Chapter 25 Eighteenth day, Friday

The prosecutor's office had eleven witnesses, first of all the police officer who was the first to arrive at the crime scene.He testified that he was in a parked police car with a colleague just after two o'clock that Tuesday afternoon when control called and asked them to go to Paradise Road, where a man was killed on the sidewalk. to the victim of the assault.So they went, and were there within four minutes of receiving the call.He did his best to tend to the man on the pavement while his companions called for help.Within five minutes, an ambulance arrived and took the victim to hospital.For the next fifteen minutes, a uniformed inspector arrived and took over the scene.

James Vansittart smiled at the young man. "No problem," he said.The police officers who had completed their duties returned to their positions at the rear of the courtroom.The second witness was the inspector in uniform.His presentation was also guided by Miss Sunderland.Finally, Vansittart rose to his feet. "Inspector, when you arrived at the scene, did some people gather in the street?" "Yes, sir." "Are there any other police officers with you?" "Yes, sir. There were ten policemen in all." "Did you send them to interview everyone present in order to find any witnesses who may have witnessed the attack?"

"Yes, sir." "Did you also ask ten of your colleagues to visit every apartment and every house that might have seen the scene for the same purpose?" "Yes, sir." "When you went deep into the community and followed the alley where the criminals escaped, did your colleagues continue to investigate in order to find witnesses?" "Yes, sir." "Overall, how much time was spent on this work?" "I told them to call it a day when dusk fell, about eight o'clock." "So, ten of your police officers stopped pedestrians in the community and went door-to-door for nearly six hours?"

"Yes, sir." "During that time, did they find any witnesses to the assault, or just witnesses who saw two people matching my client running through the complex?" "No, sir." "So, after more than a hundred visits, have you not found the slightest evidence to connect my client with that time and that place?" "No, sir." "Thank you, officer. No further questions." Next up is Jack Burns.In his lengthy testimony, he went from the first phone call he received in the cafeteria to the murder charges against Price and Cornish.Then Vansittart stood up.

"You have made a very thorough investigation, Mr. Burns?" "I hope so, sir." "Is there nothing missing?" "That is what I thought." "How many officers are there on the Police Search Advisory Team?" "About twelve, sir." "However, they found no traces of Mr. Price's blood at or near the crime scene?" "No, sir." "A nose so badly damaged that it's bleeding profusely, but not a single drop of blood dripped onto the pavement there?" "Not found, sir." Burns would not be seduced by a lawyer.

"You understand, Mr. Burns. My client would say that his blood wasn't found there because he didn't cut his nose there, because he wasn't there at all on Tuesday. Well." , Mr. Burns..." Vansittart gets to the heart of the matter.He knew that the jury was not there to exert influence.He was addressing Magistrate Jonathan Stein.The magistrate looked at him blankly, taking notes with a pen.Miss Sunderland was scribbling notes. "While searching the location, did your team of police search advisors look for other items that may have been left by the offenders?"

"Yes, sir." "So how many garbage bags did they fill?" "Twenty, sir." "Have the contents been subjected to the closest inspection?" "Yes, sir." "Among the twenty bags, is there any evidence linking my client to the time and place?" "No, sir." "However, at noon the next day, you were actively looking for Mr Price and Mr Cornish with a view to arresting them. Why?" "Because I had confirmed the identities of the two from eleven to twelve noon the next day." "From a criminal file photo?"

"Yes, sir." "Was it identified by a local shopkeeper, Mr. Vikki Patel?" "Yes, sir." "Tell me, Sergeant, how many photographs did Mr. Patel examine?" Jack Burns consulted his notes. "Seventy-seven." "Why seventy-seven?" "Because he identified the twenty-eighth photograph as Mark Price and the seventy-seventh photograph as Harry Cornish." "Is seventy-seven photographs the total number of young white lads who have come to police attention in North East London?" "No, sir." "Is the number actually bigger than that?"

