Even Jarvis’s expression was less gargoyle-like when he entered and he extended it in the direction of the media and, Jennifer thought, everyone desperate to ensure their little place in the history of the supernatural bizarre. How many other people would want her autograph, like the wardresses who sat behind her now with what they regarded a safe distance between them?
‘ Why not sign for both of us? We could do double-sided photographs, Jane and Jennifer! ’
‘Jennifer and Jane,’ said Jennifer, softly but aloud, watching the shocked reaction – the awareness that she was talking to the ghost inside her – from around the court. Not funny, she corrected herself, at once: playing games, stupid, insane games.
‘ That’s it, insane! And that’s how I’ll do it: take your mind away. And you won’t even notice it until it’s too late. ’
Oddly, or perhaps befitting the complete unnaturalness of the moment – the moment a staid, undemonstrative, unhysterical British court of law legally established and recognized the existence of the supernatural – there was a strange anti-climax about the conclusion of the trial.
The scientists contributed with the formality of their findings, which they presented in microscopic detail. Anthony Billington even insisted, throughout his evidence, upon referring to DNA by its full name, deoxyribonucleic acid and, following his lead, Phylis Shipley did the same. Although there was no possibility of prosecution challenge or appeal, upon technicality, Hall allowed both to introduce charts and diagrams showing the formation and relationships between double-stranded molecules and nuclei and chromosomes, which they illustrated in hugely enlarged detail. And asked each virtually identical questions when they came to the end of their esoteric explanations.
In Jennifer’s head Jane hummed: Jennifer thought she recognized snatches of ‘Small Town Girl’.
‘ Wrong. How about “I’ve Got You Under My Skin”? ’
‘Describe, in laymen’s language, what deoxyribonucleic acid provides for you,’ Hall demanded, from the prosecution expert.
‘A unique and individual genetic picture,’ responded Billington.
‘A body fingerprint,’ suggested Phylis Shipley, when she followed into the witness-box.
‘Each different from any other?’
‘The same only in identical twins,’ qualified Billington.
‘Have you prepared photographs of the DNA you extracted from the blond hair and O Rhesus Negative blood samples found in Gerald Lomax’s office?’
Billington said, ‘Yes.’ Phylis Shipley offered sufficient individual folders for the entire jury.
In Jennifer’s head echoed the sound of a protracted yawn.
‘Did you successfully extract comparison DNA from the hair and bones in the coffin of Jane Lomax?’
‘ Ruined the spelling! ’
‘I did,’ said Billington.
‘What was that comparison?’
Although it was already obvious, there was a loud and disbelieving intake of communal breath when Billington indicated his photographic charts and said, ‘There is absolutely no doubt the hair and O Rhesus Negative blood from Gerald Lomax’s office contains deoxyribonucleic acid identical to that I found in the bodily remains in the grave of Jane Lomax.’ The sound echoed around the court again when Phylis Shipley repeated the finding.
Hall remained standing, as the woman scientist left the witness-box. He said, ‘My Lord, is it your wish that I make a submission?’
‘That will not be necessary,’ refused Jarvis. It took him only minutes to direct the jury formally to return a verdict of not guilty, to the background of rising noise throughout the court. It quietened only slightly when Jennifer was called to rise.
Jarvis said, ‘Jennifer Lomax, you leave this court having been found not guilty of the charge of murder brought against you, it having been admirably, legally and scientifically proved by your learned counsel that the crime was perpetrated not by yourself but by the spirit of Jane Lomax, who possesses your body and your mind. You are, Jennifer Lomax, a woman to be greatly pitied and in need of help that none of us can begin to understand. There was, in a certain period of British legal history, a phrase utilized at the conclusion of some murder trials that seems to me to be very fitting today… May God have mercy upon your soul.’
‘ You know what you’re going to do, now that this is all over, don’t you? ’ said Jane. ‘ You’re going to be reunited with Emily. And one day, when I feel like it, I’m going to make you kill her. Won’t that be fun? ’
Jennifer emitted an anguished, strangled scream. Ann Wardle only half-caught her so Jennifer still hit the dock floor hard but she had fainted too deeply into unconsciousness to feel the fresh pain in her ribs.
Geoffrey Johnson was waiting for Annabelle in the bar of the Wiltshire theme park when she came down from the room she was sharing with Emily. Annabelle accepted the waiting glass of wine and said, ‘She’s asleep. But I’ll need to keep checking her. She’s started wetting the bed.’
‘Kids of that age do. Mine did.’
‘Geoffrey!’ Annabelle erupted. ‘She hasn’t seen her father for months and doesn’t know what’s happened to him! Her mother tried to kill her! She thinks the bad men who invaded Hampshire wanted to take her away and to escape them she had to leave in a helicopter. And at four, helicopters aren’t exciting. They’re bloody frightening. Emily wetting the bed isn’t a thing that kids do. She’s developing psychological problems.’
‘Jennifer’s not guilty. She’s free. So she’ll be back with Emily in a day or two.’
‘Is that how long she’s going to stay in hospital?’
‘They don’t know yet. They’re not sure why she fainted, apart from the obvious relief.’ Johnson poured more wine. ‘I spoke to Humphrey while you were upstairs. And I’ve booked in. They’ve asked me to stay: make sure you’re not found. Apparently the scenes in London were incredible. Humphrey said it had to be like the hysteria of a medieval execution when people were hanged, drawn and quartered.’
‘I’ve unplugged the television. I didn’t want Emily waking up and putting it on, just in case…’ She sipped her drink. ‘It’s not going to be as easy here as it was at home keeping newspapers from her. I know she can’t read but she can see the pictures. There were a couple of bad situations at home.’
‘Jeremy asked me to thank you, for what you’ve done. And are doing.’
Annabelle looked seriously at the solicitor, ‘I’m not sure for how much longer.’
‘You can’t quit now!’ protested the man.
‘You think I’ve enjoyed it?’
‘Of course you haven’t. None of us have. But it’s all over now.’
‘She’s still possessed, isn’t she? And you told me the psychiatrists couldn’t help.’
‘Jeremy’s trying to think of something.’
‘I don’t want to live in a house with a woman who’s got a ghost in her head. And I don’t think we can allow Emily to after what happened at the hospital.’
‘Let’s wait until we know why she collapsed,’ pleaded Johnson.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Jeremy Hall didn’t want a celebration – found it difficult at that precise moment to believe he had anything to celebrate – but as he had in allowing Bert Feltham into the conference with the psychiatrists he considered his future in the chambers and accepted the pre-lunch invitation to Sir Richard Proudfoot’s rooms. The decision was made easier by Peter Lloyd, who during their prior telephone conversation told him Jennifer was still heavily sedated and wouldn’t be able to respond properly to visitors until that afternoon at the earliest. Lloyd admitted still not knowing the cause of the collapse and agreed to Julian Mason coming as well. Mason immediately agreed to mid-afternoon after asking, with professional jealousy, if the other psychiatrists were also to be involved to the obvious satisfaction of being told they weren’t.
It was Feltham who organized the chambers gathering. Humphrey Perry was included and Hall was briefly curious that all eight senior members were able to attend, at such short notice. From none was there the resentment he’d known previously at the nepotism of his joining his uncle’s firm, not even from Sir Patrick Piltbeam – whose chambers they would become upon Proudfoot’s elevation to the bench – or Jonathan Cappelclass="underline" both, he knew, had voted against his penniless admission.