Outside, the drizzle which had seemed interminable earlier on had stopped and the sun was out. They found a McDonald’s in the next street away from the baying crowd, which could still be heard, and chomped their way through burgers—Cynthia chose the chicken option. After the meal Gladys wanted to go back to check on her car while George and Cynthia took a stroll. The car park backed on to some gardens and they wandered through there. It seemed quite natural now for her to take his arm and she was relieved at the closeness between them.
“Do you still feel the same?” she enquired after a while. “About the case I mean?”
“Oh, yes.” He seemed surprised by the question. “In my opinion, she’s guilty. The motive, the evidence all points that way and that’s how we’re trained, follow the trail unless or until another option presents itself.”
“We’re on opposite sides then.”
“Why do you think there are so few women on the jury? The ones that are there come from opposite ends of the spectrum—they either feel they have to do their duty or they’re too young to have found ways of avoiding the service.”
“You’re an old cynic, aren’t you?”
“Almost certainly—it comes from being a policeman for too long.” He gave her a grin. “Not always though!”
By the time they got back Gladys was already in her seat. They just made it before the jury returned and the judge made his entrance. “Mr Hook,” he summoned, “are you ready to call your first witness?”
“I am, my Lord—I call Detective Chief Inspector Jordan Stuart.”
As Stuart made his way up and went through the formalities, Cynthia recalled him sitting in her kitchen with Andy Croft spread out in the chair next to him. That had been the moment when the case had effectively slipped away from the taskforce into the hands of the police. Stuart looked impressive in the witness box, tall and immaculately dressed with the light above him reflecting gently on his shaven head.
“Chief Inspector, you are the leader of the team which resumed investigations into the Richard Pennington case?”
“I am.”
“And could you tell the court please how this investigation had proceeded.”
“Certainly, but first I would like to pay tribute to the work done by my ex-senior colleague George Skelton, together with his friends Gladys Lancashire and Cynthia Tilling, all of whom I see sitting in the public gallery today. Without their interest and efforts going back to the basics, this case would undoubtedly have remained where it’s been for the last thirty years in our files in cold storage. We owe them a considerable tribute.”
Cynthia felt the full weight of all the eyes in the room apart from Helena Ahmed bearing down on them. Stealing a glance along the row she saw Gladys’s face lighting up as well, while George remained impassive. She hardly listened as Stuart ran through the familiar ground of the Christmas Day collision, the subsequent court cases, Charlie Willis’s statement, the encounter with Jack Metz and his subsequent murder and the discovery of 125 Brayfield Road. She tuned back in when she heard her name mentioned again. “When Mr Skelton and Ms Tilling visited the property, they took a sample of what appeared to be blood from the surround to the garage internal door frame. This proved to be a match in many respects with the deceased Richard Pennington but it wasn’t conclusive. Accordingly we obtained a warrant and conducted a search.”
“What did you find as a result?”
“On pulling back a carpet in an upstairs bedroom under the bed we found a small stain on the floorboards which had clearly been there for a considerable period of time. We took up the floorboards to see that blood had dripped through on to the joists below. Samples were compared with Pennington’s DNA and proved to be a complete match down to odds of a billion to one. We then proceeded to the doorframe from which Mr Skelton took his sample. A much larger sample was taken with the same result as obtained from the one upstairs. Our conclusion therefore was the deceased met his death in the house, his body was transported into the garage and was then taken away before finally being deposited on Corrington Common.”
“Now, at that time what did you know about the ownership and residents of the house?”
“We again are indebted to Mr Skelton and his colleagues, who did the groundwork to identify Mrs Sarah Richardson of Hinkfield Hall in Oxfordshire as the owner. A comprehensive search of her files, which are all paper based, has produced a tenancy agreement for the house covering twenty-eighth March 1980.”
“The date of Richard Pennington’s murder.” Hook gave a meaningful stare at the jury as if to give them a wake-up call, in case any member might have dropped off.
“Indeed.”
“And in whose name was that agreement?”
“The defendant’s—Helena Ahmed.” There was a ripple round the court, silenced by a bang of the judge’s gavel. “She was known as Helena Iqbal then but her name changed during the life of the tenancy, and our understanding is that she married after her return to Pakistan.”
“Was the defendant interviewed after Pennington’s body was found?”
“She was—as a member of the Iqbal family, she was considered as a suspect.”
“And she had expressed views on the murder?”
Stuart nodded. “Quite right. She made statements after the two court cases that justice had been denied to her niece and that Pennington had targeted the family deliberately.”
“What was the result of the police interview with her?”
“The defendant had an alibi. She was working on the day of the murder as a member of the prosecution team in a tax avoidance and money laundering case involving a businessman called Enver Kelmert. This alibi was accepted and no further investigation was made.”
“But you feel that if your colleagues then had been armed with the information you have now they would have acted differently?”
Narwaz was on his feet. “Objection, my Lord. This is leading the witness—how is he supposed to speculate on what might have happened thirty years ago?”
“Sustained,” intervened McCracken. “You know better than that, Mr Hook.”
