‘Nearly seven years,’ Highsmith repeated admiringly. ‘And you’ve already reached the lofty heights of detective inspector. Remarkable. So you won’t have had much time to gain experience of complicated, serious cases?’
‘I’ve done my share, sir.’
‘But you’re on an accelerated promotion scheme for graduates, aren’t you? Your promotions haven’t come because of your brilliant performances in the field of detection, but simply because you have a university degree and you were promised rapid promotion regardless of whether you had investigated murder or shoplifting. Isn’t that the case?’ Highsmith frowned, as if genuinely puzzled by the thought.
George took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose. ‘I did enter the force as a graduate. But it was made plain to me that if my performance did not match up to certain expectations, I would not automatically progress through the ranks.’
‘Really?’ If Highsmith had used that tone in the cricket club, George would have flattened him.
‘Really,’ he echoed, then clamped his mouth shut.
‘It’s very unusual for so junior an officer to head an investigation of this seriousness, isn’t it?’ Highsmith pressed on.
‘The detective chief inspector in the division was incapacitated with a broken ankle. At the outset, we had no idea how serious the investigation might prove to be, so Superintendent Martin asked me to take charge. Once it began to appear more serious, it made sense to maintain continuity rather than hand over to someone from headquarters who would have to start from scratch. I was at all times under the direct supervision of Detective Chief Inspector Carver and the divisional chief, Superintendent Martin. Sir.’
‘Prior to this, had you in fact ever been involved in investigating a case involving a missing child?’
‘No, sir.’
Highsmith cast his eyes upwards and sighed. ‘Had you ever led a murder inquiry?’
‘No, sir.’
Highsmith frowned, rubbed the bridge of his nose with his index finger and said, ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, Inspector, but this is the first major criminal investigation you have ever been in charge of, isn’t it?’
‘In charge of, yes. But I’ve –’
‘Thank you, Inspector, you need only answer the question asked,’ Highsmith cut brutally across him.
George flashed him a look of frustration. Then, from somewhere, he found a twitch of a smile, acknowledging that he knew what was being done to him.
‘You’ve taken a strong personal interest in this case, haven’t you?’
‘I’ve done my job, sir.’
‘Even after the initial search was called off, you still visited Scardale several times a week, didn’t you?’
‘A couple of times a week, yes. I wanted to reassure Mrs Carter that the case was still open and we hadn’t forgotten her daughter.’
‘You mean Mrs Hawkin, don’t you?’ Highsmith’s use of Ruth’s current married name was clearly directed at the jury, a device to remind them of her relationship to the man in the dock.
George was proof against such provocative play. He smiled. ‘Not surprisingly, she prefers to be known by her previous married name. We’re happy to abide by that preference.’
‘You even abandoned your family, including your pregnant wife, to visit Scardale on Christmas Day.’
‘I couldn’t help thinking how Alison’s disappearance must have affected the way people in Scardale were feeling at Christmas. I went over with my sergeant for a very brief visit, just to show our faces, to show we sympathized.’
‘To show you sympathized. How very commendable,’ Highsmith said patronizingly. ‘You often visited the manor, didn’t you?’
‘I dropped in, yes.’
‘You knew the study?’
‘I’ve been in it, yes.’
‘How many times, would you say?’
George shrugged. ‘Hard to put an exact figure on it. Before we executed the search warrant, maybe four or five times.’
‘And were you ever alone in there?’
The question came fast as a whip and with the same sting. Now it was clear what Highsmith was planning. ‘Only briefly.’
‘How many times?’
George frowned. ‘Twice, I think,’ he said cautiously.
‘How long for?’
Stanley was on his feet. ‘Your Lordship, this is supposed to be cross-examination. My learned friend seems intent on a fishing expedition.’
Sampson nodded. ‘Mr Highsmith?’
‘Your Lordship, the prosecution is relying heavily on circumstantial evidence, some of which was found in my client’s study. I think it only reasonable that I be allowed to establish that other people had opportunity to have left it there.’
‘Very well, Mr Highsmith, you may continue,’ the judge grudgingly allowed.
‘How long were you left alone in the study?’
‘On one occasion, a minute or two at the most. On the second occasion, I must have been in the room for about ten minutes before Mr Hawkin appeared,’ George said reluctantly.
‘Long enough,’ Highsmith said, apparently to himself as he picked up another pad and flicked over a page or two. ‘Can you tell us what your hobbies are, Inspector?’ he asked pleasantly.
‘Hobbies?’ George demanded, caught off his stride.
‘That’s right.’
George looked at Stanley for guidance, but the barrister could only shrug. ‘I play cricket. I like to go fell-walking. I don’t have time for many hobbies,’ he said, sounding as baffled as he felt.
‘You’ve missed one out,’ Highsmith said, his voice cold again. ‘One that has particular relevance to this case.’
George shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Highsmith picked up a thin bundle of photostats. ‘Your Lordship, I would like these papers entered as defence exhibits one to five. Exhibit one is from Cavendish Grammar School for Boys school magazine for 1951. It is the annual report of the school Camera Club, written by the secretary, George Bennett.’ He handed the top sheet to the court clerk. ‘The other exhibits are from the newsletter of the Camera Club of Manchester University, where Detective Inspector Bennett was an undergraduate. They contain articles on photography written by one George Bennett.’ He handed over the papers to the court clerk.
‘Inspector Bennett, do you deny that you wrote these articles on photography?’
‘Of course I don’t.’
‘You are in fact something of an expert in matters photographic?’
George frowned. He could see the trap. To deny it would make him look like a liar. To admit it might fatally undermine the prosecution case for a committal. ‘Any knowledge I had is well out of date,’ he said carefully. ‘Apart from family snaps, I haven’t handled a camera for five or six years.’
‘But you would know where to go to find out how to fake photographs,’ Highsmith said.
George was wiser than Ruth Carter in the ways of barristers. He knew better than to leave a statement unanswered. ‘No more than you would, sir.’
‘Photographs can be faked, can’t they?’ he asked.
‘In