Part Twenty Two
Neil Grayling woke up especially early on Wednesday morning as this was the day he was due to perform at the trial of that Atkins youth and the Merriman prisoner. He had always been fastidious at the best of times and when he was with Hannah, he wore out her patience when they used to go to town shopping for clothes. Hannah had been used to past boyfriends whose boredom was visible after ten minutes of her drifting round the likes of Harvey Nicholls . It was a novel experience, when she first dated Neil, that he delivered an unusually expert opinion of what clothes suited her, and not a pale reflection of her well defined ideas on power dressing. It was only later that her feelings of satisfaction of her spot of retail therapy habitually descended into dread at accompanying Neil in his choice of suits. To her, all suits looked the same apart from colour. Why he was so obsessed about the particular suit he chose was something she felt she would never understand, the endless minute calculations of the cut of the jacket, the way it hung on him, the line of the pockets, the match of the shirt?
"I've got to look the part, Hannah, as Governing Governor." he would always say.
She knew he was lying. The sheer obsessive narcissistic quality of the man was something there for its own sake, not some onerous duty that he reluctantly shouldered.
Later on, when the sexual contact with Neil gradually fizzled away to the solitary, unapproachable shape on the far side of the wide double bed, she wondered what situation she had got herself into.
Of course, when she came home deliberately early one afternoon, she quietly unlocked the door and tiptoed quietly up the fresh varnished teak open staircase and peeped round the door, it wasn't some woman that was wrapped up in his arms……..
It was long years of training for the law that developed Jo Mills's protective shell of professionalism. This enabled her to assess, with her expert eye, the strength of a witness's evidence like some structural engineer as to how far they will support the complex logical structures that the stresses and strains of cross-examination will place on them. Normally, she pushed to the back of her mind the idea of whether she liked or disliked the individuals.
"You can't shut out how you feel about people, Mum," her son Mark had said to her once in his down to earth way." Or you couldn't be as good a Mum as you are."
Jo Mills's face broke into a smile at that one showing her very real love for him even though it was a distant relationship with him at public school. Where other parents were tearing their hair out over problem teenagers, Mark was there with his unique way of cutting a swathe through the complexities of the matter.
"What would I do without you, Mark." Her normally curiously formal speaking voice let down the defences as much as her wide-open soulful smile.
"Well, you could always give me some money, Mum." Mark smiled in his most winning way.
So you think yourself the incisive fearless wielder of the power of the spoken word, do you, Jo thought to herself and she never saw that one coming. She slipped her hand inside her handbag and pulled out a couple of notes. This is what mums round the world are there for in the eyes of their teenage children.
The slim shape of the professional woman, the 'other Jo Mills' was dressed for the occasion in the sleekly cut black gown which never succeeded in detracting from her slim upright figure. She somehow looked younger than her years with her short curly blond hair which was slightly at odds with her formal, low pitched voice which carried through the vastness of the court room. On her head was perched the white wig, the ancient emblem of her ancient profession giving her the air of a schoolmistress, precisely the sort of visual impact that Neil Grayling took instant dislike to. Being gay didn't stop him from being a male chauvinist, no matter what liberal sounding buzzwords came insincerely from his mouth.
Up in the gallery, Cassie, Roisin, Karen Yvonne and Lauren occupied the front row, already feeling accustomed to the rhythm of the court. Lauren was doing a last minute adjustment to her makeup but to her total fury, her pocket mirror picked out the black coloured, black hearted shape of Fenner, several rows back. Her fingers fumbled to ram the little mirror back in to her bag but her out of control fingers yanked wildly at the zip and broke it.
"Hey, Lauren,"Yvonne called out."That's your best bag."
Lauren didn't answer. It was as if her fingers were pulling up an invisible zip on Fenner's coat, right up to the throat and to choke off his windpipe with a fevered strength that she never knew she possessed. Yvonne's words"I want him out of the picture for good," rang in her ears and repeated itself like a stuck record so that her mind missed out on half the proceedings.
"Mr Grayling," Jo opened the proceedings. "Can you describe your present job at Larkhall Prison, what it involves and how long you have been doing it."
Grayling gritted his teeth to hear himself pinned down so quickly in words of one syllable when he liked to keep things vague.
"You ask me a difficult question, madam, but, briefly, I am Governing Governor at Larkhall and I have been, so to speak, 'at the helm' for about eighteen months. I am in overall charge of all the prison wings at Larkhall and I take it upon myself to give direction and leadership in these difficult times." finished Grayling, visibly beginning to inflate himself in his own self-importance.
