“But Bobby, those guys—who turned out to be Special Branch plainclothes security police—tried to kill me.”
Van Klomp snorted. “Dead men don’t have to go to court, Fitz. Much more convenient, né. The security lot act as enforcers for some of the top Shareholders. And Cartup is their boss.”
Fitz sighed. “Bobby, can you get a message to my father?” He looked down. “I’ve been thinking the last while that I need to sort things out with him. I was going to go and see him after I’d seen Candy.”
“You should have done it first, idioot,” said Van Klomp roughly. “He would have told you not to be so stupid. He came to see me the day you went into the army. I had him on the phone a few minutes back.”
* * *
Mike Capra stood up. “Detective-inspector, you’ve stated that you entered the premises at 207 Kensington Mansions through a smashed-in front door. Was the door broken before you arrived there?”
The thick-set man nodded. “It was.”
“At this point you state that the accused, who was lying in ambush, opened fire on you without any warning or provocation.”
“That’s what I said, yes,” said the detective. “And these are the same questions you asked DI Scott. You’ve got the sworn statements of two trained officers on these points.”
Mike Capra nodded. “The court has indeed. Thank you. I have no further questions.”
“The prosecution may call its next witness,” said the judge.
The next witness was a demure-looking Candice Foster in a virginal white blouse and neat gray skirt. “It is safe, Judge? He is restrained, isn’t he?”
The judge nodded benignly. “Quite safe, my dear. You may take the oath.”
Fitz was amazed to learn just how insanely jealous and violent he was. And how he’d locked her in the bathroom—on his second attack while he waited in ambush for her fiancé. She did some most artistic weeping and shuddering, too. To the point where the judge cautioned Capra to be gentle in his cross-examination.
“M’lud! When am I ever anything else?”
“When it suits you, Capra,” said the judge, dryly.
“Precisely, M’lud. It does not suit me to be anything else but gentle when I am forced to defend a man accused of so vilely abusing one of our most respected citizens. A person who would dress such a man in lacy yellow polka-dotted women’s underclothing, tie him to the bed, beat him and then suffocate him with a plastic bag, deserves little.”
Talbot Cartup cringed. The prosecution had been very circumspect about the exact nature of the assault. The press gallery scribbled frantically.
“Now. Ms. Candice Foster, could you clarify one point? On the occasion of the second assault you have stated that the accused broke down your door.”
“Yes. He’s a very violent man. Very strong. I tried to fight him off, but—”
“Thank you, Ms. Foster. There is no need to upset yourself with the sordid details. Now: On the occasion of the first assault—I have examined the police report in detail. I could find no report of forced entry on that occasion. How did the accused get in that time?”
She shrugged. “Maybe he climbed in the window.”
Mike Capra looked thoughtful. “Number 207 is a penthouse apartment, is it not?”
“Yes,” she nodded proudly. Everyone knew those cost a mint.
“You say he came into the lounge where you and your fiancé were sitting in discussion, at which point he forced you both through into the bedroom, and you into the bathroom. You must know where he came from? Through which door, Ms. Candice?”
“My bedroom,” she said thoughtfully. “I remember now. The window was open.”
“Thank you. I have no further questions at this point.”
“Very well. I think the court will recess for lunch. The defense may present its arguments and I should be able to deal with sentencing today,” said the judge.
* * *
“I thought you said we should be able to wrap this up, Mike,” hissed Fitz. “The judge has already decided to sentence me. And you hardly even questioned those damn liars. Even that lying doorman who says he saw me there. Recognized my car.”