Treachery at Lancaster Gate (33 page)

“Indeed, it is more than time you took up a little of it,” the judge agreed. “But please make sure it is relevant. Do not use our time simply to make it appear that Mr. Duncannon has had adequate defense.” His tone was sharp, a reminder of his authority.

Narraway acquiesced with a gesture, and continued speaking to Pitt.

“You told my learned friend Mr. Abercorn that you followed all the lines of inquiry open to you regarding the source of the dynamite used in the bomb, and also the device used to detonate it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you questioned the anarchists known to you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you discover anything at all, any shred of evidence whatsoever, to indicate that they were involved, or could have been?”

“No, sir, nothing at all.”

There was a sigh around the room.

Abercorn smiled and leaned back in his seat, as if the danger had passed.

“You were led irrevocably, fact by fact, each one tested, to the conclusion that the bomber was Alexander Duncannon?” Narraway went on.

“Yes, sir, I was.”

Now the atmosphere in the court was electric. There were gasps of indrawn breath. Abercorn looked for an instant as if he could barely believe what he had heard.

The jury stared at Pitt, then at Narraway, then back to Pitt.

The judge was puzzled and unhappy. It was obvious that he was embarrassed for Narraway.

Pitt did not dare look at Charlotte, still less at Vespasia.

“Were you satisfied with the evidence against him?” Narraway smiled, looking deceptively innocent.

The judge frowned, waiting for the answer.

Pitt hesitated.

“Commander?” Narraway prompted him. “Was there some question in the evidence?”

“No. I was asked not to pursue the case against Alexander Duncannon by Commissioner Bradshaw,” Pitt replied. He had hoped to avoid saying this. He was convinced that Bradshaw had done so because his wife was also addicted to opium for pain relief, and he was afraid the prosecution of Alexander might reveal that. Perhaps they had the same supplier, and Alexander would be pressured to reveal him, and in so doing also cut off Bradshaw's wife's supply. The suppliers had the perfect weapon to blackmail the commissioner into anything! And God alone knew how many others. It might be incidental to Bradshaw that his own career would be ruined. He would face disgrace, but not financial ruin. He had considerable private means. Pitt believed it was genuinely his wife he feared for. For the first time since he had mounted the witness stand, Pitt was deeply worried about the unknown.

“Did he say why?” Narraway asked.

“It was a political matter which I am aware of but prefer not to discuss,” Pitt replied. That was not the truth, but he hoped Narraway would leave it alone. The danger was that Abercorn was aware of the truth and would use the exposure to discredit both Narraway and Pitt himself. He could feel the sweat of fear prickle his skin, and then go cold.

“Indeed.” Narraway gave a slight shrug and appeared to dismiss the subject. He walked back a few steps toward his seat, and then turned round. “From the time you first suspected Alexander Duncannon of the bombing that killed the three policemen, did Mr. Duncannon take any further action, so far as you know, Commander Pitt?”

Pitt swallowed. They were coming into the most dangerous territory at last. Everything depended on this.

“Yes. He set off another bomb in the Lancaster Gate area, but this time no one was injured.”

Narraway affected to look surprised.

“The evidence led conclusively to him? You are perfectly sure of that?”

Abercorn sat back in his seat and smiled. Now he thought he knew what Narraway was attempting to do, and was doomed to failure. Pitt would avoid that trap. He could not blame anyone else and thereby raise reasonable doubt as to Alexander's guilt.

There was a palpable tension in the courtroom. Several jurors looked at one another and a couple even passed whispered comments.

The judge looked even more concerned. He waited for Pitt's reply.

“There was very little conclusive evidence,” Pitt replied. “Not all the stolen dynamite had been used in the first explosion—at least that's how it appeared.”

“That's how it appeared?” Narraway said instantly. “That is hardly proof, Commander Pitt. Yet you say that Alexander Duncannon was guilty. Please explain yourself.”

Pitt was faced with accusing stares. This was the moment. Should he mention the beautifully initialed handkerchief? It was proof to him, as Alexander had meant it to be, but was it in law?

