Exposure (22 page)

'Well, you don't really need
me,
do you?'

There were a few titters from the jury. Sandra noticed how Karen's eyes discreetly checked the arrangement of her breasts in the tight blouse; she also noticed that Alistair was having trouble with his wig. He kept adjusting it at the back of his neck in a rather irritating and visually distracting way. It was slightly mystifying, but he gave the impression of being embarrassed. It was a boyish embarrassment—a genuine, if inexplicable agony. He had the look of a teenage boy enduring the last throes of a TV sex scene on the sofa beside his parents.

'Please just answer the question, Miss Jennings,' said the judge again.

'Sorry,' she said.
'Yes.'

Alistair went on, 'Miss Jennings, would you say that Mr Giorgiou was a reliable man?'

'Are you
kidding?'

'I'll rephrase that,' he said. 'Would you say that Mr Giorgiou was a
punctual
man?'

'Well, depends if there's gambling or sex, doesn't it? Like all men. If there's blackjack or poker or a bit of something he wants, he's there like clockwork.'

'I see. And would I be correct in stating that on Friday the fifth of January you went, as usual, to Buzzy's Restaurant and Casino, expecting to have dinner with him?'

'Yes,' she said. 'You would be correct.'

'You expected to have dinner together and then to go through to the casino, to gamble, as usual?'

'Yes,' she said. Then she smiled because this evasion seemed absurd to her. She stage-whispered, 'To gamble,
then to have sex.'

'Yes, I see. But on that evening Mr Giorgiou didn't arrive, did he?'

'No, he didn't.'

'And you waited for him for several hours? Is that right? Until the restaurant closed?'

'Yes.'

'Why did you wait so long?'

Karen laughed incredulously. 'Do I
look
like the sort of girl who's used to being
stood up
? I kept on thinking he'd turn up any minute with a bunch of flowers,' she said.

Sandra Bachelor glanced at the jury, who seemed to be watching a tennis match. She was beginning to feel concerned that, in the atmosphere of hilarity, they would not appreciate the significance of Alistair's questions. To continue as he was, in a stern voice, might only add to the comic effect of Karen's performance, but she appreciated he had little choice. The depth of his embarrassment now amazed her and she stared at the small figure on the witness stand and wondered what it would be like to have this rather shaming effect on a man.

'Ah. Yes, I see,' Alistair said sternly. 'So you were extremely
surprised
that he didn't turn up. Would that be a fair description?'

'A polite description. Yes.'

'You were surprised because, as you say, he's punctual if there's gambling involved and because,
naturally,'
he bowed his head, because he could ham-act for the jury, too, 'you aren't the type of girl who is accustomed to being
stood up?

'You got it,' she said, raising an eyebrow.

'But eventually you went home.'

'Well, yes. There are limits, aren't there?'

Again the jury tittered collectively. It struck Alistair that they were about as intimidating to a potential perjurer as cooing barn owls. In all his years as a barrister, he had rarely seen anyone so unfazed as Karen by the solemnity of the courtroom. He had seen plenty of angry defiance, from etiolated car thieves or swarthy pimps, but all of these had suggested at the very least an acknowledgement, an aggrieved reverence, for the authority of the court. Karen, on the other hand, was simply unable to keep a straight face. She was a genuinely anarchic figure—and he couldn't help finding this acutely exciting. He felt his face going red and wondered if it would be noticed. The thought was appalling.

He went on, still more severely, 'And the following Thursday, that's Thursday the twelfth of February,
again
you went back to Buzzy's Restaurant and
again
you waited for Mr Giorgiou for several hours?'

'Yes. And I don't mind telling you, I was
not
a happy bunny,' she said, pouting slightly.

Alistair felt his face flush redder still and was suddenly afraid that he would actually make a fool of himself in front of a judge and jury if he could not keep better control of his demeanour. This had never happened before. He rested his hand casually on the table in front of him. 'No, I can imagine you weren't,' he said, playing along. 'But, none the less, again you waited, and ...' he made a tumbling motion with his hand and pushed out his lips to imply their easy understanding '...and again, all the while, you imagined that Mr Giorgiou might suddenly turn up because it was unlike him to miss an evening's gambling or to stand up a girl like you.'

