A Fatal Verdict (43 page)

She tapped on the door for the warder. Her decision was almost made.

57. Unwelcome verdict

‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Any of it.’ Will Churchill’s colour had been rising rapidly ever since Terry steered him into a quiet corridor of the court to explain what he had discovered about Miranda. Now, his face pink with fury, his temper threatened to boil over. But Terry was determined to get his point across.

‘I had to tell you, sir. In my opinion it makes this prosecution unsafe.’

‘In your opinion! Who the hell asked your opinion in the first place? You’re off this case, Terence. It’s nothing to do with you.’

‘Nevertheless, sir, I’ve uncovered this information. It would be wrong to ignore it.’

‘In your opinion again, I suppose?’ Terry’s cool, insistent, rational tone only served to inflame his boss further.

‘Yes, sir, in my professional opinion. The daughter had as clear a motive as the mother, after all. You would have suspected her yourself, if she hadn’t set up this most elaborate alibi which I only uncovered by chance, really ...’

‘By meddling in a case that didn’t concern you!’

‘Out of professional curiosity, sir.’

‘Professional curiosity my arse! Professional jealousy more like!’

‘Well, however I uncovered it, it changes everything, sir, don’t you see?’ Terry sighed, enjoying his boss’s discomfiture. ‘The daughter was back in York - she could have been, anyway - and the defence have a second eyewitness who saw a young woman get into Kidd’s car, someone under thirty ...’

‘A witness uncovered by you, I suppose? Behind my back.’

‘The point about this witness, sir, is that the woman she saw was young ...’

‘And had fair hair, as well,’ Churchill snapped. ‘Which agrees with the colonel. Forgive me for pointing this out, Terence, but Mrs Walters is blonde. A fact which I managed to establish early in my investigation of this case by the simple but well-known technique of looking at her, old son. It works wonders, you should try it sometime. While her daughter, I believe, is a brunette.’

‘She could have dyed her hair, sir.’

‘She could have walked on water, too, or run off to the south of France with an Eskimo.’ Churchill shook his head furiously, contempt fuelling his rage. ‘What we’re supposed to be dealing with, Terence, is facts, not remote possibilities. And the facts are that even if this girl did make these flights as you say, all that proves is she went to Paris and Manchester, not York at all. Nor is there any evidence whatsoever that she dyed her hair, impersonated a journalist, or met David Kidd even once, let alone killed him. Has she admitted any of these things?’

‘No sir. She denies them.’

‘Exactly. Whereas we do know, for a proven fact, that the mother - not the daughter, mark you, but the mother - not only publicly threatened Kidd but turned up outside his flat armed with her husband’s shotgun. An allegedly unloaded shotgun, Terence. You remember that, now?’

‘I do, sir, yes, but ...’

‘And in addition, if you’ll allow me to finish, she and her husband both took the earliest opportunity to lie about their whereabouts on the night of Kidd’s death. Lies which they persisted in until they were exposed, and genuine actual footprints and hairs were found, placing the mother squarely at the scene of the crime. Need I say more?’

Clearly, Terry saw, his boss was not persuaded. He made one final try.

‘It’s quite possible that the daughter takes the same size shoes as the mother, sir.’

‘Oh, you’ve measured her feet, have you?’

‘Not yet sir, I couldn’t. She wasn’t arrested.’

‘Quite. So you have no idea of the size of her feet and even if you were to strike lucky there, you’d still have to produce a pair of her trainers with exactly the same tread, stained with the same soil and leaves as were found on her mother’s. You’re not claiming she wore her mum’s shoes, I take it?’

‘No, but ...’

‘And then of course there are the hairs, containing DNA that precisely matched that of the mother and therefore, by definition, differed from that of her daughter and everyone else on this planet. Added to which, as I recall, the hairs were genuine blonde, not dyed. But I suppose you account for those in the same way as your sweetheart does, Mrs Newby. You think I planted them there, is that it?’

The longer the silence lasted, the clearer Terry’s answer became. The two men stared at each other, the hostility between them naked and open now.

‘Get out of my sight, Terence. I’ll have you suspended for this, by God I will if I can. In the meantime, this case goes ahead as planned.’

For half an hour Miranda had been walking outside, replaying the morning’s events in her mind. She knew she ought to confess, and yet, and yet ...

It was a crisp spring morning, the leaves just coming out on the trees, with that spice in the air which recalled a night of frost. She crossed the street to the river, where the sun sparkled on the water, and two swans drifted lazily under the arches of Skeldergate Bridge. A small boy, about Sophie’s age, ran past her laughing while her mother pushed a buggy with a baby in it  slowly behind. That might have been my future, Miranda thought, but not now. I’ll lose all this in prison. But then Mum has lost it already. Voices warred in her mind.

I did this, it’s my responsibility. I ought to confess.

But what if she’s acquitted, and we both walk free? That could still happen.

She’ll be convicted if I don’t confess soon.

If you confess now they’ll stop the trial. You’ll always wonder what the jury would have done, and never get the chance to know. 

Four chances in five of conviction, her lawyer said. That’s too big a risk to take. 
   

Mum begged me to let her take that risk. Just a few more hours and we’ll know.

In a few more hours it’ll be too late.

However many times she went around the circle the dilemma was the same. Once, all those months ago, it had all seemed so clear. She’d been trapped in a tunnel with only one exit, David Kidd’s death. No one had been in there with her, no other solution had entered her mind, no choice had come to confuse her. She’d been single-minded, resolute, certain.

Since then, her will had been debilitated not by action, but the lack of it. Deceit, deception, denial. Do nothing, let others decide. Soon her fate would be in the hands of the jurors. Who would decide with the wrong information.

