George Bennett, Detective Inspector with Derbyshire Constabulary, based at Buxton.’
‘I’d like to take you right back to the beginning of this case, Inspector. When did you first hear of Alison Carter’s disappearance?’
At once, George was back in the squad room on that bitter December night, hearing from Sergeant Lucas that there was a girl missing in Scardale. He began his evidence with the clarity of a man who can slip back into the scenes of memory with the immediacy of the present. Stanley almost smiled in his relief at having such an impressive police witness. In his experience, it was a lottery with officers of the law. Sometimes he trusted them less than the shifty individuals in the witness box. But George Bennett was handsome and clean cut. He looked and sounded as honest as a film star playing the decent cop.
Stanley wasted no time, and by the end of the morning he had covered the initial report of Alison’s disappearance, George’s first interview with her mother and stepfather, the preliminary searches and the discovery of the dog in the woodland.
Then, for a further hour and a half in the afternoon, Stanley took him meticulously through the key discoveries in the investigation. The blood and garment traces in the copse; the booking Hawkin’s study detailing the old workings inside the crag; the stained clothes and the bullets in the lead mine; the bloody shirt and the gun; the appalling photographs and negatives in the safe.
‘It is unusual to charge a man with murder when there is no body,’ Stanley said towards the end of the afternoon.
‘It is, sir. But in this case, we felt the evidence was so overwhelming that there was no other conclusion that could be drawn.’
‘And of course, there are other cases where men have been found guilty of murder in the absence of a body. Inspector Bennett, given the seriousness of the charges, do you have any lingering doubts about your correctness in charging Mr Hawkin?’
‘Anyone who has seen the photographic evidence of what he did to his stepdaughter when she was alive would know this was a man who would stop at nothing. So, no, I have no doubts at all.’ It was the first time George had let his emotions surface and Stanley was happy to see the jurors seemed impressed with his passion.
He gathered together his papers. ‘I have no further questions for the witness,’ he said.
He had never wanted a cigarette more, George thought as he waited for Rupert Highsmith to finish fiddling with his papers and begin his attack. Stanley’s questions had been thorough and probing, but there had been nothing he had not been well prepared for. Highsmith had tried suggesting to the judge that they leave the cross-examination till the morning, but Sampson was in no mood to wait.
Highsmith leaned negligently against the rail behind him. ‘You won’t forget you’re still under oath, Inspector? Now, tell the court how old you are.’
‘I’m twenty-nine years old, sir.’
‘And how long have you been a police officer?’
‘Nearly seven years.’
‘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
