Bold Counsel (The Trials of Sarah Newby) (6 page)

She saw eyebrows rise as she spoke, and realised that she was running a risk in lecturing the judges on what was, and what was not, justice. But Sarah had always held the view that there was no sense pussy-footing round in court. If something needed to be said, then it was her job to say it, as forcefully and persuasively as possible, and hope for the required effect. After all, why else did the hood of her gown fold into a neat little pocket at the back? It was there to collect the fee from the grateful client, for arguing his case better than he could hope to do himself.

‘Finally, My Lords, I refer you to the statement of the prison chaplain, who is also present in court. He can testify to the state of mind of Mr Winnick in the weeks before his death, and confirm that he spoke of lies which he had told in the past.’

During her last speech she had been aware of a certain amount of whispering from her left, where Gareth Jones was leaning over his shoulder to talk to the two detectives. As she sat down, Gareth Jones got to his feet.

‘My Lords, before you decide on the admissibility of this evidence, it may be helpful to hear from the man who my learned friend appears to suspect of misconduct, Detective Superintendent Robert Baxter. He is present here in court.’

The three judges bent their heads together, conferring. The senior judge looked up, a wintry smile on his face. ‘Very well, Mr Jones, we will hear Mr Baxter.’

7. School Project

P
REDICTABLY, THE fox had not stayed in the car for long. Sharon felt its jaws nibbling her ear just as Gary started the car, and after a brief outburst of hysteria it was dumped a few yards down the road. Sharon’s howls of rage were well worth it as far as the boys were concerned, and the resultant quarrel between Sharon and Gary even more so.

‘You think that’s funny, do you? Letting them bring a fucking corpse into the car?’

‘Their idea, not mine. Anyhow, we could have skinned it, made a whatdoyoucallit - fox scarf thing for you to wear.’

‘Skin you more like. Keep all your brains in your bollocks, you do.’

Somehow, in the fuss about the fox, the hand stayed in the car, and when they reached the coast Sean smuggled it beneath his pillow. Over the following week he became quite attached to it. He kept it in a bucket with sea creatures, using its long bony fingers to battle crabs’ claws. Several times Sharon told him to throw the horrid thing away, but he brought it back to Leeds, stuffed in his tracksuit pocket where he could feel it whenever he wanted. He liked the way the fingers moved in the same way as his own, and wondered if the owner could have cracked the knuckles as he could crack his. He slipped it under the pillow at night where it crunched under his ear.

Half-term over, they went back to school, and his teacher, Ms Sheranski, predictably asked them to write about their holidays. Julie Sheranksi was a probationer, still young and enthusiastic, with little hope of keeping order except through her innocent, encouraging smile. Sean and his classmates fell in love with her and ragged her unmercifully. He put the hand on the table and waited for her reaction. She’d greeted his earlier specimens - a squashed toad, a tropical spider he’d found in a packet of bananas - with a cheerful welcome which had somewhat deflated him. This time, however, he was not disappointed. There was no disguising the appalled, disbelieving shock which drained the blood from Julie Sheranski’s face as she surveyed the skeletal fingers on her pupil’s desk.

‘Where - what’s this?’

‘It’s my hand, miss. I found it on holiday.’

‘But - for heaven’s sake - where?’

‘In a fox’s gob.’ He launched into an elaborate tale of how he and Declan had been attacked in their caravan by a fox at night. With superhuman courage they had fought it off, chased it back its lair, and found this, the sole physical remains of its last victim who had paid the ultimate price.

‘But Sean, this is an adult hand. A fox couldn’t kill a grown person.’

Sean’s eyes narrowed. ‘It was a big fox, miss. Huge. Jaws like Dracula.’

‘I’m ... I’m sorry. I’m going to have to show this to the head.’

‘Hey, no, miss, you can’t have that. It’s my hand. I found it.’

‘It’s a human hand, Sean. It came from a dead person.’ Shuddering slightly, she picked it up.

‘Yeah, well, he don’t need it no more, does he? Give it here - it’s mine.’

‘Yeah, miss, you can’t just take things. We got rights.’

‘Stealing, that is. There’s laws about that.’

‘This hand’s going to the head. Sean, you’d better come too. Mr Hudson will want to hear your story for himself.’

