Heaven's Door (21 page)

DI Waters stepped down.

“Thank you, Detective Inspector,” said the judge. “The court will adjourn until 10.00 am tomorrow when we will hear the case for the Defence.”

“The court will rise.”

Justice Pendle swept from the room.

Week 9; Friday, 22 May…

Shortly after 10.00 am, in a packed and expectant courtroom, Lorna Prentiss rose to begin her attempt to save her two clients. They were both dressed smartly, as before, in the same lounge suits and Jack was now also wearing a tie.

“These two young men are well educated individuals from good families,” she said. “They have no history at all of ever stepping outside the law; of breaking the rules of our society. Academically, they have demonstrated a high level of commitment to their education and their personal development. Nothing in their behaviour or demeanour over the past weeks and months and years is consistent with the serious crime of which they find themselves accused.

“Where was the opportunity, or the
need
, for such activities? Who are their contacts higher in the chain? Police intelligence is extensive on the sources and suppliers of the types of drugs involved, so why are they unable to make a link between the defendants and a likely source. The street value of the drugs confiscated from both houses was in excess of a hundred thousand pounds. Where did they get the means to acquire them, and where is the money from sales already made?

“No-one has provided answers to those questions. The very proof of their innocence lies in the
absence
of those answers and of any evidence pointing them towards such actions. In fact, the absolute normality of their lives is the most compelling piece of evidence you will hear in the whole of this trial. Today, I will be calling a number of witnesses to testify to that fact and they, I have no doubt, will convince you that the defendants ware simply not capable of perpetrating this crime.”

She turned to the judge, who nodded to proceed.

“Call Mr Terry Patterson.”

A tall thin man in his late forties with wiry red-brown hair and a long pointed goatee beard took the stand. He wore a purple corduroy sports jacket over a black polo shirt and faded blue jeans.

“Mr Patterson, could you please tell the court your position and places of work.”

“Yes, certainly, I am the Higher Education Art Coordinator for the Guildford area and as part of that role I teach at a number of colleges, including Kingfield College in Woking, where Jack Tomlinson-Brown is a student.”

“Thank you, and can you tell us about Jack in terms of his time spent as a student at the college.”

“I've known Jack now for nearly three years. He is extremely talented – a natural at his chosen subject. I see him three times a week. Jack is a diligent worker with, I understand, an excellent attendance record. He completed and passed the applied A level in Art and Design last year with a double A grade and is currently taking a one-year extension to an A level in Fine Art which, I believe, is his main strength.”

“Thank you, Mr Patterson. You are aware of Jack's circumstances, of course. Is there anything in Jack's background or behaviour that would lead you to suspect he was in any way capable of doing what he is accused of doing?”

“I am absolutely certain he could not have done this. In addition to his academic ability he is invariably the life and soul of the class – sometimes a bit too much so,” he added, drawing an appreciative smile from Lorna. “There is no way he could be guilty of such a crime.”

“Thank you, Mr Patterson. What proportion of your students – approximately – choose to do an extra year once they have completed their A level studies?”

“Oh, very few – probably less than five percent, I'd say. It's quite rare. Most of them can't get out of the door fast enough!”

“So it seems unlikely, doesn't it, if he had such a lucrative, albeit illegal, business going on outside the college, that he would choose to take up his time with more college work?”

“Certainly very unlikely.”

“Thank you, Mr Patterson. No further questions.”

Justice Pendle nodded to Lorna then to Jeremy to invite his cross examination. The Prosecution counsel rose very slowly and walked forward to stand close to the jury facing the witness.

“Mr Patterson, how long have you been teaching art – not just in your present capacity, but overall?”

“Just over twenty-three years.”

“And during that time, I guess you must have taught hundreds – more likely thousands – of students.”

“Yes, I should imagine so.”

“And how many of those were drug dealers?”

Terry Patterson's eyes shot wide open. “Well, I've no idea. None I should think.”

“But you
do
think you would recognise one if you saw one?”

“Well, I'm not sure. But what I can say is that Jack certainly doesn't fit what I would
imagine
a drug dealer would be like.”

