The Inheritance (5 page)

“Everyone was in the drawing room when I arrived. Awaiting questioning.”

“No, that’s not what I meant, Inspector. Where were their bedrooms?”

“All on the second floor of the west wing. Only the Ritters and Professor Cade himself slept on the east side.”

“And what about the grounds? They’re quite extensive, aren’t they?”

“Yes. There are stone terraces around the house with lawns beyond.”

“And quite a lot of trees as well?”

“Yes.”

“The drive is tree lined, is it not?”

“Yes, it is.”

“We don’t need a National Trust tour of the Moreton Manor gardens, Mr. Swift,” interrupted the judge. “What’s the point you’re trying to make?”

“That an intruder could hide in the trees, my lord.”

“If there was an intruder. You’d better ask the inspector about the security system. It looks fairly state-of-the-art in the photographs.”

“I was just about to,” said Swift, keeping a smile stretched across his features by an extraordinary effort of will. “Please do as his lordship asked, Inspector. Tell us about the security system.”

“The main gate is the only exit from the grounds,” said Trave. “A Tarmac drive leads up to it from the courtyard. Otherwise there’s a high brick wall surmounted by broken glass and electric wiring surrounding the estate. The wiring is connected to an alarm system operated from inside the house.”

“I see. The professor must have been very worried about the possibility of a break-in. Would you agree that the system would have cost a lot of money?”

“Yes. I’d say so.”

“And what about the main gate? How is that opened?”

“It’s also operated electronically either from a unit beside the gate or by remote control from inside the house.”

“Was the gate open or closed when police arrived?”

“Officers Clayton and Watts were the first to attend. It’s my understanding that they found the gate closed.”

“And what about the doors of the house itself?”

“I entered through the main front door, which was half open when I arrived. All the other exit doors of the property were locked except for the french windows in the professor’s study, which were also partially open, and the door at the front of the west wing, which was closed but not locked.”

“These french windows to the study. There are thick, floor-length curtains in front of them. Isn’t that right, Inspector?”

“Yes. They were half drawn.”

“And there would be space between the curtains and the doors for a person to hide if he wanted to?”

“I suppose so.”

“Making him invisible to a person inside the room.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. Now Mr. Thompson asked you some questions about my client’s interview . . .”

“One moment, Mr. Swift,” interrupted the judge. “I’m sure you want the members of the jury to have a full picture of this security system. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Well, perhaps the inspector can help us with whether there is any record of the alarm going off on the night of the murder.”

“No record, my lord,” said Trave.

“And is there any forensic evidence of anyone breaking into the house or the grounds? Any disturbance to the broken glass on top of the perimeter wall that you were telling us about? Any cut wires?”

“No, there was nothing like that.”

“Thank you, Inspector. I just wanted to clear that up, Mr. Swift.”

“Of course, my lord,” said the defence counsel, trying not to allow his irritation to creep into his voice. “Now, Inspector, you will recall that my client told you that he walked up to the main gate twice that evening.”

“Yes. Once before his interview with his father and once afterward.”

“And on the first occasion he told you that he found the main gate open.”

“Yes. He said that he closed it. And that it was still closed when he went back there after seeing his father.”

“Thank you. Now, what else did my client tell you about his first visit to the main gate?”

“He said that he saw a black Mercedes parked on the verge a little further down the road on the opposite side from the gate. It was parked beside a public telephone box, and the door of the kiosk seemed to be wedged open. He said that he saw the same thing when he went back there an hour later.”

“Did he say that he saw the driver of the car on either occasion?”

“He said he could see the figure of the driver but nothing more than that.”

“Why are we hearing about all this now, Mr. Swift?” asked the judge. “Your client’s interview can be read to the jury at the appropriate time, and he himself can give evidence about what happened if he chooses to.”

The judge’s tone of voice made it clear that he thought the defendant might have very good reasons for not going into the witness box and exposing himself to cross-examination. But Swift was ready for the judge this time.

“It’s a matter of timing, my lord.”

“I know that. That’s what I just said.”

“No, I don’t mean that. I believe that the inspector will have something else to say about the Mercedes car on the night of the murder, and it’s important that my client told the police about it before the further information became available to them.”

“All right. Well, get on with it then.”

“Thank you, my lord. Inspector, were there any other relevant reports of a black Mercedes in the vicinity of Moreton Manor on that night?”

“Yes. There was a car of that type stopped for speeding on the road from Moreton to Oxford. It was stopped at eleven fifteen p.m. The driver gave his name as Noirtier and provided an address in Oxford, which subsequently
turned out to be false. He did not respond to a summons to attend court, and there has been no trace of him since. The record of the stop says that he was aged about thirty and spoke with a thick foreign accent.”

“Did you notice the black Mercedes when you arrived at the manor house, Inspector?”

“No. But I wasn’t the first to arrive.”

“Yes. Officer Clayton may be able to help us. Returning to my client’s account of events in interview, Inspector, he told you that he wore his hat and coat on his first visit to the main gate. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

“But he then left them in the study after his interview with Professor Cade.”

“Yes, that’s what he said.”

“The weather conditions on that night are going to be relevant here, Inspector. Would you agree that there was some light rain in the early part of the evening?”

“Yes, it died out about eight, and it was dry after that.”

“And the temperature was in fact quite warm.”

“I’d say it was average for the time of year. There was some wind, as I said earlier.”

