Narwaz accompanied Helena in the car back to the jail. The driver took a loop in an effort to avoid the crowds who were out on the streets to support her despite persistent rain, but there were enough outliers along the route to make themselves heard. There was no indication from Helena that she was aware they were there. She kept her head bowed and said nothing throughout the journey until she was escorted into her cell. She and Narwaz sat at the little wooden table.
“I’ve a splitting headache,” she complained. “It’s like a band across my head.” She’d mentioned this in court and Narwaz had equipped himself with pills, which he offered her. Somewhat to his surprise she took them without comment, tossing them down with a plastic cup full of water. “I can’t go on like this much longer.”
It was a refrain he’d heard before and he was concerned how thin and ill she looked, her headscarf knotted round her pure white face. “Sitting in that courtroom all day and having to be incarcerated here at night—it’s more than I can stand. I’m used to being free, going wherever I want, wherever my work takes me. I can’t stand it.”
“We should be finished up tomorrow morning,” Narwaz tried to console her. “I have two more witnesses to call. Unless the prosecution make any other interventions the judge will then want to address the jury and send them out.”
“How long will it all take?”
“As long as the jury takes to deliberate. I can’t put a time on that.”
“And what happens to me while they do all that?”
“You have to remain here to await the verdict.”
She put her hand to her head. A tear trickled between her fingers. “For what?” she exclaimed. “I keep telling you that it’s a foregone conclusion anyway.”
Narwaz moved to take her arm and then thought better of it. “You have to trust me.”
“I do—trust you, I mean. But…” she pointed to herself, “here I am, a Pakistani national, plucked from an airport when I came here to support an event for disadvantaged women worldwide to face British justice. It’s stacked against us from the start, just like it was before.” She rose to her feet. “You can leave me now. I want to pray.”
Narwaz got up. “Will you please eat tonight?” He tried to stem the anxiety in his voice.
“I’ll do my best. I’ve ordered in some food. That well-meaning young policeman, the tall one, is bringing it in for me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
**
The lawyer took a taxi back to his flat. Mike Hoyle texted him en route and was waiting when he arrived.
“Well?” Narwaz asked without ceremony as he unlocked his front door.
“The subpoena has been served so he should be on the stand.”
Narwaz poured himself one of his occasional scotches and offered one to Hoyle, which the detective accepted. “And the list?”
“They caught him as he was copying the names and kicked him out. He only got the first two but they’re the ones which matter. He’s identified them as the other two complainants.”
Narwaz nodded. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Tell me, have the police tracked down the driver of the car?”
“The one which hit Sarah Richardson, you mean? Yes, they have. They had a stroke of luck there. He was stuck in a traffic jam on the M1 two back from a police car and decided to underpass the line of traffic. There was a chase and they nabbed him. He’s being questioned.”
“That’ll bring more pressure on the Grouper Junior. Where is our friend staying tonight?”
Hoyle grinned. “In a safe house. I have to get back to him.”
“Where is it?”
The grin widened. “Let’s just say my spare bedroom has a lock on it from the outside and I’m staying up tonight!”
**
“It could go either way,” George opined in the process of downing a glass of Cynthia’s sherry. He’d refreshed her supplies with two bottles from the Forester next door. “I’m pleased it’s over for me. I’m out of practice with that stuff these days.”
“It didn’t look that way,” Gladys told him.
“Well, it was a bit like the duck, you know, sailing along serenely on the surface but there’s a hell of a lot of paddling going on underneath.”
“You certainly changed your tune since the taskforce started work.”
“That’s true—I’ve been following the proceedings closely and I thought about it a lot overnight. The defence is doing a skilful job sowing seeds of doubt and trying to portray different scenarios. The defence lawyer did a skilful job with me. But the only verdict which matters comes from the jury.”
“I’ve been watching them all the time,” Cynthia put in. “They all seem to be giving close attention.”
“Let’s hope so. They have to make their collective minds up on some critical issues.”
George put down his empty glass and peered around hopefully.
**
Cynthia noticed straightaway that the four women behind her had switched back to the ones she remembered on the first day in court. A strident chorus of “Free Helena” started up as soon as Helena Ahmed was brought up and to Cynthia’s surprise she gave them a limp wave before she sat down. She looked even paler and sicker than she had before. At least she survived the night, Cynthia thought. I had some doubt about that. She transferred her attention to the well of the court and saw Narwaz take his seat, flanked by another man and two women. As she watched, the man gave Narwaz a thumbs-up sign. One of the women put one finger on her arm and then two. Narwaz nodded—message received.