"Mr Grayling, can I ask you did you make the decision to make up Snowball Merriman to a redband and if you didn't, who made the decision?"
"It wasn't me," Grayling said shortly. "It was Jim Fenner."
"You are absolutely positive on this, Mr Grayling." Jo Mills asked to underline her point.
"Definitely so," came the reply.
"And, in amongst your various duties, who made the decision to organise the 'Open Day' the event when, tragically, the fire took place and Sharon Wiley was killed."
"It was me that made that decision," Grayling jumped in straightaway and, more hesitantly, carried on." That is, without the faintest idea that such a tragic set of circumstances could happen."
Jo's white smile had a superficial air of good humour while, in reality, she felt a growing contempt for this buck passer and double dealer from direct impressions alone.
"Mr Grayling, can you confirm that, some time before the fire, Miss Betts came to see you to advise you that she had started a relationship with the defendant, Ritchie Atkins, and that you sanctioned it. I repeat your own words to her. "If you want me to slap your wrists for fancying a younger man, I won't do it. If you want me to tell you not to see an Atkins, I can't do it." This was a decision that you made, quite understandably not knowing the plot that the defendants were hatching at the time." Jo Mills spoke carefully and deliberately, watching Grayling flinch at the ghastly inappropriateness of the advice in retrospect and
working hard to prevent Grayling's real fear of 'losing face' in public taking control so that he would turn and run.
"Yes," Grayling half muttered, half hissed.
"At the time, knowing only what you knew then, what was the reasoning behind your judgement, Mr Grayling." Jo Mills asked him, continuing to massage his ego.
"I was informed that Ritchie Atkins had lived abroad as he wanted nothing to do with the family business," Grayling answered, breathing heavily but with more confidence. This decision had weighed heavily on his mind and his sole driving force was to publically justify himself in a court of law so that Area would not come to him if they wanted a scapegoat. This was the one reason he agreed to testify in court." As far as I was concerned, there was nothing on Ritchie Atkins record and, as I said at the time, a prison officer is entitled to a private life so long as it did not conflict with his job." Grayling finished on an increasingly loud confident note, glancing up at Sir Ian and Lawrence James who both nodded in approval.
"How much were you involved in the practical organisation of the Open Day, both before and during the course of the day. Mr Grayling?" Jo carried on, cynically noticing his periodic glances upward at the gallery.
"The practical day to day organisation………let me see," Grayling said reflectively, buying time to search his memory."Mr Fenner, my Principal Officer, did a very successful talk at the local Masonic Lodge to whip up interest in the 'adopt a prisoner' scheme which I thought up. Karen Betts, the Wing Governor, was responsible for security, practical arrangements, including a 'rap song' performed by three prisoners, and an exhibition laid on by the prisoners in the library." and here Grayling closed his eyes momentarily at the embarrassment of the 3 Julies' rap protest ruffling a few feathers." I did the announcements, the publicity bit and general 'public relations."
Cassie and Roisin both grinned at the memory of the blunt home truths they laid on the visitors about women in prison and the latest brainchild of some arse licker in Whitehall, locking up children with their mothers. Karen looked scornfully at this pathetic monument of combined ineffectiveness and self aggrandisement. Her keen ears picked up the reference to 'my Principal Officer' and 'the Wing Governor' which told her everything about Grayling.
"And where were you when the explosion happened, Mr Grayling." Jo Mills cut to the chase, fearing to inflict unnecessary sufferings on the jury with yet more commercials for Grayling.
"I had gone back to where the prisoners were in the library where the exhibition was held to escort them out to the gardens as the visitors were starting to move in that direction already, to come outside into the garden on the next part of the guided tour. I was about half way along the corridor when the bomb went off. I can't remember anything more after that." Grayling finished in a hesitant dazed fashion, being the first time he had been dragged back in his mind to the events of that terrible day.
"If I might come in here at this point, my lord," George's loud brittle voice barged in,"I can't see what earthly use this witness can possibly be in these proceedings. My taxes are being paid to subsidise this bumbling witness to waste valuable court time."
Jo Mills was hit by a violent cross current of feelings. On the one hand, George's description of Grayling was her feelings exactly but on the other hand, she wasn't going to let this brash, high class bitch push her around and take over the court. The fact that she had been once married to John Deed was nothing that her legally trained mind would, for one second, let interfere with her legal judgement.
"Ms Channing, your excellent memory would not have forgotten this morning's charade and I would again remind you that you would do well to realise that I decide what limits I allow a council in their cross examination, not you. Nevertheless I would ask you, Mrs Mills, to explain to the court the point to where your examination of the witness is leading."
