Twenty-One Days (Daniel Pitt #1)(10)

‘Then proceed. And please hold your remarks, Mr Sefton. I will not hang a man before I have heard his defence. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ Sefton said, with strained temper showing through his acquiescence.

Daniel called Ottershaw, who took the stand and swore to his name, place of residence, and some brief but impressive qualifications.

‘Dr Ottershaw,’ Daniel began, very aware that he must hold the jury’s attention with every word he said. They were already convinced that Blackwell was guilty, for which he could hardly blame them. They did not want to hear explanations, and above all they did not want to hear excuses. Sefton was aware of that and would play to it the instant he saw the opportunity. ‘Are you quite sure all people’s fingerprints are different?’ Daniel asked innocently. He must keep it brief.

‘Yes, sir, quite sure,’ Ottershaw replied. Then he turned to the jury. ‘You, sir,’ he looked at a large, impressive man, very well dressed. It was easy to imagine he had a good opinion of himself. ‘Your fingerprints are unique to you. They are not exactly the same as those of any other man on earth.’

The juror took it as a compliment, and it showed in his face.

‘It matters,’ Ottershaw continued. ‘The whorls, the ridges, the islands, features and dimensions in the lines you can barely see with the naked eye, they are unique to you. More so even than your signature. I am sure you have seen many signatures that are illegible? Of course. Mine usually is, especially if I have been writing all day. But my fingerprints are always the same.’ He produced a card about four inches square. ‘May I, my lord?’ he asked, and assuming permission, he showed it to the juror. ‘If you touch it, grasp it, you will leave your prints on it as well. Please . . .’

The juror took it, all the time watching Ottershaw’s face. Then he looked at the card, and saw nothing.

Ottershaw held out his hand, and received the card back. He drew a small brush out of his pocket and ran it over the card. A luminous smile lit up his face. ‘There! You see?’ He handed the card back to the juror.

The juror took it and his face too lit with delight. ‘Those are mine?’

‘Indeed, sir, they are. And no other man on earth, or woman either, can produce exactly those. You see that whorl in the centre? And the tiny islands? But I must proceed. Let me show you how this is relevant to the case on which you are required to render your verdict,’ he hurried on. He turned and walked over to Daniel.

‘Defence exhibit,’ Daniel said loudly, handing Ottershaw one of the papers they had prepared during the night.

Ottershaw took it and walked over to the jury.

Daniel handed a copy to Sefton, who took it at first with interest, then seeing what it was, put it down again. ‘My lord, this is a set of fingerprints unidentified, and therefore signifying nothing. And in case my . . . learned . . . friend has forgotten, no prints whatsoever were found on the gun. That has already been testified to. Mr Pitt is wasting the court’s valuable time.’

‘A man is fighting for his life, Mr Sefton,’ the judge said patiently. ‘Allow Mr Pitt to make his point, if he has one. If he does not, I promise you I will stop him. Proceed, Dr Ottershaw.’

‘Thank you, my lord,’ Ottershaw replied politely. Then, as he passed twelve copies of the paper first to the judge, who then gave them to the clerk to pass them to the jury, his voice gathered enthusiasm. ‘If you gentlemen would be good enough? You see many prints in front of you. Some are similar, some are utterly different, no two are identical. The differences may be small, but they are visible. Some are of a whole section of a finger or thumb, others are only part of a finger, as a man might leave on an object he had touched with the purpose of using it.’

Daniel looked at the faces of the jurors. They were fascinated. They wanted to be unique! They were ordinary enough men; it pleased them to think they were each unlike anyone else, as he knew Ottershaw was well aware.

The jurors were still sitting with their heads bent when Ottershaw continued. ‘If you were to touch anything with your bare hands, and that thing had a clean, flat surface, you would leave fingerprints upon it. This was known to the person who shot Mr Hinton, because all such marks were removed – or else he wore gloves. With Mr Pitt’s permission, I will show you what I mean . . .’

Sefton could not be silent any longer. ‘My lord, it is perfectly clear what Dr Ottershaw means. And it is a waste of time, a diversion. There were no fingerprints on the gun! I have never argued that point. There is no purpose to this at all!’

At last, Daniel rose to his feet. ‘There is a purpose, my lord. If I may demonstrate to the court for those who are unfamiliar with guns, just how you load a gun. If you will permit me to, I will be brief.’ It was only half a question. As he spoke, he picked up the gun he had brought with him. It was not the weapon used to kill Hinton, but one exactly like it.

Daniel turned to the jury, holding the gun high, where they would all see it. Slowly, he opened the chamber, picked up the shells that lay on the table in front of him, loaded the gun, and closed it. He passed it to Ottershaw.

Ottershaw dusted it with a light powder in all the places where Daniel had touched it, and blew away the surplus. He was smiling.

‘So? What is the purpose of that?’ Sefton demanded. ‘Why don’t you polish it with a cloth, and then you will have nothing! And be precisely where, in fact, we are!’ He pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it to Ottershaw.