“He admitted that he set off the second bomb in the same area,” Pitt said simply.

Narraway's eyes opened wide. “You asked him, and he admitted it,” he repeated. “Do you expect us to believe that?”

Now there were rustles, hasty whispers, and hisses.

“Silence!” the judge ordered sharply.

“I expect you to believe it, my lord.” Pitt looked straight at Narraway. “I believe your client will have told you the same. Whether the court does or not, I don't know, and I can't help.”

The judge leaned as far forward over the magnificent bench as he was able to.

“Lord Narraway, are you perfectly sure you are aware of what you are doing? I have told you before, no matter what…extraordinary behavior you exhibit, you have taken considerable pains to assure this court that you are competent to defend your client. I accepted your assurances, and your qualifications. I will not grant a mistrial because of your…eccentric conduct now! Do I make myself clear?”

Narraway was stiff, the tension in him like an electric charge in the air.

“Yes, my lord. I understand perfectly. I have no intention whatsoever of asking you for any kind of mistrial on such a basis…or any other.”

“Then proceed.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Narraway walked back a couple of paces toward the witness stand. “Commander Pitt, can you explain this…extraordinary statement? My client has given me leave to ask you this question. It will not be grounds for any plea on his behalf.”

Pitt took a long, deep breath, and then another. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. It was all up to him now. No one else could help Alexander, or find any kind of justice or even mercy.

“He had already admitted to setting the original bomb, which killed three police and terribly injured two more…”

There were gasps around the court.

Godfrey Duncannon was in the gallery today, apparently released from any possibility of being called to the stand. He rose to his feet, protesting, but his voice was drowned in the hubbub.

“I will have order!” the judge shouted furiously. “Lord Narraway, for the love of heaven, defend your client, or I shall be obliged to call for someone to replace you. This has become absurd!”

The tide of noise subsided.

Narraway stood pale-faced. “With the greatest respect, my lord, I am acting in what my client believes is his best interest.”

“You have not had him plead insanity,” the judge reminded him.

Abercorn was smiling.

“No, my lord,” Narraway agreed. “I do not think Mr. Duncannon was insane within the definition of the law.”

“I don't know what you are playing at, man, but get it over with,” the judge said wearily.

Narraway looked up at Pitt. “He admitted to setting the bomb in the house in Lancaster Gate, the first one?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ask him why he had done such a…monstrous thing?”

“Of course I did. And why the second also.”

“And his reply?”

Abercorn rose to his feet quickly. There was now a distinct pallor to his face, as if he had at last seen the shadow on the horizon. “My lord, this has descended to farce! We cannot give the accused a platform to air his wild political opinions.”

“Sit down, Mr. Abercorn,” the judge ordered. “Commander Pitt is answering a perfectly reasonable question. You did not offer any motive for this abominable act. It is in order that his defense should offer it, destructive to his case as it may be. I cannot imagine anything that could be a justification. Can you?”

“Absolutely not, my lord!”

“Good. Then sit down and be quiet, so we can get this over with as quickly as possible. Narraway?”

“Yes, my lord. Please continue, Commander Pitt.”

“Yes, I did ask him,” Pitt answered. He was acutely aware that he might well get only one chance to say what he had to. Abercorn would do all he could to stop him. One slip and he would be silenced.

“And his reply?” Narraway prompted.

“I thought at first it was revenge,” Pitt began. He gripped the rail in front of him, aware that his knuckles were white, but it helped to hold onto it. “He was injured very badly in a riding accident and had been given opium by his doctor, to offer some ease for the appalling pain. He became addicted to it, as I am afraid often happens, especially when the pain itself will be for life.”

Abercorn stirred, but the judge glared at him, and he subsided.

