False Witness (37 page)

W
HEN
I
REACHED
C
HLSWICK, THE STREET WAS DE
serted and the front of the house was in darkness. The safety light did not come on automatically as I approached the front
door.

In the gloom, I rummaged around to find the correct key, but something was wrong. The force of the key against the door was
sufficient to open it.

The lounge had been ransacked. Books and records and ornaments were strewn everywhere. Drawers had been opened, paintings
removed. Perhaps this was Payne’s revenge? Or maybe something to do with Whitey Innocent? Or perhaps Philip Templeman?

There was a sound from the kitchen.

I found a poker from the fire and edged toward the noise. Not so long before, I would have been out of the front door and
calling for help. But that was no longer sufficient. I needed to know. I needed to do it myself.

Through the slats of the door, I could see a figure on the floor—with a knife. The electric clock from the cooker caught the
serrated metal surface, and for a brilliant second there was a flash. Sweat from my palm moistened the brass of the poker.

I raised it above my head, kicked the door fully open, and let out a primeval scream, lashing out at the darkness.

Sitting on the floor, slicing up pictures of our marriage, was Penny.

“Oh, you’re home,” is all she said.

A short while later, after we had eyed each other with a degree of suspicion, Penny explained that she wanted to move out.
Permanently. She wanted to take Ginny with her and I could see the sense in that.

“But this is your home,” I said. “It’s not mine, not anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time. I’ll go.”

“It’s a little late to be chivalrous, Tom.”

“This is where Ginny grew up. It’s all she knows. Stay. For her.”

She looked at me as she sat on the cold tiles. “Well, I am impressed, I must say.”

“Impressed?”

“You managed to remember your daughter’s name.”

I dropped the poker to the floor. “Of course I remembered her name.”

“Then why didn’t you remember her
birthday
?”

Penny’s comments scythed me somewhere below the knees and I had to sit down. I slumped on to the breakfast-bar which was covered
with cartons of cereal.

“Of course,” Penny continued, “she got a card from your mistress. I suppose that’s the next best thing. Cried herself to sleep.
I’m beyond that now. No more left, you see. Got to move on.” She recited the sentences as though repeating an echo, something
she had told herself one hundred times.

“Penny, I know you must hate me.”

“That’s a quaint word for it. I think I passed hate when you first slept with my best friend. I’m on to pathological loathing
now.”

“Can’t we—”

“Can’t we what? Try again? Pretend it didn’t happen? Play happy families and go back to normal?”

“You asked me if it was a passing thing. Well, I think—”

“Don’t you
dare
tell me that. Justine might be bored with you, Tom. But that wasn’t the point.”

“What was?”

“Us. We were killing each other.” She looked with surprise at the knife in her hand and put it down. “We were destroying each
other, and I’m not going to do that to myself. I’m scared, Tom. Scared of what I might do.”

“I’ve got to ask you something,” I said.

“What?”

“Why did you lie about Justine?”

“And you’ve only ever told me the truth about her, Tom?”

“This is different. You told me the incident with that teacher happened on the night her father died.”

“It did.”

Why, I wondered, did Penny persist in the deception? I could not let it rest. I was trying to think how to pursue the matter
when Penny started speaking again.

“Did Justine ever tell you the other thing?” she said.

“What other thing?”

“About his sister.”

“Whose sister?” I asked. And then I realized. “You mean the teacher’s?”

“No, Tom. The attorney-general’s. Of course I mean the teacher’s sister. Who do you think we’re talking about?”

“Sorry,” I said. “It’s been a long day.”

“Sarah was a couple of years below us, of course. She had a free place. Because her brother taught there, people said.”

“Sarah? Alex Chapple’s sister?”

“Sarah Chapple. That’s what she was called then. Before she was married. In fact, Tom, you know her. Or rather, you
knew
her is more accurate. It was—”

“Sarah Morrow,” I said, realizing at last the connection. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you ask? None of it was relevant. You knew Sarah Morrow went to the same school as we did. It’s all you needed
to know to defend her.”

I was still confused about one thing. “But why,” I asked Penny, “did Justine represent the sister of someone who did
that
to her?”

“Depends on what you mean by
that
. Anyway, it’s something you’re going to have to ask Justine,” Penny replied. “I didn’t lie to you, Tom. I’ve never lied to
you. Ever. God, now I’m sounding all sanctimonious. I know I’m not perfect, Tom. I can be cold—”

“You’re reserved.”

“And I can be stubborn.”

“You’re principled.”

“And I’m a bit bonkers—”

“Did you say, a bit, Pen?”

“All right, I’m nutty as a fruitcake smothered in almonds. Tom, I know I’m not the easiest person in the world to live with.
Living with me is a bit of a bitch. And so am I. I have my faults, Tom. But I don’t think that I’m a bad person, either.”

I moved a little closer to her. “You know the funny thing, Pen? For years I promised you that I’d change—”

“Change?”

“You know, take in less work, spend more time at home.”

“I never believed it.”

“And I never meant it,” I said. “Not really. Well now… now, I feel—somehow different. It’s all this… this stuff. There’s been
a lot of stuff going on. I haven’t been drinking so much and—well, this sounds stupid, but I don’t think it’s hopeless.”

