have been so clumsy as to have spilt petrol on his clothing when committing the murder? Or if he did spill the petrol, why didn't he then destroy the suit he was wearing? Instead, he freely handed it over to the police when they began their investigation. Would he really have been so naive as to have left that petrol can in a box at his own stable when he could have thrown it away in the undergrowth, or into a river where it would almost certainly never have been discovered? His client, he invited the jury to conclude, was a decent and honourable man who unfortunately had become involved with a married woman. That was not a crime in our society. He had accepted that the affair had no future and as far as he was concerned, that was an end to the matter. As for the incriminating letters, they were nothing of the sort. He invited the jury when they retired to read through the whole bundle and see for themselves that they contained the sentiments of a decent man who was sincerely in love. Why should the accused and Victoria Pryde not be telling the truth when they had both said that a crucial page was missing? After all, they were the only two people who really knew, and no explanation had been offered by the prosecution as to just exactly how those letters had come into the police's possession. Who was to say that a page had not become detached or gone missing by accident? It would be unrealistic and a cruel injustice to convict a man and condemn him to a life sentence where such a doubt existed.
It was, he continued, the duty of the jury to take into account the unblemished character of Tom Radcliffe, a man with no previous convictions and against whom nothing could be said to suggest he had a tendency to violence. Their decision had to be based, not on emotion or prejudice or morality, but on a detached and reasoned assessment of the evidence. That could lead to only one result: a verdict of not guilty.
I was certainly moved and I thought several members of the jury were too. It was now up to Snipe to sum up fairly and that task was adjourned until the following day.
No one who heard the Honourable Mr Justice Snipe would have been under any illusion as to what he considered the proper verdict. Of course, he was careful not to give any obvious indication of bias or make any statement blatantly prejudicial to Tom, but he was clever enough to review the evidence in a way which could lead any reasonable person to only one conclusion. By setting out in some detail the background to the murder – the development of our relationship, the secret and furtive sexual encounters, the gradual realisation by Tom that he could never marry me so long as Edward was alive – he planted the seed of motive firmly in the jury's mind. From there it easily and swiftly grew into opportunity. So much, he said, hinged on the accused's explanation of how he spent the night of the disappearance. Was he telling the truth when he said he must have passed out in his car after leaving the pub, or was that a highly convenient explanation fabricated to cover up for what he had really being doing? It was, of course, a matter solely for the jury as the arbiters of fact, but did they not think it a trifle curious that two or three pints of beer should have had such an effect on the accused? And so Snipe went on turning the screw a little more with each comment. Finally at three o'clock he sent the jury out to reach their verdict. It was like waiting for the result of a stewards' enquiry, only this time the outcome would be far more serious. When the jury returned, they all sat down and then the Foreman was asked to rise. An insignificant little man of about forty-five, balding and with glasses, rose hesitantly to his feet.
'Members of the jury, are you agreed on your verdict?' asked the Associate, solemnly.
'We are,' answered the Foreman.
'Do you find the defendant guilty, or not guilty?'
'Guilty,' came the firm, almost defiant response.
For a brief moment I felt nothing as the realisation of what I'd just heard sank in. I looked across the court at Tom and as our eyes met I burst into tears. He was white with shock and looked totally bewildered. I suddenly felt very sick and faint and struggled to keep control of myself as Snipe began to speak. He wasn't content just to commit Tom to imprisonment with a recommendation that he serve at least twenty years; he insisted on adding a few well-chosen sanctimonious words of reprobation:
'Tom Radcliffe, you have been found guilty, and rightly so in my view, of the murder of Edward Pryde. You have by your gross and callous act deprived a fine man of the rest of his natural life, and a young boy of the joy of knowing his father. This grotesque act of violence was born out of your betrayal of the Christian values which our society holds dear. Having coveted and seduced the wife of another man, you then proceeded to take his life when you could not have your own way and marry her. May God forgive you.'
As the police officers symbolically closed in on him in the dock, Tom twisted round and shook his head at me in disbelief. My first instinct was to get up and rush towards him, to tell him not to abandon hope. Alert as ever, Amy restrained me while Tom kept trying to say something across the court.
'What is it?' I asked Amy, unable to understand or read his lips.
She put her arm around me. 'Simply that he loves you.'
As I left the court in tears, a pack of journalists descended on me, asking for my comments. All I could say was that I still believed in Tom's innocence and that I would spare no expense or time in trying to bring the true culprit or culprits to justice.
Amy drove me back that evening to Ralph's yard. Neither of us could believe what had happened and only the references to the verdict on the radio news brought home the cold inescapable truth. We both realised that we would not help Tom by sitting at home and wailing; some form of battle plan was needed. Tom's lawyers were going to lodge an appeal and that would probably not be heard for three to four months. In the meantime, we were going to alert the police to Corcoran's disappearance and try and persuade Inspector Wilkinson that there was a possible link between it and Edward's death. Judging by past performance, there wasn't much room for optimism. No doubt Inspector Wilkinson was busy congratulating himself on a job well done and further enquiries would only delay his letter of commendation from the Lord Chief Justice.
Ralph had gone away for a week's holiday and his house was deserted. Amy was reluctant to let me stay in my cottage on my own, but I insisted. Now that Tom had been convicted, maybe my life was no longer in danger, and anyway I couldn't have round the clock protection. I had to try and live normally from now on. I intended to spend the summer holidays with my mother and then, at the end of August, when I had completely recovered from my injuries, return to Lambourn and put the cottage on the market. Amy refused to drive off until she had checked that there was nobody in the house. She opened all the doors to the bedrooms and looked inside and pronounced me safe.
By eleven o'clock I was ready to go to bed. I laboriously climbed the stairs and went along to my bedroom. The door was open and I closed it behind me before walking over to the chest of drawers beside my bed to take out a clean nightdress. I undressed and turned to go to the bathroom. It was then I saw it. Pinned by a knife against the back of the door was Edward's yellow racing jacket, the knife's blade smeared with blood. I was more angry than frightened and walked over and removed the knife. Stuck to the tip of the blade was a cutting from the
The damage I'd done my right leg by driving meant that I was confined to bed for the next three weeks and at least that gave me a welcome opportunity to see my son, and a sense of security against whoever out there was stalking me. I valued every moment of Freddie's company; with Edward's parents threatening to take him away, I felt that I was under notice of execution. Any thought I may have had that Tom's conviction would mark the end of the attacks on my life had now been dispelled, and I determined to get myself some concrete protection. There was a maniac at large and I was very much on his hit list.
