Brian Freemantle - A Mind to Kill

‘What have you done already?’ demanded Jennifer. She gripped the edge of the sheet and then covered one hand with the other to stop the trembling. It didn’t.

‘We’re going to use Sir Richard Proudfoot’s chambers. They’re the best.’

‘Is he a QC?’

Perry hesitated, with a choice of reply to a question he hadn’t wanted. ‘Proudfoot is, yes.’

Jennifer caught the qualification. ‘He is going to represent me, isn’t he? Proudfoot himself?’ She felt her eyes closing, despite herself, and stretched her face to keep them open, distorting her features and making her broken lip hurt.

‘His junior, at first. Jeremy Hall,’ avoided the solicitor. Was she consciously pulling faces at him? Fleetingly he wondered if it was safe to have the policewomen out of the ward. There didn’t seem to be anything in the room she could use as a weapon.

‘But it will be Proudfoot, at the trial?’

‘There’s some way to go before we get that far.’

‘ Can’t you see he’s lying, you stupid bitch! ’

Jennifer moved to speak but stopped, trying to assemble the words first, straightening against the pillows. ‘I am not pleading guilty. I am not guilty. And I am not mad. And I want the best, not a junior.’

‘You’ve got the best, believe me.’ It was going to become very tiresome before it was all over. Hall was going to earn the chambers’ copper brief.

‘How old is Jeremy Hall?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘How long has be belonged to the chambers?’

Perry shifted, uncomfortably. ‘They’re the best because they only take the best.’

‘I want a QC. The most foremost criminal barrister there is.’

‘ He’s going through the motions! That’s all any of them are going to do. ’

‘Things have to go in sequence, in a proper order,’ recited Perry. ‘We’ve got to have this committal hearing and the proper medical and clinical examinations and then pre-trial discussions, before we even get into a proper court. You must trust me. I won’t let you down. But I think it would be advisable to give Geoffrey Johnson your power of attorney to make sure everything goes smoothly while you’re… you’re indisposed. I’ve brought the authorizing document for you to sign.’

‘ He doesn’t give a fuck. All he wants is the money. Ask him what he’s going to charge.’

Jennifer didn’t, momentarily pleased she was able to resist. Instead she remained looking at the man, feeling the despair as well as the frustration and exhaustion. There was nothing she could do! She was helpless! She tried to bite her lip, gnawing back the whimper, forgetting the split.

‘ That’s exactly what you are, helpless! ’

Jane says I’m helpless.’

Perry sighed at the new face she was pulling but glad the delusion had taken over. ‘You’re not. You know you’re not. Your lip’s bleeding.’

‘ Listen to the lying bugger! ’

‘What about Emily?’ Jennifer was pleased again, excited that she’d managed to change the subject without Jane’s intervention. She ran her tongue over the cut.

‘We told you last night she’s all right. That the nanny is looking after her.’ Perry hadn’t bothered to check and made another reminder note to see if Geoffrey Johnson had done so. It was more Johnson’s responsibility as the family lawyer. He had to tell the man about the power of attorney, too.

‘I want Emily told that I love her. That I can’t come home at the moment but that I love her and will see her soon.’

‘ How, exactly, do you think you’re going to see her soon! ’

‘I’ll ensure she’s told that.’

Jennifer felt another dip of despair. She had no-one, she abruptly realized. No mother, no father: not alive any more. Gerald and Emily were her life: had been her life. No-one else. What about Rebecca? Rebecca was a friend. She’d help. Had to help. Stupid not to have thought of Rebecca before: been allowed to think of Rebecca before, she qualified. Abruptly she pulled herself upright, aware she’d had her head to one side again, listening. Had to stop that: stop looking mad. ‘There’s a trader at Gerald’s company. We’re friends. Rebecca Nicholls. I want her to come here. She can see Emily for me.’

Perry made a note of the name with his carefully pointed propelling pencil. ‘I’m going to oppose any transfer from here, today. The doctors don’t want it. But you’ll need clothes. Perhaps I can ask

…’ He paused. ‘Is it Miss or Mrs Nicholls?’

‘Miss.’ Where was Jane? Why wasn’t she jeering, mocking?

‘… Perhaps I can ask Miss Nicholls to do that for you, if she will.’

‘She will,’ said Jennifer, confidently. Incredible she hadn’t thought of Rebecca before. Although perhaps it wasn’t. But now she had. So it was all right. Rebecca wouldn’t treat her as if she was mad. Rebecca even believed in clairvoyants: went to fortune tellers.

There was movement from the door and people entered as a group. Ahead of those Jennifer recognized, Bentley and Rodgers and the policewomen, there was a tightly costumed, open-faced woman with rigidly permed grey hair. Slightly behind her was a distracted, disordered man who appeared to have difficulty with two files he was trying to carry in addition to a briefcase. A second man also carried a briefcase and was supervising the policewomen manoeuvring ahead of them two tables like the one that fitted over Jennifer’s bed for meals she had so far been unable to eat. A nurse and a doctor, at the very rear, carried chairs.

The room became almost impossibly overcrowded. From the rear Dr Lloyd said, ‘We could all move to somewhere larger if you like.’

The grey-haired woman looked at Perry and said, ‘I’m happy, if you are. It’s not going to take long, is it?’ The voice was the strident one of someone accustomed to being obeyed. In an apparent afterthought she turned to the distracted man and said, ‘Do you mind?’

‘It’s going to be brief, as far as I am concerned,’ agreed Perry.

The other man said, ‘Strictly formal.’ He put his files and briefcase down on one of the hospital tables and looked at Jennifer curiously for several moments before fumbling with his papers.

Perry edged around the bed to put himself beside the other man. They nodded to each other before introducing themselves by name to the woman: the distracted man’s name was Norman Burden. Despite the formality, both men seemed to know her anyway but for the benefit of the unidentified court clerk at the edge of her table the woman named herself as Gillian Heathcote. In the same breath she said briskly, ‘Right! Let’s get on with it, shall we?’

Burden immediately called Bentley, who made a movement as if coming forward but in fact didn’t, because there was no room. He recited the memorized oath and then, unprompted, said that at three-thirty the previous afternoon he had responded to a 999 call to the commodity trading offices of Enco-Corps Inc. in Leaden-hall Street. There, in a third-floor office, he had found the body of an American, Gerald James Lomax.

‘There were extensive injuries. There were at least fifteen stab wounds, as well as a number of deep cuts – slash wounds – to the face, neck and body. There had been a considerable loss of blood and the office, which I ascertained to be that of Lomax, was heavily blood-stained. Mrs Lomax, who was also bleeding extensively from knife injuries, was slumped on the floor, against an internal window. In my opinion she was close to unconsciousness. She was removed to this hospital, where I saw her at six forty-five last evening. At seven-thirty I formally charged Mrs Lomax with the murder of her husband…’ Bentley paused, looking expectantly towards Burden.

Prompted, the prosecuting solicitor said, ‘There are a number of other enquiries to be made before this matter can be proceeded with and I would formally ask, madam, for a remand in custody. I have no objection to that remand initially being here, in this hospital. I understand from the doctor he considers Mrs Lomax should remain under observation for several more days…’