The jury filed in and then the court was bidden to rise as the judge, poker-faced as usual, made his appearance. He quelled the “Free Helena” chant with a glare before putting Narwaz in the spotlight. Cynthia started as Claude Flynn was called to the witness stand, and she felt George sitting next to her respond in the same way. “This should be interesting,” he whispered in her ear. Flynn identified himself and waited as Narwaz shuffled papers.
“You’re employed as a credit manager at the bankers Gonzalez and Co.—correct?” he asked.
Flynn gave a tight smile. “I was—I resigned last night. I had a row with the managing director. He objected to me accessing certain files.”
“Did these files relate to past holders of so-called Reserve Accounts at the bank?”
“They did—these files are only available to a very small group of people.”
“A group which doesn’t include you?”
“That’s right.”
“Could you tell the court what you found?”
“Yes—I turned up a file which related to the period January to March 1980 and identified the top two Reserve Account holders at that time. I was prevented from finding out anymore.”
“And who were these two people?”
“Enver Kelmert and Sarah Richardson.” Cynthia heard George say “Wow” under his breath.
“To your knowledge how would these people attain that status?”
Hook waved a hand. “Objection—the witness has already stated that he wasn’t in the group which would have this information.”
“My Lord,” Narwaz intervened, “Mr Flynn is a senior banker with over thirty years of experience. It’s the defence’s contention that he would be able to give a factual answer to the question.”
“Proceed, Mr Narwaz,” McCracken ordered. “The witness may answer.”
“These people would certainly have substantial sums of money invested with the bank,” Flynn went on. “And a widespread portfolio.”
“Fine—now what do you know of the golden lions which have already been mentioned to this court?”
“They were made to Mr Pennington’s instructions and handed out by him. There were ten in all.”
“And do you know the recipients?”
“Only the first two, who were Enver Kelmert and Sarah Richardson. Each lion was stamped on the base.”
“And this would indicate their importance as customers?”
“Objection,” cried Hook, “he’s leading the witness.”
“The witness may answer,” McCracken interjected. Cynthia could see even from where she was sitting that he was following the exchange with keen interest.
“Undoubtedly,” Flynn replied, without waiting to be prompted.
“Thank you, Mr Flynn.” Hook waved away the chance to step in and the judge addressed Narwaz. “I think I see the direction of travel, Mr Narwaz. How much further before the train reaches the station?”
“I have one more witness to call, my Lord, and then a character witness.”
McCracken looked at the clock. “Very good.”
“I’d like to call Susan Courteney,” Narwaz announced. A slim blonde-haired woman made her appearance. Cynthia estimated her as being in her very well-preserved mid-sixties.
“Ms Courteney, could you please tell the court the nature of your job during the period of interest to this trial, that is January to March 1980.”
“Certainly—I was PA to Richard Pennington, who was CEO of Gonzalez and Co.”
“And do you recall the outrage of three customers in particular at that time over substantial losses on their accounts?”
“I do—quite clearly as we’d never experienced anything like it before.”
“Could you confirm the identity of those customers?”
“I can—Enver Kelmert, Sarah Richardson and the footballer, Cauley Mortimer.”
“And were you aware of any contact between the deceased Mr Pennington and these customers at that time?”
“I was—they all came to see him, Mr Mortimer on his own and the other two together. The latter meeting is the one I remember especially. My office was right next door to Mr Pennington’s and I could hear the raised voices, even though his door was closed.”
“What happened at the conclusion of that meeting?”
“My habit was always to keep my door half-open in case Mr Pennington might want me urgently. I saw the two of them come out and I heard Mr Kelmert’s last words to Mr Pennington.”
“What were those words?”
“He said: ‘There will be consequences.’ It was the way he said it which made the words stick in my mind.”
“Thank you.” Narwaz took a glance at the judge. “I have no more questions for this witness.”
“Mr Hook?” enquired McCracken.
From his seat Hook gave a wave in acknowledgement. “No questions, my Lord. The prosecution is pleased the train has finally reached the station.”
“Mr Narwaz?”
“I have one more character witness to call, my Lord.” Cynthia’s gaze drifted across to the defendant, whose head was bowed so she could see no visible reaction as the name of Zakia Kaltabi, head of an organisation called “Women’s House” was called. She saw a small, dark woman emerge who needed no encouragement to deliver what amounted to a eulogy for Helena Ahmed. What she lacked in stature she more than made up for with strong delivery and sweeping gestures with her arms. She spoke of Helena’s irreplaceability as a defender of women’s rights in a society where they were not always valued, a constant lobbyist to the government to strengthen laws to protect women and a founder and supporter of her own organisation which provided a refuge for women at risk. She sat down to whoops of joy from the women behind Cynthia and a quiet round of applause from Shamira Iqbal.
