Chapter 45 Leila
Leila
R v Jack Millman
You’ve got to be careful with police officers.
The basis of cross-examination is that you’re disputing, or casting doubt, upon someone’s evidence.
At the very least, you’re helping the jury explore beyond what was previously said.
We are trained never to ask a question in cross-examination that we don’t already know the answer to, and when you have as limited instructions as I do from my client, that’s a very hard reach.
I rise. The jury stare at me, wondering, Is she up to it? Is she any good? Why did the defendant pick her? Is she as good as the prosecution one? Who do we like and trust more?
“DCI Brady, could I ask you to look again at the photos of Mr. Millman which were taken when he was brought into police custody?”
He shuffles the photos around, and the jury too can be heard flicking pages to find the ones I’m talking about. He finds them, then faces me without saying anything. God, he looks pissed off.
“Mr. Millman has a swelling to the right side of his face there, does he not?” I ask, leading everyone to look at the redness just to the side of Jack’s right eye.
“I suppose.” He shrugs. This man doesn’t take me seriously. “That could have come from anywhere.”
“Do you remember if that swelling was there when you arrived on the scene at his flat?”
“I don’t recall seeing it, no.”
“So, you’re saying it wasn’t there?”
“I didn’t say that,” he answers back defiantly, putting his hands on each side of the witness box.
“You made no mention of it in your evidence just now. Why not?”
“I didn’t think it was important.”
“You didn’t think it was important to mention that a man accused of murder had bruises beginning to form on his face potentially hours after the alleged murder had been committed, who now denies committing that act?”
“It wasn’t immediately obvious.” He sighs.
“It’s right, isn’t it, that Mr. Smythe was left-hand dominant?”
“So I’m told, yes.”
“If Mr. Millman claimed he had been assaulted by someone who was left-hand dominant, his injuries would be consistent with that?”
“Is he saying that?”
“I’m asking you.”
DCI Brady directs a steely glare my way, and I can tell he does not like me.
“I suppose it would, but that wasn’t immediately obvious when the defendant was arrested.”
The way he speaks is defensive.
“Was it immediately obvious what the murder weapon was when you arrived at the flat?”
“No,” he replies, “it wasn’t. It was difficult to understand what had happened at all because, outwardly, Mr. Smythe didn’t display many injuries. Just the bleeding from the nose, which made me think he’d been hit with something heavy.”
“You said in your evidence just now that it was an ‘odd’ decision to place the kettlebell back to its doorstop position. Can you explain this, please?”
“I’ve worked in criminal investigations for twenty years, mostly murder scenes.
Some of these crime scenes are well thought out.
Others aren’t. You can spot the rookie ones a mile off.
The ones who panic and make stupid split-second decisions that end up getting them caught. The kettlebell is one of them.”
“How so?”
He glances at the jury, then directs his attention back to me.
“To use an object to kill someone, then return it to its place?” he says to me slowly, as if I’m stupid. “It had Anton’s DNA all over it. We were obviously going to find it.”
“No one attempted to hide it, throw it out, remove it from the flat?”
“I’d argue that by returning it to the door, he was trying to get away with it, ignorant of how the scene would be scrutinized by a criminal court. An amateurish move.”
“To be clear, you’re saying only someone who had no intimate knowledge of how crime scenes work would make such an unsophisticated mistake?”
“Or someone who isn’t very bright,” he points out, turning to face Jack in the dock at the back of the courtroom. “A poor attempt at manipulating the crime scene, either way.”
I nod my head slowly, turning toward the jury for a moment before continuing.
“As you’ve just highlighted, the kettlebell had Mr. Smythe’s DNA on the rounded side of it. It’s right, isn’t it, that in murder cases, you normally make the connection between victim and killer with the weapon?”
“Of course, yes.”
“And you’ve struck gold when you have the victim’s DNA on one end of the weapon and the alleged killer’s DNA on the other end?”
“Where possible, yes.”
“You don’t have that link here, do you?”
“We don’t have that link in many cases.” He shrugs. “It’s not unusual.”
“Odd circumstances, though, yes? Reinstatement of the kettlebell. No attempt by Mr. Millman to flee the scene. No-comment interview.”
“What exactly is odd about it, Miss Reynolds?” he asks me abruptly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He’s getting agitated.
“For somebody who doesn’t have any DNA on a murder weapon, you appear to be very sure you have your killer. The evidence against Mr. Millman in this case is purely circumstantial, isn’t it?”
“The defendant was arrested under caution. You know the importance of those three sentences, Miss Reynolds. Mr. Millman does, too. He was interviewed under caution. Twice. He gave ‘no comment’ replies to both. He’s had every single opportunity to say he’s innocent of this offense, but not once has he done so.
Does that sound like an innocent person to you? ”
He directs the last line directly to the jury. This isn’t going well.
“I’m the one asking the questions, DCI Brady, not you,” I say calmly, referring to my blue notebook to see where I’m going next with this. “Did you think anything was odd about Mr. Millman’s appearance that night when you arrested him?”
