False Witness (38 page)

“My name is Richard Kingsley and I live at the Manor, Stonebury,” he said without my prompting.

I did not know where to start. We had not discussed or rehearsed this. The plan was that he would
not
testify. I tried to think where I could safely tread, but there were so many areas to avoid.

“Mr. Fawley,” said Hardcastle, “I take it you have
some
questions for your client? You’ve had questions for everyone else.”

One or two jurors laughed. That was a bad sign. No matter how brilliant your destruction of the prosecution case, the trial
inevitably turns on the performance of the accused man. Kingsley had taken his future in his hands.

I looked at him, holding his note and spoke very slowly, “Did you kill Molly Summers?” I asked, not knowing the answer.

“No. I did not.”

I glanced at the note, digested its contents, was appalled and saw his eyes flash. I said, “That’s all I want to ask you.”

I sat down.

All around me there was furor in court. Hardcastle screamed for silence and Justine was thrown. Everyone had expected me to
be hours with Kingsley. But they had not read his note.

Justine began to cross-examine but was clearly off-balance. She was thrown even more when I whispered to her, “Why did you
represent Sarah Chapple?” She did not reply. She continued to cross-examine Richard Kingsley and I did not listen. I did not
dare listen, for I glanced again at the note.

I defy all counsel, all redress

But that which ends all counsel, True redress, Death.

O amiable lovely Death
.

I will kiss thy detestable bones
,

and be a carrion Monster like thyself
.

He included the correct citation from Shakespeare, but I wasn’t interested. In my brief, I found a copy of the typed note
from the first trial. The typeface on both notes was the same. I knew that, after all, Kingsley had typed the note that drove
the girl mad.

“And so do I understand your evidence to come to this?” Justine asked after twenty minutes’ sparring, where Kingsley had the
upper hand. “You say you were not in Stonebury on the night of the murder?”

“No.”

“You were with an acquaintance of yours?”

“Yes. In the next village.”

“And he is Philip Templeman?”

“Yes.”

“Is Mr. Templeman here today?”

“No.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you heard from him?”

“Not recently.”

“Can you say if he is alive?”

“To be honest, no,” said Kingsley.

Of course, I knew that Templeman had tried to attack me in Nethersmere Woods and seemed pretty much alive then.

Justine continued, “The truth is you’ve lied to us.”

“Is that the truth?” he replied.

“And you’ve lied because you know you murdered Molly Summers.”

“So you keep saying.”

“And you
were
at Stonebury that evening.”

“No.”

“Sure?”

“Quite sure.”

Justine turned toward the door and Payne opened it. Yet no one entered. “You see, Mr. Kingsley, you were seen at Stonebury
that night.”

I objected. “Your Honor,
none
of the prosecution witnesses has testified at
this
trial that they saw the defendant at Stonebury. None of them.” Of course, the jury did not know that the girl had changed
her story about this.

Justine ignored me. “Weren’t you seen by
this
person?”

The door was still open, but no one came through it. I again objected, wondering whether it was going to be Philip Templeman,
who was down as a witness for the defense.

“Why don’t you start telling us the truth, Mr. Kingsley,” Justine said, “before it’s too late.”

I was still on my feet and was about to object for a third time when, with little mechanical steps and a plastic shopping
bag, a woman walked through the court doors.

She said, “I haven’t got long. I must be off.”

It was Vera Cavely.

I
KNEW THAT MY OBJECTIONS, LIKE THE REST OF THE
case, would be hopeless. Vera Cavely was made to leave court again as the jury was ushered out, all trying to stare at the
funny little woman muttering to herself.

Hardcastle said, “This lady is not on the witness list, Miss Wright. And you closed your case last night.”

“All true,” said Justine. “We didn’t know until late last night that she would be prepared to testify.”

“But it’s too late. You can’t call her now. It’s not right to spring witnesses on the defense.”

“I’m sorry, Your Honor. I haven’t made myself clear. We
did
disclose her details to the defense.”

“You
did
?” Hardcastle looked at me. “But the defense would be entitled to have an opportunity to speak to her. They haven’t had that.”

“Haven’t they?” said Justine, smiling as she sat down.

“What do you say, Mr. Fawley?”

There was little point denying the truth. I could not admit that I had spoken to Vera Cavely personally—barristers are not
supposed to talk to witnesses. So I merely said, “The defense has interviewed her. However, I still object to the prosecution
re-opening its case.”

Justine got up. “I don’t want to re-open. She is a rebuttal witness.”

I looked at her. “Rebuttal of what?”

Justine said, “The alibi notice says the defendant”—she paused to read it verbatim—” ‘the defendant was not at the stone circle
at the time of the murder.’ We now hear, for the
first
time, Mr. Kingsley was not in Stonebury at all. This evidence rebuts that new contention.”

I still objected but my heart was no longer in it.

“You may proceed, Miss Wright,” the judge ruled. “Bring back the jury.”

Vera Cavely was made to stand at the back of the court. She was told repeatedly by Norman not to speak but she kept asking
him the way to Dover.

Justine continued her cross-examination. “Do you recognize that lady, Mr. Kingsley?”

“Yes, I do.”

Much to Norman’s relief, Vera was allowed to leave court.

