Execution Dock - Anne Perry [14]
Tremayne was a little older than Rathbone, a man with a curious face, full of humor and imagination. He would have appeared much more at home in a poet's loose-sleeved shirt and extravagant cravat. Rathbone in fact had seen him wear exactly that, one evening at a party in his large house whose lawn backed on to the Thames. They had been playing croquet, and losing an inordinate number of balls. The late sun was setting, falling in reds and peaches on the water, bees were buzzing lazily in the lilies, and nobody knew or cared who won.
And yet despite this lack of competition, Rathbone knew that Tremayne both loved and understood the law. Rathbone was not sure at all whether he was a fortunate choice, or an unfortunate one as his opponent.
The first witness he called was Walters of the Thames River Police, a solid man with a mild manner and buttons that had such a high polish they shone in the light. He climbed the steep, curving steps to the witness box and was sworn in.
In the dock, higher up opposite the judge's bench, and sideways to the jury, Jericho Phillips sat between two blank-faced guards. He looked very sober, almost as if he might be frightened. Was that to impress the jury, or did he really believe Rathbone would fail? Rathbone hoped it was the latter, because then Phillips would maintain his appearance without the chance of it slipping and betraying him.
Rathbone listened to see what the river policeman would say. It would be foolish for him to question any of the facts; that was not the tactic he proposed to use. Now all he needed to do was take note.
Tremayne was intelligent, charming, born to privilege, and perhaps a little lazy. He was due for an unpleasant surprise.
“The message came to us at the Wapping Station,” Walters was saying. “Lightermen'd found a body, an’ they reckoned as we should go and look at it.”
“Is that usual, Mr. Walters?” Tremayne asked. “I presume there are tragically many bodies found in the river.”
“Yes, sir, there are. But this one weren't an accident. Poor beggar'd ‘ad ‘is throat cut from ear to ear,” Walters replied grimly. He did not look up at Phillips, but it was obvious from the rigidity of his shoulders and the way he stared fixedly at Tremayne that he had been told not to.
Tremayne was very careful. “Could that have happened accidentally?” he asked.
Walters's impatience sounded in his voice. “‘Ardly, sir. Apart from ‘is throat cut, an’ ‘e were only a boy, there were burn marks on ‘is arms, like from cigars. They called us because they thought ‘e'd been murdered.”
“How do you know that, Mr. Walters?”
Rathbone smiled to himself. Tremayne was nervous, even though he believed his case to be unassailable, or he would not be so pedantic. He was expecting Rathbone to attack at every opportunity. It would be pointless to object to this as hearsay. It would make Rathbone look desperate, because the answer was obvious.
Lord Justice Sullivan's lips curved in a very slight smile also. It seemed he read both of them and understood. For the first time since they began, there was a flash of interest in his eyes. He sensed a duel of equals, not the execution he had expected.
“I know it ‘cause they said so when they asked us to come,” Walters replied stolidly.
“Thank you. Who is the ‘us’ you refer to? I mean, who from the River Police did go?”
“Mr. Durban an’ me, sir.”
“Mr. Durban being your commanding officer, the head of the River Police at Wapping?”
“Yes, sir.”
Rathbone considered asking why Durban was not testifying, although of course he knew, but most of the jury would not.
Lord Justice Sullivan beat him to it. He leaned forward, his expression mild and curious. “Mr. Tremayne, are we to hear from this Commander Durban?”
“No, my lord,” Tremayne said grimly. “I regret to say that Mr. Durban died at the very end of last year, giving his life to save others. That is the reason we have called Mr. Walters.”
“I see. Please proceed,” Sullivan directed.
“Thank you, my lord. Mr. Walters, will you please tell the court where you went in answer to