Dead Simple

continued. ‘Your honour, I intend to show this court that the DNA evidence that has been obtained from this shoe is unsafe, because Detective Superintendent Grace has affected the continuity and caused possible contamination of this vital exhibit.’
    He turned back to Grace. ‘I am correct, am I not, Detective Superintendent, that on Thursday, March 9th of this year, you took this shoe to a so-called medium in Hastings named Mrs Stempe? And presumably we are going to hear from you that this shoe has now been to another world? A rather ethereal one?’
    ‘Mrs Stempe is a lady of whom I have a very high opinion,’ Grace said. ‘She—’
    ‘We are not concerned with your opinions, Detective Superintendent, just the facts.’
    But the judge’s curiosity seemed piqued. ‘I think his opinions are perfectly relevant in this issue.’
    After a few moments of silent stand-off between the defence silk and the judge, Charwell nodded reluctant assent.
    Grace continued. ‘She has helped me on a number of enquiries in the past. Three years ago Mary Stempe gave me sufficient information to enable me to put a name to a murder suspect. It led directly to his arrest and subsequent conviction.’
    He hesitated, aware of the intense gazes of everyone in the room, then went on, addressing the silk. ‘If I may respond to your concerns over continuity of the exhibit, sir. If you had checked through the records, which you are entitled to do, and looked at the packaging, you would have seen the label was signed and dated when I removed it and when I returned it. The defence have been aware of this exhibit from the start, which was found outside Mr Cohen’s house on the night he disappeared, and have never asked to examine it.’
    ‘So you regularly turn to the dark arts in your work as a senior police officer, do you, Detective Superintendent Grace?’
    An audible snigger rippled round the courtroom.
    ‘I wouldn’t call it the dark arts ,’ Grace said. ‘I would call it an alternative resource. The police have a duty to use everything at their disposal in trying to solve crimes.’
    ‘So would it be fair to say you are a man of the occult? A believer in the supernatural?’ the silk asked.
    Grace looked at Judge Driscoll, who was staring at him as if it was he himself who was now on trial in this court. Desperately trying to think of an appropriate response, he shot a glance at the jury, then the public gallery, before he faced the silk again. And suddenly it came to him.
    Grace’s voice notched up a gear, more strident, more confident, suddenly. ‘What is the first thing this court required me to do when I entered the witness stand?’ he asked.
    Before the silk could respond, Grace answered for him. ‘To swear on the Holy Bible .’ He paused for it to sink in. ‘God is a supernatural being – the supreme supernatural being. In a court that accepts witnesses taking an oath to a supernatural being, it would be strange if I and everyone else in this room did not believe in the supernatural.’
    ‘I have no more questions,’ the silk said, sitting back down.
    The prosecution counsel, also in a wig and silk gown, stood up and addressed Judge Driscoll. ‘Your honour, this is a matter I want to raise in chambers.’
    ‘It’s rather unusual,’ Judge Driscoll responded, ‘but I’m satisfied that it has been dealt with properly. However,’ and now his eyes turned to Grace, ‘I would hope cases that come before my court are based on evidence rather than the utterings of Mystic Megs.’
    Almost the whole court erupted into laughter.
    The trial moved on, and another defence witness was called, a bagman for Suresh Hossain called Rubiro Valiente. Roy Grace stayed to listen while this piece of Italian low-life told a pack of lies, which were exposed in rapid succession by the prosecution counsel. By the afternoon recess, the court was so agog with the audacity of the lies that Roy Grace began to hope the business of the shoe might have been overshadowed.
    His hopes were dashed when he went outside into Lewes High Street to get some fresh air and a sandwich. Across the street, the news banner headline of the local paper, the Argus , shouted to the world:
     
    POLICE OFFICER ADMITS TO OCCULT PRACTICES
     
    Suddenly, he felt badly in need of a drink and a fag.

10
    The hunger wouldn’t go away no matter how hard Michael tried to block it from his mind. His stomach reminded him with a steady dull ache as if something were