A Fatal Verdict (40 page)

54. Hair Bobble

The prospect of cross examining Will Churchill would have filled Sarah with a harsh pleasure, if she had thought she could shake him. This man, who had done his best to put her son behind bars, epitomised everything she most disliked about the police. He was smug, deeply insensitive beneath a veneer of surface politeness, and, most frightening of all, successful. It was a success which she suspected was built largely on political talent rather than skill as a detective. He was young for the job - in his mid thirties - clever, well dressed, capable of deploying charm when it was useful, yet ruthless and vindictive when need be. She had heard several rumours of officers in Essex - his former force - who had crossed him and suffered, and now Terry Bateson, it seemed, had gone the same way.

But it was not enough to dispose of his rivals and pass exams. What he needed to further his career was a string of successful, high profile investigations. This trial, no doubt, was just such an attempt. And to Sarah’s dismay, it seemed likely to succeed. As her opponent, Matthew Clayton QC, took Churchill smoothly through his evidence she watched the jury lapping up the story they were being so competently fed, and fiddled nervously with the two handwritten sheets of paper on which were scrawled the few weak questions she had to challenge it.

When she rose at last, Churchill faced her with polite contempt. He was immaculately dressed, a little red handkerchief in the breast pocket of his tailored suit, a touch of mousse in his hair giving it that fashionable look that would appeal to the younger members of the jury. None of the jurors would have noticed the hatred that scorched their eyes as they met. It was invisible, a laser that burned only those who stood in each other’s way.

‘Inspector Churchill,’ Sarah began, deliberately diminishing him in rank, ‘when you interviewed Kathryn Walters, you suggested that she must have trailed David Kidd to a pub, is that right? And slipped the rohypnol tablets into his beer while he was there?’

‘That is one possibility, yes. Not the only one.’

‘Oh I see. There are others, are there? What are they?’

‘She may have gone to his flat, as she did before, and met him there.’

‘I see. And what do you suggest she said to him, when they met?’

Churchill shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I wasn’t there.’

‘Indeed. You have no proof that they actually met at all, have you, in either place?’

Churchill turned away from her, addressing his reply to the judge. ‘We know that they met, my Lord, because hairs bearing Mrs Walters’ DNA were found on a hair bobble near the fence, and her footprints were found nearby.’

‘Footprints of shoes
similar
to hers, you mean.’ The jury had already heard an exhaustive cross examination of the forensic scientist on this point, in which Sarah had established that fifty thousand size six pairs of that particular trainer had been sold worldwide last year, and that the mud and plant fragments found in the soles and crevices of the trainers were similar to mud and plants found in Kathryn’s garden, as well as near the scene of the crime.

‘Footprints of shoes
identical
to hers, my Lord,’ Churchill replied wearily, his tone suggesting impatience with such nitpicking.

‘And to thousands of others,’ Sarah insisted doggedly. It had taken two hours of forensic cross-examination to establish these points; she wasn’t about to abandon them now.

‘To thousands of others whose owners had no connection with David Kidd whatsoever, so far as we know.’ Churchill glanced at the jury where, to Sarah’s chagrin, several concurring smiles met his own.

‘Have you investigated any of these other people?’

‘No.’ Churchill smiled patronizingly. ‘We had no reason to.’

I’m losing this,
Sarah thought.
Getting drawn into petty battles I can’t win.
‘Let’s return to this alleged meeting between Mrs Walters and David Kidd, shall we? You admit that you have no evidence that it actually took place?’

‘As I said before, Mrs Walters’ hair was on the hair bobble, and her footprints - or footprints identical to hers in every way, if you insist - were found near the drainage tank. So if they were together when he died, it follows that they must have met some time earlier, my Lord.’

‘That’s your idea of logic, is it, Inspector?’

Churchill gazed at her blankly, refusing to answer the question. Sarah heard a discreet cough from Matthew Clayton, and noticed the judge watching her intently. She could imagine the reprimand forming in his head.
‘If you could refrain from insulting the witness, Mrs Newby, and question him instead, things might move along a little faster.’
She hurried to forestall him.

‘There is no proof, is there, that either the hair bobble, or the footprints, got there at the same time as Mr Kidd and his car entered the drainage tank?’

Churchill hesitated. ‘It seems logical enough.’

‘To you, maybe, but it’s a long way short of the standard of proof required in a court of law. If we take the footprints first, not only are you unable to prove that those footprints were made by Mrs Walters, you cannot prove exactly
when
they were made either, can you? They could have been made several hours
before
David Kidd died, or some time
afterwards
, for all you know.’

Churchill smiled coldly at the jury. ‘I checked the weather forecast for that week, Mrs Newby. As it happens, there were showers that evening. Enough to wash out any traces of footprints, I would have thought. The showers ended about ten p.m., after dark. So Mrs Walters would have had to be taking her dogs for a walk in the dark, wouldn’t she, to get those footprints in place just before he died. Bit of a coincidence that, wouldn’t you say? Especially if she dropped a hair bobble at the same time. What are you suggesting? That she did all that, and then rushed home for a cup of cocoa before someone else,
a completely different person
, drove up there and tipped David Kidd in the pit
without leaving a single trace behind?
’

One of the jurors laughed openly, choking off the sound quickly at a frown from the judge. Several others nodded. Churchill turned his bland, smooth face back towards her. Sarah felt sick. All the way up the hill and then straight back down again.

‘Nonetheless, I repeat, you have no way of proving exactly when those footprints were made, have you? They could have been made some hours before the murder, or after it.’

‘By an innocent person wandering around in the middle of the night?’ Churchill sneered. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

I could have been an air hostess
, Sarah thought.
A secretary, a fashion model, shop assistant, nurse, anything but this
. The point she was trying to reach in her cross examination seemed to be sailing further away, across oceans of contempt. She glanced at her notes, seeking for a different tack to approach it.