Jo nodded in the direction of John Deed and totally ignored George Channing who was fuming under her breath at John Deed's clever ploy in exploiting her vanity to shut her up.
"If the exhibition was held in the library, can you state whether or not the library books and racks were still in the library and, if not, where they had been moved to?"
"I really wasn't involved in that as I was busy with other, higher matters." Grayling stammered slightly, glancing up at the lowering storm clouds of Sir Ian and Lawrence James piled high right at the back of the gallery."I cannot remember any library books where the exhibition was."
"So presumably they were in the nearest place to the library." Jo Mills almost sighed as she spoke, feeling like a determined dentist extracting a tooth from a patient, bent on backing away from her."Which would be the corridor."
"Yes," Grayling spoke, feeling torn between his own pride and the glares from his friends, literally 'on high.'
."Mr Grayling, you have explained to the court that, at the time that the bomb exploded, you were the only person in authority at Larkhall present at the scene. Can you describe for the benefit of the court the exact appearance of the corridor as far as you can do so? Take your time as I know that this is associated with painful memories." Jo finished in a gentler note than she had planned to.
"As far as I can remember, there were metal racks on either side of the corridor piled high with books."
"Would you say that they were in any discernable order?"
"I only glanced for a second but they didn't seem to be in any particular order. Of course, I'm not a librarian." Grayling smiled tightly.
"No, only a nobbing Prison Governor," Cassie muttered derisively under her breath, scornful of this bumbling fool who wouldn't last five minutes in the job she now did.
"The bastard," Karen fumed quietly. "He's trying to sabotage the trial. Even he isn't this useless. Take my word for it." Karen assured them seeing himself conduct himself worse in court than her newest Prison Officer. Lauren said nothing, her anger still at boiling point but an Atkins can bottle it up when it was needed
"My lord," George Channing's loud voice threatened to vibrate the overhead lights in the domed roof." Must the court endure this interminable and purposeless cross examination," she finished with an affected yawn.
"Ms Channing, you must learn that patience is a virtue which all of us acquire in time, some later than others."John Deed's voice rolled out smoothly with a very meaning look in George's direction. Concern for her fellow human beings is hardly a charge George Channing can be accused of, he nearly said.
"Let us get to the point, Mr Grayling. As an average human being although a layman in library matters, seeing that the Larkhall library would have to be reconstituted after the open day, would you say that from your observations, that would be an easy matter or an extremely difficult matter." Jo Mills spoke sharply and precisely, her manner calling Mr Grayling to order.
"A difficult matter," Mr Grayling had to admit.
George Channing was instantly up on her feet like a hound let off the leash. The stage was hers and she was sure she could wipe the floor with Miss Oxfam's witness.
"Mr Grayling," George Channing's loud commanding, stern, almost nannyinsh voice reminded Grayling why he hated dominant women."You have testified to the court that, while you are a glittering ornament decorating Larkhall Prison, practically, you are everywhere and at the same time nowhere at all. I ask you to explain to the court what practical use your evidence is at all. I can't see anything of any substance." George Channing finished with a mocking laugh.
"Objection, my Lord," Jo Mill's professionalism sprung to the fore." Whatever court my learned colleague has practiced in before, she should know not to badger the witnesses in this outrageous fashion."
"My thoughts exactly," John Deed's melodious voice concealed the feeling of horror and incredulity that the habitual verbal crossfire between his ex wife and his girlfriend was carried into his working life as a judge ruling between two opposing councils. "You know very well, George Channing, my ability to employ the ultimate sanction within my powers on a council who consistently steps over the line as to what is permitted in cross examination. I have used this sanction once before, or so you will have heard and I am very close to imposing this sanction right now."
George Channing reacted as if an ice cold bucketful of water was thrown in her face. She coloured and swallowed and briefly returned to her papers while she collected her wits.
"How the bleeding hell did the judge knock the stuffing out of that posh bitch?" Yvonne whispered out of the corner of her mouth to an equally curious Karen. Karen had had an insight into the very real human being that was John Deed without the judge's robes and was intrigued that a small amount of force of personality could shut up that irritating woman so quickly. Just what was the 'ultimate sanction' and why did that cow crumple up so easily?
Sir Ian Rochester and Lawrence James scowled impotently at John Deed as they knew full well that John Deed was perfectly capable of carrying out this threat. At the same time, they were beginning to wonder if they had done the right thing in agreeing to Georgia Channing taking the place of Brian Cantwell in so delicate a trial. Full marks for enthusiasm but five out of ten for judgement, Sir Ian reflected. He looked down at the solitary figure of Fenner a few rows down in the gallery and searched his memory. Was he the prison officer that Neil phoned him up about to ask him to help get him off the hook over some rape case? The man looks harmless enough.