"Yes, sir." "How many photographs did you have on hand that morning, Mr. Burns?" "About four hundred." "Four hundred. But you stopped at the seventy-seventh." "Witnesses were very positive when they identified." "But Mr. Patel never had a chance to look at the remaining three hundred and twenty-three?" There was a long silence in the courtroom. "No, sir." "Detective Inspector Burns, look only from the neck up. My client, Mr. Price, is a stocky, bald-headed white lad of twenty-five or six. Can you tell the court that in your four hundred photographs Is there no one else like him?"

"I don't know that." "I think there are many. In this day and age, there are plenty of young strong boys with clean heads. Yet Mr. Patel has never had the opportunity to combine Mr. Price's picture with the rest of your four hundred pictures. similar faces for comparison?" silence. "You must answer, Mr. Burns," said the magistrate mildly. "No, sir, he hasn't." "There may be another face that closely resembles Mr. Price in a later photograph. But Mr. Patel doesn't have the opportunity to compare, to look back and forth, back and forth between the two faces, and make a choice? "

"Maybe there will be." "Thank you, Mr. Burns. No further questions." This did harm to the prosecution.Judge Stein was impressed by the statement that Ricoh-headed young, stocky lads "are everywhere."He'd seen it on TV, too, that many of the football hooligans at the game had their heads shaved. Dr. Karl Bateman's statement is purely technical.He briefly described the arrival of the unconscious man at the hospital and his best efforts with the man until he was transferred to neurosurgery.But when he finished, Vansittart stood up. "Just a very simple question, Dr. Bateman. Did you examine the casualty's right fist?" Bateman frowned, confused. "Yes, I checked." "When it was brought in or after?" "after." "Was it done at someone's request?" "yes." "So, whose request is it?" "Detective Inspector Burns." "And did Mr. Burns ask you to look for knuckle damage?" "Yes, he asked for it." "So is there any damage?" "No." "How long have you been working in the emergency room?" "ten years." "A doctor of considerable experience. Surely you have seen the results of many violent assaults with fists, both to the faces of people and to the fists themselves?" "Yes, I believe I have." "When a man's fist strikes with such force that it breaks the bridge of the nose of another strong man, don't you imagine the damage to the knuckles?" "I might have thought." "So, what is the probability of this injury? Eighty percent?" "I suppose so." "A contusion of the knuckle skin? A bruise on the long, fragile metacarpal head on the back of the hand between the wrist and the knuckle?" "More like a metacarpal bruise." "Similar to a boxer's injury?" "yes." "But the man who died tragically now, didn't he have that kind of damage on his right fist?" "No." "Thank you, Mr. Bateman." What Carl Bateman could not have known was that the cripple had not used a clenched fist when he broke Price's face, but a more dangerous blow.He used the hard edge of his palm, exerted force from the waist upwards, and hit the opponent's nose from bottom to top.If Price hadn't had the strength of a bull and fought a lot, he would have been knocked down and unconscious. Brain surgeon Dr. Paul Willis left the stand after his testimony.He met no inquiries from Vansittart, but Dr. Melrose at St. Anne's Road Hospital was different. "Tell me, Dr. Melrose, when you examined Mr. Price's nose that Tuesday afternoon, between five and five-thirty, was there blood in the nostril?" "Yes, it's bleeding." "Clumped or still liquid?" "Both. Small flakes of blood near the bottom of the nostrils, but further up the blood was liquid." "And you found that the bridge of the nose was broken in two places, and the cartilage was pushed to one side?" "yes." "So you corrected the nasal bone, corrected the bridge of the nose and fixed the nose in order for