Final Witness (26 page)

    The judge shifted in his chair and stretched out his long legs, enjoying the last of his cigarette. There were rumors that the courthouse would soon be a smoke-free zone, although he’d probably be retired by then. He dreaded his approaching compulsory retirement to the same degree that Mrs. Sybil Granger back home in Richmond-upon-Thames was looking forward to it. She’d long ago made clear what she had in mind. The annual holiday down in Bournemouth would become a permanent arrangement. They had so many friends there, after all, and the judge could play a little golf and maybe join a society or two. He couldn’t say no after all the years that he had kept his wife in London, and the thought crossed his mind, as he got up stiffly and positioned his threadbare wig on the top of his bald head, that the best solution might be for him to die. Death or Bournemouth? It was a tough choice.

    Still, he didn’t need to think about death right now. Old Lurid had had a sly look on his face toward the end of this Barne boy’s evidence. Perhaps he had something up his sleeve. Judge Granger approached the door of the courtroom with something almost approaching a spring in his step.

    

    “Matthew, are you okay to continue?” asked Miles Lambert solicitously.

    “I’m all right.” Matthew sounded more confident now, as if he’d gotten used to the courtroom and the barristers in their wigs and gowns.

    “Good. Now, I want to read back to you a little bit of your evidence so that you can have a chance to think about it some more. You told Mr. Sparling that Thomas Robinson held up the locket in front of Greta saying, ‘Look what I’ve found’ and that they were both shouting. Do you remember that?”

    “Yes.”

    “Good. Then Mr. Sparling asked you what Greta was shouting, and you told us that she said, ‘Give that to me. It’s mine.’ Do you remember telling us that?”

    “Yes, I do.”

    “But did she really say that, Matthew? Are you sure you’ve got it right?”

    “Yes, I’m sure.”

    “I see. Well, why didn’t you confirm it to Sir Peter when he asked you if she’d said it?”

    Matthew swallowed but did not reply. He was nervous again now.

    “Come on, Matthew. You know what I’m talking about. You gave evidence that Thomas showed the locket to his father and told him what Greta had said about it and that she then denied saying it. You remember telling us that, don’t you, Matthew? Mr. Sparling was so anxious that you should remember that bit of your statement that he asked you all those questions until you did.”

    “Yes, I remember.”

    “Good. The point is, though, that you didn’t tell us what Sir Peter said after that. I’m not criticizing you, Matthew. Mr. Sparling didn’t ask you.”

    “What’s the question, Mr. Lambert?” asked the judge, moving restlessly in his chair.

    “The question is this, my Lord. Did Sir Peter ask you whether Greta had said it? Yes or no, Matthew.”

    “Yes. Yes, he did.”

    “And what was your answer?”

    “I didn’t answer. I ran down the stairs. I told you that already. I was scared.”

    “But you’re not scared today?”

    “What do you mean?”

    “Just that you’ve been prepared to tell this jury something today that you weren’t prepared to tell Sir Peter Robinson nine months ago.”

    “I was scared nine months ago. He was really upset. I thought he was going to hit Tom. He’d done it before.”

    “You said earlier that you weren’t surprised he was upset, Matthew?”

    “No, I wasn’t.”

    “Because you’d gone into his house without his permission and been through private files and papers?”

    “I didn’t. Tom did.”

    “He went through all Greta’s clothes too, didn’t he? You were watching from the bedroom doorway, I think you said.”

    “Yes. I wanted to go.”

    “Did he go through her underwear, Matthew?”

    “I suppose so.”

    “I see. It wasn’t the first time you and Thomas Robinson had done something like this, was it, Matthew?”

    “I’d never been there before. I swear it.”

    “That’s not what I mean, Matthew, and you know it isn’t. It wasn’t just your day out in London that made you think you might be expelled, was it? You were both already in trouble at Carstow. Isn’t that right, Matthew?”

    The boy’s pale blue eyes remained fixed on Miles Lambert, but he didn’t reply. The movement of his Adam’s apple as he repeatedly swallowed showed the extent of his anxiety.