"I beg your pardon, my lord." George Channing rather venomous apology fought its way out of her mouth. It was the nice fat barrister's fee and the vision of the luxury apartment in the Algarve which tipped the balance.
"Mr Grayling, may I ask you what happened to the revolver that was originally discovered at the time of the explosion and when it came to light at the time of Ritchie's accident?"
"Regrettably, I cannot answer the question," Grayling replied, looking distinctly shifty on the one occasion that the man was giving a straight answer.
"Cannot or will not." George's sharp tones cut in.
"I ought to explain that for several weeks, I was off work sick as I was badly injured in the explosion. When I came back to work, the police had already combed Larkhall prison from top to bottom but there was no trace of the gun. Where it was concealed, I really don't know."
"It doesn't say much for the standard of security at Larkhall that such a large solid object could remain hidden for all those weeks." George's little dig was in a more muted tone than even she was used to.
"What can I do," Grayling replied, spreading his hands." There's nothing more that I can say."
"My lord, I think that this line of investigation is going nowhere apart from straining the patience of the jury in a case complicated enough already." Jo Mills smoothly intervened, stealing one of George's favourite gambits much to her annoyance.
"I agree, Mrs Mills.Ms Channing, will you please continue with the remainder of your case."
George Channing went red in the face at the damned impertinence of that Mills woman and her spineless boyfriend who used to share the same name and bed, God help her.
"Mr Grayling," George's aristocratic languid deadly tones psychologically dangled Grayling from two sharp edged elongated painted fingernails, "aside from the long list of decisions you don't make, and practical qualities you don't possess, can you explain your treatment of the defendant, a high security prisoner from when she arrived in Larkhall. In particular can you explain why you saw fit to delegate the sentence plan to Mr Fenner, a mere Principal Officer to a prisoner who, but for the extradition hearing that would have seen the defendant sentenced to death by the electric chair in the state of Florida, This same officer is the same one whose reticence at claiming the credit for his enlightened sentence plan of librarian makes his evidence not altogether to be trusted any more than your judgement."
Grayling looked blankly in front of him at this demonic woman with the ability to twist words and actions in front of his very eyes, that two plus two equal five once she cast her spell.
"I beg your pardon." Grayling asked, his mouth in freeform talk disconnected from his shut down brain."I didn't quite follow what you were getting at."
"Mr Grayling," George switched to irritated bossy mode," In plain simple English, why did you allow a Principal Officer to decide Snowball Merriman's sentence plan."
"I allowed Mr Fenner to decide this as he was an experienced prison officer who, until recently, was promoted to wing Governor. He knew the job." Grayling finished, sheer panic driving all the contrived managementspeak out of his brain in his last words.
"My lord, again I would question the point of this line of examination. That a mistake or mistakes were made in the handling of the defendant, a very scheming female prisoner, is something the prosecution would not seek to deny. These merely gave the opportunity for her to carry out her plan. I find myself in the curious position of actually agreeing with my learned council in her description of the defendant." Jo interposed firmly with a final sarcastic twist ,much to George's seething bottled up anger.
"My thoughts precisely," John Deed replied smoothly, hemmed in by George's bumptious personality, rubbing salt into the wounds."Have you any more questions to put to the witness, Ms Channing?"
"No" George sulked pointedly omitting John Deed's usual title. She never grovelled to this impossible infuriating man while they were married so why should she start now?
"Court is adjourned till ten tomorrow." John Deed intoned.
Fenner, resplendent in his best suit, accidentally bumped into George after she had come out of the ladies, having touched up her makeup and removed her gown and revealed the very low cut dress that she wore. Fenner's eyes lit up. George exuded that sort of sexual aura that Fenner found a challenge and he was sure that he could smooth things over.
"Do you want to come out with me for a drink? I know a place that is very exclusive where we can smooth things over."
George was looking for someone on whom she could vent her spleen and this oily man with this cockney accent was leering at her at precisely the wrong time.
"You pathetic, slimy little man. Don't you know I only dine with Cabinet Ministers, not mere mortals and still less a subhuman like you."
And verbally cutting Fenner to shreds, she flounced off to the nearest taxi. Had Neil Houghton known, about the incident, he would be the one person to be grateful for Fenner's existence as he took the initial brunt of George's capricious and lethal temper.
