Brian Freemantle - A Mind to Kill

At once came another scathing personal examination. If he’d known it was an unwinnable case from the beginning – which he had – and known he was an inconsequential cog in some complicated higher chambers machination – which he also had – why did he have this incomplete feeling, this belief he couldn’t shake off that there was something more that he should have done, should have recognized, but hadn’t? Get-to-the-top-whatever ambition? Nothing to do with it. Something quite different, quite inexplicable. There was a gap, an empty place or a missing piece from a jig-saw with no missing pieces, a complete picture that didn’t have to be assembled. He had all the parts: every statement, almost every scientific and forensic result, every reason, every motive, every witness. Himself a witness to the madness even. There couldn’t be a gap, a piece that didn’t fit. Inexperience, Hall decided. Easy to rationalize – to understand – if he stopped looking outside and looked inwardly instead at himself, which he was at last doing. His first murder. Newspaper coverage because Jennifer Lomax was beautiful and her cheating husband was a millionaire. The carnage of the crime. He’d wanted her to be not guilty. So he’d disregarded facts and common sense and more forensic evidence than any other murder case in the English criminal history of homicide about which he’d read about or studied or been officially lectured about.

It had all been absurd fantasy, the half-awake-at-night dream that indefensible though it appeared he was going to produce some incredible, last-minute proof of innocence – virtually impossible and almost certainly inadmissible under the rules of disclosure – and lead the beautiful, blond, smiling Jennifer Lomax to face the cameras and a life of innocent freedom. If he tried hard enough, he could probably have imagined the soaring music – lots of violins – that normally accompanied such soap-box endings.

Despite the self-honesty the overlooked feeling wouldn’t go. It stayed nagging in his mind and he wondered if this was what Jane’s voice in Jennifer’s head was like until he realized what he was wondering – that he was accepting the very presence of a voice in Jennifer’s head – and refused to let the speculation run.

His internal telephone buzzed, to warn him that Humphrey Perry was on his way up from that day’s remand hearing, and Hall pushed the case notes aside.

‘Before we begin,’ Hall said, as the older man entered the room. ‘I want to say that I think the preparation is magnificent. I’m in your debt. Thank you.’

Perry, whose opinion of the barrister had changed during the pre-trial weeks, actually flushed. ‘I wish there was a possibility of it working out differently from how it will.’

‘That’s what I want to discuss,’ said Hall. ‘The way forward.’

‘There was no change,’ reported Perry. ‘She’s still wrapped in apathy.’

‘Abject depression is a schizophrenic symptom.’

‘I’ve read all the expert opinions: I commissioned them,’ reminded Perry.

‘What about outbursts?’

‘Usual abuse, to Mrs Heathcote: asked her how many times a day she masturbated. And references again to Jennifer herself being assaulted in the prison hospital.’

‘What about that, exactly?’ pressed Hall.

‘“Ask Jennifer who’s fucking her,”’ quoted the solicitor, literally.

‘Did you?’ asked Hall.

Perry nodded. ‘After today’s hearing. She said nothing was happening: that it was Jane, making her say it. And immediately afterwards said it was true but that Jane made her say that, too.’

Hall sighed, shaking his head. ‘Mason says he thinks there’s some abuse…’ Hall rustled his hand through the dossiers in front of him. ‘… Not in his report. He telephoned.’

‘He told me the same,’ said Perry. ‘That’s why I made a point of seeing the governor again today. He assured me she’s in the safest place, in the hospital. And that he’s made the matron personally responsible.’

Hall sighed again. ‘What about the election to go direct to a higher court, bypassing committal?’

Perry smiled, wryly. ‘If I hadn’t applied for it I think Mrs Heathcote would have suggested it herself. She seems to be the only person without the slightest doubt that Jennifer Lomax is stark, raving mad. I’ve sent her a note, thanking her for her forebearance. She’s taken a lot of abuse.’

Hall tapped the files in front of him, reminded. ‘Despite what all the experts say, it’s got to be diminished responsibility?’

‘That’s all it was ever going to be.’

‘And because of what the experts say – or rather won’t say – we’re going to have to introduce the episode with Emily,’ insisted Hall. ‘Bring it out when Lloyd and Annabelle Parkes are on the stand and call the two policewomen. You and Johnson, too.’

Perry shook his head, sadly. ‘What a way to prove she’s mentally unstable.’

‘Can you think of a better way, so that I can avoid doing this?’

‘It wasn’t a criticism,’ said Perry, quickly. ‘It’s the only thing you can do: the best of a bad job.’

‘Did you tell her I’d need two or three sessions, before the trial?’

‘Yes.’

‘Anything about a QC?’

Perry shook his head. ‘There hasn’t been, for quite a while now. Like I said, her apathy is pretty complete.’

Hall moved the papers around again, although aimlessly. ‘Your preparation is brilliant.’

‘You said,’ frowned Perry. ‘Thank you.’

‘So you know everything there is, in the files?’

The frown remained. ‘Yes?’

‘So what’s missing?’

Perry stiffened, affronted. ‘There’s nothing missing!’

‘I’m not suggesting you overlooked something: it’s complete. It’s me. Us. It’s probably there, staring us in the face, but we can’t see it. I can’t see it.’

Perry looked curiously at the younger man. Hall’s first case, he remembered. ‘There’s nothing I haven’t pointed up that would help us,’ he insisted.

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ retreated Hall. ‘Maybe I’m trying too hard.’

‘Maybe you are,’ agreed the solicitor.

It was only a short walk across the expansive car park to the back entrance to El Vino and Perry was at their regular corner table when Bert Feltham panted down the stairs. Perry waited for the man to recover his breath, pouring the Montrachet without speaking.

‘All set?’ demanded the chief clerk, finally. Today’s outfit was a dove-grey suit, with a tie to match worn with a black shirt. He looked like a Mafia capo from Central Casting.

‘As ready as we’ll ever be. Medical experts are being a bloody nuisance, but that’s not unusual. Won’t come out positively to say she’s mad.’

‘Persuaded her to plead guilty?’

‘Not yet. That’s Jeremy’s job. I’ve done all the other donkey work. Lomax was a bastard. Prosecution’s got a good case for a woman scorned.’

Feltham ordered a double portion of potatoes with his beef, looking pointedly at the white wine.

‘Margaux?’ suggested Perry.

‘Good choice,’ accepted Feltham. ‘How’s Hall shaped up, overall?’

‘Very well. I’m impressed, genuinely. Had a funny five minutes this morning, about something that we’ve overlooked but then he agreed himself that he was trying too hard and whatever he thought it was didn’t exist. We’ve left the magistrates now. It’s trial time.’

‘When?’

‘Soon as we get a date and a judge.’

‘Think she’d be persuaded to plead?’

‘She was pretty firm at the beginning but she’s gone downhill a lot since. Shouldn’t be a problem.’

‘All done in a day?’

‘Three at the most.’