    “All right, Matthew, let me help you. You’ve already told us that Thomas Robinson and you started at Carstow at the same time in September of last year, when you were both fifteen. Yes?”

    Matthew Barne nodded.

    “And everyone else in your class had already been there two years so that you and Thomas were like outsiders. Was that difficult, Matthew?”

    “A bit.”

    “Did the other boys let you join in with their activities?”

    “Not at first. No.”

    “No. They said you had to prove yourselves first, earn their respect. Isn’t that right, Matthew?”

    “Something like that.”

    “Do a dare. Is that the right word for it?”

    The boy nodded.

    “What was the dare, Matthew?”

    “Going into the headmaster’s room and taking something. Showing it to the rest of them and putting it back.”

    “And that something was a paperweight, wasn’t it, Matthew? Quite a distinctive one.”

    “Don’t answer that for the moment, Matthew,” interrupted the judge. “What is your source of information for all this, Mr. Lambert?”

    “A letter sent by the headmaster to Thomas Robinson’s father after the event, my Lord. I can prove the evidence later if the witness disagrees with it.”

    “What’s its relevance?”

    “It’s relevant to the witness’s credibility, my Lord.”

    “Very well, but let’s not stray too far, Mr. Lambert, and please make sure that you remember the witness’s age. I will not allow him to be bullied.”

    “That is not my intention, my Lord.”

    “All right, but keep it in mind. Don’t get carried away. Now Matthew, Mr. Lambert was asking you about a paperweight.”

    “Yes, it was a paperweight,” said the boy.

    “Did you take it, Matthew?” asked Miles.

    “No, I didn’t. Tom did.”

    “I see. The same setup as in London. What did you do?”

    “I stood outside while he went in, and then the headmaster’s secretary came by and asked me what I was doing.”

    “That would be Mrs. Bradshaw?”

    Matthew nodded. He’d stopped swallowing and started to speak quickly again as if he wanted to make a clean breast of what had happened and get it over with as fast as possible.

    “She wanted to know what I was doing, and I told her I was waiting to see Old Lofty.”

    “Who’s Old Lofty?”

    “Sorry. The headmaster. It’s just a nickname.”

    “His real name is Mr. Lofthouse. Is that right?”

    “Yes. And he’s tall too so…” Matthew laughed nervously without finishing his sentence.

    “You were lying when you told Mrs. Bradshaw that you were waiting to see the headmaster. You accept that, don’t you?”

    The boy nodded.

    “That’s a yes, is it, Matthew? For the record. The tape won’t pick it up if you just nod.”

    “Yes.”

    “Thank you. Now what did Mrs. Bradshaw do when you told her this lie?”

    “She didn’t believe me. I don’t know why.”

    “Perhaps because you’re not a good liar, Matthew.”

    “Mr. Lambert,” said the judge crossly. “I’ve warned you about this. Let the witness say what happened without interrupting him. Go on, Matthew. Tell us what Mrs. Bradshaw did.”

    “She went in the study and found Tom in there and then she called the headmaster and he made us empty our pockets and that’s when he found the paperweight. Tom had it in his pocket.”

    “He’d stolen it. Yes?” asked Miles.

    “We were going to put it back afterward. I already told you that,” replied Matthew defensively. “Lofty believed us. That’s why he only wrote to our parents and didn’t expel us or do anything like that. He was quite decent, really.”

    “Yes, he certainly was,” said Miles. “Now, I’ve only got a few more questions, Matthew, and the first one is this: have you talked to Thomas Robinson about your evidence?”

    “We’ve talked about the case at school. Everyone has.”

    “Have you talked about what everyone said in the drawing room? Greta and Thomas and Sir Peter?”

    “I suppose so.”

    “Word for word.”

    “Not word for word. No.”

    “What about what you say Greta said: ‘Give that to me. It’s mine.’ Have you talked about that?”

    “I don’t know. Maybe.”

