George managed to get the corner table in the bar after dinner. In truth it wasn’t too difficult. Everyone at the Village was well aware the trial was underway and equally well aware of the roles Gladys, Cynthia and George had played. They were now given a respectful distance so George was able to take it easy and find his favourite table there waiting for him. When the two women arrived, he was sitting in his seat staring into his brandy glass and swirling the liquid round inside it.
“I’m first up tomorrow,” he announced as they sat down. “The message arrived an hour ago.”
“Better that than later,” Gladys answered. “It’s like going to the dentist, isn’t it? You’d rather get it done than hanging around all day.”
“Judging by the way this case is going, you could well be hanging round for longer than that,” Cynthia seconded her. “At least it’s something you’ve done before—not like us. I’d be terrified.”
“Me too,” Gladys said.
George drank slowly. The second round arrived without him having to look or ask and he took the top-up without really looking. “Yes, I’ve been in the witness box many times,” he acknowledged. “But it’s different now. Things loom larger.”
Cynthia gave his arm a comforting squeeze. “That’s because we’re older. There’s no way of getting away from it. We live in a place where everything is taken care of for us if that’s what we want. That’s why we formed the taskforce, wasn’t it? We wanted to push out and show we could still hack it.”
George’s face lightened a little. He treated himself to a hefty swig of the brandy. “That’s true, but it would help if I knew where they’re going with this. In the past I would have been the chief investigating officer. I could anticipate the questions coming up. I would have been called by the prosecution. I’ve never been called by the defence before. Shafiq Narwaz is a sharp operator—he’s shown that already. It’s a worry.”
“Why?” Cynthia wanted to know.
George took a look round to make sure everyone else in the bar was a safe distance away. The three of them were attracting curious stares, as was the norm these days, like being in an aquarium, as Gladys had once put it, but nobody was close enough to overhear. “I was involved in that last Kelmert case, not directly you understand. I was already an administrator by then moving up the political ladder. I wasn’t a detective anymore working cases.”
“You never told us exactly what you were then,” Cynthia’s tone verged on the accusatory.
“There didn’t seem any need. To start with, we three were playing a game, going to London, going to Wales twice in my case. We were putting a daisy chain together before we handed over to the professionals. Now it’s serious. Whatever I say tomorrow will be recorded. I’ve got to take my mind back thirty years. I’ve been retired for ten.”
“Do you remember the case well?” Gladys prompted him.
George paused as a third round of the brandy came along. “This is unprecedented,” he commented, “star treatment. Well, might as well take advantage.” He had another slug before he replied. “I remember the shock when it folded. The loss of the evidence was dynamite. That was crucial for Kelmert. Otherwise he was going down.” His eyes travelled round the room. “We’re the last ones here. Better call it a night.”
“Are you going to be all right?” Cynthia asked, trying to keep her voice light.
“I hope so.” George climbed laboriously out of his seat. “I’ll take this with me to keep me going.” He picked up the half-full brandy glass.
“We’ll walk back with you,” Gladys said. “Do we need to get going any earlier tomorrow?”
“Fifteen minutes maybe. I’m up sharp at ten.” He wobbled slightly. “Sharp at ten.”
**
“Enver Kelmert has been mentioned many times during this trial, Mr Skelton. Do you feel you have unfinished business with him?” Narwaz asked. His manner was inquisitive but friendly, inviting George to come out of his shell if he was in one. It carried the unspoken message that he was conscious he was dealing with someone who wielded power once but had now retreated from it. He wanted to extract information but smoothly.
“I do.” George tried to take his mind back to when he’d confidently handled these experiences with all eyes on him in a courtroom. It wasn’t easy. “I had several brushes with him but he was never convicted.”
“Did these brushes, as you call them, include the case in March 1980 where the evidence was lost?”
“I was already a superintendent by then so one step removed, but yes. The loss of the evidence didn’t surprise me.”
“Why was that?”
“He would always find someone to help him out.”
“As you’ve heard from your days in the public gallery, the prosecution is portraying Ms Ahmed as that person.”
“Yes, that does surprise me.” The answer drew one of the loudest buzzes round the court room Cynthia could recall so far. The judge had to hammer down several times to still it. Her eyes blinked. Was this the George who’d been so sure of Helena Ahmed’s guilt at the time when their investigation was all a game? He must have been doing a lot of thinking overnight. As he’d said, it was now serious. His face had been set on the way to the court and he’d stayed silent. Had the thinking still been going on? She’d already glanced more than once at the defendant that day. Her head tied up in its scarf was more down, her face ashen.
“Why is that?” Narwaz asked.
“She was very junior at the time. I would expect Kelmert to go for someone with more clout, more senior. He wouldn’t leave anything to chance. His first port of call was to nobble a witness. I recall him doing that more than once. The next ploy would be to interfere with the evidence. One case in which I was directly involved where that happened, he got at one of the lawyers who had big gambling debts. The lawyer was prosecuted and served time.”
“But Ms Ahmed wasn’t prosecuted?”
George nodded and considered carefully as his mind went back. “No, I don’t believe she was. It would have been her word against others. There presumably wasn’t adequate evidence.”
