‘One final question, Professor Bamford: in the other two cases, to be fair, did the juries’ verdicts support your interpretation of the evidence?’
‘They did, Sir Toby.’
‘You will recall, Professor Bamford, that the Crown made great play of the fact that in the past your evidence has been crucial in cases such as these, in fact - to quote Mr Lennox verbatim - “the decisive factor in proving the Crown’s case”. However, we now learn that in the three cases in which a gun was found in the victim’s hand, you have a 33 per cent failure rate as an expert witness.’
Harry didn’t comment, as Sir Toby knew he wouldn’t.
‘And as a result, an innocent man spent eleven years in jail.’ Sir Toby switched his attention to the jury and said quietly, ‘Professor Bamford, let us hope that an innocent woman isn’t about to spend the rest of her life in jail because of the opinion of an “expert witness” who manages to get it wrong 33 per cent of the time.’
Mr Lennox rose to his feet to protest at the treatment the witness was being made to endure, and Mr Justice Fairborough wagged an admonishing finger. ‘That was an improper comment, Sir Toby,’ he warned.
But Sir Toby’s eyes remained on the jury, who no longer hung on the expert witness’s every word, but were now whispering among themselves.
Sir Toby slowly resumed his seat. ‘No more questions, m’lud.’
‘Damn good shot,’ said Toby, as Harry’s ball disappeared into the cup on the eighteenth hole. ‘Lunch on me again, I fear. You know, I haven’t beaten you for weeks, Harry.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that, Toby,’ said his golfing partner, as they headed back to the clubhouse. ‘How would you describe what you did to me in court on Thursday?’
‘Yes, I must apologise for that, old chap,’ said Toby. ‘Nothing personal, as you well know. Mind you, it was damn stupid of Lennox to select you as his expert witness in the first place.’
‘I agree,’ said Harry. ‘I did warn them that no one knew me better than you, but Lennox wasn’t interested in what happened on the North-Eastern Circuit.’
‘I wouldn’t have minded so much,’ said Toby, as he took his place for lunch, ‘if it hadn’t been for the fact …’
‘Hadn’t been for the fact … ?’ Harry repeated.
‘That in both cases, the one in Leeds and the one at the Bailey, any jury should have been able to see that my clients were as guilty as sin.’
THE ENDGAME
CORNELIUS BARRINGTON hesitated before he made his next move. He continued to study the board with great interest. The game had been going on for over two hours, and Cornelius was confident that he was only seven moves away from checkmate. He suspected that his opponent was also aware of the fact.
Cornelius looked up and smiled across at Frank Vintcent, who was not only his oldest friend but had over the years, as the family solicitor, proved to be his wisest adviser. The two men had many things in common: their age, both over sixty; their background, both middle-class sons of professionals; they had been educated at the same school and at the same university. But there the similarities ended. For Cornelius was by nature an entrepreneur, a risk-taker, who had made his fortune mining in South Africa and Brazil. Frank was a solicitor by profession, cautious, slow to decision, fascinated by detail.
Cornelius and Frank also differed in their physical appearance. Cornelius was tall, heavily built, with a head of silver hair many men half his age would have envied. Frank was slight, of medium stature, and apart from a semicircle of grey tufts, was almost completely bald.
Cornelius had been widowed after four decades
of happy married life. Frank was a confirmed bachelor.
Among the things that had kept them close friends was their enduring love of chess. Frank joined Cornelius at The Willows for a game every Thursday evening, and the result usually remained in the balance, often ending in stalemate.
The evening always began with a light supper, but only one glass of wine each would be poured - the two men took their chess seriously - and after the game was over they would return to the drawing room to enjoy a glass of brandy and a cigar; but tonight Cornelius was about to shatter that routine.
‘Congratulations,’ said Frank, looking up from the board. ‘I think you’ve got me beaten this time. I’m fairly sure there’s no escape.’ He smiled, placed the red king flat on the board, rose from his place and shook hands with his closest friend.
‘Let’s go through to the drawing room and have a brandy and a cigar,’ suggested Cornelius, as if it were a novel idea.
‘Thank you,’ said Frank as they left the study and strolled towards the drawing room. As Cornelius passed the portrait of his son Daniel, his heart missed a beat - something that hadn’t changed for the past twenty-three years. If his only child had lived, he would never have sold the company.
As they entered the spacious drawing room the two men were greeted by a cheerful fire blazing in the grate, which had been laid by Cornelius’s housekeeper Pauline only moments after she had finished clearing up their supper. Pauline also believed in the virtues of routine, but her life too was about to be shattered.
‘I should have trapped you several moves earlier,’ said Cornelius, ‘but I was taken by surprise when you captured my queen’s knight. I should have seen that coming,’ he added, as he strolled over to the sideboard. Two large cognacs and two Monte Cristo cigars had been laid out on a silver tray. Cornelius picked up the cigar-clipper and passed it across to his friend, then struck a match, leaned over and watched Frank puff away until he was convinced his cigar was alight. He then completed the same routine himself before sinking into his favourite seat by the fire.
Frank raised his glass. ‘Well played, Cornelius,’ he said, offering a slight bow, although his host would have been the first to acknowledge that over the years his guest was probably just ahead on points.
Cornelius allowed Frank to take a few more puffs before shattering his evening. Why hurry? After all, he had been preparing for this moment for several weeks, and was unwilling to share the secret with his oldest friend until everything was in place.