    “Maybe,” repeated Miles musingly, and then he suddenly opened up at Matthew Barne with all guns blazing. “Not maybe, Matthew. Definitely. Greta never said that. Thomas Robinson has told you to give that evidence, and you’ve done so even though you know it’s untrue. You’re lying, Matthew. That’s what I’m putting to you. You’re lying to this jury.”

    “No, I’m not. I swear I’m not,” stammered Matthew with tears in his eyes, but Miles Lambert had already sat down with a satisfied look on his red face.

    

    

    POLICE CONSTABLE Hughes arrived in court in full uniform other than his police cap, which he held in his hands while he gave evidence, periodically turning it over as if inspiration might be waiting for him under its brim.

    John Sparling had very little to ask, and it was soon his opponent’s turn. Miles Lambert tried to set the Carmouth policeman at ease with an anodyne first question: “Am I right in saying that you were the first officer to arrive at the House of the Four Winds on July fifth?”

    “Yes, sir. There was an emergency call from the occupant, Thomas Robinson. Police Constable Jones and I attended in response. We were the nearest mobile unit at the time.”

    “Do you have a note of the time of the emergency call?”

    “Yes. It’s down on the computer printout as being received at seven-oh-six P.M.”

    “Thank you. Now, which of you was driving?”

    “I was.”

    “It was a marked police car?”

    “Yes.”

    “And did you have your siren turned on?”

    “Yes, sir. We were responding to an emergency call.”

    “I understand. Where did you park?”

    “Initially outside the front gate, sir. It was locked and so I got out and pressed the buzzer on the wall. Thomas Robinson answered and I identified myself as a police officer. He then buzzed the gate open. It works by remote control.”

    “What did Thomas say when he answered?”

    “He just asked who I was. That’s all, sir. Then he opened the gates.”

    “Without saying anything else?”

    “That’s right.”

    “Now, Officer, could you see the front door of the house when you were outside the gate?”

    “No, sir. I was able to see it once I drove in and parked the car but not before.”

    “Was the front door of the house open or closed when you first saw it?”

    “It was open. Thomas Robinson was at the top of the steps about four or five yards from the door when I first saw him. There are six quite distinctive trees in front of the house, and he was standing between the first two of them. He seemed quite distressed, sir.”

    “Was he crying?”

    “No. He was agitated though.”

    “What was said?”

    “Officer Jones and I got out of our car, and I asked him what had happened.”

    “How did Thomas respond to your question?”

    “He told us that two men had entered the house through the front door and that he recognized one of them from the night of his mother’s murder. He said that he had seen them approach the house from the direction of a lane, which he pointed to. It was across a wide lawn on the north side of the house.”

    “Yes, you will see that the lane and the house are shown on the plan that the usher is placing in front of you.”

    “Yes, sir. Thomas said that the intruders had left by the front door moments before.”

    “What did you do when you had obtained this information, Officer?”

    “I left Officer Jones with Thomas and drove round into the lane. I went up as far as the door in the north wall of the grounds, but there was no sign of the intruders.”

    “Did you try the door?”

    “Yes. It was locked, sir.”

    “Did you see any footprints?”

    “No. It had not been raining, and I would not have expected to find any footprints at this time of year.”

    “Did you see any other sign of intruders?”

    “No, but I didn’t make any close examination of the area, sir. I left that for the crime-scene officer. Detective Constable Butler arrived about one hour after Officer Jones and myself.”

    “I see. What did you do after you checked the door in the lane?”

    “I returned to Officer Jones. He had gone back inside the house and Thomas Robinson was showing him an old black bench in the hall where he said he had hidden from the intruders.”

    “You also located the key to the front door, did you not?”

    “Yes, sir. Thomas showed it to me.”

    “You asked him about it?”

    “Yes. It was hanging on a nail in the hall. Thomas said that the intruders had opened the door using a key and that they had run out the same way when they heard our siren.”

    “Thank you, Mr. Hughes. I’ve got nothing else.”

    “Any reexamination, Mr. Sparling?” asked the judge.