Neil Grayling woke up especially early on Wednesday morning as this was the day he was due to perform at the trial of that Atkins youth and the Merriman prisoner. He had always been fastidious at the best of times and when he was with Hannah, he wore out her patience when they used to go to town shopping for clothes. Hannah had been used to past boyfriends whose boredom was visible after ten minutes of her drifting round the likes of Harvey Nicholls . It was a novel experience, when she first dated Neil, that he delivered an unusually expert opinion of what clothes suited her, and not a pale reflection of her well defined ideas on power dressing. It was only later that her feelings of satisfaction of her spot of retail therapy habitually descended into dread at accompanying Neil in his choice of suits. To her, all suits looked the same apart from colour. Why he was so obsessed about the particular suit he chose was something she felt she would never understand, the endless minute calculations of the cut of the jacket, the way it hung on him, the line of the pockets, the match of the shirt?
"I've got to look the part, Hannah, as Governing Governor." he would always say.
She knew he was lying. The sheer obsessive narcissistic quality of the man was something there for its own sake, not some onerous duty that he reluctantly shouldered.
Later on, when the sexual contact with Neil gradually fizzled away to the solitary, unapproachable shape on the far side of the wide double bed, she wondered what situation she had got herself into.
Of course, when she came home deliberately early one afternoon, she quietly unlocked the door and tiptoed quietly up the fresh varnished teak open staircase and peeped round the door, it wasn't some woman that was wrapped up in his arms……..
It was long years of training for the law that developed Jo Mills's protective shell of professionalism. This enabled her to assess, with her expert eye, the strength of a witness's evidence like some structural engineer as to how far they will support the complex logical structures that the stresses and strains of cross-examination will place on them. Normally, she pushed to the back of her mind the idea of whether she liked or disliked the individuals.
"You can't shut out how you feel about people, Mum," her son Mark had said to her once in his down to earth way." Or you couldn't be as good a Mum as you are."
Jo Mills's face broke into a smile at that one showing her very real love for him even though it was a distant relationship with him at public school. Where other parents were tearing their hair out over problem teenagers, Mark was there with his unique way of cutting a swathe through the complexities of the matter.
"What would I do without you, Mark." Her normally curiously formal speaking voice let down the defences as much as her wide-open soulful smile.
"Well, you could always give me some money, Mum." Mark smiled in his most winning way.
So you think yourself the incisive fearless wielder of the power of the spoken word, do you, Jo thought to herself and she never saw that one coming. She slipped her hand inside her handbag and pulled out a couple of notes. This is what mums round the world are there for in the eyes of their teenage children.
The slim shape of the professional woman, the 'other Jo Mills' was dressed for the occasion in the sleekly cut black gown which never succeeded in detracting from her slim upright figure. She somehow looked younger than her years with her short curly blond hair which was slightly at odds with her formal, low pitched voice which carried through the vastness of the court room. On her head was perched the white wig, the ancient emblem of her ancient profession giving her the air of a schoolmistress, precisely the sort of visual impact that Neil Grayling took instant dislike to. Being gay didn't stop him from being a male chauvinist, no matter what liberal sounding buzzwords came insincerely from his mouth.
Up in the gallery, Cassie, Roisin, Karen Yvonne and Lauren occupied the front row, already feeling accustomed to the rhythm of the court. Lauren was doing a last minute adjustment to her makeup but to her total fury, her pocket mirror picked out the black coloured, black hearted shape of Fenner, several rows back. Her fingers fumbled to ram the little mirror back in to her bag but her out of control fingers yanked wildly at the zip and broke it.
"Hey, Lauren,"Yvonne called out."That's your best bag."
Lauren didn't answer. It was as if her fingers were pulling up an invisible zip on Fenner's coat, right up to the throat and to choke off his windpipe with a fevered strength that she never knew she possessed. Yvonne's words"I want him out of the picture for good," rang in her ears and repeated itself like a stuck record so that her mind missed out on half the proceedings.
"Mr Grayling," Jo opened the proceedings. "Can you describe your present job at Larkhall Prison, what it involves and how long you have been doing it."
Grayling gritted his teeth to hear himself pinned down so quickly in words of one syllable when he liked to keep things vague.
"You ask me a difficult question, madam, but, briefly, I am Governing Governor at Larkhall and I have been, so to speak, 'at the helm' for about eighteen months. I am in overall charge of all the prison wings at Larkhall and I take it upon myself to give direction and leadership in these difficult times." finished Grayling, visibly beginning to inflate himself in his own self-importance.
