“Oh, come on,” Franklin encouraged him. “Show me that you have the courage of your convictions? At least tell me why you think you’re so much better than me. Or, when push comes to shove, are you just a cowardly wimp without your friends to back you up?” His tone had started off as blasé, but it had hardened with every word, finally becoming accusatory.
He and Susie had discussed their tactics in light of the new information they had received, and she had decided that it was time to go up a gear and transition from passive to aggressive questioning. That was fine by Franklin.
“I don’t need anyone to back me up,” Dobson said defiantly. “And, for your information, the Nazis have scientifically proved that the Herrenmenschen – that’s white people – are on a higher evolutionary scale than the Untermensch – that’s the lesser races like Jews, Negros and gypsies.” he turned his nose up as he said the last three words as though merely mentioning the so-called lesser racial groups had left a nasty taste in his Aryan mouth. “It’s why Hitler wanted to eradicate them,” Dobson said, looking at Franklin with the superior sneer of a true zealot. “Old Adolf had the right idea if you ask me, because white folk are at the top of the racial hierarchy, and if we don’t do something to stop it, your lot will try and pollute us through interbreeding.”
That seemed a little ironic to Franklin, considering Dobson had been arrested while shagging an Asian prostitute, but he seemed to have conveniently overlooked that.
Franklin literally didn’t know whether to laugh at the man sitting opposite him for his amateurish attempts to combine historical facts with outlandish propaganda in order to add verisimilitude to the cause of white supremacy, or lean across the table and slap the arrogant smirk from his ugly face. His eyes flickered to Martha Fischer, who had gone pale and looked like she wanted to throw up. From the severity of her reaction, he suspected that members of her family had ended up in the concentration camps during the Second World War.
“So, if I understand you correctly, you’re saying that black men are inferior to white men,” Franklin said, struggling to keep his voice even.
“Obviously,” Dobson replied as though it were a given.
“Do you have any black friends or associates?” Franklin enquired, keeping his voice level, even though his temper was beginning to boil.
Dobson shook his head and laughed at the ridiculousness of the question. “Don’t be fucking stupid,” he snorted, “I would cross the road to avoid one.”
“So, you’ve never sold a gun to a black man?” Franklin asked.
The smile evaporated from Dobson’s face. “I’ve never sold a gun to anyone,” he said.
“What about to Deontay Garston?”
“Never heard of him.”
Franklin slid an old custody image photograph of Garston onto the table. “For the sake of the tape, I’m showing Charlie Dobson a photo of Garston, which is exhibit number CF/1. Do you recognise this man?”
Dobson shook his head.
“Please answer the question,” Franklin said politely, “this is an audio recording, not video.”
“No, I don’t recognise him, but you all look the same to me anyway,” he said with a nasty grin. “All smell the same, too,” he added for good measure.
Gritting his teeth, Franklin placed another still on the table. “Again, for the benefit of the tape, I am showing Charlie Dobson a photo of Errol Heston, which is exhibit CF/2. Do you recognise him?”
Dobson sighed impatiently. “I’ve told you, you all look –”
Colin brought his palm down hard against the desk, making both Dobson and his solicitor jump. “Answer the question, do you recognise him?”
“No,” Dobson said.
“What would you say if I told you I could prove you sold both of these men two Brocock ME38 Magnums on Thursday 6th January?”
“I’d say prove it.”
“What would you say if I told you they used one of these guns to murder a police officer in cold blood at the Royal London Hospital on Monday 11th January?”
Dobson lazily shrugged his lack of concern. “I’d say pigs are no better than coons so who gives a fuck?”
Franklin slid another sheet of paper onto the table. “Take a look at this,” he told Dobson. “For the tape, this is exhibit CF/3, and it’s a photocopy from a ledger we seized during the search of a lockup you rent from a nice Jewish man called Aaron Stein. Do you know him?”
“No comment,” Dobson said, but his face had drained of colour.
“Well, he knows you. Apparently, you’re only supposed to use the lockup for parking and storage, but you’ve turned it into a workshop for your gun selling business, haven’t you?”
“No comment.” Dobson was starting to look a little hot under the collar, Franklin noticed with satisfaction.
“And when he came around to see you a little while ago, because the residents in the flats above the shops had been complaining about the loud bangs coming from inside your lockup some evenings, you and your skinhead mates gave him a hard time. Isn’t that right?”
Dobson swallowed hard. He wasn’t looking so smug now. “No comment,” he said, casting a worried glance at his solicitor.
“Well, my colleagues searched that lockup today and, amongst other things, they found a ledger. The photocopy I’ve just shown you relates to the last entry. Would you care to read it aloud for us?”
“No comment.”
“I take it you can read?” Franklin asked innocently. He was starting to enjoy this. “I mean, what with you being one of the Master Race and all.”
“No comment.”
“Never mind, I’ll do it for you,” Franklin said, scooping the exhibit up off the table.
Dobson’s eyes followed his every movement like a hawk.
“The entry reads: ‘Two Brocock ME38s at £300 each plus a free box of .22. Paid in cash by D.G. Tested prior to sale by client.’ Is that your handwriting, Dobson?”
“No comment.”
“The writing’s very neat,” Franklin observed. “Should be easy for a handwriting expert to say whether or not it’s yours.” He
