Unfaithful (44 page)

The relief from the Prosecuti
on was palpable. There was no way they would have wanted to lose their entire case on a technicality and at such a crucial stage. They'd worked too long and too hard to let Mark McNamara and Savannah Kingston get away with their evil plan.

The jury was recalled and the evidence in the case proceeded. Scotland Yard Agent Julia Lawson took the stand
next. She explained that she suspected Savannah Kingston was involved in the production of ricin when she visited her home in London. Agent Lawson was investigating an alleged extortion and as part of her investigation she had visited the home which Savannah had shared with her partner Daniel Williams. "I saw a drum of acetone on a shelf in the garage of the house. A blender and a coffee carafe, both containing white residue, were on the ground. I had previously interviewed Mr. Williams and it is my belief that the residue was ricin."

"Did you wear a warfare suit when you wen
t to Ms. Kingston's home?" Mr. Kiely asked.

"No, I did not."

"You didn't wear any protective clothing when you went to investigate Mr. Williams’ claims. Don't you think that was rather peculiar in the face of such a deadly poison and considering how increasingly security conscious the world has become?"

"I didn't think that specialist clothing was necessary at the time," Agent Lawson glared at him.

Mr. Kiely turned to face the jury. "There is no evidence of any significant amount of ricin which could kill anybody. I put it to the court that there is no such evidence before you and the Prosecution repeating it does not make it evidence."

Chapter 14

A defendant in a criminal trial does not have to give evidence. It’s not up to them to prove their innocence. However, there had never been much doubt that when the defendant was Mark McNamara the defence would be lengthy and entertaining. The media hoped that one or both of the accused would take the stand. Mark made a great pretence of musing about whether or not he should speak. Although not quite as chatty as his co-defendant, he had struck up conversations with a few journalists. “Do you think I should give evidence?” he asked one reporter, still anxious about his public image.

“Well, everyone wants to hear your side of the story,”
was the candid reply; anything else would have been a bare-faced lie.

“You're right,” Mark nodded decisively. “I think people
would like to know what really happened.”

He was
looking forward to having his day in court, when all eyes would be on him and he would be the centre of everyone's rapt attention; a position which he always relished. It was no surprise to Rebecca or the other women that he had decided to give evidence. He had maintained his demeanour of innocence throughout the trial and strolled around the grounds of the courts with his usual nonchalant, confident attitude. Outwardly, he seemed like he didn't have a care in the world and his body language portrayed this perfectly.

Rebecca knew that Mark was so twisted that he had quite probably convinced himself that he really was
the innocent party! She had talked in detail with her psychiatrist, Brianna Moynihan, about her husband and had read extensively about sociopaths. Frighteningly, her husband seemed to fit the description; outwardly engaging and charismatic but deep down it was nearly always a ploy to get what he wanted. Sociopaths were described as being shells of people; often attractive and colourful on the outside but completely hollow inside. They knew how they should behave and were aware of the social norms but it didn't mean anything to them. Their entire persona was usually an act.

Mark's body language said it all. He seemed like coolness personified as he chatted daily to
his legal team. His calm attitude drew curious glances from the onlookers in the courtroom. Most people were surprised to learn that this was the man who allegedly was "devils-revenge". He seemed so self-assured and fearless.

Hi
s moment finally arrived. It was three o' clock on the twenty fifth day of the trial when Mark McNamara's athletic figure arrived in the witness box. There was an imperceptible intake of breath as he stood up to take the stand. Those sitting in the back seats leaned forward, not wanting to miss a single word. Mark basked in the limelight. This was his moment and he was going to make the most of it.

He sat down and smiled at the jury, his muscular frame seemed even larger against the dark wood of the judge's bench. Holding a bottle of still water in one
hand he leaned back in his seat and gazed around the room, relishing the fact that all eyes were on him. He fixed the microphone in front of him, tapped it and smiled at the jury before asking; "can you hear me?" It was the first of many smiles he was to bestow upon the jury that afternoon. He oozed confidence and charm and seemed very comfortable in his own skin.

He spent almost three hours in the witness box over the course of his two day
examination. His exchange with his own lawyer was straightforward as he was led through an easy protestation of his innocence but the sparks began to fly when Mr. Clifford, for the Prosecution, began his arduous interrogation. Mark explained to him that he had been interviewed by the police on several occasions and had set out his position in great detail in letters to the Director of Public Prosecutions.

Mr. Clifford had been
chosen to handle the cross-examination for strategic reasons. It proved to be a prudent move as he had deftly navigated through the majority of the technical evidence and knew exactly how to handle Mark. The experienced barrister was more than a match for his charms and within minutes, as the proverbial line was drawn in the sand between them, Mark's smile faltered for the first time.

"Do your letters to the Director of Public Prosecutions represent the truth
about what happened?" Mr. Clifford asked.

"Yes, the honest
truth," Mark promptly replied.

"Did you solicit anyone to kill?"

"Absolutely not." He shook his head emphatically.

"Did you conspire with anyone to kill?"

"No, I did not."

"Did you send money to an address in England?"