“I’ll rephrase my question. What action did you take, Chief Inspector, concerning the alibi on the basis of what you discovered?”
“We studied the records at the time, both the court records and those kept by the chambers for which Ms Ahmed was working. These showed that a lunch break of one and a half hours was allowed. According to the coroner’s report the murder took place sometime between twelve and three. It’s our contention that the defendant travelled back to her house during the lunch period, committed the murder and then returned.”
“You consider there was time enough for her to do that?”
“We do—we’ve timed the journey there and back. In addition, the defendant was a keen jogger at the time.”
“Thank you—could I take you back to the concurrent case against Enver Kelmert? Did you investigate that as well?”
“We did—as I mentioned, the defendant was a member of the prosecution team.”
“Now the case against Kelmert failed, did it not?”
“It did—two vital documents incorporating his handwritten instructions for disposal of funds were lost.”
“And who had responsibility for the safekeeping of these documents?”
Stuart looked straight at Helena Ahmed. “The defendant.” Another ripple ensued, silenced by an imperious bang of the judge’s gavel.
“Could you expand on that statement, Chief Inspector?”
“Certainly—she was entrusted with placing the papers in the office safe overnight. When her colleagues went to retrieve them the following morning, they couldn’t be found. She could provide no explanation for their disappearance. As a direct result the case against Kelmert was dropped.”
“So what did you determine from this?”
“The two criminals whom I mentioned earlier, Willis and Metz, were known associates of Kelmert. All the evidence points to a covert deal between the defendant and Kelmert. He disposed of Pennington’s body—she concealed the telling evidence against him, so he walked free.”
Hook referred to his notes. “If I can take you back to the question of motive, you’ve described to the court the defendant’s reaction to the perceived lack of justice for her niece. Was that the only motive you’ve uncovered?”
Stuart shook his head. “No—Pennington was the subject of complaints from a number of women about unwelcome sexual advances. One of them accused him of rape.”
“Do you have a record of his reaction to that?”
“Yes, he denied it and denied even knowing the woman concerned. She dropped the charge and her name wasn’t revealed at the time.”
“But you have now determined who it was?”
“Yes we have—it was the defendant, Helena Ahmed.”
There were shouts from several corners of the public gallery. The judge hammered on his desk. “We will not have this kind of disturbance in my court.” He peered around until the noise subsided. “Mr Hook.”
“I have no further questions of this witness, my Lord.”
The judge’s gaze travelled across the well of the court. “Mr Narwaz, do you wish to cross-examine?”
Narwaz climbed slowly to his feet and very deliberately assembled the papers in front of him.
“Good afternoon, Chief Inspector,” he said breezily, “this must be an unusual case for you as much of the groundwork had been performed by Mr Skelton’s taskforce, of which we’ve already heard. As I understand it, you only engaged after the establishment of how the body ended up where it was found, the identification of the house in Clapham, its possible tenant and its owner, Sarah Richardson. Is that correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“And how is Ms Richardson now after the attack on her on her bicycle?”
“She’s still in hospital in a bad way.”
“And the car which was used in the attack?”
Hook climbed to his feet. “My Lord, my learned friend seems to be indulging in some sort of social chit-chat with the witness. I don’t see the relevance.”
Narwaz was swift to come back. “The description of Ms Richardson’s accident is in the jury pack, my Lord, and the defence will show the relevance later on when we hope to call her, if at all possible.”
“All right, Mr Narwaz,” boomed McCracken, “but bear in mind that neither the time nor the patience of the court is infinite. The witness may answer the question.”
“We found the car and I had an update before I came on to the stand that we have also found a crushed water bottle in the well under the driver’s seat. We had to take the seat out to extract it. DNA found on the bottle links it to Darren Skinner, who has past convictions for assault and car theft. Police are engaged now in trying to track him down.”
Narwaz allowed a pause for this information to be absorbed. Cynthia was aware of jury members flicking through their packs to find the reference.
“Now, Chief Inspector, the covert arrangement to which you referred between the defendant and this Mr Kelmert,” he pronounced the name in such a way as to make it sound like some particularly obnoxious form of dropping, “have you any evidence to support the existence of such an arrangement?”
“No, but there have…”
“A simple ‘no’ will suffice.”
“No.”
“Thank you—now you picked up the defendant’s alibi and contend that it can be challenged—correct?”
“Correct.”
“Chief Inspector, I engaged a fit young member of my team to take the most direct route by underground from the courts to the Clapham house including running as fast as he could to and from the station and in between for the change of train which he had to make. Even with the trains in all cases coming in almost straightaway it took him one hour and fifteen minutes. That would leave fifteen minutes to commit the crime, which we can see from the coroner’s report, also in the jury pack, was described as a ‘frenzied stabbing’. Would you agree with our findings?”
“Well, more or less—we reckoned an hour approximately…”
“More or less, approximately,” Narwaz repeated, “this is a murder trial, Chief Inspector! Also, the defendant would have been covered in blood. She would have had to shower to remove the traces and have a change of clothes before she would have had to run back. Did you take that into account?”
“Yes, we did.”
