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Counsel for the defence was a man named Lyons, who had fading red hair, and who was in fact far older and wiser than he looked. Rathbone knew him only by repute, but he had a considerable respect for him. He was not surprised when Lyons declined to distress the witness by asking him for any further and unnecessary details.
The police evidence was exactly what everyone expected. The surgeon was brief, as if he disliked describing the dead woman, now unable to defend herself, from the somewhat prurient interest of the public. He spoke of her with the slight euphemisms he might have used were he speaking of someone still alive.
Juster found it annoying. It blunted the edge of what had been done to her. Rathbone could see it clearly in his face.
‘Don’t,’ he warned very quietly.
‘He’s making it almost as if she weren’t really hurt!’ Juster hissed the words between clenched teeth. ‘She didn’t lie down in the ditch and go to sleep. She fought for her life when she realised he was trying to kill her! I’ve got to make the jury see—’
Rathbone tightened his grip on Juster’s arm until he winced.
‘No you haven’t! He’s made her seem human! He’s left her dignity intact rather than allowed you to speak of her as a piece of evidence in the case. He’s inviting the jury to see a real woman, one to protect, not exploit. Use it, Juster. Use it!’
‘Mr Juster?’ Patterson asked politely. ‘If you have no further questions for this witness, perhaps you would oblige me by allowing Mr Lyons to conclude?’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ Juster said with a slight nod. ‘I think the police surgeon has given us an excellent medical account of the tragic death of this young woman, at the beginning of her own life, after her selfless devotion to her father in his long illness. I don’t think we need disturb her peace with anything further.’
Lyons’ face was a picture of distaste as he rose to his feet. He knew precisely what Juster had achieved and was not fool enough to earn the jury’s disfavour by harassing the surgeon for more detail. He made his question brief.
‘Was there anything in the poor woman’s injuries to indicate the height or weight of her attacker, or anything else about him?’ he asked.
‘No, sir, except that he was far stronger than she was,’ the surgeon replied. ‘And he had the advantage of surprise,’ he added.
‘She was unaware of his approach?’ Lyons asked, raising his eyebrows.
‘No, sir. From the positioning of his hands on her throat, as I think I said before, she was facing him. She did not expect him to attack her.’
‘So it would be reasonable to suppose that he was someone known to her, and trusted by her?’
‘It would.’
‘Thank you. I have nothing further.’
Other professional testimony such as that of the police, who had conducted various parts of the investigation so there could afterwards be no detail misinterpreted, took up the afternoon. The following morning when they continued, the courtroom was so crowded doors had to be closed half an hour before the trial recommenced.
Juster called Hester Monk. He intended keeping Radnor himself until last. Anything Hester failed to do to engage the jury’s sympathy, Radnor was certain to do. Juster felt confident, which was clear from the grace of his step as he walked out into the open space and faced the witness stand. It was in the smooth ease of his voice when he spoke.
‘I am sorry to have to put you through this ordeal again, Mrs Monk,’ he said. ‘This time I hope we will have a less unfortunate outcome.’ He smiled very slightly, facing the witness stand and the jury, not the gallery. This might be a superb performance, but there was only one audience that mattered, those who would deliver the verdict. Rand’s life depended upon this, and – in a larger sense – justice itself and the belief that in the end it prevailed.
‘Mrs Monk,’ Juster began, ‘I know that you have given evidence before on a great many of the things that I will ask you, but remember that to this jury, it is all new. Have patience with me.’
It was not a question and she did not answer. Rathbone thought she looked pale, and very tired, even touched by grief. She might be the perfect witness, better even than Radnor, since he had to be emotional about his daughter’s death. Indeed, it would be conspicuous if he were not.
‘Mrs Monk,’ Juster continued, ‘will you tell the court briefly how you came to know Mr Rand, and Miss Radnor?’
Hester was very brief indeed, as if she had rehearsed it in her mind, but did not leave out anything essential.
‘I took a temporary post as night nurse at the annexe of the Greenwich Royal Naval Hospital. A friend from my nursing days in the Crimea had to take leave because of illness. I said I would fill her place as long as necessary, if I was satisfactory to Dr Magnus Rand, who is in charge of the annexe. During my service there I had occasion to meet Mr Hamilton Rand, who is a research chemist. Miss Adrienne Radnor came in when her father was admitted as a patient.’
‘And what was your duty?’ Juster asked.
‘To assist Mr Rand and Dr Rand in Mr Radnor’s treatment.’
‘Why you?’ Juster affected interest, as if he did not already know.
Rathbone glanced at the jurors. Most of them were leaning a little forward, waiting for the reply.
Hester answered without the slightest change of expression in her face.
