Burns gave each defendant an hour of his best efforts, then packed it in.
‘I shall need to make an application for extension of police custody,’ he told Slade when Price and Cornish were back in their cells. ‘Four this afternoon?’
Slade nodded. He would be present, but say virtually nothing. There would be no point.
‘And I am setting up two identity parades for tomorrow morning at St Anne’s Road. If I get two results, I shall go for a
formal charge and then a remand in custody,’ he added. Slade nodded and left.
As he drove back to his office, the duty solicitor had little doubt this was not going to go his clients’ way. Burns was good at his job: meticulous, thorough, not given to silly mistakes that the defence could exploit. He also thought privately that his clients were guilty as hell. He had seen their record sheets and so would the magistrates that afternoon. Whoever the mystery witness was, if he was a respectable person and stuck to his guns, Price and Cornish would not be seeing much daylight for a long time.
Years before, the police used to carry out identity parades inside the station. The new method was to have Identification Suites dotted at various places around the city. The nearest to Dover nick was in St Anne’s Road, just down the pavement from the hospital where Dr Melrose worked and Price had had his nose attended to. It was a more efficient system. Each suite was equipped with the latest in parade platform, lighting and one-way mirrors through which the identification could be made without the chance that a real hard case could ‘eyeball’ the witness and terrify him into silence without a word being said. The suites also had an on-call panel of men and women of different sizes and aspects to make up the parade at short notice. These volunteers were paid £15 to appear, stand in line and then walk out again. Burns asked for two parades, giving careful descriptions of his prisoners, for eleven a.m. the next day.
Luke Skinner was left to handle the media, to whom Burns had a deep aversion. Anyway, the DS did it better. He was that fairly rare phenomenon, the public-school-educated policeman, with a polish much mocked in the canteen, but very useful on occasion.
All press enquiries had to funnel through Scotland Yard, which had an entire bureau dedicated to public affairs, and they had asked for a brief statement. It was still a low-interest case, but apart from a serious wounding there was also a missing-person angle. Skinner’s problem was that he had no good description and certainly no picture, because the injured man was simply unsketchable with his bloated head swathed in bandage.
So Skinner would simply appeal for anyone who had gone missing from home or work in the Tottenham/Edmonton area the previous Tuesday and had not been seen since. A man who walked with a pronounced limp, between fifty and fifty-five, short grey hair, medium height, medium build. August was a thin month for news; the media might carry the item, but not intensively.
Nevertheless, there was one paper that might give the item a good run and he had a contact on it. He had lunch with the reporter on the Edmonton and Tottenham Express, the local rag that covered the whole area of the Dover Street nick. The reporter took notes and promised to do what he could.
The civil courts may go into recess for a long vacation in the summer, but the network of criminal courts never ceases to labour. Over 90 per cent of lawbreaking is handled by the magistrates’ courts and the processes of the law have much to go on seven days a week and every week in the year. Much of the day-to-day work is carried out by lay magistrates who take no pay but work as a civic duty. They handle the mass of minor offences – traffic violations, issuing of warrants for arrest or search, drinking-licence extensions, minor theft, affray. And the granting of extensions to police custody or remands to prison to await trial. If a serious case comes before the magistrates’ court, it is the modern custom for a paid stipendiary magistrate, a qualified lawyer, to take the bench, sitting alone.
That afternoon, Court No. 3 at the Highbury Corner court was in the charge of three lay magistrates, chaired by Mr Henry Spellar, a retired headmaster. The issue was so simple it took but a few seconds.
When it was over, Price and Cornish were led away and driven back to Dover Street. Burns reported to Detective Superintendent Parfitt.
‘How’s it going, Jack?’ asked the head of the whole CID branch at Dover Street.
‘Frustrating, sir. It started fast and well, with an excellent witness who saw it all. Start to finish. Respectable shopkeeper across the road. Good citizen. No hesitation at ID and prepared to testify. I am short of the missing wallet taken from the victim. Plus forensics linking Price and Cornish to the time and the place. I’ve got Price’s broken nose and the treatment of that nose in St Anne’s just three hours later. It tallies perfectly with the eyewitness statement.’
‘So what is holding you?’
‘I need the wallet, linkage to the thugs; I need forensics to hurry up, and I’d like to ID the victim. He’s still a UAM.’
‘Are you going to charge them?’
‘If Mr Patel picks them out of the line tomorrow, yes, sir. They mustn’t walk on this one. They’re both guilty as hell.’
Alan Parfitt nodded.
‘All right, Jack. I’ll try and chivvy forensics. Keep me and the CPS informed.’
At the Royal London dusk fell again but the man in ICU did not see it. It had been forty-eight hours since the operation; the effects of the anaesthetics were long gone, but he did not flicker. He was still farawayinhis ownworld.
DAY FOUR – FRIDAY
The newspaper came out and it had given Luke Skinner a good spread. The story was the second lead, front page. The reporter took the angle: Limping Mystery Man – Who Is He? Police Ask. There was a description of the assault and reference to two local men who were ‘helping the police with their inquiries’. This is one of those much-used phrases comparable with hospital bulletins that describe people in absolute agony as being ‘comfortable’. It means the opposite and everyone knows it.
The reporter gave a good description of the victim, his height, build, short grey hair and that giveaway limp, then ended with a query in bold capital letters: DID ANYONE SEE THE LIMPING MAN? DS Skinner grabbed a copy and took it to his canteen breakfast. He was pleased with the coverage. A small sidebar mentioned the renewal of custody and a further twenty-four hours.
At eleven, Price and Cornish were taken by van to the St Anne’s Road ID suite. Burns and Skinner followed, with Mr Patel. There were two parades, each with the suspect and eight others of roughly similar appearance. Due to the state of Price’s nose, the other eight burly men in his parade had a strip of plaster across the bridge.
Mr Patel did not hesitate. Within twenty minutes he had positively identified both men and again confirmed he would testify to what he had said in his statement. Burns was happy. Neither thug had seen him, neither ran with a gang; with luck Mr Patel would remain unintimidated.
They drove him back to his shop. The volunteers were paid and left. Price and Cornish were restored to the cells where Burns intended to charge them formally when he returned.
He and Skinner were entering the nick to do precisely that when the desk sergeant called out.