Narwaz shook his head in apparent incomprehension. “Also, Chief Inspector, we have to remind ourselves that this all took place thirty years ago. Trains and train times have been upgraded since then so our timings now may well not correspond to what was possible then. Did you take that into account?”
Stuart stroked his shaven head more than once. “Well, I’m not sure…”
“I’ll take that as a ‘no’. Now, turning to the motive ascribed to the defendant, you’ve referred to her statements covering concerns about the justice system and her accusation that the deceased deliberately targeted her family on Christmas Day. Would you also acknowledge she publicly withdrew that accusation later?”
“Yes—I agree she did, but she didn’t withdraw her other statements.”
McCracken leaned over the edge of his desk. “Could you concentrate on answering counsel’s questions, Chief Inspector.”
Stuart was feeling the heat. “Yes, my Lord.”
“Also,” Narwaz went on, “you told my learned friend you’d established that the defendant was the woman reported at the time to have accused the deceased of rape. Can you tell me how you established that?”
“Her name’s on the file.”
“We’ve studied all the media reports we can find dating from the time. The references we’ve found speak of a woman saying the deceased spoke of wanting to rape her but the charge was dropped as soon as he denied knowing her.”
“That’s correct.”
“The Christmas Day affair was widely mentioned in connection with Pennington’s death and the defendant was a well-known figure as a result of her public statements which we’ve been discussing. Would you agree?”
“Yes.”
Cynthia tensed listening to this exchange—she thought she knew where it was leading.
“Yet her name was never mentioned in this connection.”
“It wouldn’t have been—she had the right to anonymity.”
“In that case why is it there on the police file for all to see?”
“I can’t account for that.”
“If the charge was withdrawn and no proceedings were initiated, why was the file retained anyway? Other women made allegations against Pennington. Were their names there as well?”
“Not that I’ve seen.”
Hook raised his hand. “Objection. How can the chief inspector be expected to know about how records were kept thirty years ago?”
McCracken shook his head. “I’ll allow it—continue Mr Narwaz.”
“This case has been considered several times over the intervening years—those efforts are documented. Could the reference to the defendant have been added subsequently?”
There was more head wiping from Stuart. “I suppose it’s possible,” he replied, “but I’ve never known…”
“Thank you,” Narwaz cut him off. “I’ve no further questions.”
McCracken took a long look at his watch. “Do you wish to come back, Mr Hook?”
Hook, who had been writing furiously, leaped up. “I do, my Lord.”
“Very well.”
“Chief Inspector,” Hook started off again, “with regard to the alibi, did you also try the journey by taxi as well as public transport?”
“We did and it was comfortably done in an hour. By public transport it was significantly longer.”
“And my learned friend queried your assumption of a covert agreement between the defendant and Kelmert. Could you tell the court how many cases Kelmert faced in total before he died?”
“Yes—five. He was never convicted.”
“Why did those cases fail?”
“In three of them a vital witness didn’t show up. One died in mysterious circumstances which were never explained. In the other two, including the one in which the defendant participated, important documents were lost.”
“And were the circumstances the same on each of those two occasions?”
“Exactly the same—they were mislaid by a team member whose job it was to look after them.”
“Hence your assumption of pressure being put on them directly or indirectly by Kelmert?”
Stuart nodded. He looked more comfortable now. “It’s too much of a coincidence. In the other cases the people concerned were frightened into taking the actions they took. In this one it looks like a simple quid pro quo. As a return favour Kelmert did the cleaning up after the murder. Why else would he do it?”
“Why indeed? The defence counsel also queried the maintenance of the file on the rape allegation against Pennington. Have you ever come across a case where a file has been clearly altered?”
“Never—each time this case was looked at the file was sealed afterwards.”
“Thank you—no further questions.”
Narwaz got to his feet. “May I come back with one further point, my Lord?”
The judge rolled his eyes. “Make it quick, Mr Narwaz.”
“I will—Chief Inspector, did you make enquiries to try and find a taxi driver who made that trip with the defendant?”
“We did, but,’ Stuart spread his hands, “after a gap of thirty years.” His voice trailed away.
“And the police made similar enquiries at the time?”
“They did.”
“And what was the result of those enquiries?”
“They were fruitless.”
“Thank you.” Narwaz sat down.
Cynthia took a look at the jury members. Some still appeared wide awake—others had their heads down. Judge McCracken stepped back in. “It’s been a long day,” he pronounced. “This court will recess until tomorrow at ten.”
On the way round to the car park Gladys stepped out in front of the other two and was obviously pleased to see the shiny red car was still in position undamaged. “Did you see Helena move a muscle all day long?” Gladys asked on the way home.
“Not once,” Cynthia answered. “I don’t know how she does it.”
“Her lawyer has a tough job,” George put in, “but he’s doing the best he can. I’m still none the wiser what my role is going to be. Tomorrow will still be the prosecution. They’ll want to continue knocking the alibi and reinforcing the motives. Modus operandi and motive in that order, I reckon.”
“There’s no brandy tonight. What about sherry at my place when we get back?”
George rubbed his hands together. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”