“Thank you. Now, there’s just one other area that I want to cover with you, Inspector. My client, Stephen Cade, told you in interview about somebody else with a motive and desire to kill his father. That’s right, isn’t it?”

“He talked about certain events involving his father that occurred in northern France in the summer of 1944.” Trave spoke slowly, as if he were choosing his words carefully.

“Basically, Stephen told you that he and his brother Silas discovered about two years ago that their father and Sergeant Ritter, as he then was, had killed a French family and their servants at a place called Marjean, in order to obtain a valuable medieval manuscript known as the Marjean codex.”

“Yes. That’s what he said.”

“And that the professor was subsequently shot and wounded in his left lung during a visit to France in 1956, which was the cause of the serious ill health that he suffered from during the last three years of his life.”

“I believe so.”

“And finally that the professor received a blackmail letter the following year, threatening to expose him if he did not go to London and hand over the codex.”

“Yes.”

“Is that a fair summary of what the defendant told you in interview about this aspect of the case, Inspector?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Trave looked uncomfortable.

“Well, then, I’m sure you know what my next question is going to be. Why didn’t you go to Marjean to investigate for yourself who shot Professor Cade in 1956 and sent him the blackmail letter the following year?”

Trave gave Swift a look of quick penetration, and then closed his eyes hard, as if he wanted to blot something out of his consciousness. When he opened them again he was looking at Gerald Thompson, and he was still looking at the prosecutor when he gave his reply.

“It was a prosecution decision,” he said quietly.

“But was it your decision?”

Gerald Thompson gave Trave no chance to answer Swift’s question. “With respect, Mr. Swift’s question is an improper one, my lord,” he said, getting to his feet. “The decision to charge the defendant was based on very strong evidence of motive, opportunity, and fingerprint connection to the gun and the locked door of the study. The defendant’s interview did not change any of this, and it is not for the prosecution to build a defence.”

“No, you’re quite right. It isn’t,” said the judge nodding emphatically in agreement. “If you have an alternative explanation for the victim’s murder, then advance it in the proper way, Mr. Swift. Don’t attack the prosecution for not doing your own work.”

Swift turned his head away from the judge’s glare and made a series of mental calculations. He itched to take on Murdoch, who seemed intent on conducting the trial on just the legal side of bias. But the unanswered question might play best on the jury’s mind if it remained unanswered, and he could make more mileage out of Marjean when it came to cross-examining Ritter. He had one good question left to ask the officer. He’d ask it and leave the French business hanging in the air for the present.

“It’s right, isn’t it, Inspector, that my client, Stephen Cade, is a young man without any previous convictions? He had never been arrested before
the night of his father’s murder and it was the first time he had been interviewed by the police.”

“Yes, that’s true,” said Trave. “He is a man of good character.”

Swift felt a note of resignation or even sadness in the policeman’s voice and half wished that he had persisted with his questions about the investigation, but it was too late now. The policeman’s evidence was over.

It was the mid-morning recess and Trave waited for Thompson to come out of court. He knew he was wasting his time, but he still had to try.

“What do you want, Inspector?” asked the prosecutor. He didn’t make any attempt to conceal his irritation.

“A moment of your time.”

“Very well.”

The two men walked over to a corner of the great hall outside the court. Trave was at least a foot higher than the barrister, and his attempt to walk with a stoop so as to bring their heads closer together only accentuated Thompson’s consciousness of his shortness. The barrister’s irritation grew into outright anger.

“What’s wrong with you, Trave?” he said. “Are you trying to prosecute that young hooligan or are you trying to defend him?”

“What are you talking about, Mr. Thompson?” Trave was unprepared for the prosecutor’s sudden verbal assault.

“I’m talking about your evidence. About the doubt and uncertainty that you’ve been helping friend Swift throw around in there.”

“I told the truth, Mr. Thompson,” said Trave, becoming annoyed himself. “And yes, I do have doubts. Frankly, I don’t understand why you don’t too. The truth is I didn’t investigate this case properly. I see that now and I feel bad about it. It’s not too late for me to go to France.”

“Yes, it is.” Thompson almost spat out the words. “Stephen Cade is guilty. I’ve got his fingerprints on the weapon and the key. Ritter heard him unlock the door. And in a few minutes the jury is going to hear from the victim’s solicitor about his motive. A powerful motive, Mr. Trave. Now I’m not going to allow you or friend Swift in there to muddy the water. Do you hear me, Inspector? Stay out of it. Your work on this case is over.”

Thompson pushed past Trave, and the artificially heightened heels of his shiny black patent-leather shoes rang on the marble floor as he crossed to the door of the courtroom. After a moment Trave followed him. His work might be over, but he felt an obligation to see out its results. He sat down, waiting for Thompson to call his next witness.

Several minutes later a small balding man in a tight-fitting pinstripe suit came into court, fidgeting with his bowler hat.

“Charles Blackburn’s my name. I’m a solicitor by profession,” he announced in a slightly pompous voice after taking the oath.

“Is it correct that one of your clients was the late Professor John Cade?” asked Thompson, getting straight to the point.

“That’s right.”

“What work did you do for him?”

“I looked after some of his business affairs. I drew up his will . . .”

“When?” asked Thompson, interrupting. “When did you do that?”

“About seven years ago. The will had to be changed after Mrs. Cade died. But it was still fairly simple. The residual beneficiaries were the professor’s sons, Stephen and Silas.”