Twenty-One Days (Daniel Pitt #1)(17)

‘Thank you,’ Kitteridge answered. ‘She sounds like a unique and valuable person. I imagine she had many friends?’

Tranmere was growing restless. If Kitteridge were not very careful indeed, he would appear cold to the jury’s sense of outrage that such a woman had been killed, and so far they had no one but Graves himself to suspect.

Daniel knew what Kitteridge was trying to do: establish that Graves had loved her. He was playing with fire, but what else had they left to try?

‘Yes,’ Graves said.

‘Was she always wise in the choice of friends?’ Kitteridge could not keep a certain edge from his voice. Graves was doing nothing to help himself.

‘No,’ Graves said flatly. There was curiously little life in his voice. ‘She failed to grasp that they did not always like her. I could see that many were hangers-on, people thirsty for excitement, and her way of life, her vitality, her possibility in certain circles, drew them in.’ There was emotion, but also a certain condescension in his tone, even in the expression of distaste in his face.

Daniel wondered if that was what he truly felt. Would the jury see that too?

Kitteridge was addressing Graves again, asking more about Ebony, and then also her two children, Sarah and Arthur. Graves’ expression was unreadable when he answered. Had the man not enough sense of his danger to let his feelings show through?

Daniel felt he should step in and say something. He could understand Kitteridge’s desire not to embarrass the man, but a show of emotion was about the only thing that would save him! Did Kitteridge not understand that?

He looked across at Tranmere. Did he perceive the jury’s regard for Graves’ stoicism, and read it as indifference?

Daniel tweaked the edge of Kitteridge’s gown.

Kitteridge ignored him.

Daniel tweaked it again, harder.

Kitteridge glared at him. ‘What is it?’ he hissed.

‘Let me try! The man looks like ice,’ Daniel replied.

‘You’ll ask the same things as I do,’ Kitteridge answered.

‘You’re getting nowhere. I can’t make it any worse,’ Daniel responded.

‘My lord!’ Tranmere rose to his feet. ‘If my learned friend has run out of questions, I will begin my own.’

‘You will not!’ Kitteridge snapped. ‘My associate is going to question the witness.’ He turned to Daniel again. ‘This had better be good!’ he whispered under his breath as he sat down.

Daniel stood and faced the witness. ‘Mr Graves, tell us something about the day your wife was killed. Were you at home at all that day?’

Graves turned to Daniel, not completely masking his impatience.

‘No. I was in the London Library for much of the day. I arrived home early in the evening.’

‘Did you see your wife, or greet her when you arrived?’

‘The maid told me she was in her bedroom. I did not disturb her. I assumed she would come down when she was ready. I had notes to write up before I forgot any of the details that had been told me.’

‘Who discovered your wife’s body, sir?’ Daniel knew that Graves himself had. He could not even imagine how terrible that must have been, were he not guilty. But the jury had to see his emotion and now was not the time to spare his feelings.

A wave of anger crossed Graves’ face. ‘I cannot imagine, sir, that you do not know it was I!’ he said, his voice all but choking.

‘We are not here to observe either compassion or good manners, Mr Graves,’ Daniel answered. ‘This is a place where only the truth counts. Are you telling the court that you discovered the body of your wife?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did you go to her bedroom, when you had not done so earlier?’

‘It was time for dinner.’

‘And you did not wish her to miss it?’

‘Of course!’ Graves’ patience was tissue thin.

‘And you found her? Where was she?’

Graves’ face was white now, and so stiff he had difficulties speaking clearly. ‘She was lying on the floor; her head was near the hearth.’

‘Did you know immediately that she was dead?’

Graves leaned forward over the railing, his body rigid, his skin devoid of all colour. ‘God Almighty, man! She was covered with blood and her face was burned until there were no features left! Nobody could have lived . . . through . . . that.’

Daniel hated doing it, but the jury would have to see something other than the cold, arrogant man who felt only anger that they dared to question him at all. ‘And you were naturally extremely distressed,’ Daniel concluded. ‘Horrified! Appalled?’

‘Yes . . .’ His voice was almost strangled.

‘Did you realise immediately what had happened to her?’

‘I . . . I don’t know. All I could think of was . . . how she must have suffered. Then I . . .’ His voice trailed off.

Was he going to lose the passion?

‘How would you tell your children?’ Daniel asked. It was cruel, but Graves’ life hung on it. ‘Your wife was very close to her children, was she not?’ Daniel had no idea if that was true, but it was probable. It sounded good. ‘I believe your son, Arthur, is an invalid. You must have feared terribly that the horror would kill him . . .’