'Exactly,' she said, visibly impatient.

'I see. And did you receive any kind of explanation from him about why he had not turned up?'

'Explanation? Well—no.'

'No?'
Now he felt himself regaining control—the first foothold.

She looked at him as if he was an idiot. 'How could I? He was
locked up?'

'Ah, yes,
of course
,' Alistair said, all but slapping his forehead. 'I wonder then how you
explained
this to yourself—I mean, the fact that he didn't call. How did you account for this, Miss Jennings?'

For a moment, she looked almost starded. Then her eyes seemed to catch sight of something in the far corner of the room and she said, 'Thought he was playing hard to get.'

'Oh, I
see.
But he had never behaved in that way before, had he? You described him as—what was it?—"like clockwork" if there was ...
gambling
involved.'

'Look, I do it to him all the time. You play hard to get and then they appreciate it when you give them what they want,' she said. 'Does a man no harm at all. He could've been giving me a taste of it. Why not? That's what I thought.'

'Indeed,' Alistair said. 'You sound, Miss Jennings, like something of an expert on the male ego.'

She giggled and wrinkled up her nose at him. 'Ooh, is that what
barristers
call it, then?'

His only option was to press on, deaf to the laughter (to which even the judge seemed prone) and simply to ignore her asides. Again he consulted the ring binder, in a bid to return the jury's focus to the facts. 'Surely, though, Miss Jennings,' he said, 'in your—well, in your
expert
opinion, there must be more effective ways of "playing hard to get" than sitting in a restaurant until closing time
twice in a row.
Aren't there?'

She raised an eyebrow. 'Yes, but he wasn't to know, was he?'

'Ah, no—of course. Of course he couldn't have done. Forgive me—I'm simply trying to put it all together. Perhaps you would further assist me, then, by describing what was going through your mind, Miss Jennings.'

'What? In the restaurant?'

'Yes—I mean what with waiters coming and going. It's a well-known restaurant, after all. People must have been served mouth-watering food to the left and right of you. You must have been terribly hungry ... and yet it would appear that you didn't order anything.'

She snorted and tossed back her hair. 'I'm not paying a hundred quid for my dinner, am I? What do you take me for?'

'No. Quite. But you said you expected Mr Giorgiou to turn up at any moment with a bunch of flowers. Would he have begrudged you a starter?'

'Look, Lexi's the kind of man who orders for you,' she said. 'That's the kind of man I like.'

The insolence was astonishing, he thought. He imagined her in red stockings, laughing at him, in a see-through black négligée, not letting him come near. He looked forward to seeing his wife.

'Ah. Yes, I see. But, as I say, I'm curious about what you were
thinking
at the time, Miss Jennings. I mean to say, did it perhaps occur to you that your boyfriend might have had an
accident?'

'I don't know. Maybe. It probably crossed my mind.'

'I can imagine. He might, after all, have had a car crash or broken a leg—who was to know? Certainly not you. And, let's face it, you were waiting, with no occupation, for
over three hours.
Even the steadiest mind would run riot under such conditions.'

He glanced up at her, but she made no response. She was plainly not going to speak unless she was asked a question. It astonished Sandra to see that Karen looked intrigued, rather than nervous—as if she viewed her cross-examination as a flirtatious game and was interested to know who might win. Sandra wished she could stop Alistair's constant fiddling with his wig: he was plainly unaware that he was doing it and it gave a dreadful impression of nerves, which surely couldn't be genuine, given his experience, she thought. Perhaps he was feeling unwell, she told herself. The redness of his face might simply have been caused by a fever. That was probably it, she thought, but still she felt somewhat let down by this eminent QC whom she had so longed to work beside.

He went on, 'Did it perhaps also cross your mind that your boyfriend might be
ill?'

Karen shrugged and sighed. 'Did I think he might be ill? Oh, I guess so. I can't really remember, to be honest, but it probably did, yes.'