it to heal naturally?" "Yes, I did." "If the injured person had foolishly tried to straighten the nose on his own, despite the pain, before going to the hospital, would that have caused new bleeding?" "Will do." "In that case, when you look at that nose, can you tell it was damaged hours ago?" "A few hours ago, of course." "Well, is it three hours? Ten hours? Or more?" "It's hard to say. It's not accurate." "Then I'll give you a possibility. A young man went out on a Monday night, got drunk in a pub, and tried to piss in a gutter on his way home. He tripped over an uneven curb." All of a sudden, fell face down hard on the back of a construction truck parked by the side of the road and broke his nose. Would that have caused the damage you're seeing? The night before?" "possible." "Well, Dr. Melrose, yes or no? Is it possible?" "yes." "Thank you, doctor. No more questions." Vansittart was speaking to Judge Jonathan Stein now, scripted but loud and clear.What he said was: This is exactly what my client told me, and if he doesn't change his story, we both know that the prosecution is invincible. In the back of the courtroom, Jack Burns could not help but groan secretly.Why didn't Melrose insist that the damage couldn't have been done before the four hours of treatment?No one knows.Serious and honest doctors are such a nuisance. Mr. Paul Finch is the head of the forensics room.He was not a police officer, as the Metropolitan Police had contracted civilian scientists to do forensic forensic work for many years. "You collected a large amount of clothing from the apartment the defendant shared?" Vansittart asked. "Yes, I collected it." "And every piece of clothing the victim was wearing when he was attacked?" "yes." "And you inspected each item using state-of-the-art technology in order to find any fibers in one garment that came from another?" "yes." "Then are there any such traces?" "No." "You also received a T-shirt with dried blood on it?" "yes." "And a blood sample from my client, Mr. Price?" "yes." "Do they match?" "yes." "Is there someone else's blood on the T-shirt?" "No." "Did you receive any blood samples from the sidewalk in the Tiantang Road area or the Qinglinyuan Community?" "No." "Did you receive a blood sample from under or near a construction truck on Faro Road?" Mr. Finch was completely bewildered.He glanced at the bench, but couldn't get any hints.Detective Inspector Burns buried his head in his hands.Miss Sunderland also looked helpless. "Farrow Road? No." "Very well. No more questions." The Hamilton medical examiner described the autopsy report in his cheerful and confident tone.The cause of death, he said, was severe damage to the brainstem as a result of repeated kicks in the brain by boots. "During the autopsy," James Vansittart asked, "did you examine every part of the body?" "Of course." "Including the right hand?" Mr. Hamilton checked the notes. "I didn't say anything about the right hand." "Is it because the right hand is not damaged?" "That must be the reason." "Thank you, Mr. Hamilton." Unlike the professionals, the older Mr. Whittaker, who was walking the dog, was a little nervous.His attire was carefully chosen, with the Royal Artillery logo on his sports jacket.He had this right: while in the army, he had been a gunner. In the old people's club, when they heard that he was going to testify in a murder trial, everyone was very excited, and they were doting on Mickey, who was bewildered by his great achievements. He described to the prosecution, led by Miss Sunderland, how he took Mickey on his daily walk just after dawn, and how, fearing it would rain, he later walked through a gap into a wall. The abandoned piece of land separated, took a shortcut to go home.He also explained how a free-running Mickey came running back to him with an item in his mouth.It was a purse, and so, recalling the plea that had appeared in Friday's papers, he took it to the Dover Street police station. When he