8. Cross Examination

A
S ROBERT Baxter took the stand Sarah reflected that he was, indeed, a powerfully built man. In his late sixties, he was over six foot, with broad shoulders and a boxer’s flattened nose. The only sign of weakness was a slight tremor in the liver-spotted hand that held the Bible as he took the oath - but that might have been anger rather than age. He would have looked a formidable interrogator in his younger days, she thought, to a young tearaway like Jason Barnes - five foot ten on tiptoe and only nineteen years old at the time of his arrest.

Gareth Jones took him smoothly and efficiently through the relevant points. Yes, he had led the investigation into the murder of Brenda Stokes. Yes, he knew that Brian Winnick was a police informer. Yes, it was true that Brian Winnick was a drug dealer who had been sentenced three weeks after Jason Barnes. No, it was quite wrong to suggest that any pressure had been put on Brian Winnick to manufacture evidence.

Gareth Jones sat down, and Sarah rose to her feet.

‘Inspector Baxter, when Brian Winnick was held in custody with Jason Barnes, what was he charged with?’

‘Possession of Class A drugs with intent to sell.’

‘What was the quantity of those drugs, do you recall?’

‘Four ounces of cocaine, I believe.’

‘A significant amount, then?’

‘Significant, but not unusual. He argued that it was for his own personal use, but we didn’t believe him. However, we reduced the charges later, before it went to court.’

‘Yes, quite. Why did you do that?’

‘For two reasons, really. Partly because we didn’t think we had enough evidence to get a conviction for supply. And secondly because he’d been helpful to the police.’

‘By acting as a witness against Jason Barnes, you mean?’

‘That and other matters. His evidence against Barnes was important, of course. It was a very serious case.’

‘Indeed. When he eventually came to court, what sentence did he receive?’

‘Three months.’

‘But he’d already been in custody for that time, so he was immediately released?’

‘That’s right, yes.’

‘So this reduction in sentence was in part, a reward for his evidence against Jason Barnes.’

‘In part, yes.’

‘I see. Inspector Baxter, how did it come about that Brian Winnick was placed in the same cell on remand as Jason Barnes?’

‘I’ve no idea. That was a matter for the prison authorities.’

‘You had no influence over it?’

‘No.’

‘Really? You’re quite sure?’

‘Perfectly sure, yes.’

‘Inspector, could I direct your attention to paragraph 4 of Brian Winnick’s statement in the original trial. Would you read it out for us, please?’

Robert Baxter fumbled for a pair of reading glasses in his breast pocket, and began to read. ‘”
When I was on remand I was placed in a cell with a man called Jason Barnes. He told me he was charged with the murder of a girl called Brenda Stokes. He said he’d met her at a party and driven her away in a car that he’d stolen. He said when she wouldn’t have sex with him he got angry and killed her with a torch he found in the car. He told me he dumped her body in the river so the police would never find it.”’

‘You took that statement from Mr Winnick yourself, did you, in Wakefield prison?’

‘I did, yes.’

‘Thank you. Could you tell us, please, how long after the arrest of Jason Barnes this statement was made?’

‘About six months, I believe. It was roughly seven months after Brenda Stokes disappeared.’

‘So you had already conducted extensive searches for the body by that time?’

‘We had indeed, ma’am, yes.’

‘Where did you look?’

Robert Baxter sighed. ‘We used police divers to search the river Ouse all the way from York to Selby, fifteen miles or more. We used motorboats and helicopters to search further downstream, all the way to the Humber estuary. We searched the riverbank, too, and many areas in the surrounding countryside. It was a very difficult, tedious, and expensive process, as you can imagine. But unfortunately we did not find a body.’

‘Why did you search the river Ouse in particular?’

‘Because, under questioning, Jason Barnes told us he had driven Brenda to a secluded spot called Landing Lane near the river. When we searched the surrounding area we found a bloodstained torch with his fingerprint on it. A torch which came from the stolen car.’

‘Were you certain it was her blood, at the time?’

‘As certain as we could be, ma’am. We didn’t have the benefit of DNA in those days, but it matched her blood group. Since then, DNA tests have revealed that the blood does indeed bear a close family resemblance to that of her mother.’

