Certainly the defense had more to gain than to lose from the new statements. Hed seen Lady Greta in conference on Saturday morning and obtained her assurance that she knew nobody called either Lonny or Rosie and that she had not told anyone about that hiding place in the House of the Four Winds.
Im going to find my client, said Miles, getting up. Ill take her instructions, but I cant see us objecting to you calling the boy last. Better make sure he turns up, though. Statements are one thing, evidence is another.
Miles was gone in a swirl of wig and gown before John Sparling could think of a suitable response.
Peter and Greta were waiting outside court 9 with Peters lawyer, Patrick Sullivan, a handsome Irishman who bore more than a passing resemblance to Liam Neeson. Patrick and Peter had been at university together, and it had been a natural development for him to become Peters lawyer when Peter had started to need one. The work had taken up more and more of Patricks time since Peter had become a minister, and Gretas trial had made it virtually a full-time occupation.
Patrick was no criminal lawyer, but he had given Peter and Greta vital support in those nightmare days after Greta was first arrested. He had conveyed a sense that he was truly on their side, that he believed in them, and that was what Peter had craved more than anything else.
Greta, unsurprisingly, had retreated into her shell as the police began investigating Thomass allegations against her, and Patrick seemed to restore some of her confidence. Later, after Greta was charged, Peter had asked Patrick to find a top criminal barrister to take on her case. He appeared to have succeeded admirably. Everyone that Peter spoke to agreed that Miles Lambert was one of the best in the business.
Ive reminded Peter that he cant be in court during the trial, said Patrick.
Thats right, said Miles. Not until after youve given your evidence. But Patricks told me hes going to be here most of the time and so Greta wont be on her own. No need to worry about that.
He smiled encouragingly. Theyd been over this many times already, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Hed had witnesses before who had disbarred themselves from giving evidence by sitting in court during the trial.
How are you feeling, Greta? he asked solicitously. Trial for murder was a terrible experience for anyone to go through, and Miles knew that waiting for it to begin was one of the worst parts of the process.
All right, I suppose. Its not easy, though. I felt like I was in a zoo when we got out of the car. Gretas normally even voice shook, and Peter took hold of her hand and squeezed it. Not being able to be with his wife in court and share her ordeal was almost more than he could bear.
I know, said Miles. Im sorry about that. But look, the important thing to remember is that youre not going to need to say anything until the middle of next week at the earliest. Itll probably be the end of next week, in fact. The prosecution has got a lot of evidence to get through, and theyre calling Thomas as their last witness. They say he needs time to get over whatever happened last Wednesday.
Nothing happened, Peter interjected. Hes made it up just like everything else. He just cant stop. Ruining our lives and his.
All right, Peter, said Greta. Not now. She drew a great deal of support from Peters anger against his son, but this was not the time for any loss of control.
Nothing happened, Peter interjected. Hes made it up just like everything else. He just cant stop. Ruining our lives and his.
All right, Peter, said Greta. Not now. She drew a great deal of support from Peters anger against his son, but this was not the time for any loss of control.
Is this a problem? she asked. Thomas going last?
No, I dont think so, replied Miles. Itll make the jury see how little the prosecution has got without him.
Yes. Yes, I see that.
Greta smiled, but this only made the tension in her face more visible. She looked perfect, Miles thought. Shell make the jurors who arent priapic come over all parental when she touches her eyes with that little white handkerchief shes got in her bag.
That was the usher, said Patrick, returning to the group and breaking the momentary silence. Were wanted inside.
Ill be here at lunch, Greta, said Peter. I love you.
I love you too, replied Greta as she turned to follow the lawyers through the swinging doors of the courtroom.
Itll be all right, he added. Just you see. But she did not reply. The doors had closed behind her, and he could not follow.
Chapter 6
The first thing that Greta was aware of on entering the courtroom was the sound of many voices suddenly becoming still. The benches on the left of the court were thronged with the same reporters who had surrounded her outside. There was to be no escape from them, although the cameras and sound equipment were absent.
Before her arrival the court had been just another room, but now there was the beginning of drama, the certainty of action to come. Everything was lit by bright artificial light because this was a place removed from the outside world. There were no windows, and the soundproofed walls were bare except for the extravagant lion-and-unicorn emblem behind the judges empty chair.