finished, another person stood up, the one in the high-end suit.Mr Whitaker knew he represented the bad guys in the dock.In Whittaker's youth, the bad guys were hanged, the dregs of society.So this person is the enemy.But he smiled very kindly. "Best time for a summer morning? Cool, quiet, and no one around?" "Yes. So I like it." "Me too. I used to take my Jack Russell terrier for walks." He smiled again and was really friendly.Not a very bad guy after all.While Mickey is a terrier mongrel, Mr Whitaker once owned a Jack Russell Terrier when he was a bus driver.The blond guy might not be that bad either. "So, while you were crossing that wasteland, Mickey was running free?" "yes." "So, that's when it suddenly came back to you with something in its mouth?" "yes." "Did you see exactly where it found that item?" "Didn't see it for sure, no." "Is it possible, say, ten yards from the fence?" "Well, I was twenty yards down in the field. Mitch came up behind me." "Then it is possible that it found the purse ten yards from the tin fence?" "Yes, I think that's how it should be." "Thank you, Mr. Whittaker." The old man was confused.An usher waved him off the witness stand.what happened?He was ushered to the back of the courtroom and found a seat. Fingerprinting is also a job contracted by Scotland Yard to civilian experts.One of those experts was Cliff Adams. He described the wallet that was handed to him; the three sets of fingerprints he found; how he eliminated the set of the discoverer, Mr. How the set of fingerprints matched exactly to Harry Cornish's.Vansittart stood up. "Are there any stains?" "There are some." "How did the stain come about, Mr. Adams?" "Well, a stain from one fingerprint covering another will not be evidence. Rubbing against another surface will also cause a stain." "Like the inside of a pocket?" "yes." "Which fingerprints are the clearest?" "Mr. Whittaker and Mr. Cornish." "These fingerprints are on the outside of the wallet?" "Yes, but two of Cornish's fingerprints are on the inside, the inner surface." "Then, when Mr Whittaker held the wallet, his fingerprints were left on the plastic side of the wallet, and it hadn't been stuffed into a tight pocket so it wasn't soiled?" "should be." "Mr. Cornish's fingerprints, then, were left in the same manner, and are fairly well preserved, since the purse has not since been rubbed against the inner pocket of the coat pocket?" "should be." "If a person fled the scene of a robbery and opened the wallet, removed all the contents, and stuffed it in the back pocket of his jeans, would that leave his fingerprints clearly on the plastic exterior of the wallet?" "Yes, will stay." "But would that twill fabric, tight jeans pockets, and running motion blur fingerprints at, say, half a mile?" "Maybe it will work that way." "So this man, after running half a mile, in order to throw away his purse, pulled it out of his butt pocket with his index finger and thumb, did he leave only the fingerprints of the index finger and thumb that you found?" "yes." "But if a person came along who found the wallet and left his own fingerprints on the plastic surface of the wallet, wouldn't he deface the fingerprints of said index finger and thumb?" "I thought he might deface it." "You see, your report says that the prints are smudged and covered with fresh prints, which may have come from the other hand." "They're nothing more than stains. The fingerprints underneath the stains could have belonged to the owner of the wallet as well, or Cornish's." In the back of the courtroom, Jack Burns panicked.Miss Verity Armitage, she once picked up this purse on the florist's floor. "Mr Adams, this purse was taken from the pocket of the deceased just after two o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon fortnight ago. Mr Cornish was taken into police custody at the same hour on Wednesday or shortly thereafter. He must have been Left fingerprints on the wallet during that twenty-four hour