‘So you assumed from this that Brenda Stokes had been murdered, and the killer had thrown her body in the river?’

‘That seemed highly likely, yes.’

‘And you assumed that Jason Barnes was her killer?’

‘I was sure of it, ma’am. All the evidence pointed that way.’

‘Nonetheless, your case was rather thin, Inspector, wasn’t it? One fingerprint, and some blood on a torch. Which Mr Barnes explained quite plausibly by saying that he and Miss Stokes had a violent argument, during which he got blood on his hands from her nosebleed. Then when she ran off into the night he searched for her with the torch.’

‘I didn’t believe that tale for a minute.’

‘But you were worried that the jury might believe him, weren’t you, Mr Baxter? Without a body, you couldn’t even prove for certain that Brenda Stokes had been killed, let alone dumped in the river, could you? It was only an assumption on your part.’

Robert Baxter sighed. ‘You must remember there was an inquest, which returned an open verdict. The coroner accepted that it was possible she had been murdered, and her body washed out to sea. That was the basis on which we proceeded to trial.’

‘Nonetheless, you were desperate for more evidence, Inspector Baxter, weren’t you? Without this alleged confession, you would never have obtained a conviction.’

The old policeman shook his head forcefully. ‘I disagree. We already had a lot of other evidence against Jason Barnes. He was the last person seen with Brenda. We had the torch, and the lies he told about the car. He admitted himself that he had quarrelled with her and attempted to have sex with her against her will. He also had a string of convictions for theft and violence, including violence against women.’

‘None of which you could lay before the jury, of course.’

‘No, but all the same ...’ Baxter shrugged.

‘He was a useful suspect, wasn’t he?’ Sarah sneered.

It was an unwise comment, she realised, as soon as she made it. Robert Baxter drew himself up to his full height, and turned, with great dignity, towards the judges. ‘He was the
obvious
suspect, Mr Lords. All the evidence pointed clearly in his direction. The jury recognised this in their verdict.’

‘Let’s return to this alleged confession, shall we?’ Sarah said, trying to recover. ‘You must have been hugely relieved when it confirmed all your previous assumptions.’

‘I was pleased, naturally.’

‘Were you surprised?’

‘Not really, no.’ A wary look crossed Robert Baxter’s face, as if he guessed what was coming. But Sarah was not ready, yet, to make the obvious accusation.

‘Presumably you confronted Jason Barnes with it, before the case came to trial?’

‘We did, ma’am, yes.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He denied it. He refused to admit that he’d confessed to Brian Winnick at all.’

‘Is that all? Did he say nothing else?’

The question had a gratifying effect on the burly policeman. Baxter’s ruddy face darkened noticeably, and his massive hands gripped the lectern as though they would tear it in two.

‘He said if
had
killed her, he wouldn’t have dumped the body in the river. He would have dumped it in a slurry pit.’

‘And what was your response to that?’

‘I questioned him about it forcefully. I asked him if he was saying he really had dumped the body in a slurry pit. He laughed in my face and denied it. Nonetheless ...’

Baxter paused, his face dark, scowling across the court at Jason Barnes. A little imp in Sarah’s mind longed to turn round and see the expression on her client’s face, but she resisted the temptation.

‘... since he occasionally worked as a tractor driver on farms, I felt duty bound to investigate this suggestion. We drained a number of slurry pits ...’ Baxter gritted his teeth. ‘... without result.’

‘I see.’ Sarah imagined the burly inspector towering over Jason Barnes, steaming with fury after yet another unsuccessful search of a slurry pit. She felt a twinge of pity for her unlovely client. The interrogations, she felt, would have been dramatic.

‘Was it as a result of these interrogations that you were accused of assault?’

‘What?’ Baxter’s eyes turned to her in shock.

‘My client lodged an official complaint against you,’ she said sweetly. ‘Don’t you remember? He claimed you handcuffed him to a boiling hot radiator and left him there, sitting on the floor, for four hours until he was forced to defecate in his trousers.’

‘That’s a lie.’ Baxter drew a deep breath, trying to control himself. ‘There was a full investigation which exonerated me. It was impossible, anyway, because he was interviewed in prison, not in a police station. The prison officers would have noticed.’

‘Whereas in a police station it would have been all right?’