PART THREE

Chapter One

 

Counsel’s Opinion

 

Marion and her father sat in Magnus Newton’s chambers while he walked up and down on the rather dirty carpet and talked about the case in brief interjectory gusts. Newton was a red-faced puffy little man with a high reputation which, according to some of his critics, he had done little to earn. He was, however, a fashionable QC and Trapsell said they had been lucky to get him.

“Nothing but the best,” Mr Hayward had boomed.

“Only the best is good enough for my girl.”

Trapsell, a dapper and cynical little man who looked rather like a waiter, thought: and your girl’s husband. Aloud he said, “It’s a matter of availability, largely. It so happens Newton is free. If he hadn’t been—” His shrug indicated the depths to which they might have been compelled to sink. “Mind, it will cost you money.”

“Only the best,” reiterated Mr Hayward. And now the best was in front of them, talking with his customary air of frayed irritability about the case.

“Spoke to your husband, Mrs Grundy, simply says he didn’t know the girl at all, the whole thing’s a mistake. You can’t offer any opinion on that?”

“No. I was there at the party when she slapped his face. But he had never mentioned her to me. And when I spoke about the – the incident afterwards, he said he didn’t know her.” She paused. “Will you want me to give evidence?”

“I should think so, yes. Don’t you want to?”

“If it’s necessary.”

“I don’t want my little girl exposed to more unpleasantness than necessary,” Mr Hayward said.

Newton glared. “Murder is an unpleasant business, Mr Hayward. Did you quarrel much? There’s this story about a scream, that’s a bit of nonsense I suppose, hysterical woman, Mrs what’s her name, Facey.”

“We had had an argument, and I think I probably did cry out. But for the most part we had a good relationship.”

“Ha.” Newton looked at her, seemed about to say more, didn’t. “Now, I’ll tell you the way I see this case. The evidence on the other side is divided into two Parts. First the evidence linking your husband with Simpson at The Dell, then the evidence putting him at her flat on the night she was killed. And there are three important points.” He held up three stubby fingers. “One, this girl Paget who’s supposed to have seen him with Simpson on Saturday night. Know anything about her, any grudge against your husband, that sort of thing?”

“Sol didn’t – doesn’t – get on too well with her father. But I don’t think he even knew who she was. I’ve only spoken to her half a dozen times myself. I don’t know any reason why she should have a grudge against us.”

“Because that particular bit of evidence, seeing your husband going into the house with Simpson, that’s something we’ve got to shake. You’ve tested the light?” he asked Trapsell.

“Yes. It’s not all that good, but there was enough for her to see by.”

“Ha. Then there’s the postcard. They have Tissart. I suggest we try to get hold of Borritt.” He turned again to Trapsell, who nodded sagely. Newton coughed, beamed, and then, conscious that he had not been entirely explicit, explained. “Tissart, the handwriting expert they will call, is quite positive your husband wrote the card. I hope that we shall be able to call an expert just as eminent, just as eminent I assure you, to say that he didn’t. And then the third point is this identification by the man Liston.”

“Leighton,” said Trapsell.

“Leighton. That places your husband at the right spot, more or less at the right time. I don’t like that. No, I don’t like that at all.”

“Just a few seconds,” Mr Hayward boomed, as though he were in Court himself. “A man can easily be mistaken.”

Newton looked at him, swelled up a little, appeared likely to burst out in wrath, but in fact only said mildly, “We have to convince the jury of that, Mr Hayward.” He went back to his desk, looked through the depositions. “Jellifer and Clements, they’re supposed to have seen your husband in his car, or seen the car rather. What about them? Any grudge against you?”

“Why, no. They’re – we’ve always thought of them as friends.”

“All right. They’re not important, it’s the three principal points we’ve got to hammer away at. One more thing. You’re still staying with your father?”

“Just outside Hayward’s Heath,” Mr Hayward said.

“Same name but it doesn’t belong to me, worse luck.”

Newton went on as though he had not spoken. “The question of your husband leaving the country is bound to be raised. As you know, he was going for a holiday, but the prosecution are bound to say otherwise. It would help if you could make it plain that you went to stay with your parents by mutual agreement. That’s one reason why I should like you to give evidence.”

“I see,” Marion said. “All right.”

Newton said slowly, “It would help to scotch any rumours – and in my opinion a good part of this case is the product of rumour – if you went back to live again at home. In The Dell, I mean.”

For a moment Marion’s gaze met the stare of Newton’s little eyes. Then she looked down. “I don’t think I could do that. Not yet, at any rate.”

“Ha.” Newton continued to look at her for a few moments. Then his manner changed to jocular urbanity as he wished them good day, and told Marion not to worry. To Trapsell, who stayed behind for a few more words, he said, “She thinks he did it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

“Trouble is I shall have to call her so that we can put something up against this story of his running off to Belgrade. But I don’t like putting her into the box, I don’t trust her. For that matter, I don’t like him. Uncouth devil. Doesn’t seem to take any interest in the case.”

“I’d noticed that myself.”

“You’d think he didn’t care what happened. Oh, well, wouldn’t do to take only the clients we liked, would it?” Mr Trapsell laughed dutifully. Newton tapped his nose. “Something I forgot. You might find out if he’s got any form at all, our client.”

“I checked. He hasn’t.”

“Good. Shouldn’t have been surprised if he had, you know, punching a policeman on the nose, that sort of thing. I wish he didn’t look such a violent type, I must say.”