"Mr Grayling, can I ask you did you make the decision to make up Snowball Merriman to a redband and if you didn't, who made the decision?"
"It wasn't me," Grayling said shortly. "It was Jim Fenner."
"You are absolutely positive on this, Mr Grayling." Jo Mills asked to underline her point.
"Definitely so," came the reply.
"And, in amongst your various duties, who made the decision to organise the 'Open Day' the event when, tragically, the fire took place and Sharon Wiley was killed."
"It was me that made that decision," Grayling jumped in straightaway and, more hesitantly, carried on." That is, without the faintest idea that such a tragic set of circumstances could happen."
Jo's white smile had a superficial air of good humour while, in reality, she felt a growing contempt for this buck passer and double dealer from direct impressions alone.
"Mr Grayling, can you confirm that, some time before the fire, Miss Betts came to see you to advise you that she had started a relationship with the defendant, Ritchie Atkins, and that you sanctioned it. I repeat your own words to her. "If you want me to slap your wrists for fancying a younger man, I won't do it. If you want me to tell you not to see an Atkins, I can't do it." This was a decision that you made, quite understandably not knowing the plot that the defendants were hatching at the time." Jo Mills spoke carefully and deliberately, watching Grayling flinch at the ghastly inappropriateness of the advice in retrospect and
working hard to prevent Grayling's real fear of 'losing face' in public taking control so that he would turn and run.
"Yes," Grayling half muttered, half hissed.
"At the time, knowing only what you knew then, what was the reasoning behind your judgement, Mr Grayling." Jo Mills asked him, continuing to massage his ego.
"I was informed that Ritchie Atkins had lived abroad as he wanted nothing to do with the family business," Grayling answered, breathing heavily but with more confidence. This decision had weighed heavily on his mind and his sole driving force was to publically justify himself in a court of law so that Area would not come to him if they wanted a scapegoat. This was the one reason he agreed to testify in court." As far as I was concerned, there was nothing on Ritchie Atkins record and, as I said at the time, a prison officer is entitled to a private life so long as it did not conflict with his job." Grayling finished on an increasingly loud confident note, glancing up at Sir Ian and Lawrence James who both nodded in approval.
"How much were you involved in the practical organisation of the Open Day, both before and during the course of the day. Mr Grayling?" Jo carried on, cynically noticing his periodic glances upward at the gallery.
"The practical day to day organisation………let me see," Grayling said reflectively, buying time to search his memory."Mr Fenner, my Principal Officer, did a very successful talk at the local Masonic Lodge to whip up interest in the 'adopt a prisoner' scheme which I thought up. Karen Betts, the Wing Governor, was responsible for security, practical arrangements, including a 'rap song' performed by three prisoners, and an exhibition laid on by the prisoners in the library." and here Grayling closed his eyes momentarily at the embarrassment of the 3 Julies' rap protest ruffling a few feathers." I did the announcements, the publicity bit and general 'public relations."
Cassie and Roisin both grinned at the memory of the blunt home truths they laid on the visitors about women in prison and the latest brainchild of some arse licker in Whitehall, locking up children with their mothers. Karen looked scornfully at this pathetic monument of combined ineffectiveness and self aggrandisement. Her keen ears picked up the reference to 'my Principal Officer' and 'the Wing Governor' which told her everything about Grayling.
"And where were you when the explosion happened, Mr Grayling." Jo Mills cut to the chase, fearing to inflict unnecessary sufferings on the jury with yet more commercials for Grayling.
"I had gone back to where the prisoners were in the library where the exhibition was held to escort them out to the gardens as the visitors were starting to move in that direction already, to come outside into the garden on the next part of the guided tour. I was about half way along the corridor when the bomb went off. I can't remember anything more after that." Grayling finished in a hesitant dazed fashion, being the first time he had been dragged back in his mind to the events of that terrible day.
"If I might come in here at this point, my lord," George's loud brittle voice barged in,"I can't see what earthly use this witness can possibly be in these proceedings. My taxes are being paid to subsidise this bumbling witness to waste valuable court time."
Jo Mills was hit by a violent cross current of feelings. On the one hand, George's description of Grayling was her feelings exactly but on the other hand, she wasn't going to let this brash, high class bitch push her around and take over the court. The fact that she had been once married to John Deed was nothing that her legally trained mind would, for one second, let interfere with her legal judgement.
"Ms Channing, your excellent memory would not have forgotten this morning's charade and I would again remind you that you would do well to realise that I decide what limits I allow a council in their cross examination, not you. Nevertheless I would ask you, Mrs Mills, to explain to the court the point to where your examination of the witness is leading."