Jeremy let the statement hang in the air for a few moments. He looked across at the jury and shook his head before speaking.

“I am sure
imagination
is a great asset in art, Mr Patterson, but it's not much use in a court of law, I'm afraid. Let me ask you another question – approximately how many hours a week are you in contact with Mr Tomlinson-Brown?”

“Well, I can tell you exactly. Two hours – that's three periods including one tutorial.”

“So, if my calculations are correct, that leaves just one hundred and sixty-six hours every week during which you are
not
in contact with him.”

Lorna stood up quickly. “M'lord, Mr Patterson has not been asked here to account for the defendant's movements, but to deliver a character reference, as the Prosecution knows. I believe he has done that very effectively in spite of the attempts to trivialise his testimony.”

“I am merely pointing out, m'lord, that Mr Patterson only observes the defendant for a very short period of time each week in a very structured environment and hence …”

“Ms Prentiss. I take your point,” said Miles Pendle, “but I also recognise that of the Crown as well, particularly in relation to the specific circumstances under which the witness has observed the defendant. You may proceed, Mr Forsythe.”

“Thank you, m'lord. I have no further questions.”

Mr Patterson left the witness box.

“I'd like to call Mr Tariq Shah to the stand,” said Lorna.

The man who strode confidently into the room was the diametric opposite of the previous witness in appearance. Below average height, he wore a white shirt under a charcoal grey suit jacket, both items of clothing stretched to their limit by his bulky frame. His thin black hair was combed straight back and held in place by gel.

“Mr Shah, could you tell the court your current occupation and how you come to know Jason Midanda?”

“I am Senior IT tutor at Kingfield College in Woking, and Jason is one of my students.”

“Thanks you, Mr Shah. Could you tell the court what you know about Jason, please?”

“Jason Midanda is, quite simply, an exceptional student – the best I have ever taught in over fourteen years in this field. He has an almost uncanny aptitude for the subject and I have no doubt will have a brilliant career in any branch of information and communication technology he chooses. In this, his final A level year, he has also been broadening his experience by taking tutorials with groups of first year A level students and giving talks to the after-school IT club for years ten and eleven.”

“Thank you, Mr Shah. Very comprehensive. And based on your knowledge of this young man, do you think it is at all possible that he could commit the crime of which he has been accused.”

“I'm not sure it would be accurate to say it was not
possible
, but I would be astonished if it were true, not just on the basis of his academic prowess and his very high earning potential in this field, but because of the person he is, a supportive, caring individual who will always find time to help others.”

“Mr Shah, have you had any experience with drug users and dealers in the past?”

“Yes, I used to be a volunteer counsellor for drug addicts with an off-shoot of the Samaritans, working with people who were trying to fight their addiction. I didn't interview any dealers, of course, but you got to know a lot about them through the users – you know, how they would prey on people's dependency.”

“So you do have a working knowledge – albeit second hand – of what dealers are like?”

Lorna looked across at Jeremy and then the judge.

“Yes, I think so, and they are nothing like Jason Midanda.”

“Thank you very much, Mr Shah. No further questions.”

Lorna sat down as Jeremy got to his feet and strolled to his favourite position near the jury.

“Mr Shah, approximately how many hours each week are you in contact with Mr Midanda?”

Lorna looked across at the judge and raised her eyebrows with the unspoken question. Miles smiled down at her, shaking his head.

“I see him every day except Monday” said Mr Shah. “I would say, on average, around eight to ten hours a week.”

“Thank you, Mr Shah. No further questions.”

Judge Pendle leaned towards Lorna.

“Ms Prentiss, how many more character witnesses are you planning to call?”

“Three more, m'lord. Each of these will be providing testimony on behalf of
both
defendants.”

“Very well, please proceed.”

The first of these witnesses, Jonnie Denver, the landlord of the Cross Keys pub in Woking, described two friendly, popular individuals who never caused trouble, were never rowdy or difficult or got into fights. Always paid up for drinks without any hassle. Were ideal customers, in fact, and were certainly never seen talking in a clandestine way to anyone else. In fact, he said, the establishment had a strong policy for identifying and banning any dealers who tried to ply their illegal trade on the premises.

