advice from clinical biochemist Professor Lucius Zigmond of St George’s Hospital in London, who is an expert in what are called “electrolytes” such as potassium. He has provided a statement in which this delay in equilibration is positively confirmed, and which is also contained in a number of standard textbooks.’
This statement was again handed around the court as a sheaf of carbon copies, the sworn original going to the judge for his inspection.
Nathan Prideaux took over again and asked the judge to accept all these papers as sworn evidence, entering them with exhibit numbers into the trial record.
There now seemed to be a hiatus in which the whole court was holding its breath, waiting to see what was to happen next in this drama.
Mr Justice Templeman finished reading the last of these documents, then looked down at both the leading counsel. ‘Where does this leave us now, gentlemen?’ he asked evenly. ‘Do you want to cross-examine Dr Pryor first, Mr Gordon? Or do you wish to have Dr Smythe back in the witness box, Mr Prideaux?’
The prosecuting counsel shook his head almost helplessly as he declined the invitation. He would dearly like to have had the chance to discuss this turn of events with his expert, but once any witness began giving evidence no communication was allowed between him and counsel.
‘If it pleases your lordship,’ replied Nathan, in the traditionally obsequious language of the courts, ‘I would like to hear Dr Smythe’s reaction to these propositions.’
There was a general shuffling about, as Richard came down to sit on Angus’s chair, while the Scot hauled himself back up into the witness box. As they did so, the two prosecuting barristers engaged in an animated, muttered discussion, while their defence counterparts sat back impassively until the judge invited Prideaux to begin his cross-examination.
‘Dr Smythe, you have heard what Dr Pryor had to say and you have seen the various sworn statements of the other forensic experts. Is there anything in them which you do not accept or wish to dispute?’
Richard, sitting below the high witness box, fully expected the fiery Angus to begin a staunch counter-attack and was amazed when the man from Oxford immediately capitulated, contradicting his reputation for doggedly fighting off any opposition to his opinions.
‘I have no option but to agree with all Dr Pryor’s propositions,’ said Angus. ‘These are reports from reputable scientists – in fact I know of Dr Stoddart from other work. The publications have been accepted by well-known international medical journals. I did not know of this new work – and I very much doubt if the majority of my colleagues know of it. The delay in equilibration seems to be a long-accepted fact, but again I confess that it had never come to my knowledge, as I had never had occasion to seek it out.’
He nodded an acknowledgement down to Richard Pryor.
‘I can only compliment Dr Pryor on such a diligent search of recent research and literature, and I unreservedly accept the conclusions which he has put forward. I withdraw my previous interpretation, which I now admit to being erroneous.’
Amid another buzz of excitement in the court, Nathan Prideaux turned to the judge.
‘My lord, at this juncture I would like to make a submission to you.’
Doris hissed in Moira’s ear. ‘He’s going to ask the judge to consider directing the jury to return a verdict of not guilty.’
But for once, Doris was wrong, as Mr Justice Templeman held up a hand towards the defence counsel.
‘I think, Mr Prideaux, that will not be necessary. I am sure that Mr Gordon will not contest the fact that his witness has withdrawn virtually all his expert opinion which goes to the heart of this case. In my view, there is nothing left that can go to the jury for their decision. I therefore intend discharging the jury and also discharging the defendant forthwith.’
That evening Sian stayed behind to greet the victor, Moira having been unable to resist ringing Garth House from a phone box near the Shire hall with the news of the collapse of the prosecution case.
When they returned, an impromptu celebratory party was held in the staffroom, with a couple of bottles of Lutomer Riesling and a flagon of Buckley’s Ale for Jimmy, who came in from the garden for the occasion. Moira related the dramatic scenes in Gloucester and extolled the triumphant success of Richard in the witness box.
‘I should have let you go to the Brecon inquest and gone to the Assizes instead,’ said Sian, wistfully.
Richard was as diplomatic as usual. ‘Next time, Sian! There’ll be plenty more opportunities, now that our reputation is spreading!’
He held up his glass in a toast. ‘To our team, folks! I just fired the shots in the witness box, but you all were involved – everyone played a part! Angela is the brains and keeps me from the worst of my wild excesses, Sian is our queen of the laboratory and without Moira we’d not only starve but wouldn’t have any reports to flash around. And Jimmy calms me down, hoeing weeds from my vines, as well as nagging me about bloody strawberries!’
Amid the celebrations and good humour, two pairs of eyes viewed Richard Glanville Pryor speculatively, as both Angela Bray and Moira Davison wondered what the next six months might bring. But fate was not willing to wait that long – indeed, it was the very next morning that the settled routine of Garth House was upset.
‘There’s a personal call on the line for you, Dr Bray,’ said Moira, calling through from the office to where Angela sat at her bench.
As Angela came through to pick up the phone, Moira tactfully moved into the laboratory to be out of earshot and hovered over Sian in the biochemistry section.
‘It must be her father,’ she murmured to the technician. ‘He asked to speak to his daughter.’
Sian looked up in concern. ‘Neither of her parents has ever rung here before. I hope it’s not bad news.’
They waited for Angela to finish her call and come back into the lab, but after a few minutes they heard the phone go down and her heels clicking away down the corridor.
‘She’s gone down to Richard’s room,’ whispered Moira. ‘I wonder what’s going on.’
Ten minutes went by before both Angela and Richard came back to speak to them.
‘Unfortunate news, I’m afraid,’ said Richard gravely. ‘We’re going to have to do without Dr Bray for a while.’
Angela, looking pale and strained, explained the problem. ‘My mother has had a stroke. It’s not life- threatening, thank God, but she’s lost her speech and is partly paralysed down one side. I’ll have to go home to stay with her for a while. My poor father is hopeless at looking after himself, let alone a sick wife. Just to complicate matters, my sister’s just gone to New York on a three-month design course, so I’ve drawn the short straw, I’m afraid.’
The two other women clustered around full of sympathy and commiseration, asking if there was anything they could do to help.
‘You’ll have to go home straight away,’ said Richard. ‘Don’t worry about things here, we’ll cope somehow.’
He offered to drive her to Berkshire, but Angela said she was fine to drive herself.
‘I’ll just finish this batch of bloods,’ she said, waving a hand towards her bench. ‘Then I’ll pack a suitcase and be on my way. With luck, my mother will recover quickly and I’ll soon be able to get back.’
Within two hours she had gone in her little white Renault, leaving the house and its occupants strangely forlorn.
‘How are we going to deal with her cases, Dr Pryor?’ asked Sian over a consoling cup of coffee. ‘There’s no problem with your post-mortems, and I can handle the histology and the chemistry, but I haven’t much idea of these paternity tests and bloodstains that she does.’
‘Depends on how long she’s likely to be up in Berkshire,’ observed Moira. ‘If it’s only a few days or a week, I suppose things can wait until she gets back. But if it’s going to be a lot longer . . .’ There was a silence as her voice tailed off.
‘Haven’t they got a housekeeper or something?’ asked Sian. ‘They must be pretty well off, all that business with breeding horses and the like.’
‘I’m sure they’ll get in a private nurse,’ said the ever-practical Moira. ‘But it’s not the same as having your own daughter, at least in the early stages. Pity her sister is abroad just when she’s needed.’
Richard was philosophical about the crisis. ‘Nothing we can do or even plan for until we hear how long Angela is likely to be away. She did mention to me, before she left, that she might know of a former colleague of hers who might be available as a locum. But let’s not cross our bridges until we come to them, eh?’
When the phone rang later that evening it sounded ominous to Richard, now alone in the large, empty house.
