Lilian tried to explain that she felt she had been more or less tricked into it.
‘We’ll deal with that later,’ said Charlie. ‘If the police haven’t behaved correctly that may well help our defence.’
Charlie was as Lilian remembered him. Super confident. He was a tall handsome man with a mop of curly brown hair which Lilian had always thought to be rather wonderful. She was greatly relieved when he confirmed that he was willing to formally represent her. However, she felt she had little choice but to point out, as she already had to Kate, that she had no way of paying him.
‘We’ll sort that out later, too,’ said Charlie. ‘St John has no right to cut you off without a penny. We’ll fight that in the civil courts if necessary. If not we can go for legal aid. Anyway, I don’t see this case actually going for trial. Not with the injuries you’ve suffered at his hands. And, as well as beating you to a pulp, it seems St John fled to South Africa, then, having changed his appearance, came back into this country on a false passport. If there is any justice in this case, he’s the one who should end up in the dock. We really ought to be able to get the charge against you dropped before there are any big legal fees.’
Lilian was more than a little cheered. Charlie was so sure of himself. And he was quite right, of course. She really was the victim, not Kurt.
‘The first step is to get you out of here,’ Charlie continued. ‘As soon as you are formally charged, I feel sure we won’t have a problem getting you bailed.’
‘Thank you, Charlie,’ said Lilian. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you. And Kate.’
She meant it too.
‘You won’t have to do without us,’ said Kate.
Then, ever practical and aware of the importance of appearances, she added: ‘We’d better get you some clothes to wear too. God knows how long the police will hang on to your own stuff.’
Later that day Lilian was duly charged at Staple Hill magistrates court with the attempted murder of her husband Kurt St John. Wearing the neat navy-blue suit, and appropriate accessories, which Kate had deemed suitable for the occasion and acquired at a nearby Zara, she pleaded not guilty on the grounds of self-defence, as instructed by Charlie. And she was granted bail. As Charlie had predicted.
‘Good job the bastard’s not dead, you can almost never get bail for someone on a murder charge,’ remarked Charlie conversationally.
Outside the court, Lilian thanked her friends profusely for coming to the rescue.
‘What are you going to do now?’ asked Kate. ‘You can’t go back to Penbourne Villas, that’s for sure.’
‘No, I can’t, but I haven’t really got that far yet. All I’ve been able to think about is getting out of that police cell,’ answered Lilian. ‘I suppose I could try to contact my cousin Laura again. I was outside her house when Kurt abducted me, after I’d fled London, but she wasn’t there.’
‘Look, you must come and stay with us,’ said Kate quickly. ‘Charlie and I have talked about it. You need to be somewhere safe until all this is sorted out. Anyway, we’d love to have you. It will be like old times.’
Lilian didn’t think anything in her world would ever be like old times again. But she accepted Kate’s invitation with immense gratitude.
Kate and Charlie lived in Islington, in a tall narrow house of which Lilian had many happy memories. She did feel safe there, at first, anyway, and was immensely grateful for the sanctuary her friends had provided.
However, her relief at being no longer held in custody was continually overshadowed by the enormity of what might lie ahead.
Her bedroom was at the front of the house, overlooking the main street. Lilian quickly fell into the habit of sitting in a chair by the window, trying to read, but more often just gazing out at the street, sometimes not looking at anything, sometimes people watching.
After a week or so she became aware of a black Range Rover driving slowly past. And she suddenly felt sure it was not the first time she had seen it. A few minutes later the same vehicle passed by again. She was also pretty sure she caught a glimpse of ginger hair. Of course, she couldn’t be certain that it was the vehicle which had been used to stalk her in London, and had subsequently brought Kurt to Bristol, but, chillingly, it all fitted.
She told Kate, and was instantly aware that her friend thought she was overreacting.
‘Look, this is Chelsea tractor territory, Lilian,’ said Kate. ‘SUVs of all makes are not exactly thin on the ground. You’re in shock. Kurt wouldn’t dare harass you now. Not with the trial about to happen.’
‘You don’t understand what he is capable of,’ Lilian told her, and she tried to explain that it was absolutely in character for Kurt to be watching the house.
‘He won’t want me to go to jail,’ she explained. ‘I’m his property. That’s how he sees it. He will still want me in his life. And he has always been prepared to go to any lengths to get whatever he wants. He’ll be plotting something. I have no doubt of that.’
‘We will help you get through this, whatever happens, you know that, don’t you?’ Kate assured her friend.
However, the truth was that Lilian did not believe she would ever get through it.
For a start, whatever happened with the police case against her, any financial settlement with Kurt was likely to take months. If not years. And whatever Kate and Charlie said, she realized that would soon cause her major problems.
Her rucksack containing the few belongings she had taken from Penbourne Villas — excepting the clothes she had been wearing when Kurt was stabbed, which were evidence — was finally returned to her. To her relief the Hockney was safely inside it. Lilian wondered if the police even realized what it was and its potential value. Certainly they hadn’t mentioned it.
She just wished she could sell the little painting, but she had absolutely no idea how to go about it. She couldn’t take it to a reputable gallery or dealer, or ask Kate or Charlie to do so for her. The provenance of the Hockney was clearly Kurt’s, and the court case looming over her was a matter of public record. Nobody reputable in the art world would touch the painting.
She had assumed that her car, worth surely twenty or even thirty thousand pounds, would be released to her once the police finished examining it, and she had hoped to sell it. But when Charlie pursued the matter, he was told that the BMW had already been released to Mr St John. After all, Kurt was the registered owner.
Then came the biggest blow of all. Charlie’s optimistic prediction turned out to be totally wrong.
‘It seems the police and the CPS have no intention of dropping the attempted murder charge against you,’ Charlie told her. ‘I really didn’t expect this. But don’t worry. We will fight on, and we will win.’
Lilian was worried. Worried sick. From the beginning Charlie had not grasped the extent of Kurt’s influence. Her husband was powerful, rich, charismatic and totally unscrupulous. He also had friends in high places. She felt that she did not stand a chance against him. After all, she had never stood a chance before.
Even the not insignificant matter of Kurt entering the country on a false passport had been held on file until after the conclusion of Lilian’s case.
Lilian was going to trial. Her worst fears had been realized.
Twenty-Five
Rather to everyone’s surprise the man injured in the Tide Reach shooting regained consciousness within hours of his arrival at the North Devon District Hospital. It seemed that both bullet wounds had somewhat miraculously failed to penetrate any major organs.
Photo ID documents found in the wallet he was carrying in his jacket pocket had confirmed his identity. The man was, as Vogel had so strongly suspected, Thomas Quinn’s thirty-seven-year-old business partner, Jason Patel.