‘Went out on the Monday night?’
They looked blank. Then Cornish nodded.
‘King’s ’Ead, Farrow Street.’
‘And there you were seen drinking, by others, including the barman?’
They nodded again.
‘Monday evening, the night before the attack?’
Nods.
‘Now, it could be that you are going to tell me that Mr Price had more than a skinful. That on your way home he wanted to pee in the gutter, but tripped over an uneven kerbstone and crashed face down onto a parked car, busting his nose as he did so?’
Cornish jabbed Price with his elbow.
‘You remember, Mark. Thass exactly wot ’appened.’
‘So, now we have a busted nose, bleeding all over the street. So, you take off your T-shirt and hold it to your face until you got home and the bleeding had stopped. Then, being well drunk, you fell asleep until about midday on the Tuesday?’
Cornish grinned.
‘Thass it exactly. Innit, Mark?’
‘But there are still five hours between then and going to the hospital. No doubt you are going to tell me that you didn’t want to make a fuss, didn’t realize the nose might be broken, and it was only your pal who finally persuaded you to get medical attention when it just kept on hurting. So, around five, you went to the hospital for a check-up.’
Price nodded eagerly.
‘But of course that was after lunch. Perhaps you had a fry-up in a working man’s caff somewhere, sitting there from one o’clock until half past two? Found a copy of the Sun on the table, studied the racing pages, that sort of thing? Can’t remember the name of the caff, can you?’
They both shook their heads.
‘No matter. There are scores of them spread all over that manor. But you never went near Meadowdene Grove all day?’
‘Nah,’ said Cornish, ‘we just went into this caff and ’ad egg and chips till about ’arf past two.’
‘Not one of your usual lunch places?’
‘Nope. Just wandered in off the street. Can’t remember the name.’
‘Well, that seems pretty persuasive. Jury ought to believe that. So long as you stick to it. No changes. Keep it short and simple. Got it?’
They nodded. Mr Vansittart wrote a second statement on legal paper with Price’s version of events concerning his nose. Price could hardly read. He signed anyway. The lawyer tucked both statements into the bulging file. A rather bewildered Lou Slade came in. Vansittart rose.
‘My dear Mr Slade. I am most dreadfully sorry about the mix-up. I thought you said nine. But never mind. Our clients and I are just finishing.’
He turned to Price and Cornish with a friendly beam.
‘We’ll see each other in court on Tuesday, but we won’t be able to talk. As for anyone you share a cell with, say absolutely nothing. Some of them are narks.’
He offered the disgruntled solicitor a lift home in his Bentley. On the ride, Slade read the two new statements.
‘Better,’ he said, ‘a lot better. Two very strong defences. I’m surprised they didn’t tell me all this. It leaves Patel—’
‘Ah yes, Mr Veejay Patel. An upright man. An honest man. Perhaps honest enough to admit he might, just might, have made a mistake.’
Mr Slade had his doubts, but then he recalled that in cross-examination Vansittart had a reputation second only to George Carman. His day began to look a bit brighter. And the barrister intended to show up at Highbury Corner on Tuesday. Unannounced. That ought to rattle some cages. Slade began to smile.