‘Inspector, you have already told us how much Mrs Walters hated David Kidd, believing as she did that he had murdered her daughter?’

‘Certainly. She threatened him publicly outside this court, and was found later outside his flat with a shotgun. That seems to me to provide a motive for murder.’

‘And Mr Kidd was aware of how she felt? He had heard these public threats?’

‘I believe so, yes. They were reported in the media.’

‘Yes. So why does it seem plausible to you, Inspector, that he should take her for a drive in his car?’

‘I’m not saying he did that, exactly. I’m saying she put a drug in his drink and then drove the car herself.’

‘Even so, Inspector. How do you think she got close enough to drug that drink in the first place? Are you seriously asking this court to believe that he opened the door of his flat and invited her in? Or sat down with her for a drink in a pub?’

Churchill sighed, turning to the judge. ‘The truth is, my Lord, we have been unable to establish exactly how Mrs Walters managed to get close enough to David Kidd to drug him. We can only infer from the forensic evidence that she did so. And that she had a clear motive for wishing him dead. As she admitted several times in interview.’

‘You haven’t found this pub, then?’ Sarah asked.

‘No, unfortunately not.’

‘Have you found any witnesses who saw them together?’

‘No.’

‘What do you imagine she said to him when they met?
Hello, David, remember me? You killed my daughter. Let me buy you a beer?’

This time the suppressed smiles were on her side. Churchill’s face stiffened. ‘Obviously not. But she might have apologised.’

‘Apologised? For what? She’d done nothing to him.’

‘I’m only surmising, of course, my Lord,’ Churchill said carefully. ‘But if Mrs Walters had formed a definite intention to kill him, as I believe she had, she would have worked out a plan. Perhaps she approached him and pretended to apologize for her previous remarks. She might have claimed she’d had time to think about the jury’s verdict and come to realise that he was innocent. And since he
was
found innocent ...’ Churchill’s eyes bored into Sarah’s at this point, reminding her that she had prosecuted David Kidd and failed to convict him. ‘ ... and had always said how much he loved Shelley and how sad he was at her death, perhaps he believed her. At least enough to, as you say, sit down somewhere and have a drink with him. At which point she, as a fully qualified pharmacist, would have been able to slip the drug into his drink, steer him out to his car, and drive him to his death.’

To her disgust, Sarah saw several jurors nodding wisely. There were always one or two in every jury, who appeared to reject the obvious in favour of the fantastic. As though a trial were not a search for the truth but an improvisation on the possible.

‘You have no evidence of that whatsoever, do you, inspector?’ she responded in her harshest voice. ‘What we actually
know
is that there was considerable antagonism between Kathryn Walters and David Kidd even before her daughter’s death. Even if she faked an apology, why would he believe her?’

‘This was a cold-blooded, calculated murder, Mrs Newby. It’s my belief that Kathryn Walters set out to deliberately deceive David Kidd so that she could drug him and get him in her power. How she did it, I don’t know. What I am quite convinced of is that she was there, in his car, when he was incapacitated by this drug rohypnol. Perhaps when she gives evidence she will tell the court how she did it.’

If she goes on the stand,
Sarah thought to herself wryly. This was a further weakness in her case, a huge bone of contention between Sarah and her client. Sarah was still trying to persuade Kathryn that she would make a good impression on the jury only if she acted a part - that of a bereaved mother, a quiet, dignified figure who had no desire to see anyone dead. That way, she might enlist their sympathy. But Kathryn, so far, refused to consider it. If he asks me, she insisted, I’ll say what I think.  Why should I stand there and pretend I’m sorry he’s dead when I’m not?  The answer -
to avoid a life in prison
- was so obvious that Sarah scarcely bothered to make it. It almost seemed as if the woman
wanted
to lose.

But she still had a few cards to play before the strongest one, the most open challenge of all. ‘Very well, let’s turn to this drug, rohypnol, shall we? You told my learned friend that you searched the records of Mrs Walters’ pharmacy and found two packets of rohypnol that were unaccounted for?’

‘I did, yes.’

‘Very well. You are aware, of course that this is a perfectly legal drug in the UK, available on private prescription for insomnia?’

‘Yes. But it is banned in the USA and many other countries, because of its illegal uses, particularly in crimes of date rape.’

‘Yes. But since 1998, Inspector, the makers of this drug, Hoffman la Roche, have altered their formula so that the tablets take longer to dissolve and release a blue dye as they do so. You are aware of that, are you?’

‘I am, yes. But you may not be aware, Mrs Newby, that it takes nearly twenty minutes for this dye to be fully released. So if someone swallows the drink quickly, in a noisy, crowded pub ...’ Churchill shrugged, smiling, and one of the jurors laughed.

Shit!
I should have known about that, why didn’t anyone tell me? I’m losing this, Sarah thought, it’s time to go for the throat. Now or never. Let’s see if I can draw blood.

‘Very well, let’s turn to this hair bobble, shall we? When was it found?’

‘It was found by the scenes of crime officers on the afternoon of the 20
^th
, three days after Mr Kidd’s body was discovered.’

‘Quite. And we’ve heard from Sergeant Bryant, the officer in charge of that search, that he’d completed his initial search on the 19
^th
, the day before. When he had found no hairs whatsoever. But you ordered him to go back again.’

‘That is correct, yes.’ Churchill turned to the judge. ‘It was a very difficult, complicated site, my lord, with a lot of leaves and small sticks and plant and animal debris everywhere. It was very easy to miss something. This was an important enquiry, and as the officer in charge I felt it was important to, as it were, leave no stick or stone unturned.’ He smiled, pleased with his attempt at wit.