Miles Lambert came to a halt beside the dock. This was a dark wooden enclosure at the back of the court, which Greta had had to occupy once before when she came to court in the spring to plead not guilty. Now a security woman with cropped black hair and a sallow face bent to open the low wicket gate and stood aside for Greta to enter the enclosure. The latch of the gate clicked behind her.
Now, Patrickll be watching to see if you need anything, said Miles in a soothing tone. Have you got plenty of paper and pens? You can pass me a note if you think of something important, although I doubt well get much beyond the prosecutions opening statement this morning, and you dont need to worry about that. Its not evidence.
Greta nodded and bit her lip. As if paper would help her. With all these people looking at her and strangers deciding her fate.
We ought to get a jury fairly soon. Remember not to look at them directly. They dont like that. But let them look at you. Therell be a bad minute or two with the photographs of the body. I cant stop Sparling showing them those, but it wont last long. The judgell see to that. Grangers all right. We could have done a lot worse.
Greta smiled wanly. She was grateful to Miles Lambert for trying to make things easier for her.
The security woman tapped Greta on the shoulder, interrupting the conversation.
You need to surrender to custody. Its the rules.
But havent I just done so?
No, Ive got to search you. Check your bag.
Oh, all right, said Greta, offering her handbag up for inspection.
But this wasnt enough.
Its through here, said the woman, touching Gretas arm this time as she guided her through a door in the side of the dock out into a small holding area. The once white walls were covered with obscene words and pictures drawn by rapists and murderers raging against their fate. Greta thought how strange it was that such a place should exist within a few yards of the judge, sitting in all his pomp and glory. But neither the graffiti nor the stale smell of urine emanating from a lavatory cubicle with a seatless toilet in the corner really bothered Greta. Shed seen worse.
It was the staircase in the far corner that sent a shiver down her spine. She couldnt see more than the first three steps from where she stood near the door to the court, but it was enough to know that they went down and not up. Down to the cells below, from which there would be no escape. One word, one little word from the jury, and shed be stumbling down those stairs with guards holding her elbows. Greta felt that it was like having the chance to see the scene of ones own death before it happened. She was suddenly gripped by a wave of nausea and sat down on the bench that ran the length of the room as if shed just been punched.
Come on now, said the security woman with a note of irritation creeping into her voice. You can sit on your arse in court all day. But right now I need to search you. Its the rules.
Greta held herself rigid while the womans hands patted down her body. Shoulders, breasts, stomach, thighs; with each touch Greta felt herself being claimed by a system that was too big for her. Too impersonal. She kept her eyes fixed on the whitewashed ceiling until the search was over, never allowing her gaze to stray for a moment to the staircase in the corner.
All right, youre fine, said the woman, holding open the door to the dock.
Back in the courtroom, Greta breathed deeply. She took out her handkerchief and held it to her nose. The fragrant Chanel perfume allowed her to imagine the cool interior of the drawing room at home. The chandeliers and the rich hangings. With an intense effort of will she forced the holding room and the descending staircase out of her consciousness. Then, opening her eyes, she ran her hands through her perfectly layered black hair and settled back into her chair as she began to take in her surroundings.
The reporters had gone back to talking amongst themselves, and in front of her the barristers were unpacking heavy files and law books onto the long tables at which they worked. To Miless left a tall, distinguished-looking man in wig and gown was listening to the police officer, Detective Sergeant Hearns.
They made a strange pair, thought Greta. Hearns in his ill-fitting suit and kipper tie standing almost on tiptoe to whisper what he wanted to say to the barrister, who leaned slightly to his left, allowing Greta to see his profile: the long, thin face and the aquiline nose. This must be the man that Miles had told her about, John Sparling, counsel for the prosecution.
As usual Hearns was waving his crude, stubby-fingered hands about for emphasis. Greta remembered this irritating habit from the interview that she had had to undergo with him before she was charged.
I put it to you, madam, that youre the brains behind this conspiracy, he had said then.
The eminence grise, Mr. Hearns? Greta had asked, resorting at last to sarcasm.
Dont bandy foreign words with me, madam, hed countered. He had always addressed her as madam; never Greta or Miss Grahame. Perhaps that was something theyd taught him at the training college. Interrogation techniques for aspiring detectives.