"I accept that I sent money to the address which I was given but I didn't know anything about Savannah Kingston. I think if I was paying someone to kill someone else that it would be obvious to me it would be traceable. I had no idea that the police were investigating something like this; as far as I knew they were investigating a burglary at the office. The information I gave the police was regarding blackmail."

"What about th
e mysterious and elusive Henry Whitington-Smyth? The only reason you told your wife about him was because the office had been burgled and there had been an extortion attempt. You realised your plan had gone badly wrong."

"Henry was helping me to get
some extra work. He has lots of contacts in the industry and I wanted to see what he could find before I told Rebecca about him. I was hoping to get some extra work so I could save enough money to take her away on holiday. We'd been going through a bad patch in our relationship and I wanted to try to make it up to her. It was supposed to be a surprise."

“
Did you tell your wife that you were being blackmailed?”

Mark smiled wryly. “Not at first, no,
I wanted to try to sort it out.”

Mr. Clifford pushed further. “
Did you ever tell her about Henry Whitington-Smyth?”

“Eventually, yes I did tell her.
People keep things to themselves and don't necessarily tell their partners everything,” he retorted.

“
You probably needed the time to get your story straight,” Mr. Clifford retaliated. “You were well practiced by the time you started telling people about Mr. Whitington-Smyth.”

Mark showed his
irritation for the first time. “It wasn't difficult to explain what happened. It's easy to tell a story when you know what you have done.”

"The only reason you admitted to the police about sending the money to England was because it was essential,"
Mr. Clifford interrupted, changing the subject.

Mark glanced around the courtroom before responding. "I see James Le
ary down there. I asked him if there was any chance of getting my money back."

Mr. Clifford
quickly explained to the jury that Mark was on first name terms with some of the police officers. Mark was equally swift in his response. "They sat in my kitchen with me for three or four hours. Why wouldn't I call them by their names?"

The barrister
decided to probe him about his telephone calls. "There was telephone traffic between your number and Savannah Kingston's phone."

"There were a lot of phone calls mentioned. Twenty seven conversations were suggested to me when it may have been more like four or five conversations which were a few minutes each. I was attempting to return a call to a blackmailer."

"Were you blackmailed by a man?"

"I think at the time I couldn't be certain if it was one or two men. I don't know
who was ringing me. It was difficult to know where the call was coming from but I never telephoned Savannah Kingston."

"Are you saying that
you never spoke directly with Savannah Kingston after the package had been sent?"

"No, I did not."

“Are you claiming that the numerous phone calls between you and Savannah Kingston were in fact phone calls to a blackmailer?”

Mark shook his head again. “
No, some of the calls were to Henry.”

“
But the calls are between the same two numbers,” Mr. Clifford quickly countered.

“
The numbers were withheld. It was difficult to know.”

The line of questioning moved on to the computers at the centre of the
case. It was pointed out to him that emails had been retrieved from several computers, two of which were in Ireland; one at the office and the other at Cois Farraige, the house he shared with Rebecca."

"How many people had access to those computers?"

"Obviously, I had access, as had Rebecca, Shona and Penelope. My son, Christopher, would have had access to anything in the house, but not in the office." He glanced over at his son who refused to make eye contact with him. Christopher had sat stony-faced in the courtroom throughout the trial. He was pale and withdrawn and was utterly devastated by the accusations which were being made against his father.

"Did anyone else have access to the computers?"

"There were a few others who may have used the computers too."

“
Are you “devils-revenge”?”

“No, I am not.”

“It’s an interesting coincidence that “devils-revenge” kept signing himself as Mark. How would you explain that?”

“
It wasn't me. I understand that it's your job to bring in a guilty verdict but I can assure you I'm not “devils-revenge”.”

“But the emails are very detailed;
details that only you could know,” Mr. Clifford remarked. “The writing style in the emails is similar to the letters which you admit writing to the Director of Public Prosecutions.”

Mark agreed that some of the language used in the emails was similar to his own. "I don't know what was going on but some of it was definitely not written the way that I write."
He stood firm and repeated that he hadn't written them but the barrister was relentless and was in no way disconcerted by his continued denials and smiles at the jury.

“I made the whole situation
clear to the police when they questioned me but they didn't write everything down.”

“
We know you weren't happy with the interviews,” Mr. Clifford conceded.

Mark nodded. “
I actually have quite a long list of points which I would like my defence team to address, but I think the jury may want to finish up for today.” He flashed a mega watt smile at the jurors.

The barrister
was not impressed by his grandstanding. “The jury will have the right to request your interview videos once they have begun their deliberations and it's up to them to decide if the differences matter. Right now it's the emails from “devils-revenge” that are of interest to the Prosecution.”

Mark was insistent. “
I'm not “devils-revenge.” I'm a victim. I've been blackmailed. I never made any secret about paying the money. I think the position I find myself in is ludicrous.”

“
It's of your own making, Mr. McNamara.”

“
I don't agree with you. I was set up.”

“It must have
been someone with a particularly Machiavellian mind who set you up,” Mr. Clifford continued. “They would have had to have crept around your house to use your computer and when they were framing you they would have had to have been very precise in their internet searches for photography equipment and flights to France at the same time as they were searching for an assassin. Whoever set you up must have known you well.”