The Rook adjusts his horsehair wig and glances across at his adversary, Fiona Hanley, QC, a handsome woman, who reminds me of my second wife, Jessie, who has the same cool detachment and honey-colored eyes. Miss Hanley is busy shuffling papers and rearranging box files as though creating a mini-fortress around her. She turns and gives me an uncertain smile as though we might have met somewhere before (only about a dozen times).
“All rise.”
Lord Connelly, the Chief Justice, enters and pauses, surveying the courtroom as though keeping watch over the pearly gates. He sits. Everybody sits.
Howard Wavell appears next, climbing the stairs into the dock. Gape-mouthed and gray, with his hair hanging limply across his forehead, he has a vague, forgetful frown as though he's lost his bearings. Eddie whispers something to him and they laugh. I'm seeing conspiracies everywhere.
Campbell thinks this has been Howard's plan from the very beginning. The ransom demand, the lock of Mickey's hair, her bikini—all were part of an elaborate hoax designed to cast doubt on his conviction and set him free.
I don't buy it because it begs the same question that Joe keeps asking me: Why wait three years?
Lord Connelly adjusts a lumbar cushion behind his back and clears his throat. He spends a moment studying the courtroom ceiling and begins.
“I have studied the defense submissions regarding the original trial of Mr. Wavell. While I am willing to agree with several of the points raised about the trial judge's summing up, on balance I don't feel they altered the outcome of the jury's deliberations. However, I am willing to hear oral arguments. Are you ready to proceed, Mr. Raynor?”
The Rook is on his feet, pushing his black gown along his forearms. “Yes, Your Honor, I will be seeking to introduce fresh evidence.”
“Does this evidence address the grounds for appeal or the original offense?”
“The original offense.”
Miss Hanley objects. “Your Honor, my learned friend seems intent on rerunning this trial even before being granted leave to appeal. We have been given a witness list with two dozen names. Surely he doesn't intend calling them all.”
Lord Connelly looks at the list.
The Rook clarifies the situation. “It may be that we call only one witness, Your Honor. It very much depends upon what he has to say.”
“I hope you're not embarking on a fishing expedition, Mr. Raynor.”
“No, Your Honor, I can assure you that's not the case. I wish to call the Detective Inspector who was in charge of the original investigation into the disappearance of Michaela Carlyle.”
Lord Connelly underlines my name on the list. “Miss Hanley, the overriding purpose of the Criminal Appeal Act is to further the interests of justice. It allows fresh evidence to be admitted by the prosecution and the defense. However, I warn you, Mr. Raynor, that I'm not going to allow you to rerun this trial.”
Miss Hanley immediately makes an application for the proceedings to be heard in a closed court.
“Your Honor, there are issues involved that go beyond the immediate fate of Mr. Wavell. An important criminal investigation could be jeopardized if certain information is made public.”
What investigation? Campbell is only interested in nailing me.
“Does this investigation involve Mr. Wavell?” asks Lord Connelly.
“Indirectly, it may do. I'm aware of the nature of the investigation but not the precise details. There is a media blackout in place.”
The Rook puts his oar in, more out of habit than desire. “Justice must be seen to be done, Your Honor.”
Lord Connelly rules in favor of the Crown and the public gallery and press benches are cleared. This is when the real arguments begin, full of phrases like “with all due respect” and “my learned friend” (legal shorthand for “you complete moron”). Then again, what do I know? The Rook and Miss Hanley could be the best of friends. They could be shagging each other's wigs off in chambers.
My name is called. I button my jacket on the walk to the witness box and unbutton it as I sit down.
The Rook looks up from his notes as if surprised that I've bothered showing. He rises slowly to his feet, drops his chin and tries to look at me through the top of his head. The first few questions are the easy ones—name, rank, years of experience as a police officer.
Miss Hanley is on her feet. “My learned friend seems to be placing great faith in the credibility of this witness. However, he has failed to mention that DI Ruiz was suspended as head of the Serious Crime Group several days ago and yesterday afternoon, following an internal disciplinary hearing, he was sacked. He is no longer a serving member of the London Metropolitan Police and is the subject of a criminal investigation—”
Lord Connelly motions her to sit down. “You'll get your opportunity to question the witness.”
The Rook consults his notepad and then does something I don't expect. He takes me through the original investigation, getting me to restate the evidence against Howard. I talk about the photographs, the bloodstains, the missing carpet and Mickey's beach towel. He had the opportunity, the motive and the corrupted sexuality.
“At what point did Howard Wavell become a suspect in the original investigation?”
“Everyone who lived in Dolphin Mansions was immediately a suspect.”
“Yes, but at what point did you focus your attentions upon Mr. Wavell?”
“He became of particular interest when he was seen acting suspiciously on the day Michaela disappeared. He also failed to provide an alibi.”
“He failed to provide one or didn't have one?”
“He didn't have one.”
“In what way was he acting suspiciously?”
“He was taking photographs of the search parties and people who had gathered outside Dolphin Mansions.”
“Was there anyone else taking photographs?”
“There were several press photographers.”
The Rook gives a wry smile. “So having a camera didn't automatically make someone a suspect?”
“A young girl was missing. Most of the other neighbors were helping look for her. Mr. Wavell seemed more interested in recording the event for posterity.”
The Rook waits. He's letting everyone know that he expects a better answer.
“Prior to your seeing Howard Wavell at Dolphin Mansions that day had you ever come across him before?”
“We went to the same boarding school back in the sixties. He was a few years behind me.”
“Did you know each other well?”
“No.”
“As the officer in charge of the investigation, did you think about either stepping down or absenting yourself from interviews because of your past association?”
“No.”
“Did you know Mr. Wavell's family?”
“I may have met one or two of them.”
“So you don't remember going out with his sister?”
I pause, racking my brain.
The Rook smiles. “Perhaps you dated too many girls to remember.”
Everyone cracks up. Howard laughs as hard as anyone.
The Rook waits for the laughter to subside. Almost in passing, he remarks, “Four weeks ago you took an envelope containing six hairs to a private laboratory in central London and asked for a DNA test to be carried out.”
“Yes.”
“Is that normal police procedure—using a private facility to conduct DNA tests?”
“No.”
“I think I'm right in saying that the Forensic Science Service do DNA tests for the police.”
“It was a private request not a police one.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Unofficial? How did you pay?”
“Cash.”