The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [207]
When the case finally reached Leeds Crown Court nine months later, the crime reporters turned up in their hordes, and followed every word of the trial with relish. A multimillionaire, a possible adulterous affair, and a missing body were too much for them to resist. The tabloids excelled themselves, describing Jeremy as the Lord Lucan of Leeds and me as an oversexed truck driver. I would have enjoyed every last syllable of it, if I hadn’t been the accused.
In his opening address, Sir Matthew put up a magnificent fight on my behalf. Without a body, how could his client possibly be charged with murder? And how could I have disposed of the body, when I had spent the entire night in a bedroom at the Queen’s Hotel? How I regretted not checking in the second time, but simply going straight up to Jeremy’s room. It didn’t help that the police had found me lying on the bed fully dressed.
I watched the faces of the jury at the end of the prosecution’s opening speech. They were perplexed, and obviously in some doubt about my guilt. That doubt remained until Rosemary entered the witness box. I couldn’t bear to look at her, and diverted my eyes to a striking blond who had been sitting in the front row of the public gallery on every day of the trial.
For an hour the counsel for the prosecution guided my wife gently through what had taken place that evening, up to the point when I had struck Jeremy. Until that moment, I couldn’t have quarrelled with a word she had spoken.
“And then what happened, Mrs. Cooper?” prodded counsel for the Crown.
“My husband bent down and checked Mr. Alexander’s pulse,” Rosemary whispered. “Then he turned white, and all he said was, ‘He’s dead. I’ve killed him.’”
“And what did Mr. Cooper do next?”
“He picked up the body, threw it over his shoulder, and began walking toward the door. I shouted after him, ‘What do you think you’re doing, Richard?’”
“And how did he respond?”
“He told me he intended to dispose of the body while it was still dark, and that I was to make sure that there was no sign that Jeremy had visited the house. As no one else had been in the office when they left, everyone would assume that Jeremy had returned to London earlier in the evening. ‘Be certain there are absolutely no traces of blood,’ were the last words I remember my husband saying as he left the room carrying Jeremy’s body over his shoulder. That must have been when I fainted.”
Sir Matthew glanced quizzically up at me in the dock. I shook my head vigorously. He looked grim as counsel for the prosecution resumed his seat.
“Do you wish to question this witness, Sir Matthew?” the judge asked.
Sir Matthew rose slowly to his feet. “I most certainly do, M’Lud,” he replied. He drew himself up to his full height, tugged at his gown, and stared across at his adversary.
“Mrs. Cooper, would you describe yourself as a friend of Mr. Alexander?”
“Yes, but only in the sense that he was a colleague of my husband’s,” replied Rosemary calmly.
“So you didn’t ever see each other when your husband was away from Leeds, or even out of the country, on business?”
“Only at social events, when I was accompanied by my husband, or if I dropped into the office to pick up his mail.”
“Are you certain that those were the only times you saw him, Mrs. Cooper? Were there not other occasions when you spent a considerable amount of time alone with Mr. Alexander? For example, on the night of September 17, 1989, before your husband returned unexpectedly from a European trip: Did Mr. Alexander not visit you then for several hours while you were alone in the house?”
“No. He dropped by after work to leave a document for my husband, but he didn’t even have time to stay for a drink.”
“But your husband says—” began Sir Matthew.
“I know what my husband says,” Rosemary replied, as if she had rehearsed the line a hundred times.
“I see,” said Sir Matthew. “Let’s get to the point, shall we, Mrs. Cooper? Were you having an