period?" "yes." "But the wallet was only found on Sunday morning. It must have been lying on the grass for four and a half to five and a half days. Yet the fingerprints were quite clear." "No water damage found, sir. In clear and dry conditions, that's quite possible." "Can you then state exactly whether Mr. Cornish's fingerprints were left on the plastic side of the wallet on Tuesday afternoon or Wednesday morning?" "No, sir." "Wednesday morning, two young men were walking along Mandela Road when they saw a purse lying by the gutter. Driven by the curiosity of ordinary people, one of them stopped and picked it up. Get up. He opened the wallet to see what was there. But there was nothing in it, neither money nor paper. It was a cheap wallet, worthless. He lifted the wallet and threw it high over the divider Mandela A tin fence separating the road from some heath; it fell in the grass about ten yards away, until it was found by a dog on Sunday morning. Is it possible?" "I think it should be possible." "Is it or is it not, Mr. Adams? Do the fingerprints match those you have found?" "yes." Another message for Judge Jonathan Stein.What Harry Cornish intended to insist on happened, and his set of explanations for leaving his fingerprints on the wallet was complete.Judge Jonathan Stein bowed his head thoughtfully, taking notes. The remaining witness is Mr. Vij Patel.His two identifications and testimony were unequivocal.Miss Sunderland guided his testimony step by step.In the rear, Burns relaxed.He will win.Vansittart stood up. "Mr. Patel, you are an honest man." "yes." "Would a man be so conceited as to deny the possibility of a mistake if he thought--merely thought--that he might have made a mistake?" "I hope not." "You stated in your testimony that you saw Mr. Price fairly clearly because he was facing you." "Yes. He's on my right, with most of his face turned towards me through the glass of the store." "But he was also facing the victim. That is, the victim was facing away from you. So you couldn't help identify his face afterwards." "yes." "You also say that the second mugger - which you take to be Mr. Cornish - was standing behind the victim. He must have his back to you too?" "um, yes." "Then how can you see his face?" Mr Patel looked worried. "I didn't see it at the time. It wasn't until later that they circled the man down on the ground and started kicking him in circles." "Mr. Patel, if you kicked someone on the ground, where would your eyes look?" "Well, of course it is that person." "That is to say, look down?" "yes." "The court will be merciful, sir. Mr Cornish, will you stand up?" Harry Cornish stood up in the dock, followed by the guards who were handcuffing him.Judge Stein looked surprised, but Vansittart didn't pause. "Mr Cornish, please watch your feet." Cornish complied.His straight hair hung down to form a screen, and his face could not be seen from all angles in the courtroom.There was silence in the court. "Sit down, Mr. Cornish," Vansittart said.Then, quite gently, he began to speak to the small shopkeeper. "Mr. Patel, I assume that you saw a thin man with ear-length hair and a sallow complexion at a distance of thirty yards. The next day, when you saw a man with ear-length hair, When you see a picture of a thin, sallow-faced man, you think it must be the same person. Is that what it is?" "I guess so," Viki Patel mumbled.Burns tried unsuccessfully to catch his eye.He dared not look into the eyes of others.He's been browbeaten, Burns thought desperately.Someone had already warned him, and in the middle of the night, a quiet voice reminded him to think about his wife and children.Oh my gosh, this kind of thing is happening again. "Now, about Mr Price. Have you been to an Arsenal game at Highbury, Mr Patel?" "No, sir." "Well, on that miserable day, you looked across the road and saw a stocky young white man with a shaved head, didn't you?" "yes." "And if you go to an Arsenal game at Highbury, you'll see