Twenty-One Days (Daniel Pitt #1)(11)

‘Thank you,’ Ottershaw said. But instead of taking the handkerchief, he gave Sefton the gun.

Sefton took it and wiped it off, smiling. ‘Satisfied?’

‘Yes . . . yes, indeed,’ Ottershaw said with an even wider smile. ‘Didn’t you forget something?’

Slowly, the look of satisfaction on Sefton’s face slipped away. ‘What?’

There was absolute silence in the courtroom.

‘You forgot the shell casing,’ Daniel answered for Ottershaw. ‘If you had loaded the gun, your fingerprint would be on the shell casing.’

There was a rustling of movement in the gallery. Sefton looked shocked. The jurors’ attention was total. The judge leaned forward and spoke to Daniel. ‘Mr Pitt, do you still have the shell casing from the crime, and are there fingerprints on it which are provably not those of Mr Blackwell?’

‘Yes, my lord. We shall require your permission to take the prints of Mr Park, and anyone else we may reasonably suspect, but they are provably not those of Mr Blackwell. And if someone other than Mr Blackwell loaded the gun, I respectfully submit to your lordship, and to the gentlemen of the jury, that we may conclude Mr Blackwell did not fire the gun either.’

‘Indeed,’ the judge agreed. ‘That would seem the reasonable conclusion.’

Daniel breathed in deeply, and then again. ‘My lord, since the prints on the shell casing are not those of Roman Blackwell, may I humbly request that the matter is now put to the jury? If the prints are those of someone else involved in the case, it may take a little while . . .’ He looked at Park in the gallery, and then away again. ‘The police will then arrest that person, and there will be a new case for another jury to decide.’

He shifted his weight, and then wished he had not. It made him look impatient.

‘You seem in a hurry, Mr Pitt,’ the judge observed.

Should he tell the truth?

‘I wish to see the case to its conclusion, my lord. But one of the lawyers in my chambers has met with a rather serious accident, and I am ordered to appear in his place as soon as possible.’

‘I believe you told us that yesterday,’ the judge said soberly. ‘When are you due to appear, and where, Mr Pitt?’

‘The Old Bailey, my lord. This morning . . .’

‘Indeed. How are they managing without you?’

Sefton gave a snort. The judge looked at him, and he looked away.

‘Then you had better finish your argument, Mr Pitt, and hope the Old Bailey manages without you for a little longer. I imagine the jury will not keep us too long, but will hasten with their proceedings.’

‘Yes, my lord, thank you,’ Daniel said humbly.

Indeed, it was not long. The verdict was delivered before noon: a unanimous not guilty. Daniel stayed long enough to receive Blackwell’s overwhelming gratitude, and Mercy’s thanks almost to the point of tears, which infuriated her. But she had been badly frightened, and she knew how close she had come to losing the son she loved.

Sefton was generous about it, but it cost him dearly. For him, the matter was delayed, but far from finished.

Ottershaw had enjoyed himself enormously, and promised to take Daniel to the best luncheon he had had, at some time convenient to him.

Daniel raced out to catch a cab to the Old Bailey.





Chapter Three


Daniel had been to the Old Bailey before. How could he resist it? But he had only been able to visit as a member of the general public. It was one of the most famous courts in the world, certainly within the British Empire. But this was an entirely different situation. He was probably not going to say anything, just do errands and take messages for Kitteridge. He would also be looking up legal references, and would have to be both quick and accurate. Kitteridge would tolerate no mistakes or delays.

Kitteridge was a gangly man, with a most unusual face and a curious taste in neckties, or cravats. He had once been a junior himself, and had worked hard to improve his standing in the firm. He deserved his position, he cherished it, and he believed that Daniel had to prove his worth before he could aspire to anything like it. Kitteridge’s father had been a well-respected headmaster of one of the better private schools for boys, but he was very well aware that Pitt’s father was Sir Thomas Pitt, the Head of Special Branch. Kitteridge felt Daniel had benefited from nepotism, and did not approve.

Daniel explained to the usher that he was assistant to Mr Kitteridge, counsel for the defence.

The usher looked him up and down with disfavour. ‘You are very late, sir.’

Daniel wanted to tell him that he was fresh from achieving a seemingly impossible victory in another court. However, he saw in the man’s eyes that no other court was worthy of mention, and instead merely apologised for his lateness.

The door opened for him and he was permitted into the packed courtroom.

He walked up the aisle between the rows of the crowded gallery, without once looking at the judge, and found his place in the front, beside Kitteridge. He slid into the seat silently.

‘Pitt, where the hell have you been?’ Kitteridge hissed at him. ‘You’d better have a damned good excuse. If you slept in, I’ll have your head on a plate. I don’t care how late you were last night, or in whose bed you slept, you’re not at university now. This is reality.’ He turned away and studied the papers in front of him.