Howard Linskey - The Dead

‘Rows, in other words?’

‘Yes, rows.’

‘So a teenage girl and her father are heard having an argument, several arguments possibly, and you arrest the father on suspicion of his daughter’s murder. Inspector, are you aware of a home in this country containing a father and teenage daughter where there have not occasionally been harsh words exchanged? What evidence did this provide?’

‘It showed the father had a temper and he had served in the armed forces previously in a highly stressful environment.’

‘Northern Ireland?’

‘Correct.’

‘So Mr Bell occasionally shouted at his daughter and she shouted back at him, plus he had served his country loyally as a member of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces in a hostile environment, therefore he must have murdered her.’

‘I never said he must have murdered her. It made him a possible suspect, that’s all.’

‘Not in my view, and I suspect not in the view of anyone in this courtroom today. Inspector, can you imagine the anguish you must have caused Mr Bell; the man who, as we have heard in his own words earlier, during a highly-moving testimony to this court, has had his life destroyed by the death of his only child,’ our barrister raised an eyebrow, ‘and, at the very height of his grief, you arrested him and accused him, during several hours of interrogation, of being his own daughter’s murderer. Why ever would you do that?’

‘Obviously I very much regret that now, but at the time we were all under a lot of pressure and…’

‘Pressure to find Leanne’s killer, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘That pressure has never really gone away has it?’

‘The case has remained open until now, which was a cause of concern to us all, but we were absolutely committed to finding her killer one day.’

‘So you readily admit that you remain desperate to resolve the case.’

‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I wouldn’t use the word desperate though, committed was what I said.’

‘Bit embarrassing though, don’t you think? It must have been. Arresting four different people for the same murder, with the Press baying for your blood and ridiculing your every move as, one after another, you were forced to release them.’

‘I don’t recall the Press baying for our blood. On the whole they were supportive, sharing a common aim of finding Leanne’s killer.’

‘Really?’ asked our lawyer, in the manner of an unimpressed Jeremy Paxman on Newsnight .

‘Yes, really.’

Aimes picked up a piece of A4 paper and read from his notes.

‘I’m quoting from a well-known broadsheet now, “The Police have clutched at suspects in the manner of a drowning man clutching at straws.”’

‘That was sensationalist nonsense.’

‘So you weren’t clutching at straws?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Mmm,’ Aimes paused, as if considering that last statement, ‘would you be kind enough to tell the court the name of the second man who was arrested and questioned over the murder of Leanne Bell?’

DCI Argyle looked quite nauseous at that point. Eventually he said, ‘Darren Bell.’

‘And what relationship does Darren Bell have to the dead girl?’

‘Uncle.’

‘He was Leanne’s uncle?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh dear, Chief Inspector.’ The tone was pitying and our lawyer shook his head slowly, ‘Oh dear… oh dear… oh dear. Tell me, is there a family member you didn’t arrest for her murder?’

‘Objection!’ pleaded the prosecution lawyer.

‘I withdraw the question, Your Honour,’ conceded our barrister, but it was already out there and the jury heard it loud and clear.

By the time Detective Chief Inspector Argyle stepped down from the witness stand, he looked like he had been repeatedly slapped in the face.

Julian Aimes took just minutes to discredit the prosecution’s two star witnesses; a couple of young women who claimed they had known Henry Baxter a decade before, when both were in their early teens. They each claimed to have been indecently assaulted by him while he gave them those notorious free piano lessons.

Aimes got the first girl to talk about her life as a teenager and by the time she had described her home life, negligent parents and succession of foster families, the run-ins with the law and the absconding from a care home, he’d managed to make her sound like a prostitute. She left the witness stand in tears.

The second girl was undone by Aimes’ assertion she was only testifying against Henry Baxter for money and, when she denied this, he asked her if she would be willing to sign away any future civil claim against him right now, should he be found guilty. The prosecution objected strongly, but the girl hesitated for so long that when she finally answered, she made herself sound like a lying gold digger.

Next up was Professor Raymond Harris, the prosecution’s expert witness and a man who clearly thought he was the most intelligent person in the room and was just about to prove it.

‘Professor, could you begin by telling me how much DNA is common to every individual?’ asked Aimes.

The portly professor spoke with the confidence of a courtroom veteran. ‘Well, I could, but that wouldn’t be relevant to the technique of DNA fingerprinting, which focuses on the percentage that is unique to each individual.’

Aimes regarded the professor as if he might have something to hide. ‘Humour me,’ he demanded, before remembering that he was in front of a jury and adding the word, ‘please.’

‘Alright,’ conceded the professor, ‘it’s around ninety-nine percent.’

‘It is ninety-nine percent or it is in excess of ninety-nine percent? Could you be more precise? If you recall the question, it is how much DNA is shared by every human being on the planet?’

The professor looked a little flushed already, his plump face was reddening and he had only been asked one question. ‘I recall the question, it’s ninety-nine point nine percent.’

‘Ninety-nine point nine percent. Imagine that?’ Aimes was speaking rhetorically but I could see the jurors were taking a lot of notice. ‘So the element of DNA you use in genetic fingerprinting must be just nought point one percent. Am I correct?’

‘You are.’

‘Such a tiny percentage,’ mused our lawyer, as if to himself.

‘But entirely sufficient to distinguish one person from another.’

‘So you maintain,’ Aimes’ voice was a low whisper, but he pitched it perfectly. All of the jurors were listening intently. One or two even leaned forward to hear more clearly, as he presumably intended them to.

‘Would you mind explaining to the members of the jury and myself how the DNA fingerprinting process works in practice?’

‘Well, we use variable number tandem repeats and short tandem repeats.’

‘Really,’ Aimes sounded almost bored now, ‘how fascinating.’

The professor attempted to continue, ‘Variable number loci are so unique that it would be highly unlikely for two people to have the same variable number tandem repeats.’

‘But it’s not impossible?’

‘The odds are millions to one.’

‘But… it… is… not… impossible,’ affirmed Aimes. ‘What is the population of the United Kingdom, Professor?’

The professor sighed. ‘I gather it is approximately sixty-five million people, according to the last census.’

Our barrister shrugged, ‘That’s millions,’ he asserted facetiously, ‘isn’t it?’

‘Oh come on,’ replied the professor, ‘I can see what you are trying to do but this is a hackneyed argument.’

‘Is it?’ replied Aimes reasonably. ‘In that case I shall ask a different question entirely.’ He paced the courtroom for a few moments, as if only now thinking of that question. ‘How did you come to analyse the DNA of my client?’