hundreds of them. Fifty per cent of those white vans chasing other drivers every day on the roads of north London, if You look through the windshields of these cars, and there are hundreds of them again. And do you know how they dress, Mr. Patel? Blue jeans, usually dirty, with wide belts and stained Dusty T-shirt. It's almost a uniform. Have you ever seen someone like that before?" "I've seen it." "Is there any street in London?" "yes." "We're all humiliated when we see footage of foreign police dealing with English football hooligans on TV, don't we?" "yes." "Mr. Patel, the victim could not have punched the assailant as you describe. It would have bruised the knuckles of his right hand fingers and probably bruised the bones of his hand. I assume you saw He raised his right hand, probably to fend off what he thought was an attack coming his way. Is that what you saw?" "Yes, I think that's possible." "But if you make that mistake, don't you also make the mistake of not seeing a face at thirty yards?" Burns put his head in his hands.Whoever ordered the terrified shopkeeper did quite well.Patel did not withdraw all cooperation from the police, or he would be considered a hostile witness.He just changed "absolutely" to "maybe" and "exactly" to "maybe". "Maybe" is not enough; a jury cannot rely on "maybe" to find guilty. When poor Mr. Patel left the witness box, Miss Sunderland said to Judge Stein: "This is a prosecution case, sir. We will apply to the Crown Court for imprisonment on a murder charge." The magistrate raised his eyebrows at James Vansittart.Both men knew what was next.The courtroom was so quiet that one could hear a pin drop. "Mr. Magistrate, we all know the significance and importance of the practice of law. You must have sufficient evidence, according to which, if not contradicting yourself..." Vansittart draws out the last word for emphasis It is extremely unlikely that "...an impartial jury, under the correct guidance, can justly convict." "And that's not the case here, sir. The prosecution had three genuine pieces of evidence. Mr. Patel, the injured nose and the wallet. Mr. Patel, obviously a man of complete honesty, concluded that he put Two people who were merely similar in appearance, and thought it was the person he saw that afternoon." "That leaves Mr. Price's broken nose, and Mr. Cornish's fingerprints on an empty wallet that was thrown away. Sir, though you here today wouldn't particularly mind another day How it would be decided in another court, or really wouldn't mind the defense's obvious points in this case, but it's certainly pretty clear from your experience that the nose and purse charges would be broadly and strongly refuted." "There is a perfectly logical explanation for the broken nose and wallet. I think we both know that a jury can't be foolproof. I have to ask the indictment to be dismissed." Yes, thought Jonathan Stein, and the jury will see your client spruced up and in a suit; the jury will never see the records of these two murderers.You will be acquitted and a huge waste of public time and money. "Although helpless, I can only agree with Mr. Vansittart. The case is dismissed. The defendant is released," he said.Disgusted at what he had just had to say, he left the table. "Stand up," yelled the clerk, but it was a bit late, and most of the crowd had already rushed to the gate.Price and Cornish, who had been handcuffed, tried to shake Vansittart's hand from the dock, but he strutting past them and down the corridor. It takes a while to get from the third floor to the first: several elevators are usually busy.Jack Burns was just coming out with the first of the crowd, staring sullenly and angrily. Freed, Price and Cornish swaggered out of an elevator, swearing and yelling, and walked to the gate together.Burns turned around.They faced each other when they were twenty feet apart. The two gangsters raised their stiff middle fingers at the same time, and gestured provocatively at the