Pitt went on quickly, “Nearly two and a half years ago he and a close friend found in affliction, also addicted to opium for pain, set up a meeting to purchase a further supply. When they got to the appointed place, they were met by a police ambush. Five men: Ednam, Newman, Hobbs, Bossiney, and Yarcombe. The drug dealer never appeared. It developed into a brief but fatal battle. A passerby, James Tyndale, a totally innocent man, was shot dead. Alexander Duncannon told me it was by one of the police. Alexander escaped. His companion, Dylan Lezant, who was close behind him, was less fortunate. He was tackled by the police and knocked senseless.”

“Really,” Abercorn began. “This is—”

“Be quiet!” the judge ordered. “Continue, Commander Pitt.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Pitt replied. “The police account of the incident said that Lezant was guilty of the murder of Tyndale. He was tried for it and, on police testimony, found guilty and hanged. Alexander said he was innocent. Neither he nor Lezant carried weapons of any sort. They had no need of them. The last thing a man desperately addicted to opium is likely to do is quarrel with the man who supplies him with the only release he knows from his agony.”

“And did you believe this…story?” Narraway asked.

“Not at first,” Pitt replied. “I and the policeman I most trusted, Inspector Samuel Tellman, investigated at some length. It was extremely disturbing. I was in the police for many years, and Inspector Tellman is still in the force. But we both found Duncannon's story to be substantially true. Indeed, Inspector Tellman was personally attacked for his part in the investigation, and shot! He is still recovering from his injuries.”

Abercorn was on his feet and shouting now. “My lord, this is all hearsay! Pitt used to work with Tellman. It is—”

The judge held up his hand and Abercorn restrained himself with difficulty and ill-concealed fury.

“Is this hearsay, Commander Pitt?” the judge asked.

“No, my lord. I was informed of the battle by one of my own men and I went to the scene immediately. I took Mr. Jack Radley, MP, with me because he was visiting me at the time. When we arrived Inspector Tellman was cornered in an alley by several armed police and there was a great deal of shooting going on. We managed to rescue him, during which battle Mr. Radley was wounded in the arm. However, I'm sure he would testify to this knowledge of the event if you wanted to call him.”

The judge shook his head, his lips pursed. “It will not be necessary. I am far more concerned with your account of the battle two years ago in which James Tyndale was killed. If what you say is true, then there was a deliberate judicial murder of a man possibly guilty of being addicted to opium, but most certainly not of murder. This will require an extremely grave inquiry. An innocent man may have been hanged by police perjury and corruption.”

“Yes, my lord, I believe so,” Pitt agreed. “I have no doubt whatsoever that that is what Alexander Duncannon believes, and that he wished to be tried in this court in order to expose it.”

Abercorn would not be silenced any longer. He began to speak even as he was straightening to stand.

“That is absolute rubbish, my lord! No sane man would believe it. Why didn't he protest to the court at the time of Lezant's trial? Why was he not called as a witness for him? The answer is obvious. He was part of the crime, an accomplice at the very least. How can you give credence to any of this?”

Pitt answered before the judge had time to rule, or Narraway to ask.

“He was not called to testify at the trial,” he answered, speaking to Abercorn directly as if no one else in the huge room were there. “He wished to and was not allowed. Lezant refused, in order to protect him, and the prosecutor did not need him. I have that from the lawyer concerned. And he did try to take up the issue with the judiciary numerous times, and no one would listen to him.”

“He's a drug addict, for God's sake!” Abercorn all but shouted back. “Have you ever looked at where he lives? What he does? The gin-sodden alleys he sleeps in when he's too far gone to find his own home? The drunken, drug-crazed company he keeps?”

“Yes, I have.” Pitt raised his voice back. “But far more important than that, and far more relevant, I've followed the course of the investigation into Tyndale's death. I've seen how the police lied, mostly led by Inspector Ednam. I've followed the facts, and their story doesn't make sense with the evidence—Alexander's does. He tried over and over again to make someone listen to him, and they closed in a wall of lies or silence to cover their own disastrous error in shooting Tyndale. He was an innocent passerby, no more. The drug dealer never turned up, and was never caught.”

Abercorn was pale, a sheen of sweat on his skin.

“None of that, even if it is true, excuses what Duncannon did to these five policemen!”