“Mr Denver,” said Jeremy, on cross-examination. “How many hours a week on average are you in a position to observe the defendants?”

“No idea,” said the landlord, “but easily enough to be certain I'm right about them.”

Miles Pendle smiled across at Lorna as Mr Denver stepped down.

“I'd like next to call Mr Antonio Rocco.”

A heavy-set man in a cream suit and open-necked floral shirt took the stand. His Latin features and dark complexion were accentuated by long jet-black hair which was combed straight back.

“Mr Rocco,” said Lorna, “could you tell the court your occupation, please?”

“I am the owner and manager of Rocco's Ball Room, Snooker and Pool Club, in Leatherhead.”

“And how do you come to know the two defendants?”

“Well, they are regular customers and I've known them for quite a few years.”

“And, in your own words, how would you describe these two young men?”

“Good kids, lots of friends. Polite, courteous, always pay on the spot for drinks and for the tables. Both good players, actually.”

“Do you ever have any trouble at your place, Mr Rocco? You know, arguments, fights – that sort of thing.”

“Nothing excessive. I suppose I have my fair share. But it's a good, safe place,” he added quickly. “We soon sort things out if there's a problem.”

“Have either of the defendants ever been involved in any trouble?”

“No, Never.”

“Never?”

“Never. That's the truth. As I said, they're good kids. If all my customers were like them, I wouldn't have to use all that Grecian 2000.” He pushed his hand back through his hair and smiled at the jury, extracting some laughter.

“Thank you, Mr Rocco,” said Lorna, smiling. “Just one more question. Do you have a policy on the dealing of banned substances on your premises?”

“It's simply not allowed, if that's what you mean by a policy. I employ a number of security people part of whose job it is to identify and eject anyone even suspected of dealing in the Ball Room. As far as it's possible to say, it just doesn't happen at Rocco's.”

“Thank you. No further questions.”

Jeremy rose and walked slowly across to stand next to the jury.

“How many times a week do the defendants attend your club, Mr Rocco?” asked Jeremy.

“It varies. Pretty much every week though; sometimes just once, sometimes a couple of nights. Sometimes on Wednesday afternoons as well.”

“And is the club doing well? Are you busy most of the time?”

“
All
the time, actually. Manic most nights. Usually four on each table and punters waiting.”

“And how many tables do you have?”

“Four snooker and six pool – ten all together.”

“So that's forty people playing and – say – forty more waiting. Would that be about right?”

“Yes that's …”

“And I assume you get quite a lot of custom from people just there to have a few drinks – I mean, not playing at all?”

“Yes, some people just use it as a pub. There's a large lounge area as well.”

“So at any one time you might have – would you say – over a hundred people in the club?”

“Easily …but why…?”

“Well, Mr Rocco, it seems to me that the defendants could only ever be a couple of people in a large crowd during their one or two visits a week, rather than people you could observe closely enough and for long enough to make a statement about their character. Isn't that right?”

Jeremy glanced across at Lorna.

“Well, you get a sort of feel for who's okay and who isn't,” said the witness.

“A sort of feel,” Jeremy repeated, slowly, shaking his head. “Thank you, Mr Rocco, no further questions.” He went back to his seat, crossing his arms.

As Antonio Rocco left the stand, Tom sat, head in hands, staring down at his feet, thinking just how light-weight such a defence was sounding against the volume of hard evidence which had gone before.

“Just one more witness, m'lord,” said Lorna.

Tom's head shot up and his eyes bulged in disbelief as the name was called out. He looked angrily across at Daniel who had already turned and was waiting to receive his glare. The lawyer nodded to him, vigorously, trying to convey as much assurance as possible. A tall good-looking young man in an expensive sports jacket and designer jeans entered the court room, turning to Jack and Jason with a grim smile and a slight raising of his right hand in a thumbs-up gesture. He took the stand and then the oath.