criminal policeman up and down. "You're fucked, shit," Price screamed.Together they strutted out the gate and onto Highbury Road towards the house they occupied. "Unpleasant," said a quiet voice beside him.Burns saw the smooth blond hair, the lazy blue eyes, and the graceful, confident manner, and revered Vansittart and his every move. "I hope you're proud, Mr. Vansittart. They killed that good old man, and it's as true as we stand here. Thanks to you, they're free now. Until next time Do more murder." He was so angry now that he didn't even care about etiquette, "God, haven't you won enough cases for the rich in London? Why are you here to provide legal aid for petty profits? , Let those two heinous gangsters escape the punishment of the law?" There was no sarcasm in Vansittart's blue eyes, more sympathy.Then he made a strange move.He leaned over and whispered in Burns' ear.The detective smelled a noble and rare perfume. "It may surprise you, Mr. Burns," the voice whispered, "but it has to do with the triumph of justice." Then he left and walked out through the revolving door.Just at this time, a Bentley sedan drove over.Vansittart threw the briefcase into the backseat of the car and got in.The Bentley revved up and disappeared from sight. "Bah, what a fart of victory." Burns roared. It was lunch time.He decided to walk the two miles back to the police station.Halfway there, his pager rang, and it was the police station calling him.He calls back on his cell phone.A colleague on duty at the front desk answered. "There's an old fellow here waiting to see you. He said he knew the dead." The man turned out to be an elderly retiree, and a native Londoner.Burns found him in a reception room: quietly smoking a cigarette under a "No Smoking" warning sign.They chatted immediately.His name was Albert Clark, "but everyone calls me Nobby." Burns and Nobby Clark sat across the table.The detective inspector opened his notebook. "For the record, please give me your full name and address." While recording the town where Nobby lives, he stops. "Wilsden? That's dozens of miles away." "I know where it is," said the retiree. "I live there." "What about the dead?" "Of course there. That's where we met, isn't it?" He was one of those Londoners who liked to add an unnecessary interrogative to a statement, turning the sentence into a question. "You came all the way to tell me about him?" "It seems right that he's dead," said Nobby. "You ought to catch the gangsters who killed him. Lock them up." "I got them," Burns said, "and the court just let them go." Nobby Clark was taken aback.Burns took an ashtray from a drawer and the old man stubbed out the cigarette. "It's lawless. I don't know what the future holds for our country." "You're not alone. Well, talk about the dead man. What's his name?" "Peter." Burns made a note of it. "Last name?" "I don't know. I never asked him." Burns waited in silence for a moment. "We think he came all the way to east London that Tuesday to put some flowers on a grave in the local cemetery. Was that his mother's?" "No, he has no parents. He was an orphan since he was a child. He grew up in Barnardo's Orphanage. You must be talking about his Aunt May. She is his guardian." Burns imagines a lonely little boy and a kind woman trying to restore him to hope for a future life.Twenty years after her death, he still places flowers on her grave on her birthday.The flower presentation eighteen days ago had cost him his life. "So where did you meet this Peter?" "club." "Which club?" "Administration of Social Services. We sit together, every week. They give us chairs. I have arthritis and he has a lame leg." Burns could picture them sitting in the Social Services Administration, waiting for the crowd of other claimants to recede. "So while you sat and waited, did you chat?" "Yes, we talked a little bit." "But you never asked what his last name was?" "No, he never asked me, did he?" "You go there to collect your pension? What