Reckless Endangerment(79)

That was all I needed, and it was all on the tape.

‘But it wasn’t your mobile phone,’ said Kate, careful not to make it sound like a question, ‘it was Julian’s.’

‘I know that now. It wasn’t until much later that I realized I hadn’t even taken my own phone with me. And then I picked up her phone, thinking it was mine. That was my one mistake,’ admitted Muriel ruefully.

That wasn’t the only mistake you made, I thought.

I had a short discussion with the Crown Prosecution Service lawyer who was resident at the police station, and laid my evidence before him. It took him only a matter of minutes to formulate the charge, following which Kate and I escorted Muriel Reed to the custody suite where she was ‘put on the sheet’ for the murder of Sharon Gregory.

I was now faced with the onerous task of writing a report detailing everything connected with the enquiry, and ensuring that all the relevant statements were attached. When prosecuting counsel received his brief, which would be based on that report, he should have no problem in securing a conviction. I hoped. But, as I’ve said many times before, there is nothing quite as fickle as an English jury.

A month later, Muriel Reed was arraigned in Court Number Three at the Central Criminal Court at Old Bailey in the City of London. There was only one count on the indictment: the wilful murder of Sharon Gregory.

She was escorted into the dock by two stern-faced women prison officers, but stood erect, her expressionless gaze fixed firmly on the Royal Arms above the judge’s chair. As befitted the occasion, she was smartly dressed in a matching grey jacket and skirt, and a high-collared white blouse. She wore no jewellery, not even earrings.

Had she looked up at the public gallery above and behind her, she would have seen her husband. Julian Reed was seated in the front row, leaning forward with his arms folded on the edge of the balcony and studying the proceedings with great interest.

As the usher shouted ‘All rise’, the red-robed judge appeared and bowed to counsel. They bowed back.

With a shout of ‘Oyez, oyez!’ the usher had his real moment of glory, and went on to mumble something about ‘oyer and terminer and general gaol delivery’.

Then it began.

Muriel wanted to plead guilty, but the judge was having none of it. This was fairly common practice in murder trials; Her Majesty’s Justices rightly wanted to make sure that defendants knew what they would be signing up for. Either that or there was some conspiracy between the bench and the bar to make sure that counsel would be able to milk the legal aid system for all it was worth. Whatever the reason, the judge directed that a plea of not guilty should be entered.

At this point, I leaned forward and whispered in prosecuting counsel’s ear. He nodded and stood to address the judge.

‘My Lord, I have just been informed that the defendant’s husband is in the public gallery. I’d be obliged if Your Lordship direct that he be removed. I intend to call him as a witness.’

The judge looked up. ‘Mr Reed, be so good as to wait outside the court until you are called.’

That little piece of procedural correctness accomplished, the jury was empanelled and the theatre of British justice lumbered slowly into action. One almost expected to hear the usher shout, ‘Overture and beginners, please,’ to herald the opening addresses by counsel for the Crown and for the defence respectively.

It was at that point that I, as a witness, was also obliged to leave.

It was not until the afternoon that the usher opened the door and bellowed, ‘Detective Chief Inspector Brock’ in a voice that would have been heard in Ludgate Circus.

I took my place in the witness box, swore to tell the truth and waited for prosecuting counsel to earn his fee.

He took me through all the investigations that had led to the arrest of Muriel Reed until we reached the important bit.

‘Chief Inspector, did Mrs Reed state that she had murdered Sharon Gregory?’

‘She did, sir,’ I replied.

‘What exactly did she say?’

I repeated Muriel’s statement, word for word.

‘And was that confession made under caution and was it recorded?’ asked counsel.

‘It was, sir.’

‘And did the defendant say anything else?’

‘She did, sir. She made a voluntary statement describing her visit to the hotel room where the body of Sharon Gregory was later discovered.’ I went on to tell the court exactly what Muriel Reed had said.

Prosecuting counsel went through the rigmarole of having the tape-recording entered as an exhibit, asked a few more banal questions and sat down.

Defence counsel, a youngish Queen’s Counsel, rose and made an elaborate charade of finding the right page in her brief.