Jo nodded in the direction of John Deed and totally ignored George Channing who was fuming under her breath at John Deed's clever ploy in exploiting her vanity to shut her up.
"If the exhibition was held in the library, can you state whether or not the library books and racks were still in the library and, if not, where they had been moved to?"
"I really wasn't involved in that as I was busy with other, higher matters." Grayling stammered slightly, glancing up at the lowering storm clouds of Sir Ian and Lawrence James piled high right at the back of the gallery."I cannot remember any library books where the exhibition was."
"So presumably they were in the nearest place to the library." Jo Mills almost sighed as she spoke, feeling like a determined dentist extracting a tooth from a patient, bent on backing away from her."Which would be the corridor."
"Yes," Grayling spoke, feeling torn between his own pride and the glares from his friends, literally 'on high.'
."Mr Grayling, you have explained to the court that, at the time that the bomb exploded, you were the only person in authority at Larkhall present at the scene. Can you describe for the benefit of the court the exact appearance of the corridor as far as you can do so? Take your time as I know that this is associated with painful memories." Jo finished in a gentler note than she had planned to.
"As far as I can remember, there were metal racks on either side of the corridor piled high with books."
"Would you say that they were in any discernable order?"
"I only glanced for a second but they didn't seem to be in any particular order. Of course, I'm not a librarian." Grayling smiled tightly.
"No, only a nobbing Prison Governor," Cassie muttered derisively under her breath, scornful of this bumbling fool who wouldn't last five minutes in the job she now did.
"The bastard," Karen fumed quietly. "He's trying to sabotage the trial. Even he isn't this useless. Take my word for it." Karen assured them seeing himself conduct himself worse in court than her newest Prison Officer. Lauren said nothing, her anger still at boiling point but an Atkins can bottle it up when it was needed
"My lord," George Channing's loud voice threatened to vibrate the overhead lights in the domed roof." Must the court endure this interminable and purposeless cross examination," she finished with an affected yawn.
"Ms Channing, you must learn that patience is a virtue which all of us acquire in time, some later than others."John Deed's voice rolled out smoothly with a very meaning look in George's direction. Concern for her fellow human beings is hardly a charge George Channing can be accused of, he nearly said.
"Let us get to the point, Mr Grayling. As an average human being although a layman in library matters, seeing that the Larkhall library would have to be reconstituted after the open day, would you say that from your observations, that would be an easy matter or an extremely difficult matter." Jo Mills spoke sharply and precisely, her manner calling Mr Grayling to order.
"A difficult matter," Mr Grayling had to admit.
George Channing was instantly up on her feet like a hound let off the leash. The stage was hers and she was sure she could wipe the floor with Miss Oxfam's witness.
"Mr Grayling," George Channing's loud commanding, stern, almost nannyinsh voice reminded Grayling why he hated dominant women."You have testified to the court that, while you are a glittering ornament decorating Larkhall Prison, practically, you are everywhere and at the same time nowhere at all. I ask you to explain to the court what practical use your evidence is at all. I can't see anything of any substance." George Channing finished with a mocking laugh.
"Objection, my Lord," Jo Mill's professionalism sprung to the fore." Whatever court my learned colleague has practiced in before, she should know not to badger the witnesses in this outrageous fashion."
"My thoughts exactly," John Deed's melodious voice concealed the feeling of horror and incredulity that the habitual verbal crossfire between his ex wife and his girlfriend was carried into his working life as a judge ruling between two opposing councils. "You know very well, George Channing, my ability to employ the ultimate sanction within my powers on a council who consistently steps over the line as to what is permitted in cross examination. I have used this sanction once before, or so you will have heard and I am very close to imposing this sanction right now."
George Channing reacted as if an ice cold bucketful of water was thrown in her face. She coloured and swallowed and briefly returned to her papers while she collected her wits.
"How the bleeding hell did the judge knock the stuffing out of that posh bitch?" Yvonne whispered out of the corner of her mouth to an equally curious Karen. Karen had had an insight into the very real human being that was John Deed without the judge's robes and was intrigued that a small amount of force of personality could shut up that irritating woman so quickly. Just what was the 'ultimate sanction' and why did that cow crumple up so easily?
Sir Ian Rochester and Lawrence James scowled impotently at John Deed as they knew full well that John Deed was perfectly capable of carrying out this threat. At the same time, they were beginning to wonder if they had done the right thing in agreeing to Georgia Channing taking the place of Brian Cantwell in so delicate a trial. Full marks for enthusiasm but five out of ten for judgement, Sir Ian reflected. He looked down at the solitary figure of Fenner a few rows down in the gallery and searched his memory. Was he the prison officer that Neil phoned him up about to ask him to help get him off the hook over some rape case? The man looks harmless enough.