“Were you in fact in Stonebury on the night of the murder?”

“Yes, I was.”

“So earlier you
lied
on oath?”

“Yes, I did.”

“You don’t have much respect for the Bible?”

“Not much.”

“What were you doing that night?”

“I saw Miss Cavely in Stonebury and she told me that there was to be some kind of… what you might call an initiation ceremony.
You know, a local custom, that kind of thing.”

“But there was a murder?”

“So it appears. But I don’t know about that. All I wanted to do was to see the ceremony, it was a bit of research. I had an
idea to write a novel about a village, its customs, its people. It was completely innocent.”

“Did you see Molly Summers?”

“I saw her being led from the village. That’s all. Then I went home.”

“Why?” asked Justine.

“It started to rain. I wasn’t very well.”

There was a tut of disbelief from the grandmother. The taxi-driver said something to the next juror.

“All you wanted,” Justine said, “let me understand this, was to do some research for a novel.”

“Yes.”

“That you never wrote?”

“That I never wrote.”

Justine picked up a book. “I imagine you are familiar with the work of other authors, and not only those in your field?”

“Of course.”

“For example, do you know the work of Peter Dyson?”

“I don’t see the relevance—”

“Just answer the question,” hissed the judge.

“Yes,” said Kingsley. “I know his work, but can I just say—”

“No,” said Justine. “You can’t just say. You’re going to listen while I read. This is the opening of Dyson’s earliest novel,
In the Shaddowes
.”

As Justine opened the hardback with its dark shiny cover, I got to my feet. “Your Honor, this is utterly irrelevant.”

“The relevance may become clear,” Justine replied, “if m’friend is quiet for a moment.”

“I warned you, Mr. Fawley.” Hilary Hardcastle was delighted. “I told you, what’s sauce for the goose—I’ll give Miss Wright
the same latitude I gave you.”

Justine cleared her throat and once more put on her elder-sister voice. The whole court seemed transported to a lonely village.
She read slowly but with purpose.

And so, my Friends, let us beginne. It is the Wisdome of a Corrupte Age that Darknesse is to Light, what Deathe is to that
Thing we call Life itself. There is not the One without that you must have the Other. And more: they lend a Forme and a Morality
between them.

So as I write this poor Accounte in my final Journal, there is an Eccho in my Mind. For amongst the Shaddowes of my Past,
I see a Face. It is the Face of a young Wretch.

I still see it before me—and perhaps allwaies will?—until I reach my Ende in this Rotten Chamber. For I touched her with Darknesse.
And her little Life rose like a Smoak from the Stones and hid the very Sunne.

When Justine had finished, she looked at the defendant who had not seemed to have listened. “As a novelist yourself, Mr. Kingsley,
would you say that is Dyson’s best work?”

“It’s not bad,” he replied haughtily. “A bit melodramatic. But in my opinion he can do better.”

“Is Mr. Dyson outside court today?”

“No.”

“Are you in communication with him?”

“That’s a difficult question to answer.”

“Is he going to give evidence in this trial?”

I didn’t object. The case had moved beyond objections and I felt exhausted. Kingsley shuffled in his wheelchair miserably.

“Where is Peter Dyson today?” asked Justine.

Kingsley waved his hand.

“Where?” Justine repeated. “Where?”

“Here,” Kingsley finally said.

“In court?”

“Yes.”

And, of course, it was Richard Kingsley himself. I wondered how I could have been so foolish to have missed it. What had Kingsley
said in Battersea Prison when I asked him about Dyson’s book?

You don’t read this rubbish, do you
?

No, I don’t really read it
.

“The truth is, Mr. Kingsley,” Justine continued, moving in for the kill, “the truth is, you wrote this novel before Molly
Summers was murdered, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And on the night of her death, you weren’t doing some research?”

“No.”

“You were living out your fantasy, weren’t you?”

Richard Kingsley did not reply.

T
HE ONLY EVIDENCE THAT REMAINED WAS
V
ERA
Cavely. There was very little I could do to challenge her, since Kingsley had admitted that he was in Stonebury.

Justine rattled through the woman’s testimony, aware, no doubt, that Vera was itching to find the M20. Eventually Justine
asked, “What did Mr. Kingsley say to you on the night?”

“He asked me where they’s going to take the girl and I says, The stones. Then he asked me, When? And I says, When they’s good
and ready.”

“Do you have any doubt that you saw Richard Kingsley on the night of the murder?”

“What’s I just been saying? I dunno why young folks don’t listen anymore.” Vera turned to Hilary Hardcastle who nodded with
approval at the last sentiment. “Them youngsters, Judge. Never listens. I must have asked them one hundred times to fetch
me carburetor. And do they? Do they heck.”

“Yes, wait there please,” said Justine.

I rose to my feet not knowing what I was going to say. In reality, I didn’t want to cross-examine Vera at all, it was too
risky. But complete silence would appear as a sign of weakness to the jury.

I took a deep breath and began, “Miss Cavely, you didn’t see Mr. Kingsley at the stones that night?”

“No.”

“And you didn’t see what happened at the stones?”

“Did I says that?”

“No. But it follows from your evidence.”

“Follows where?”

“Just follows—oh, never mind,” I said. “You yourself were not at the stones?”