The judge allowed the approbation to gradually fall away as Narwaz signalled that the defence rested. “Are you ready with your closing statement, Mr Hook?”
Hook leaped up. “I am, my Lord.” He turned to face the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury—since this court has been in session you have heard two quite different stories, one from the prosecution, which has been clear and on point, the other from the defence, which has meandered around like a country walk. We have shown strong evidence of a twofold motive for Helena Ahmed, the defendant in this case, to kill Richard Pennington, his unwanted sexual advances towards her, which deeply offended her honour, and his part in the death of her niece, for which she held him totally responsible. You have heard statements testifying to her total lack of regard for the British justice system and her conviction that the only real justice is the one you dispense yourself. Police evidence that the murder took place at 125 Brayfield Road in Clapham is incontrovertible and the proof has been given to you that the defendant was the tenant of that house at the time.
“We have challenged the alibi given by the defendant when she was questioned by police shortly after the murder and produced a witness who saw the defendant jogging to the house on the day of the murder. It is the argument of the prosecution that the defendant committed the crime, ‘a frenzied attack’ as it has been described, and then colluded with a well-known underworld figure at the time, Enver Kelmert, to dispose of the body. You have heard that she was entrusted with vital evidence in a concurrent trial of Kelmert, the loss of which enabled him to walk free. The defendant was responsible for the loss of that evidence. Kelmert responded by clearing up after her murder of Richard Pennington. She lost no time after being interviewed by the police in leaving the country. Motive, opportunity, modus operandi—it all fits together. Whatever reputation the defendant may have built since that day in March 1980 can in no way excuse a callous, carefully planned act of murder. I ask you therefore to convict the defendant accordingly.”
George dug Cynthia in the ribs and indicated her to study the jury. Some faces were impassive but others, especially the older members, showed signs of approval. “Narwaz has got a tough job,” he whispered. Looking down she saw Narwaz already on his feet.
“Members of the jury—the defendant here before you was apprehended at the airport on her way to deliver a keynote speech at a highly important conference. She had no fear of coming to this country to deliver that address in support of causes she already espoused when she was resident here. The prosecution has accused us of meandering. Instead, we have set out to show the defendant as a woman of strong principles but one also who cares strongly for others, is warm-hearted and feels an empathy for the oppressed, quite incapable in other words of committing the crime for which she is accused here. There is no dispute that she was the tenant of the house where the crime was committed. However, as you have heard, she was at work in court on the day of the murder and her alibi was accepted by the police at the time. The efforts of the prosecution to find holes in that alibi have been shown to lack any convincing proof.
“There is also no evidence of the collusion between the defendant and Erwin Kelmert which the prosecution alleges. The loss of evidence in the office where the defendant worked was not an isolated event and has been shown to have a number of possible causes.
“However, where the prosecution and we agree is on the role played by Enver Kelmert in this affair and, were he still alive, he would surely have been called to account for his role. We have shown that both he and Sarah Richardson, who unfortunately is unable to be here today, both had strong financial motives for wanting to take revenge on Pennington. Kelmert was heard to threaten him. It is perfectly plausible to take the view that Kelmert himself could have killed Pennington and not only have been responsible for handling the body. Considering Pennington’s reputation with women and his secretive banking organisation there may well have been others with a motive for killing him.
“You have heard no convincing evidence that the defendant Helena Ahmed committed this crime. I therefore ask you to free her to return to the work in which she believes so passionately. It is high time a British court delivered fair justice to her.”
Cynthia heard grunts of approval from behind her and saw Shamira clap her hands again. She hardly listened as the judge issued his directions to the jury, replaying both statements in her mind and wondering which one would hold sway. Perhaps mindful of the onset of lunch, the judge’s contribution was mercifully short and the court started to empty. “Come on,” George said. “Time for refreshment.” As they came out, some small knots of Helena’s supporters had encroached on the area around the building and were being chased away by the police. One woman was in the process of being frogmarched away, her arms clamped to her sides, her hair awry and her face streaked with dirt and tears. “Can this be justice?” she muttered to herself.
“The police have to keep us safe.” Gladys had overheard her and responded.
“By arresting people like that?”
Gladys saw the expression on her friend’s face and didn’t push it any further.
**
“What happens now?” Helena asked. She was in a holding cell below the court room with Narwaz and Shamira Iqbal for company.
“We wait,” Narwaz answered simply. “We wait.”
“You were a champion,” Shamira told him and gave him a hug. “Nobody could have done more.”
“Let’s hope it’s enough. You’re both lawyers—you know if the deliberation is short that can be good or bad. If it’s long, then at least they’re considering the evidence. I’ve ordered tea to keep us going.”
Helena opened her mouth but didn’t say anything. She just nodded.