"I beg your pardon, my lord." George Channing rather venomous apology fought its way out of her mouth. It was the nice fat barrister's fee and the vision of the luxury apartment in the Algarve which tipped the balance.
"Mr Grayling, may I ask you what happened to the revolver that was originally discovered at the time of the explosion and when it came to light at the time of Ritchie's accident?"
"Regrettably, I cannot answer the question," Grayling replied, looking distinctly shifty on the one occasion that the man was giving a straight answer.
"Cannot or will not." George's sharp tones cut in.
"I ought to explain that for several weeks, I was off work sick as I was badly injured in the explosion. When I came back to work, the police had already combed Larkhall prison from top to bottom but there was no trace of the gun. Where it was concealed, I really don't know."
"It doesn't say much for the standard of security at Larkhall that such a large solid object could remain hidden for all those weeks." George's little dig was in a more muted tone than even she was used to.
"What can I do," Grayling replied, spreading his hands." There's nothing more that I can say."
"My lord, I think that this line of investigation is going nowhere apart from straining the patience of the jury in a case complicated enough already." Jo Mills smoothly intervened, stealing one of George's favourite gambits much to her annoyance.
"I agree, Mrs Mills.Ms Channing, will you please continue with the remainder of your case."
George Channing went red in the face at the damned impertinence of that Mills woman and her spineless boyfriend who used to share the same name and bed, God help her.
"Mr Grayling," George's aristocratic languid deadly tones psychologically dangled Grayling from two sharp edged elongated painted fingernails, "aside from the long list of decisions you don't make, and practical qualities you don't possess, can you explain your treatment of the defendant, a high security prisoner from when she arrived in Larkhall. In particular can you explain why you saw fit to delegate the sentence plan to Mr Fenner, a mere Principal Officer to a prisoner who, but for the extradition hearing that would have seen the defendant sentenced to death by the electric chair in the state of Florida, This same officer is the same one whose reticence at claiming the credit for his enlightened sentence plan of librarian makes his evidence not altogether to be trusted any more than your judgement."
Grayling looked blankly in front of him at this demonic woman with the ability to twist words and actions in front of his very eyes, that two plus two equal five once she cast her spell.
"I beg your pardon." Grayling asked, his mouth in freeform talk disconnected from his shut down brain."I didn't quite follow what you were getting at."
"Mr Grayling," George switched to irritated bossy mode," In plain simple English, why did you allow a Principal Officer to decide Snowball Merriman's sentence plan."
"I allowed Mr Fenner to decide this as he was an experienced prison officer who, until recently, was promoted to wing Governor. He knew the job." Grayling finished, sheer panic driving all the contrived managementspeak out of his brain in his last words.
"My lord, again I would question the point of this line of examination. That a mistake or mistakes were made in the handling of the defendant, a very scheming female prisoner, is something the prosecution would not seek to deny. These merely gave the opportunity for her to carry out her plan. I find myself in the curious position of actually agreeing with my learned council in her description of the defendant." Jo interposed firmly with a final sarcastic twist ,much to George's seething bottled up anger.
"My thoughts precisely," John Deed replied smoothly, hemmed in by George's bumptious personality, rubbing salt into the wounds."Have you any more questions to put to the witness, Ms Channing?"
"No" George sulked pointedly omitting John Deed's usual title. She never grovelled to this impossible infuriating man while they were married so why should she start now?
"Court is adjourned till ten tomorrow." John Deed intoned.
Fenner, resplendent in his best suit, accidentally bumped into George after she had come out of the ladies, having touched up her makeup and removed her gown and revealed the very low cut dress that she wore. Fenner's eyes lit up. George exuded that sort of sexual aura that Fenner found a challenge and he was sure that he could smooth things over.
"Do you want to come out with me for a drink? I know a place that is very exclusive where we can smooth things over."
George was looking for someone on whom she could vent her spleen and this oily man with this cockney accent was leering at her at precisely the wrong time.
"You pathetic, slimy little man. Don't you know I only dine with Cabinet Ministers, not mere mortals and still less a subhuman like you."
And verbally cutting Fenner to shreds, she flounced off to the nearest taxi. Had Neil Houghton known, about the incident, he would be the one person to be grateful for Fenner's existence as he took the initial brunt of George's capricious and lethal temper.