‘Everything has been looked into,’ Branson said.
‘This is preposterous!’ the solicitor protested. ‘My client has been completely open with you. He’s answered everything you’ve asked him.’
‘That will be noted at trial,’ Branson responded. Then, cutting to the chase, he addressed Bishop directly. ‘Brian Desmond Bishop, you are charged that on or about 4 August of this year, at Brighton in the county of East Sussex, you did unlawfully kill Katherine Margaret Bishop. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Is that clear?’
Bishop glanced at his solicitor again, then back at Branson. ‘Yes.’ The word came out as a whisper.
Branson turned to Leighton Lloyd. ‘We will be making arrangements to put your client before Brighton Magistrates’ Court at two o’clock this afternoon, when we will be requesting a remand in custody.’
‘We will be making an application for bail,’ Lloyd said resolutely, then shot a comforting smile at Bishop. ‘My client is an upstanding member of the community and a pillar of society. I’m sure that he would be prepared to surrender his passport, and he is in a position to offer a substantial surety.’
‘That will be for the magistrates to decide,’ Branson replied. Then he and Nick Nicholl returned to Sussex House, leaving Bishop in the hands of his lawyer and his jailer.
104
After the CPS solicitor had departed, Grace made an internal call to his friend and colleague Brian Cook, the Scientific Support Branch Manager, and asked him what he knew about the burnt-out MG that had been taken to the police pound last night.
‘Haven’t allocated that to anyone from SOCO yet, Roy,’ he said. ‘Got so many people on holiday, everyone here is worked off their feet on the two murder cases. Why, do you think there’s a link?’
‘No, I’m just curious about what happened.’ Despite indiscretions by Glenn Branson, his relationship with Cleo Morey was not yet public knowledge and Grace was happy to keep it that way, worried that some people, for whatever reason, might look on it as unprofessional.
‘I understand it belonged to Cleo Morey at the mortuary,’ Cook said.
Grace was unsure if there was deliberate innuendo in the man’s voice or not. Then, dispelling any doubt, Cook added, with very definite innuendo now, ‘She’s your friend, isn’t she?’
‘We’re
‘So I hear. Good on you! Look, I’ll keep you posted. We’ve got an officer in hospital, and I gather there’s a man connected with it who’s on life support, so I’m going to have to do a full report. Just double my budget and give me ten more SOCOs!’
Grace thanked him, then checked the briefing notes that Eleanor had typed up. When he had finished, he opened the diary on his BlackBerry and glanced through his schedule for the day. At least they had some good news to give out at this morning’s press conference. At two p.m. he needed to attend Bishop’s remand hearing, in case there were any problems. Later he had the six-thirty briefing meeting. And perhaps an early night if there were no major new developments. He badly needed to catch up on some sleep, before he became so tired he started making mistakes. He felt precariously close to that state now.
Three magistrates – two women and a man – sat at the bench in Court 3 in the Edward Street courthouse. It was a small, plain room, with tiered rows of wooden seats and a small public and press area to the side. With the exception of the
Brian Bishop, changed back into his own clothes now, a camel-coloured jacket over a polo shirt and navy slacks, was standing in the dock, still looking utterly wretched.
Facing the bench were the CPS solicitor, Chris Binns, Bishop’s own solicitor, Leighton Lloyd, Grace and Branson, as well as about thirty journalists, packing out the side gallery.
To Grace’s dismay, the chairman of the bench today was peroxide-haired Hermione Quentin, lording it in an expensive-looking dress. She was the one magistrate in the city that he really disliked, having had a run-in with her earlier this year, in this same court, over a suspect he had wanted to hold in custody and she had, totally illogically – and dangerously, in his view – refused. Was she going to do the same today?
The appearance was brief. Leighton Lloyd delivered a passionate and cogent argument why Bishop should be released on bail. Chris Binns did a swingeing demolition job on it. It took the magistrates only a few moments of conferring before Hermione Quentin spoke.
‘Bail is denied,’ she said haughtily, enunciating each word with the precision of an elocution teacher, alternately addressing Bishop and his solicitor. ‘The reason is the seriousness of the offence. We believe Mr Bishop presents a