“Thank you—no further questions.”
“Mr Hook,” McCracken invited. “You wish to cross-examine?”
“I certainly do, my Lord. Mr Skelton, how long is it since you retired from the police service?”
“Ten years now.”
“I believe you live in sheltered accommodation now—is that right?”
“Objection, my Lord,” cried Narwaz from his seat. “The prosecution is trying to impugn the witness’s capabilities.”
“Don’t worry, Mr Narwaz, I’m listening carefully. The witness may answer.”
“I live in what’s called a retirement complex,” George said. “People can lead their own lives as they choose.”
“I see.” The tone spoke volumes. “But isn’t it the case that everything there is done for you, so you don’t have to think too much?”
“Yes.”
“So you would have plenty of time on your hands. When you formed this so-called taskforce, was that to relieve the boredom of your everyday life and give you something to do?”
George gave a small smile. “The initial work on this was done with the two ladies sitting in the gallery here. They were the ones who managed to persuade Charlie Willis to admit to his role in carrying the body to the site on Corrington Common, not me. The police have many cases in cold storage—I know well that it takes a lead to prompt a fresh look and I also know all there is to know about wasting police time. I saw at once that this could be such a lead and it was also evident to me from the men identified, Willis and then Metz, that they were associates of Kelmert. I found it very telling that Kelmert was willing to take such risks in the disposal of the body and I wondered exactly what role he played in Pennington’s death. As your colleague pointed out, I have unfinished business with him, although he is now dead. This is a very long-winded way of answering your question, but the answer is ‘yes’.”
The resultant laughter brought a flush to Hook’s face. He continued standing for a few moments as he contemplated a vast hole of Australia-bound proportions opening up in front of him if he went on trying to discredit George. Then he sat down. The defence called Maisie Hardwick.
“We’re all really sorry to hear the news about your mother, Mrs Hardwick,” Narwaz began.
Maisie nodded in acknowledgement. Her eyes were full. “It’s not good. It’s not good at all.”
“We’ll try and keep this as short as possible. I’d like you to tell us what you know about your mother’s purchase of the house at 125 Brayfield Road.”
“I know that was one of the first ones she bought. It was before I was born, of course, and as I’ve explained to the police and to Mr Skelton, as well as the private detective you sent to see me, the property business was always run by my mother until she handed it over to the letting agency. My husband and I run the events business from the Hall, which she passed on to us after my father died.”
“We understand that, but did you ever discuss with your mother how she raised the money to get started and buy 125 Brayfield Road?”
“Yes, we did have a conversation about that once because I was curious about how it all began. I knew my grandparents weren’t well off. She told me she entered into a business partnership with someone she was fond of at the time, and he provided the cash.”
“Did she tell you who that person was?”
“Yes—she told me he was called Enver Kelmert.”
When the murmurs this statement produced had subsided Narwaz asked: “And do you know how long that relationship continued?”
“It wasn’t romantic anymore after she got married to my dad, if that’s what you mean. That’s what she told me anyway. But whether the business relationship went on with him providing money, I wouldn’t know.”
“This separation of the businesses, was that because your mother wanted to keep the property under her wing or because you didn’t want to know about taking it over?”
“Both—I’d read about Kelmert in the papers and I knew he’d been accused of being a large underworld figure without ever being convicted. I wondered about the source of the money.”
“That didn’t seem to worry your mother?”
“No—she valued her status and was proud of her business.”
Hook signalled to attract the attention of the judge before clambering back to his feet and spreading out his arms. “My Lord, the defence seems to be introducing enough red herrings to start up a fish shop. Where are we going with this?” Laughter ensued all around him but the judge kept a poker face. Cynthia wondered mischievously whether the ability to do so was part of the job description.
“We can manage without the hyperbole, Mr Hook,” he boomed after he’d re-imposed order, “although I sympathise with the sentiment. Can you enlighten us on the direction of travel, Mr Narwaz?”
“That will become clear with my next three questions of this witness, my Lord.”
“Very well. Proceed carefully, Mr Narwaz.”
“As your lordship pleases.” Narwaz turned back to Maisie. “Mrs Hardwick, were you aware that your mother has a connection with the private bank, Gonzalez and Co.?”
Maisie looked mystified. “No, I wasn’t.”
“You have seen the golden lion which sat on her desk in her office?”
“Yes, I knew about it, and Mr Skelton pointed it out to me when he was in the house.”
“Did you know that this was a personal gift to her from the deceased, Richard Pennington?”
There was a stir round the court as Maisie shook her head.
“Could you please answer for the record?”
“No.”
“Thank you, no further questions.”
As Maisie was leaving the witness box, Helena Ahmed, who had been sitting bolt upright, suddenly slumped forward with her forehead resting on the ledge in front of her. Her supporters jumped up in the public gallery and Shamira Iqbal, who was sitting two away from Cynthia, cried out. Shafiq Narwaz ran from the well of the court to Helena’s side as the guards on either side of her supported her. He signalled to the judge. “My Lord, as the defendant is clearly not well, the defence requests a recess until tomorrow morning.”
“Granted, until ten tomorrow,” announced McCracken.