North Star

'Five foot eleven.'

'And what were you wearing?'

'A blue raincoat.'

'And a cap?'

'A seaman's cap.'

'So, according to your evidence, there were three of you there, all about the same height, all dressed roughly alike. You say you were in the road peering over the hedge and there were these two figures standing in the little garden facing the window. And you say Claxby threw the petrol bomb. How do you know it was Claxby?'

'I saw him come from the porch. The two of them were standing together for a moment. They seemed to be arguing. Then Bucknall took something from the pocket of his raincoat and handed it to Claxby.'

'Could you see what it was?'

'It looked like a bottle.'

'You've heard the phrase — a Molotov cocktail. Would you say it was that type of a bomb?'

'I imagine it was something like that.'

'A Molotov cocktail is a very simple form of petrol bomb. It has a wick in the top of the bottle. This has to be ignited. Who struck the match?'

'I'm not certain. I think it was probably Bucknall since Claxby was holding it.'

'But you can't be sure?'

'No. At that point they were crouched down.'

'So Claxby might have set the bottle on the ground and lit the wick himself?'

'Yes.'

'In fact, it only needs one man to ignite and throw the thing. Is that right?'

I thought he was trying to establish Bucknall's partial innocence and I said, 'Yes,' not seeing it as a trap.

'You have identified the accused as the two figures crouched in the front garden of No. 5. Did you know their names at that point — or have you only realized who they are since you decided to give evidence?'

'No, I knew who they were.'

'You had seen them before, in fact.'

'Yes.'

'Could you tell us when you had seen them before?'

I explained that I knew Bucknall's father and had seen them together several times, that I didn't know Claxby, but had seen him at the meeting.

'Was Bucknall at the meeting?'

'Yes.'

'What was he wearing?"

'I didn't notice.'

'But he was there?'

'Yes.'

'And Claxby. He was there, too?'

'Yes.'

'What was he wearing?'

'A leather jacket.'

'You particularly noticed that?'

'I saw what he was wearing.'

He began asking me about the meeting then, about the atmosphere of it and why I was there. 'And you had a hostile reception?'

'I was shouted down. Anybody speaking moderately-'

'In fact, you left the meeting, and went straight to Washbrook Road, thinking somebody was going to attack the Entwisles or their house. Wasn't that a somewhat extraordinary supposition to arrive at?'

'You weren't at the meeting,' I said.

'You mean, if I had been I would have done the same?' He didn't expect an answer, for he went straight on, There is, of course, another interpretation that could be put on your behaviour — that you went to Washbrook Road for the precise purpose you impute to the accused. That you went there with the purpose of proving you were as militant as the others at that meeting.'

I saw what he was driving at then and I said sharply, 'Are you suggesting I had something to do with the attack?'

'I am.' His massive jaw thrust suddenly forward. 'I am suggesting that you are lying, that all your life you have been trying to prove your militancy. That's what your record suggests. Well, doesn't it?' And before I could think of an answer he had picked up a sheet from the desk in front of him and was reading it out. He had been very thoroughly briefed, for he had it all there, all the convictions, everything, and when he had finished, he turned to the judge. 'Milord, I think you must accept that this is not exactly a normal witness. If he were, he would have waited for the police, or at least come forward when he knew they wanted to question him.'

The judge nodded. 'You are, I think, suggesting that the witness had a motive in not coming forward. Is that it?'

'That is exactly it, Milord. I am not only suggesting he had a motive. I'm suggesting his whole testimony is a tissue of lies.' He swung round on me, his heavy jowls quivering and his finger pointing: 'I'm suggesting that you threw the bomb, that you went to Washbrook Road with that intention, with a bottle of petrol in your pocket, that you broke the porch bulb, that you lit the wick and threw the bomb through the downstair window.'

I stood there, gripping the brass rail, shocked into numbness and remembering Fiona's words, remembering, too, the words flung at me on the Fisher Maid in Aberdeen. I had been warned, but I still couldn't believe it. Nor could the judge. He leaned quickly forward, his voice quite sharp as he said, 'Am I to understand that you are accusing the witness?'

'Yes, Milord. I'm saying the police made an error when they arrested the prisoners. They should have arrested Randall. Furthermore, I intend to prove it.'

'Are you also saying he did not save the little girl's life?'

'No, Milord. I'm saying that he thought the house was empty when he threw the bomb, but the little girl heard the crash of broken glass, and when he saw her face at the upstairs window he panicked. There is no other explanation of his subsequent behaviour — avoiding being questioned by the police, abandoning his job with the trawler Fisher Maid and vanishing, under an assumed name, mark you, to the remotest part of the British Isles, to Shetland.' Most of this had been addressed to the jury, not to the judge. Now he swung round on me again. 'Isn't that the truth? I put it to you that you threw the bomb, saw the child, got her out and then fled.'

'You don't believe that,' I said. It was such an incredible reversal of the truth. 'You can't believe it.' But I knew my voice had failed to carry conviction. I was too appalled by the deadly reasonableness of it, the certainty that the net was closing. Sayre was on his feet. 'You're just trying to confuse the jury. You can't prove that. You've absolutely no-'

'Oh, but I can prove it.' Mendip turned to the judge again. 'Milord, since the accused were before the magistrate's court very vital additional evidence has come to light.'

'A new witness?' the judge asked.

'Yes, Milord. A man who has only recently come forward, rather like the witness here.'

The judge nodded, making a note, and counsel for the defence sat down. The courtroom stirred, and I stood there, remembering Hall's warning about Mendip's reputation. His cross-examination could not have ended more dramatically, and though Sayre re-examined me, trying to nullify its effect by drumming home the identity of the accused, it was obvious that the jury, everyone, were now waiting upon the defence.

My evidence closed the case for the prosecution. By then it was lunchtime, the court adjourned, and as I stepped slowly down from the witness box, I heard Sayre saying to Mendip: 'That's an old trick, and a very dirty one, if I may say so.' And the other laughing and patting his shoulder as they went out together. Hall came across to me.

I was feeling slightly sick by then, the stuffiness of the place and my stomach knotted. 'He can't prove something that isn't true. Last minute evidence like that…'

'You did much the same, and the defence not sure how damaging your evidence would be.'

'Not damaging enough apparently.' Anger was taking hold, overlaying the nervous tension. To them it was just a game, these lawyers bustling past with their wigs and their briefcases, full of their own damned importance.

'Wait here, will you. I'll just have a word with counsel in the robing room.' Hall left me and I stood there, feeling suddenly conspicuous as several members of the public came out of the courtroom. And then Fiona's voice at my elbow. 'I warned you, Mike. I told you they'd nail you.'