Lynda La Plante - The Legacy

Evelyne lay wide awake in bed. She was finding sleep hard to come by. She tossed and turned, and began to think of the village, her Da, which made her keenly aware of her loneliness. She could see Hugh’s big face, and would have liked more than anything to be wrapped in his strong arms. She was twenty-four years old, and had never known what it was like to be loved by a man.

SMETHURST and Sir Charles sat at a small corner table in the restaurant of the Feathers public house. Smethurst was slicing his cheese with delicate precision. The port was brought to the table. Smethurst wiped his mouth with his stained napkin, lifted his glass in a toast.

‘Well, here’s to this afternoon’s proceedings.’ Sir Charles sipped his port, noting that Smethurst had downed his glass in one. He swivelled round in his seat as Smethurst made an expansive gesture to the doorway. Standing talking to the head waiter was a stern-faced man wearing a charcoal overcoat and carrying a homburg. ‘That’s the opposition, old chap.’ Smethurst bellowed across the restaurant, ‘Jeffrey, will

you join us?’

Jeffrey Henshaw crossed to their table and introductions were made. Shaking Sir Charles’ outstretched hand, he politely refused to join them. He tapped his gold fob watch and cocked his head to one side, smiling at Smethurst, ‘I’d say you should be on the move, proceedings are due to start in fifteen

minutes.’

Smethurst laughed, stuffed another slice of cheese into his mouth, spattering Henshaw’s overcoat with flecks of it. ‘Just you remember you owe me more than one favour — Ethel Patterson, Jeffers, Ethel Patterson.’

Henshaw stepped sharply back from the table, pursed his lips and tapped his homburg against his thigh. ‘Listen, you old devil, you know what these committal proceedings are like, ruddy magistrates dither around and I’ve got a very busy day, so get those flat feet on the trot.’ He gave Sir Charles a stiff bow and strode off among the tables.

‘What was all that about?’ asked Sir Charles.

Smethurst picked up his battered briefcase. As he placed it on the table a cheese cracker crumbled under the weight.

‘I got him out of a very sticky situation with one of his clients, a Miss Patterson — very naughty lady. Well, old chap, this is it, I’ll call you soon as I have a result.’ Suddenly his manner was more subdued.

‘You sure you don’t want me along?’ asked Sir Charles.

‘Good God no, it could take hours. There’s a hellish lot of statements to be read and witnesses to call — no, no, I’ll be in touch soon as I have any news. I’m confident, we’ll get the lad off, be no problem … unless Henshaw plays a double hand, but I have a feeling he won’t. He wants the rope for Stubbs, but has to concede there’s no evidence on the first three charges. Won’t be as easy on the fourth murder rap, you can take my word for that… He’s got a long list of prosecution witnesses. Well, I’m off, thanks for a splendid lunch.’

Sir Charles watched Smethurst stride off, dropping his napkin on the floor as he squeezed among the diners. He wished he could feel as positive as his friend. Smethurst’s bulging briefcase, stuffed with what he had described as ‘hard evidence, old bean’, did not, in Sir Charles’ opinion, sound good enough to get Freedom Stubbs off three of the four murder charges filed against him.

Sir Charles had underestimated his old friend. Even Henshaw was slightly taken aback at the amount of paperwork and obvious private detection Smethurst had managed to do. Henshaw, of course, had access to the statements, but still he was impressed, and still slightly in awe of the man he had learned so much from.

Smethurst held forth, resting his elbow on top of a mound of papers. More and more were produced and waved around. The row of magistrates listened intently as Smethurst proved without a doubt that Freedom Stubbs could not have committed the three murders that occurred in Cardiff. Statements from witnesses proved that Freedom Stubbs was not even in the vicinity of Cardiff when the killings took place. A humorous throwaway line clarified his point.

‘Unless my client had an aeroplane, which I assure you he did not have, it would have been physically impossible for him to have been in Cardiff on the days in question. I therefore submit that there is no case against Freedom Stubbs on the first three counts of murder, and ask for those counts to be dismissed in view of the evidence I have laid before you. There is no case to answer, sir.’

Smethurst burst out of the court. Henshaw, close on his heels, held the door open to allow his colleague to exit without getting either his briefcase or coat caught. ‘Round one to you, old chap … but I guarantee your man will swing.’

Smethurst hailed a taxi and offered Henshaw a lift, but it was refused. The taxi passed him as he walked briskly down the street swinging his immaculate briefcase. Smethurst leaned back, patted his own bulging case and smiled. He had done his work for the dismissal of the first three counts, but Henshaw had established a prima facie case for the fourth murder. He was pleased with the dismissal and knew he had done well. He sucked in his breath. The contest between himself and Henshaw would certainly be interesting.

Sir Charles received the news of the dismissal by telephone. He wasn’t elated, more relieved. Smethurst assured him he was confident the trial would prove Stubbs not guilty of the fourth murder, and confirmed that he was well ahead with his preparations. They discussed expenses — Smethurst did not come cheap. There was no question of it all being done on an ‘old friends’ basis, Smethurst was one of the best barristers in Wales, and his fees reflected the fact … perhaps they were just a little higher \a149than usual but it was, after all, a difficult case.

As Smethurst replaced the receiver he rested his feet on his untidy desk. The first three young miners had all been found with their hands tied behind their backs, their throats slit from right to left. In all three cases they had been marked with a cross on their foreheads made with their own blood. Willie Thomas had been killed in exactly the same way, the blood mark on his forehead. Smethurst chewed his lower lip. He had been able to prove without a doubt that Stubbs could not have committed the first three killings … but Willie Thomas was different. Smethurst prowled his office’s worn carpet, ruffled his hair. Freedom Stubbs had been there, in the village. He knew how very important a witness Evelyne Jones was. Maybe Freedom didn’t knife Willie Thomas, but it was going to be a hell of a job proving he hadn’t had any part at all in the horrific murder. Smethurst’s strong evidence, Freedom’s alibi, depended on the jury believing he was actually with Evelyne at the time of the boy’s death. Miss Jones had a lot on her shoulders.

Evelyne tried to understand, but Sir Charles had to repeat himself twice and was losing patience. The first three charges of murder had been dropped, he explained. ‘Quite simply, Smethurst was able to prove there was no case against him. But he has been committed for the murder of William Thomas.’

‘When? Will it be soon? How long will he have to wait in gaol?’

‘Until the trial, gel, until the trial. Now we don’t want you going to see him, you must have no contact with him, is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You are a very important witness, and you must behave impeccably until the trial. You can spend the time getting yourself some nice dresses, subdued, nothing too flashy, gloves and what have you, perhaps a hat…’

Evelyne accepted the money His Lordship gave her, money to pay her hotel bill, and for her clothes. Left alone, she couldn’t stop her hands shaking, she repeated over and over to herself that the charges had been dropped. What she couldn’t understand was why, if they believed her evidence, was Freedom still having to go on trial at all.