does he do there?" "Disability pension. He can receive thirty per cent disability pension." "It's the leg. Did he say anything about how it got crippled?" "Of course he did. He was a soldier. In the Airborne Corps. One night airborne, a high wind threw him against a pile of rocks. The parachute dragged him half a mile through the rocks. When the comrades found He had a comminuted fracture of his right leg." "Is he unemployed?" Nobby Clark dismissed it. "Peter? Never. He doesn't take a cent of money that doesn't belong to him. He's a night watchman." certainly.Live alone, work alone.No one will report his disappearance.And it just so happened that the company he worked for was closed for vacation in August.Nasty August. "How do you know he's dead?" "Newspapers. His death was published in the Evening Standard." "That was published nine days ago. Why did you wait so long?" "August. I'm always going to stay with my daughter on the Isle of Wight for a fortnight in August. Just got back last night. Nice to be back in town, the sea wind nearly killed me." He coughed lightly and lit another cigarette. "Then how did you see a newspaper from nine days ago?" "Potato." "Potato?" "Potatoes," said Nobby Clark patiently. "I know a potato is a potato, Nobby. But what have potatoes to do with the dead?" In reply, Nobby Clark reached into the side pocket of his jacket and produced an old torn newspaper.That was the first page of the Evening Standard nine days ago. "I went to a greengrocer this morning to buy potatoes. When I got home, I unpacked the potatoes and he was on the kitchen table staring at me." An old fashioned greengrocer.Wrap potatoes in old newspaper.The crippled man stares up, as seen in this dirt-smeared newspaper.On the back, the second edition, was the detailed report, including the contact details of Detective Inspector Burns of Dover Street Gaol. "So I just came right over, didn't I?" "Give you a ride home, Nobby?" The retiree was delighted. "Haven't been in a police car in forty years, I tell you," he added generously. "We used to have real cops back then." 伯恩斯打电话给卢克·斯金纳警长，让他带上从死者口袋里取出来的那把拴有红丝线的钥匙，并把汽车开到前面来。 在了解了当地社会服务管理局的详细地址后，他们把诺比·克拉克送到了他的家门口，然后驱车去管理局。那里快要关门了，但办事员很通情达理。伯恩斯晃了晃他的警察证件，要求找主任说话。 “我在找一个人。名叫彼得。姓氏不详。中等身高、中等身材、灰白头发、年龄在五十到五十五岁之间。以前常常坐在……”他打量了下周围。墙边有几个座位。“那里，与诺比·克拉克一起。有印象吗？” 管理局不是闲聊的地方，至少隔着柜台和铁栅的办公室职员与外面领取年金的人是不太会闲谈聊天的。最后，一位女职员回想起是有那么一个人。彼得·本森？ 余下的工作交给了电脑。管理局主任在键盘上输入彼得·本森的姓名，查到他的档案。由于骗取社保的事情常有发生，因此多年来申请人一直被要求附上照片。现在，电脑荧屏上出现的是一张小小的证件照，但这已经足够了。 “地址？”伯恩斯问道。斯金纳把它记了下来。 “他差不多已经有三个星期没来这里了，”办事人员说，“很可能去度假了。” “不，他死了。”伯恩斯说，“你们可以关闭他的档案了。他再也不会来了。” “你能肯定吗？”主任问道，显然是在担心谣传，“我们必须得到正式通知。” “不可能的。”伯恩斯说，“忘了他吧。” 翻阅伦敦黄页并询问了几位邻居之后，两位刑警找到了那个地址。它在另一个住宅小区里，是位于四楼的一室一厅小公寓。电梯已经坏了，他们踏上楼梯，进入公寓。 这是一套破旧的公寓，但很整洁。室内已经积了三个星期的灰尘，窗台上有几只死苍蝇，但没有腐烂发霉的食物。洗涤过的盘子和杯子搁在水槽旁边的滴水架上。 床头边的一只抽屉里有一些零星的部队纪念品，其中还有包括军功勋章在内的五枚奖章，那是授予战斗英雄的。书架上的图书都是翻旧了的平装本，墙上的装饰画也是些印刷品。伯恩斯最后在客厅墙面上的一张镶有镜框的照片前停下了脚步。 照片里有四个年轻人，对着照相机镜头微笑着。背景看上去像是沙漠里的一条壕沟，一边还有一座古旧的石头堡垒。照片下面印着“米尔巴特，一九七二年”。 “米尔巴特是什么？”斯金纳问，他已经走过来站在了伯恩斯身后。 “一个地方，一个小村庄。在佐法尔省，位于阿拉伯半岛最东端的阿曼。” 年轻人都穿着沙漠伪装服。其中一人戴着一条格子的阿拉伯布头巾，用两条黑带子扎着。另三个人戴着沙色贝雷帽，帽子上有帽徽。伯恩斯知道，如果手头有放大镜，他就能够分辨出帽徽里带翼匕首图案上面的三个字母，和下面三个简短的单词。 “你是怎么知道的？”斯金纳问。 “女王曾来过一次德文郡。当时我在皇家警卫团值勤。特别空勤团部队派了两个人来协助我们。警卫值勤会有长时间的等待。我们都谈起了往事。他们告诉了我们关于米尔巴特的事件。” “那里发生了什么事？” “一次战役。那里发生了一场战争。一场秘密战争。南也门的恐怖分子跨过国境进入阿曼，想推翻阿曼苏丹。英国派去了陆军训练团。一天，一支由三四百名恐怖分子组成的武装力量，向米尔巴特的那个村庄和要塞发起进攻。守卫在那里的是英国特空团的十名官兵和来自当地的一群应征士兵。” "Who's winning?" 伯恩斯伸出一根手指指向照片。 “他们赢了。当然。损失了两名战士，在打死、打伤一百多个恐怖分子之后，突出重围转移了。” 照片中三个人站着，第四个人单膝着地蹲在他们前面。这是二十四年前，在一个被遗忘了的沙漠村庄的合影。前面的人是士兵；他后面是一名中士、一名下士以及他们的年轻军官。 斯金纳走上前，用手轻敲蹲着的士兵。 “是他，彼得·本森。可怜的家伙。经历了那么多场枪林弹雨，却在埃德蒙顿被踢死了。” 伯恩斯已经辨明了这个士兵的身份。他正凝视着军官。柔软的金发上面戴着一顶贝雷帽，一双傲慢的蓝眼睛因阳光的照耀而眯缝了起来。而这名年轻的军官，正打算退伍回家去上法学院，并在四分之一世纪后，成为一位全国著名的大律师。斯金纳已经把他们联系在了一起，他在伯恩斯耳边深深吸了一口气。 “我不明白，”这位侦缉警长说，“歹徒踢死了他的战友，他还千方百计把他们放走。” 伯恩斯似乎能够感觉到回响在他耳边的那种公学毕业生的细语声。 “这也许会使你惊讶，伯恩斯先生……” 隔着几十年的岁月看这四位年轻勇士的面孔，杰克·伯恩斯这时候才明白，说话故意慢吞吞的大律师并不是在谈论“旧贝利”（刑事法院）的正义，而是《旧约》里的正义。 “杰克，”在他身边依然感到迷惑的年轻警长说，“现在普赖斯和科尼什重新获得了自由，要是中士和下士遇到他们，会发生什么呢？” “别问，小伙子。你可不会想知道。”