'Of course. You must have been very worried. So there you sat, thinking all these unpleasant things,' he circled his hand to add a falsely reassuring breadth to his point, 'and yet, Miss Jennings, it did not occur to you simply to call his mobile phone and find out where he was.'

He registered the changed expression on her face. It brought him the usual quietly violent satisfaction. He then consulted a record (which in fact he had mislaid on the large desk and was now representing with a sheet of blank paper visible to none but himself) and continued, 'It seems you made no telephone call either to him, or to any of his friends, or indeed to any member of his family, on
either
evening or at
any point
between the fifth and the seventeenth of February, when your boyfriend was discovered by the police.'

He made eye-contact and removed his glasses.

'Miss Jennings, can it be true that you made
no attempt
to visit or to contact Mr Giorgiou, your
boyfriend,
in
any
way, for almost two weeks, during which time he stood you up, without explanation,
twice?
Is that correct?'

She stared at him. A flicker of pleasure passed over her lips and she smoothed down her clothes as if it might literally have disturbed them.

Alistair said, 'You see, all of the telephone numbers that attempted to contact his mobile phone during that time have been accounted for.' He turned to the judge. 'I refer, my lord, to exhibit eight, the telephone records. Usher, please hand a copy to the witness.'

He waited for her to cast her eyes over the first few pages and then he continued, 'As I say, Miss Jennings, none of his close friends recall having heard from you by any means. Nor do any of his family. And it's plain that you did not call him
directly,
and yet records from the last eighteen months show us that, even under
ordinary
circumstances, you were in the habit of calling your boyfriend,
on his mobile phone,
up to two or three times a week.'

She laughed. 'Oh, you keep saying "
your boyfriend
" like that. Like my mum. So I called him sometimes. Sometimes I didn't. So what? You don't really seem to get it. I don't have rules. It's not like we're serious or whatever. With me and Lexi it's a
casual
thing, yeah? You know.' She pouted indifferently and leant very slightly forward as if she was sharing a deep secret with him alone. 'It's
sexual
,' she said.

To the rest of the courtroom, Alistair then appeared to make a note on the pad in front of him. It was, in reality, merely a wiggly line. 'Yes,' he said. Then he repeated to himself: 'Yes.'

And when he raised his face, she said, 'Yes,' in return, and smiled conclusively.

(This little exchange of yeses was vibrantly parodied by the jury members in the canteen the next day.)

Alistair straightened his waistcoat. Then he straightened his wig, and his gown, and then he rearranged his feet on the carpet. He frowned for a moment and cleared his throat. 'Am I right in saying that the next time you heard from Alexis Giorgiou was when
he
called
you
from the police station on the seventeenth?'

'You are.'

'But he was allowed only
two
telephone calls, Miss Jennings. Were you not extremely surprised that he chose to ring you—given you aren't in a "
serious
" relationship, given
you
didn't try to call
him
once, in two weeks, during which, after all, you had an unlimited number of telephone calls at
your
disposal?'

Karen gave him a level stare and he felt a deep thrill at the direct eye-contact. She was certainly not beautiful—she was vulgar-looking, really, but then her effect on him was not exactly sexual. At any rate, it was not sexual in any recognizable sense. There was sweat on his forehead, his cheeks were burning, his clothes felt fundamentally
wrong.

Again, she gave her shrug. 'Well,
who knows
? Maybe he missed me more than I missed him. Is that possible, Mr Langford?'

In spite of her mockery, there was no escape from the net he had created. It had been a successful cross-examination. But now that he had reached its crescendo and was able to put it to her directly that she had known all about the kidnap and was merely attempting to provide Giorgiou with a cover, he found that the usual predatory fulfilment was missing. She denied all prior knowledge of the kidnap outright, of course, but the jury was plainly alerted and he put no further questions. As he sat down, he felt a peculiar, almost a devastating sense of anticlimax.

He had caught the defence witness in a He but, what with his red cheeks and his crazy waistcoat-straightening and the intolerable itchiness of his wig (which he now removed so as to scratch his head all over in luxurious surrender), he was the one who felt shown up.