John Francome - Declared Dead

'And so?'

'It's pretty hot stuff. Corcoran admitted that Edward had been blackmailing him for years over the theft of the wages from Tom's office. He also claims – and this is the good bit – that on the evening Edward disappeared, he, Corcoran, had followed him to the pub where he met Tom and they had that famous argument.'

'Why did he follow him?'

'Because he wanted to make him return his confession note.'

'But why on earth would Edward hand it over after all this time? Once he'd done that he couldn't blackmail him any more.'

'I agree. Tom's solicitor asked him just that and Corcoran's answer was that he reckoned he had paid enough and the time had come when he wanted to start life anew back in Ireland. He thought he could talk Edward into it. Anyway, Corcoran says that after Tom and Edward came out of the pub, he saw them get into their separate cars. Edward drove off before he could have a word with him and Tom started to leave, appeared to think better of it, parked his car in the furthest corner and proceeded to pass out. I suppose he must simply have had too much to drink.'

'But that proves Tom couldn't have killed Edward.'

'There's better to come. Corcoran wasn't the only person following Edward that night. As he drove out of the car park, Corcoran saw another car follow him.'

'Did he recognise the driver?'

'So he claims. Who do you think?'

'Go on, surprise me.'

'Eamon Brennan. Corcoran was apprenticed with him for a short while in Ireland. What's more, he's convinced Brennan also spotted him. The next morning Corcoran took a boat to Ireland without collecting his kit from the yard and since the discovery of Edward's body he's been in fear of his life.'

'And he'll say all this in court?'

'He says he will. I warned the solicitor about our little experience in Ireland and he said he had already heard about that from Corcoran. The Irishman says he's bitterly ashamed about what happened, only he desperately wanted to get hold of the confession note and that's why he searched you, hoping you had brought it with you. He never meant to hurt you. The money was just too tempting.'

'Do you believe him?'

'From Tom's point of view, what really matters is whether the jury does. It certainly ought to place a doubt in the jury's mind and that's enough for acquittal. There's one thing the solicitor wants from us. That note. They'll have to produce it in court to corroborate Corcoran's testimony and want to keep it in a safe place till then. I said I thought you'd have no objection.'

'You're right. Ralph's expecting you to come and collect some stuff from my room. When you've got it all, hand Corcoran's confession over to Tom's solicitor and the rest you'd better lock away in your safe at work. At least that way it'll survive any further attacks on me.'

'I agree. What do you intend to do with it after the trial?'

'As soon as Tom is acquitted I'll burn it, having first invited Lord Pryde and Arthur Drewe to the bonfire party, of course!'

I had been waiting for over four days to give evidence and kept wondering what could be taking so long in Court No 1. The prosecution had opened its case on Monday with a speech to the jury, in which it outlined the evidence to be called against Tom and put forward a motive for murder. I couldn't believe they had that much to incriminate Tom. As it was a criminal trial, I was obliged, like all the other witnesses, to wait outside until I was called. I just had to sit, fidget and let my imagination run riot. It wasn't easy. I could have read the newspaper reports of the first three days' hearing to keep myself informed but deliberately refrained from doing so. Amy had warned me that at this stage it was only the prosecution case that was being published and it would almost certainly paint a very dark picture of Tom's position, thus needlessly upsetting me. Somehow I had to keep cool and brace myself not to lose control when I gave evidence. If I started protesting Tom's innocence, it was likely to be counter-productive. It wasn't going to be easy and even though I could now move around on crutches, I still felt like a caged tiger, who knew he was going to be shot at dawn.

Jamie Brown had appeared in the witnesses' waiting room for the first time that morning and after only ten minutes, had been taken into court. I assumed that I had to be next. I was wearing a dark blue suit, no jewellery and hardly any make-up. I wanted to appear neither as the grieving widow nor the fast piece. I just hoped the judge would be kind to me, although from what Amy had told me about him, it was unlikely.

The Honourable Mr Justice Snipe was apparently one of the most feared and abrasive judges who had ever planted their ample rumps on the bench. Young barristers weakened at the knees at the mere mention of his name and even experienced senior counsel took refuge in the whisky bottle after a day in front of him. Once his mind was made up, no advocacy, however persuasive, or evidence, however compelling, could make him budge. One leap into the dark was followed by another even bigger one.

The morning passed painfully slowly and as the bright sunlight outside played through the window of what had become my 'cell', I despaired at the unreality of what was happening. Not far way in this same building a jury of twelve strangers was deciding whether Tom should be denied his freedom for the next twenty years. Shortly after two o'clock, I was summoned. A policeman popped his head round the door and asked me if I was ready. I reached for my crutches and hobbled slowly over to him, down a flight of stairs with his assistance and through two sets of swing doors into a crowded court. All eyes except those of the judge turned on me. Across the other side of the court sat the jury, six in each row, facing the witness box. Ahead of me, perched on high, and towering over his court, was the red-robed figure of Snipe. He was busy making notes and seemed indifferent to my arrival. As an usher led me towards the witness box I glanced over at Tom, seated in the enormous wooden dock with a policeman on either side of him. He smiled at me and grasped the rails which enclosed him.

I could hardly believe the change in his appearance. The warm, healthy glow had gone from his cheeks and, together with a dramatic loss of weight, had conspired to make him look years older. A short and ruthlessly executed hair-cut had robbed his face of its caring and friendly disposition and replaced it with a gaunt and surly air. It was as if he had been reduced from an approachable and understanding officer to a belligerent private.

After taking the oath, I was allowed to sit down and as I did so I noticed a middle-aged woman juror mutter something out of the corner of her mouth to the young man on her right. He nodded knowingly and I could sense that my reputation, whatever it now was, had preceded me. I turned nervously towards the judge, expecting him to say something, to give the signal to begin.

The Honourable Mr Justice Snipe was not, at least in appearance, anything like I had imagined. The stern face under the white horsehair wig was pinched and ascetic, with tortoise-shell glasses perching uncomfortably on the bridge of a hawk-like nose. Tufts of hair protruded from his cheeks, a fashion that I thought had disappeared with the Victorians. He remained buried in his notebook. Then I heard my name being called from the other side of the court. A barrister in a silk gown had risen to his feet and was addressing me. I assumed that this must be the counsel for the prosecution, Redvers Scott, who, according to Amy in her pre-trial briefing, was possessed of a devastating turn of phrase and a merciless manner in cross-examination. He was a highly paid and much sought-after advocate, who was brought in to act for the Crown whenever it was faced with a murder case dependent upon circumstantial evidence or with sensitive undertones. I assumed that the identity of this particular deceased meant this trial fell into both categories. Having led me through the formalities of my name and address and the chronological details of my marriage, he turned to my relationship with Tom.