your verdict, I would ask you to think about one more important aspect of this case. If DS Summers is allowed to flout the law and get away with his egregious crimes, what message does that send to all the thousands of decent and dedicated police officers across the land who selflessly and courageously carry out their duties day in and day out in the service of the public?
‘I am confident that after you have weighed up all the evidence, you can come to only one conclusion. That DS Jerry Summers is a corrupt, unscrupulous individual, who must now face the consequences of his actions, if only because it will reassure the public that no one is above the law.’ Sir Julian turned for the final time to face the jury before he said almost in a whisper, ‘In order to achieve that, you must surely deliver a verdict of guilty.’
Sir Julian sat down to an outburst of murmuring that suggested that most of those in the court agreed with him. The journalists continued to scribble away, seemingly convinced that the verdict had already been decided, and there could only be one headline on their front pages the following morning: GUILTY.
The judge waited for everyone to settle before turning to the other end of counsels’ bench, where the defence silk was not only wide awake, but clearly impatient to do battle.
‘Mr Booth Watson, are you ready to deliver your closing speech on behalf of your client?’ asked the judge.
‘More than ready, m’lud.’ Booth Watson rose from his place, not bothering to tug his gown or adjust his wig. He looked down at the seven bullet points written in capital letters on the back of an envelope. He too had been up all night.
THE MAN
‘Members of the jury,’ he began, looking at them for the first time. ‘Don’t you sometimes think you’d like to hear the other side of the story? The man on trial today has served as a police officer for seven years, attaining the rank of detective sergeant without a blemish on his record.’ His eyes never left the jury. ‘On three separate occasions he has been awarded commendations for the outstanding work he has carried out on behalf of his local community. Can this be the same man the Crown has just described? I don’t think so.’
THE GOODS FOUND IN HIS HOUSE
‘You have been told by the Crown that the defendant’s home was full of expensive electronic equipment and luxury goods. Don’t you find it strange that not one of these items was offered up as evidence? The reason, we have been told, is that they were all destroyed by one of Scotland Yard’s own officers, Police Constable Bailey, before the police could conduct a search of his premises. And what, you may also ask, did they find when they took my client’s flat apart?’ He paused. ‘A silver-plated letter rack, a couple of watches and a Jaguar being paid for on the never-never. Hardly the Great Train Robbery.’