Lilian didn’t know which was the most frightening prospect, being found guilty of attempted murder or the certainty of Kurt’s continuing presence in her life.
Fleetingly she wondered if she wouldn’t be better off in jail. At least she would be safe. Kurt surely wouldn’t be able to get to her there. Not directly, anyway. In any case a prison sentence seemed increasingly to be the most likely outcome.
Her barrister cross-examined, of course. But it seemed to Lilian that he missed many of the most salient points. Amongst other things, he failed to ask Kurt how it was that, by his own admission, he could with such apparent ease obtain illegal drugs, and acquire a false passport. Lilian tried to point this out, but was told that there was a reason for everything Charlie and her barrister did, that they were taking a particular route, and hers would take them into territory that was too dangerous. Or words to that effect. She did not have the strength to argue.
She also had little doubt that the woman judge’s manner indicated that she had quickly become weighted against Lilian. Even in matters of court procedure and any technicalities which arose, it seemed to Lilian that she consistently favoured the prosecution.
From the moment the defence case began, Lilian felt that it was highly unlikely that Mrs Justice Hadley would consider that there was any evidence at all that could be presented which would come even close to justifying Lilian attacking her husband with a knife.
As the proceedings progressed, Lilian became so disheartened that she feared she was falling apart. She couldn’t stop trembling. And it was only with great difficulty that she held back her tears.
Minutes before she was due to take the stand her barrister called for an adjournment. He and Charlie then asked her if she felt capable of giving evidence.
Lilian knew there was only one answer to that question. Yes, of course she was able to give evidence. Had she not been waiting for months for the chance to tell the world what a monster Kurt St John was?
But she didn’t say any of that.
Instead she merely said: ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know anything any more.’
Ultimately Charlie and the barrister suggested that they should attempt a plea bargain.
‘I think it’s our only hope now,’ Charlie told her. ‘The signs are clear. Both the judge and the jury seem to have turned against you. Kurt was just so convincing. And we can’t deny that you stabbed him. All the rest of it is pretty much your word against his, and there really doesn’t seem to be much chance of persuading this court that Kurt is lying.’
Lilian agreed with all of that. Kurt had been as convincing and plausible as he always was. The judge and jury certainly seemed set against her. It wasn’t fair. But nothing was fair in her life. And she had no idea how to fight it.
With great reluctance she agreed to a plea bargain. And it was ultimately accepted by both sides that the charge of attempted murder would be dropped in return for Lilian pleading guilty to a charge of grievous bodily harm.
The judge sentenced her to five years imprisonment, the maximum allowed.
In her summing up Mrs Justice Hadley justified this by referring to Lilian as ‘wilful’ and accused her of having ‘planned this outrage against her husband coolly and calculatedly’. She also described her as ‘being of murderous intent’.
Lilian was desolate. As she had feared, she was on her way to prison. And for a substantial period of time.
Kurt had won again.
Thirty-One
As soon as he and Saslow left Helen’s House, Vogel called DI Peters to check on Greg Quinn’s whereabouts.
‘It seems he went straight to work after we let him go,’ she said.
That presumably meant Gill Quinn was alone with Morag Docherty. He called Docherty at once and asked her to try to find out from Gill whose phone she had used to text her son.
‘If she says she can’t remember, don’t let it go,’ he instructed. ‘It’s time to start putting some pressure on her.’
Vogel and Saslow then headed for the NDDH. It seemed more important than ever that they talk again to Jason Patel.
‘I know he’s recovering from serious injury, but we’ve left this long enough now,’ said Vogel, as Saslow turned off the Northam road onto the New Bridge.
‘It does seem that Gill’s alibi probably still stands, certainly if that phone she used to text her son belongs to this Maggie Challis. Although we are still waiting to confirm that. So Greg looks the most likely suspect now. Or he would if his father’s partner hadn’t been shot, and their business premises ransacked, within twenty-four hours of Thomas’ murder.’
‘That could still be a robbery gone wrong, boss.’
‘It could, yes. Though what would burglars expect to find of value in the offices of a North Devon export and import firm, for God’s sake? It’s not the sort of outfit which would carry vast amounts of cash stashed in its safe, is it? Yet the perps attempted to break into it. That’s been confirmed. And they came tooled up too. That’s heavy.’
‘Maybe it was known in certain circles that Q-P Associates were cheating the tax man, and they did stash cash in their safe,’ responded Saslow.
‘Possibly, I suppose, but I would find it easier to accept that it might be a random burglary that went wrong, if it wasn’t for what has happened to the two partners in this firm within such a short period of time. They’ve both been violently attacked. One is dead, and the other is critically injured. That’s one big coincidence—’
‘Yes, and you don’t believe in coincidences, do you, boss?’ interrupted Saslow.
Vogel chuckled. ‘Is there a copper who does?’ he asked.
Nobody at the hospital attempted to stop Vogel and Saslow from interviewing Jason Patel again. Which was all for the best, because Vogel was beginning to feel somewhat frustrated, and was in no mood for any sort of obstruction, however valid the reason for it might be.
Patel was still in ICU, a number of tubes remained attached to his body and various pieces of serious looking medical equipment, but he was sitting up in bed sipping a glass of water when Vogel and Saslow arrived at his bedside. All in all, he looked considerably better than he had the previous day.
Not for the first time, Vogel reflected on the human race’s astonishing capacity for recovery. Certainly in these days of advanced medicine.
He was not sure if Patel would remember them from the previous visit, so he began to introduce himself and Saslow for the second time.
‘I know who you are,’ interrupted Patel. ‘I haven’t been shot in the head. Yet.’
His voice was weak and shaky, but his words were clear. And if it wasn’t for the look in his eyes and the beads of sweat on his forehead, Vogel might have thought he was being sarcastic.
But Patel was afraid. Very afraid. Vogel had seen fear many times in his life. He recognized it at once. Jason Patel could be afraid of his own physical condition, of course. He could be sweating because he was in pain, or had a fever. Vogel didn’t believe that, though.
‘What do you mean by “yet”?’ the DCI asked.
‘I don’t know, I don’t know anything except I’ve been shot,’ Patel replied, a distinct note of desperation in his voice. ‘Twice. I’ve been shot twice. My God. How do I know they won’t come and finish me off? Anyone can walk in here. I want police protection. I should have it. I demand police protection?’