“Odd? No…”
“May I take you to photo number two. It’s a headshot of Mr. Millman in custody. You’ll see he’s wearing his T-shirt inside out and back to front. Can you see the label there? Just in front of his neck?”
DCI Brady holds the photo up to his face to get a better look.
“Did he put this T-shirt on in your presence?”
“No, he was already wearing it when we arrived.”
“What’s that on the front of his T-shirt?” I ask, pointing to a large section of it which is a dark brown color and looks wet.
“That turned out to be Coca-Cola.”
“And you recall seeing this when you arrived?”
“Yes.”
“Did any of this strike you as peculiar?”
“Within the context of a murder investigation?” He laughs. “Not really.”
“You can’t explain any of these things?”
“That’s for your client to do, Miss Reynolds.”
“You maintain that Mr. Millman was calm at the flat?”
“Yes.”
“Cooperative?”
“In the sense that he willingly came with us, yes. Beyond that, no.”
“One last thing, DCI Brady. You said in your statement—completed within twenty-four hours of the alleged offense—that you were hit by the very faint smell of women’s perfume in Mr. Millman’s bedroom. Is this correct?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t mention this in your evidence just now, did you?”
“It was more of a general observation of the crime scene, really. I didn’t think it carried much significance.”
“Didn’t you?” I ask. “Why not?”
“The evidence against Mr. Millman is sufficient.”
“Well, that’s not for you to decide. That is a matter for this jury. Tell me, DCI Brady, was this an open-and-shut case for you?”
I’m pushing it, I know. My eyes flick toward the judge, and hers to mine. Julian shuffles out of the corner of my eye.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“It’s a very high-profile case, isn’t it? Cases such as these can’t be left sizzling in the background for too long. People want progress and a conviction. It’s almost too good to be true that the murderer was caught sitting right beside the victim as he lay dying.”
“Miss Reynolds,” the judge cautions. I need to be careful here.
“Did you investigate all lines of inquiry in this case?”
“Our methods are thorough, especially when a life has been taken. We want to ensure justice prevails for the victim and the victim’s family.”
“Did it ever cross your mind that there may have been someone else there that night?”
Silence grips the courtroom.
“The defendant was at the scene when we arrived and refused to answer all questions put to him.”
“Let me phrase the question another way. Was there any evidence at the scene to suggest anyone else had been in the flat? Any at all?”
He pauses before answering, glaring at me from the box. The air is tense.
“It would be speculative, at best.”
“Could the jury please turn to tab two in the jury bundles?” I ask.
After a few seconds of shuffling about, everyone is presented with photographs of a mixture of cocktail and beer glasses.
Not ordinary ones, but the kind of fancy, ornate ones you get in Temptation for thirteen pounds a pop.
Some are empty, but for a few dregs lounging in the bottom. Others contain unfinished drinks.
“DCI Brady, can you explain to the jury what these are?”
“Exhibits found at the scene of the murder. I really don’t see…”
He’s getting flustered. Shaking his head, he has no way to explain why this wasn’t investigated.
“There are five in total. They have been photographed where they were found in the flat. Do you recall seeing them there?”
“I do, yes.”
“Where were they?”
“All except one were scattered around the living room. One was in the bedroom.”
“You’ll see from the photographs that two of the glasses have lipstick marks on the rim. Do you see that?”
“Yes.”
“Do you also see that the lipsticks appear to be different shades?”
“I’m a man. I’m unable to differentiate between these things.”
“Are you colorblind?”
“Miss Reynolds,” the judge intervenes.
I need to be cautious. I’m starting to piss her off now; Julian will think he’s got the upper hand.
“DCI Brady, that’s potentially two other people who could have been in that flat on the night of the murder, yet you failed to follow that up.”
“Those glasses could have been there for days, weeks,” he says, holding the photo up and waving it around. He doesn’t like being questioned in this way.
“Perhaps. But they also could have been placed there minutes before Anton Smythe was killed, couldn’t they?”
“It’s unlikely.”
“Is it? What about the strands of hair belonging to seven different individuals that were discovered in the same room where Mr. Smythe’s body was found? Or the lighter with unidentified prints on it?”
“There’s no way of knowing when they were introduced to the room.”
“So, it could have been the night of the murder. In total, that’s potentially thirteen other people whose DNA was present inside Mr. Millman’s flat. The fact is, you didn’t even attempt to consider whether there might have been someone else responsible for this, did you?”
“We didn’t need to,” he answers quickly, shaking his head.
“As far as you were concerned, you had your man, and you’d make it fit your narrative because it was easy. That’s right, isn’t it?”
“I’ve been a police officer for over twenty years. I’ve solved countless murders. We’ve got our man.”
He isn’t budging. I’ve made my point and now I need to get out of here. Never push your luck.
“No further questions, Your Ladyship.”
First witness down and I’ve basically called a police officer incompetent.
This isn’t going as well as I’d hoped.