“It could never be the same, Tom.”

“Who wants it to be the same?”

“True,” she said.

“So do you still… you know, me?”

“You’ve got a cheek, Tom.”

“Because, I know it sounds absurd, Pen, but I still, well, deep down—”

She held up her hand and I stopped speaking. For a while we looked at each other sitting in the kitchen surrounded by fragments
of photographs of our marriage and the odd box of cornflakes.

Finally, Penny said, “Someone told me that when people lose a limb, they can still feel it. You know, as if it were still
there. That’s what it’s been like, Tom. You’d be gone, but I could still feel you.”

I could see tears in her eyes and was thoroughly ashamed. “Penny, I’m so very—”

“Then I’d reach out for you, Tom. And…”

“And?”

“And I’d remember again that you weren’t really there after all.”

“I’m here now,” I said.

“But for how long?”

“Look,” I said, trying to lighten the situation, “I know that to you I’ve just become a lopped-off limb, a leg that’s gone
walkabout. But to me, you’re still my wife. You’re still the mother of my daughter. You’re the woman I—”

“I’m staying at my parents,” Penny said. “I can’t bring Ginny back here now that I’ve—” She waved her hand over the carnage.
“I wish, I wish more than anything… well, you know. But it would be stupid to make any promises.”

“Who’s asking for promises?”

“I need time to think. I’m not going to call you, Tom. You’ve got to make the effort.”

I didn’t feel depressed when Penny headed off. There was hope, if only a little. I fell asleep on the sofa. I saw myself heading
from the edge of the inner circle toward the dead body, and although there were two people around me, I glided unnoticed.

Emma rang me just before midnight.

“I hear the old battle-axe refused to chuck out the case,” she said.

After Payne’s evidence, I made an application to stop the trial. Hardcastle, of course, refused. But everyone knew the case
was wafer-thin. We were almost there.

“Good news,” I told Emma. “Kingsley’s agreed not to give evidence.”

“That’s fantastic. It’s virtually over then?”

“Unless he insists on calling Templeman,” I said. “But he still hasn’t shown up.”

“I imagine he’s too afraid you’ll bung him in a mud puddle and rifle through his credit cards, Tom.”

“Did you get a statement from the registrar?”

“No point.”

“I thought you said there was no Molly Summers?”

“I did say there was no Molly Summers. And there is no Molly Summers in the birth records, anywhere. But…”

“But what?”

“I’ve found the murdered girl.” Emma paused as my brain rattled through the permutations, but it was late and I was battle-weary.

“Well, tell me.”

“You really want to know, Tom?”

“I swear, if you don’t say within five seconds—”

“There was no Molly Summers. But there was a Molly Blacke. Daughter of Anne-Marie Blacke.”

“I don’t get it. The parish register said ‘A Marie Blacke.’ “

“Obviously a mistake with the hyphen. Tom, she was illegitimate. I checked the mother’s maiden name from that baptism entry
you gave me. Old man Summers wasn’t her real father.”

“Who was?”

“That I couldn’t find out.”

We both stopped talking. The city was unusually quiet that night and all I could hear was the relentless ticking of the carriage
clock.

“Emma, how long have you known me?”

“Too long.”

“And do you like me?”

“Have you been drinking? I thought you’d given—”

“No. Do you really like me?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Because when I say what I’m going to say, I don’t think you’re going to like me anymore.”

Emma was the brightest pupil I had ever had and knew what was coming. “No, Tom,” she said. “I’m not your dogsbody, you know.
Someone else can do your running around.”

“It’s got to be you,” I said.

“Come on, Tom. Do you know how far it is to Devon?”

It was a token protest. Emma must have known that I was right. She would have to miss the next part of the trial. There was
another piece of the jigsaw to find. In the morning Emma was going to have to drive to Stonebury.

“I want to find out,” I said.

“Find out what?”

“Who else were trustees of West Albion.”

W
HEN THE COURT ASSEMBLED ON THE THIRD MORN
ing, I asked the judge to keep the jury out. There was a problem. If Kingsley didn’t give evidence, which was the plan, we
would move straight into closing speeches. But I wanted to see what Emma would turn up. I needed half a day.

Hardcastle was far from sympathetic. “You’ve had a year to prepare for this, Mr. Fawley.”

“All I ask is for an adjournment until two o’clock.”

“And waste half a day? Do you know the expense?”

“We have proceeded faster than expected.”

“I’m against you,” she said. “Bring in the jury.”

“But, Your Honor—”

“Are you going to argue? A man in
your
position?”

Norman trooped off and soon the jury had settled back in their seats and watched Hardcastle invite me to call the evidence
for the defense. There was to be none.

As I turned toward the jury box, and was about to say that the defense would call no evidence, I saw two things. First, the
taxi-driver and the social worker looked at me expectantly, not wanting the show to end. But I also saw, at the back of the
court, the door of the dock ajar.

Richard Kingsley was wheeling himself down the specially made ramp and toward the witness box. He passed Norman a note, which
was then handed to me.

Of course, due to his wheelchair, he could not get into the box, so Norman gave him the Holy Bible and before I knew what
was happening, Kingsley had sworn to Almighty God that he would tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

It was certain disaster.