Brian Freemantle - A Mind to Kill

Despite the woolly-headed feeling – and not knowing then that she would be confronting Rebecca – Jennifer had tried as hard with her appearance as the previous day, although she accepted, bitterly, just how far short she was of how she’d looked in the pictures the newspapers had obtained.

She’d bribed her way into the bathroom again, carrying today’s grey suit and black shirt which wouldn’t so easily show her sweating or slobbering, and not just to prepare herself behind a locked door but to douche herself from whatever she’d been subjected to, by the matron. There was a sanitary pad dispenser and Jennifer took one and lined her pants, against Jane’s threat to make her disgrace herself in the dock. She’d also brought several handkerchiefs, two of which Ann now carried escorting her along the corridor, towards the dock steps. The wardress also had the two Jeremy Hall had brought for her during their brief meeting.

‘Just do your best,’ he’d said, reaching across the battered cell table to squeeze her hands lightly in encouragement.

‘I ache all over from yesterday. From trying to hold myself against what she might do.’

‘Anything?’ He was glad Perry wasn’t in the cell, with his unnecessarily impatient sighs. There was no harm in humouring her: in trying to help her through. Jarvis had been furious at the refusal to alter her plea. He was going to be even more of a cantankerous bastard than he had the previous day.

‘She’s been humming, like she’s pleased with herself.’

‘ I am pleased with myself. Every reason to be. But what’s all this band-holding? Someone else trying to get inside your pants? Going to get crowded in there, isn’t it? ’

‘Just try your best,’ repeated Hall, at a loss for anything else to say. ‘That’s all you can do.’

‘I am making myself look a fool, aren’t I?’ That was at the brink of despair.

‘I could go back to the judge, even now,’ offered Hall, hopefully.

‘No!’ she’d determined, pulling back. ‘No!’

And now she was walking towards the bear pit, to be taunted and prodded and reduced to a sniggering, pitiful joke. At the bottom of the dock steps Jennifer hesitated, momentarily refusing – frightened – to ascend.

‘Up we go, love. Come on,’ urged Ann.

‘I don’t want to.’

‘You haven’t got a choice. Come on.’

With leaden feet, at last beginning to feel the Librium, Jennifer climbed, aware of the buzzed expectation as she got to the court level. As she became visible the noise grew, an excited, mob-like sound. Probably just like a bear-pit anticipation, she thought. Or maybe the entry into a Roman arena of a victim who didn’t stand a chance of escape.

‘ You don’t. I keep telling you that. I don’t think we’ll make a fool of you just yet, not until Rebecca. Let’s keep them in suspense .’

Rebecca Nicholls looked sensational and Jane said, ‘ Holy shit, she’s fantastic! And dressed to make you look a klutz.’

Rebecca’s hair, a darker, artificial blond against Jennifer’s natural colour, was cut severely into her neck, around which there was just a single strand of plaited gold. The dress was black and figure-hugging, belted again by a gold strand. She took the oath with her left hand resting prominently on the edge of the witness-box, displaying on her engagement finger a diamond ring that was her only jewellery. Having returned the Bible to the usher she began playing with the ring with her other hand, drawing attention to it. She stood staring defiantly at Jennifer, the expression carefully balanced between haughtiness and contemptuous revulsion.

‘ Great tits. Gerald always was a tit man, wasn’t he? That and cunt-sucking. You think he did that with her? Sure he did. She probably gave him head, too. Nose to tail, like a couple of vacuum cleaners.’

Jennifer held herself in her rigid pose, gripping the seat edge, legs entwined. The press concentration was entirely upon Rebecca, the same artists as the previous day sketching rapidly.

Keflin-Brown was on his feet, the consummate ringmaster about to present his best act. The barrister took Rebecca smoothly through her Euro-Corps career, demanding suddenly: ‘And now you’re acknowledged its leading trader?’

The question seemed to surprise everyone as much as Rebecca. She said, ‘I’ve achieved the highest commission over three successive years, yes.’

‘As Mrs Lomax did, before her marriage?’

‘I fail to see the relevance of that question,’ protested Hall, quickly standing.

‘A question of resentment, jealousy, at being replaced in every way?’ suggested the older barrister.

‘I see no problem with it…’ began the judge and then ‘Oh, Mr Hall, really!’

Ann thrust a handkerchief into Jennifer’s hand. As she mopped her face she saw Rebecca look at her, lip curled in disgust. Now her make-up would be smeared, Jennifer thought.

‘ Like a clown’s,’ agreed Jane.

Jennifer felt her body being thrown to the left and tensed as hard as she could against it. Abruptly the sensation reversed and she went violently to the right, propelled by her own strength. Ann grabbed her. When Jennifer righted herself Rebecca was faintly smirking.

‘So you replaced Mrs Lomax in more ways than one?’ scored Keflin-Brown.

‘I became the top trader,’ said Rebecca, stiffly.

‘ On top of the boss.’

‘You were, in fact, working on the trading floor on the day of Gerald Lomax’s death?’

‘Yes.’ Some of the confidence went out of the woman.

‘Describe it to us,’ demanded Keflin-Brown.

‘It was two-forty. We’re very conscious of precise time: that’s how trades are recorded. There are clocks on the wall, directly beneath Gerry’s office, showing the time variations in every major financial centre of the World…’ began Rebecca, her presentation perfect.

‘ I bet she’s rehearsed, in front of a mirror. Look at her, performing for the newspapers! ’

It was exactly what the woman was doing, Jennifer saw. Rebecca was turned slightly away from the judge, more interested in addressing the scribbling gallery.

‘… I wasn’t aware of Mrs Lomax coming out of the elevator on the mezzanine floor above, but I was conscious of other traders looking up so I did and I saw her…’

‘… Through the all-glass design of the office?’

‘Yes.’

‘You were able to see everything, in perfect and clear detail?’

‘Yes. As she walked, Mrs Lomax was tapping her fingers against the corridor wall. That’s what attracted the people who saw her first.’

‘Which hand was she tapping with?’

‘Her right. It had to be, because of the approach from the elevator.’

‘Where was her left?’

‘It appeared to be inside a large shoulder bag.’

‘Did she look down at you?’

‘Not then. She was staring straight ahead.’

‘ My little robot.’

‘Go on.’

‘I saw her walk into Gerald’s office. He got up, to meet her…’ Rebecca stopped, putting her hand to her face, shoulders heaving. There were no tears.

‘ Worth a fucking Oscar.’

‘Are you all right?’ enquired the barrister.

Rebecca nodded, without replying. After several moments she went on, quiet-voiced, ‘It was awful. Terrible. She suddenly had a knife in her hand-’

This knife?’ interrupted Keflin-Brown, gesturing the court usher, who rose and offered the plastic-enveloped exhibit to the woman. There was still blood on the blade.

Rebecca physically recoiled. ‘That looks like it.’

‘What then?’

‘I didn’t see where it came from. It was just there, in her hand

…’ Rebecca’s lip quivered. ‘She began slashing and cutting him with it. Stabbing. Wouldn’t stop…’ She broke off again, both hands up against her mouth, the left hand on the outside with the ring visible. ‘… She just wouldn’t stop! He tried to fight her but she’d stabbed him a lot. There was…’ Another gulped break. ‘… blood everywhere. Spurting. Hitting the window…’