Garth House partnership, as it was coming to be known, when they wanted to confirm or contest some dubious claim for compensation. By the end of August, Richard and Angela felt confident that their bold venture to go private was going to succeed and decided that they could order some more equipment for the laboratory which would extend the range of investigations that they could offer.
They heard nothing from Agnes Oldfield or her solicitor and one further visit from Trevor Mitchell confirmed that he had been unable find any trace of Anthony being treated in hospital after a climbing accident.
The Gloucester shooting went before the magistrates and, as expected, the local gangster was committed for trial at the next assizes in several months’ time. Richard was called to give evidence at the magistrates’ preliminary hearing, but there was no cross-examination, this being reserved for the later trial. Arnold Millichamp was present in court, sitting behind the defence solicitor, but apart from leaning forwards a couple of times to whisper in the lawyer’s ear while Richard was giving his evidence-in-chief, he seemed to have no contrary opinion.
Afterwards, Arnold waited outside the court with Prudence Mortimer to greet Richard affably and talk about the two cases in which they were involved. Though lawyers generally do not encourage prosecution and defence experts to confer, there was no potential conflict of opinion in either the shooting case or Michael Prentice’s problems, especially as the latter was not facing any charges relating to his wife’s death or injuries.
Even so, they both spoke circumspectly and most of their chat was about the forthcoming November conference in Cardiff, to which Millichamp expressed interest in attending. Before they parted, the London pathologist repeated his invitation to Pryor to visit his department – and also offered to have Sian there for a week or two, to get some experience of a bigger laboratory.
When he took this bit of news back to Garth House, the technician was wildly excited and almost ready to pack her bags for a visit to London, until he calmed her down.
‘But it all helps to get us better known,’ he said to Angela. ‘If I can get onto this Home Office list, we can throw our net even wider.’
The magistrates’ hearing in Gowerton had been a damp squib, as the prosecution wanted more time to prepare their evidence. Ben Evans said it was requested by the document examiners in Cardiff, who were seeking other opinions elsewhere, to decide if they could substantiate their suspicions that Linda had not written the suicide not.
In spite of the objections of the police, bail was extended and Michael Prentice carried on living in Pennard and working at the Jersey Marine premises, though what his colleagues there thought of him, was unknown.
In the meantime, Brian Meredith, the Monmouth coroner, had wrestled with the paperwork and the General Register Office, to annul the death certificate issued for Albert Barnes. Mrs Molly Barnes protested loud and long to him about what she claimed was a ‘denial of her rights’ and threatened to go to the newspapers about it, until Meredith pointed out to her that she had given false evidence about the watch and ring, which could get her into trouble.
He had taken legal advice and found that he needed to hold another inquest, as the remains buried in a corner of the Monmouth municipal cemetery were now of an unidentified person, which required an inquest with a jury. This was a formality, after all the futile efforts to establish to whom they belonged had failed.
Richard Pryor and Angela were called as witnesses, merely to get the physical facts and the blood group put on official record, but the outcome was inevitably another open verdict.
In early September, the delayed court appearance of Michael Prentice took place in Gowerton. The dreary magistrates’ court was invaded by a clutch of lawyers and local journalists, but as the charges had been reduced to ‘obstructing the coroner in the pursuance of an inquest’, it was not a very newsworthy event. Linda’s father, Leonard Massey and his wife were there, as well as Marjorie Elphington, the friend who set all this in motion. There was no sign of the other woman, Daphne Squires and Ben Evans suspected that she had rapidly distanced herself from her former lover and his troubles.
In the entrance hall of the old building, where witnesses congregated, Ben Evans was holding forth to his inspector.
‘The bugger should be up on a murder charge, not this piddling offence that will only get him a couple of months in the nick and a big fine!’ he growled. ‘If only those forensic people could have come down definitely on that letter and said it’s a fake, we’d have had him, because there’s no other reason for writing it unless he did her in.’
‘Craddock’s not calling either of the doctors,’ said Lewis Lewis. ‘I suppose there’s nothing useful they can say, as nobody denies it was drowning.’
‘It’s not part of the charge, anyway. Doesn’t matter what she died of, as all Prentice is being done for is mucking up the coroner’s inquest procedure.’
This is exactly what was presented in court. Though the defendant had a barrister to represent him, the prosecuting solicitor went at it alone, given the relatively minor nature of the offence, compared with assault or murder.
The committal proceedings were heard before three Justices of the Peace, as there was no stipendiary magistrate in that jurisdiction. One was a dour steelworks manager, another was a fat and florid butcher and the third, who sat in the middle and acted as chairwoman, was an angular female head teacher with a particularly ugly hat. They were guided – or rather harassed – by the Clerk of the Court, a sergeant-major figure who sat below them, but kept bobbing up and down to hiss instructions at them.
Michael Prentice appeared in the dock, his counsel’s application to have him sit in the well of the court rejected. He was soberly dressed in a dark suit and appeared totally composed and in control of himself.
Somewhat to everyone’s surprise, he pleaded guilty to the single charge against him. On his lawyer’s advice, he knew that there was no chance of evading the fact that he had suppressed the existence of the note when called to the inquest.
Maldwyn Craddock had considered Ben Evans’s contention that as Prentice had been on oath in the coroner’s court, this amounted to perjury – but as Prentice had not said that there was no note, because there was no reason to ask him, the omission to mention it was probably not enough to succeed with the more serious charge.
Even though the defendant had pleaded guilty, the magistrates had no power to sentence him, as the offence was one which inevitably had to be committed to the Assizes, in a few months’ time. There a judge would hear the guilty plea and be responsible for deciding on the sentence. No doubt the expensive defence counsel would then earn his fee by an impassioned address in mitigation. But at the Gowerton magistrates, he employed the same skills in seeking an extension of bail, to try to keep Michael Prentice out of prison until his appearance at the Assizes.
The barrister, a rather gaunt figure in the legal uniform of black jacket and striped trousers, waxed lyrical on behalf of his client, in front of the stony-faced trio of justices.
‘Above all else, my client was anxious to avoid the stigma of suicide falling upon his much loved wife and saw no harm in allowing her memory to remain unsullied by the assumption that this was a tragic accident.’
In the public seats at the back of the court, Leonard Massey almost burst with indignation at the ‘much-loved’ reference, but there was nothing he could do about it. By the nature of the narrow charge against his hated son-in- law, none of the peripheral evidence was relevant; it would have been a very different matter if the alleged domestic violence or the death was in issue.
The barrister was an experienced man and played upon the distress, confusion and grief that had beset Michael on finding the note and then her body on the beach.
‘It is evident that he hardly knew what he was doing, such was his mental state,’ he pleaded before the stony- faced JPs. ‘Why else would he have carried his wife’s body in his arms up that difficult track – and why would a temporary dislocation of his behaviour cause him to put her back in the water at a different place?’
There was much more of this, sometimes repetitious. The butcher on the bench was anxious to get back to his shop and as the bloody defendant had pleaded guilty, grumbled under his breath as to why they had to hear ‘all this stuff’.
Eventually, after pleading for an extension of bail, mainly on the grounds that this was a one-off lapse of behaviour which would – indeed, could – not be repeated, Prentice’s barrister felt he had done enough to earn his fee and sat down.
The clerk bobbed up and said something and the three magistrates retired into their room behind for ten minutes. When they returned, the chairwoman put on her most severe face and addressed the defendant.
‘Though what you did was foolish and has caused considerable disruption and unnecessary work for the