If only someone would decide this for me! She walked back to the court like a child, dodging the lines between the paving stones. If that detective comes out now, I’ll confess.
If he doesn’t, I won’t.
I can’t bear it any more, it’ll be a sign. Come out, DI Bateson, please.
No, don’t.
Let the trial go on and Mum be acquitted.

But he was there waiting for her.

‘Looks like you’re safe after all,’ he said. ‘Your mother’s changed her mind. She’s going back into court in a few minutes to change her plea to guilty.’

So then at last, Miranda knew what she had to do.

‘All rise. All those having to do with the case of the Crown versus Kathryn Elizabeth Walters draw nigh and give your attendance. My lord Robert MacNair presiding.’

As the judge bowed and took his seat Sarah remained standing, her heart heavy as lead.  Despite a further adjournment she had been unable to either change her client’s mind, or alter her decision. Her very shocking decision. She was aware, somewhere behind her, of Will Churchill watching developments with delight.

‘My lord, there has been a development. My client wishes to change her plea.’

‘Very well, Mrs Newby. Change it how, exactly?’

‘She wishes to enter a plea of guilty.’

Sarah sighed. She felt surprisingly weary and, unusually for her, close to tears. But she was angry, too. Nothing quite like this had happened to her before. Despite the difficulties she’d explained to Miranda, she had still hoped to win this case for her client. She understood the reasons for Kathryn’s decision, but was convinced it was the wrong one. Especially now that Terry’s discoveries had made her more certain than ever that Kathryn was innocent. But it was the client, not the lawyer, who decided on the plea.

‘Indeed. Kathryn Walters, stand up please. I am advised that you now wish to plead guilty to the charge of murdering David Kidd. You understand what this means, do you? You have discussed it with your counsel?’

‘I have, yes.’ Kathryn stood in the dock, calm, pale, determined.

‘If you plead guilty to murder, that is the end of this trial. All that remains is for me to pass sentence, and the only possible sentence for murder is one of life imprisonment, with or without a recommendation for how long that shall be. You understand that fully?’

‘Yes, my lord.’ Now that she had decided it seemed easy. All that had gone before seemed a waste of time.

‘Very well. The clerk of the court will now put that charge to you.’

But before the clerk could speak Sarah noticed, to her surprise, that Matthew Clayton had risen to his feet. Throughout the last few minutes, Sarah had been dimly aware of an urgent whispered conversation between him and the CPS solicitor; now he apparently wished to interrupt proceedings.

‘My Lord, if I might crave the court’s indulgence for a moment?’

The judge turned to him in surprise. ‘
Now
, Mr Clayton?’

‘Yes, my Lord. A significant legal matter has arisen which should, I feel, be addressed before the plea is put to the defendant. If I might request a further adjournment to digest this matter and ... a conference in chambers, my Lord?’

The judge turned to Sarah. ‘Mrs Newby?’

Sarah stood, looking at her opponent curiously. She had been so occupied with Kathryn that for the past half hour that she had spoken to no one else except Terry, who she had met briefly in the corridor as she was preparing to go into court. Now she noticed that he, too, was  standing at the back of the court near the entrance, with Kathryn’s daughter Miranda beside him. Like Matthew Clayton, he was staring at her urgently as though willing her to agree.

She looked to her left, where Kathryn Walters stood trembling in the dock, ready to confess to a murder she had almost certainly not committed. Once she had formally entered a plea of guilty in this court she would be convicted, and only the Court of Appeal could overturn that conviction as unsafe, whatever new evidence came to light. And that was a process that might take years.

Sarah knew what her client wanted, but a few more moments of delay, however painful, could hardly be refused.            

‘I have no objection, my Lord.’

The comfortable judge’s chambers, lined with leatherbound tomes and panelled with ancient oak, looked out across a roundabout by a small park near the river. The late morning sunlight sparkled from the early spring leaves on the trees. The judge sat at a long table with his back to this view, Sarah Newby and Matthew Clayton QC side by side facing him. Both looked stunned, shocked by the arguments they felt compelled to advance.

‘My lord,’ Clayton began. ‘This is a highly unusual situation. I cannot recall one like it in all my time at the Bar. Nor, I believe, can Mrs Newby.’

‘You intrigue me, Mr Clayton. What is it that puzzles you so?’

‘This morning, my lord, as you know, Mrs Newby informed the court that Kathryn Walters wished to change her plea to guilty, a development that the prosecution would normally welcome. However, at the same time further evidence was brought to my attention which began to cast doubt on the validity of that plea, which was why I requested an adjournment. Since then I have had more time to look at this evidence, which in my opinion casts so much doubt on Mrs Walters’ intended plea that it seems to me unsafe to continue with this prosecution.’

‘Unsafe, Mr Clayton? You astound me.’ Robert MacNair leaned back in his chair, long bony hands clasped under his chin. ‘Explain yourself, please.’

‘My lord, not to put too fine a point on it, there has been a confession. Mrs Walters’ daughter, Miranda Ward, has made this written statement confessing to the murder. Her mother, she says, had nothing to do with it.’ Matthew Clayton passed the statement that Miranda had given Terry across the desk - a detailed description of why, how and when she had murdered David Kidd. He and Sarah sat silent, each busy with their own thoughts, while the judge read slowly through it. He looked up, a faint smile on his lips.

‘This exonerates your client, Mrs Newby.’

‘If it is true, my lord, yes.’

The judge raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘You surely cannot mean to cast doubt on it? Evidence that will set your client free?’

Sarah sighed, and leaned forward earnestly. This was a truly terrible situation but she had to play the game out to the end. She had spent the last half hour trying, and failing, to convince Kathryn of the absurdity of her position. But since it
was
Kathryn’s position, she had promised to argue it to the best of her ability.