Acceptable Loss - Anne Perry [131]
Neither of them even glanced at the jury. They could have been alone in Rathbone’s office.
“Have you ever visited this boat, Mr. Ballinger?” he continued.
“Once, at the time of its sale. It looked a very ordinary sort of craft. I was merely assuring myself that it was described correctly in the papers concerning it, which it was.”
“Did you ask Mr. Parfitt how he intended to use it?”
“No. It was none of my business.” A slight flicker crossed Ballinger’s face. “But if indeed he used it as has been described, it is hardly likely that he would have told me.”
“Quite.” Rathbone allowed himself the ghost of a smile. “Were you, to your knowledge, acquainted with any of the men who frequented either boat, after they were turned to the use of pornography?”
“Certainly not. But of course men who practice this kind of behavior do not tell people, other than those who share their vices. From what I have heard during this trial, it seems they indulge in them together. Therefore, they would know each other.”
“Quite.” Rathbone found that the fullness of Ballinger’s answer made him uneasy. He had advised Ballinger to be extremely careful, to say only yes and no, but Ballinger was either too nervous to obey or too sure of himself to heed advice. Rathbone should leave that subject.
“Mr. Ballinger, where were you on the evening that Mickey Parfitt was killed?”
Ballinger carefully repeated the exact story he had told before, and which had been borne out by the witnesses.
Rathbone smiled. “Inspector Monk has testified that he followed your route, to the minute, and discovered that he could find a small craft and row down to Parfitt’s boat at its moorings, spend the time on board that it would take to kill Parfitt, and then row back to Mortlake again. He took a cab back to the crossing opposite Chiswick Eyot, and still was there at the time you said you were. Did you do that?”
Ballinger smiled back. “Mr. Monk is the best part of a generation younger than I am, and leads a very physical life. He is a river policeman. He probably rows a boat every day. I wish I were as young and as fit as he is, but, unquestionably, I am afraid I am not. I did not do it, nor had any desire to. But even had I wished, it would have been beyond my ability.”
“You did not?”
“I did not. It is my misfortune that I happened to spend that particular evening visiting an old friend in Mortlake, instead of at home with my wife, or out to dine in a public place. It is my additional misfortune that Inspector Monk has never forgiven me for acting for Jericho Phillips, insofar as I obtained your services to defend him when he faced trial. Monk appears not to believe that a man accused of evil acts is not guilty until he is proved so in law, and he is entitled to a lawyer to defend him of as high a quality as the one who accuses him. It is the very foundation of justice.”
There was a murmur of approval from the gallery. Ballinger eased a little where he stood in the witness box, and met Rathbone’s eyes across the distance between them.
Rathbone felt a sense of warmth himself, as if he had achieved what duty required of him.
“Thank you, Mr. Ballinger. Please wait there in case Mr. Winchester has any questions to ask you.” He returned to his seat.
Winchester stood up and walked forward. “Oh, I have. I most certainly have.” He looked up at Ballinger.
Rathbone had been very careful. Hattie Benson’s name had not even been mentioned. Winchester was bluffing, putting off the acknowledgment of defeat, lengthening out the tension.
“A most moving testimony, Mr. Ballinger,” Winchester observed. “And interesting. I notice that Sir Oliver very wisely did not ask you if you were acquainted with the prostitute Hattie Benson, who was so sadly murdered in the exact manner that Mickey Parfitt was. Even to the use of the knotted rag to strangle her, leaving bruises at intervals around her throat.”
“Because he knows that I have no knowledge of it,” Ballinger replied levelly. “I may speculate, of course, as we all may, because we know with whom she was involved, by his own