‘The door was open?’ Clement emphasised.
‘Yes. Yes, I’m sure it was. As I watched, something colourful – all blue and red – started fizzing about inside, and I realised it was a firework.’
Clement glanced around the room. On a grey, wet, Monday morning in November, his courtroom looked chilly and dull, but the atmosphere was as tense as he’d ever seen it.
‘What did you do, Mrs Wilcox?’ Clement asked quietly.
‘Nothing,’ Alice said simply. ‘I didn’t know what to do. At first, I couldn’t understand it. I couldn’t think why Father would have let off a firework inside the shed.’
She looked down at her hands and shrugged. ‘I think I turned to Godfrey, who was standing closest to me, and asked him where Father was. I couldn’t see him, you see. I thought at first that he must just be standing in the dark, outside the light thrown up by the bonfire. But then I realised I couldn’t see him in the light from the kitchen window either. Then suddenly, there was this huge explosion of bangs and whizzes and coloured sparks, and it looked as if the shed trembled.’
The shed in question, he knew from the fire inspector’s report, had been a standard, six-by-ten foot wooden shed, common to gardens all over the country, where they were used to store garden tools, wheelbarrows, sacks of potatoes, winter logs and other odds and ends.
‘We all sort of … screamed. And then the shed roof began to really blaze,’ Alice said, gulping out the words now. ‘The smoke was really thick, and my husband, Kenneth, shouted out Father’s name and ran towards the shed, but as he did so, a rocket shot out of the door and veered off into the neighbour’s fence. It didn’t hit him, but it only missed by a few inches. I called at him to come back. I was afraid … You see, I didn’t want … I didn’t know, then, that Father was in the shed, and I didn’t understand why he was going so close and putting himself in danger like that.’
Her jerky words echoed around the silent room, as everyone digested her words – and the horror of the scene.
‘My brother Godfrey said something about Father not coming out of the shed, and then I realised … But by then, the whole shed was ablaze – the heat was infernal. And fireworks kept going off, explosion after explosion … It was like being back in the Blitz. I visited London once as a child during the war and I never forgot the air raid …’ She trailed off and shot the coroner a look of mute appeal.
‘Thank you, Mrs Wilcox, I think we’ll hear about the rest of the events from your husband now.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ Alice said and left the witness box with such alacrity, Clement had no chance to ask the jury if they had any further questions for her.
He looked curiously at the man who stood up to reach for his wife and help her back into her seat in the front row. Her spouse then said something soothing to her, before striding across to take his place on the witness stand.
In stark contrast to his wife, Kenneth Wilcox looked very business-like and calm. If he felt at all nervous at having to give evidence, it didn’t show as he was sworn in.
Clement knew his age was fifty, but unlike his wife, he wore his age much better, and could easily have passed for a decade younger. He was around five feet ten inches tall, and huskily built. He had an abundance of sandy hair, which showed no signs of silvering, and bright, almost electric-blue eyes. A neatly trimmed beard and moustache, just beginning to go salt-and-pepper, only added to his overall attractiveness.
‘You’re Mr Kenneth Wilcox, son-in-law of the victim?’ Clement began mildly.
‘Yes sir, that’s correct.’
‘You’ve just heard your wife’s testimony. Perhaps you can now tell us what you saw the night her father died?’
‘I’ll do my best. Like Alice said, we had a little trouble getting the bonfire to catch light, so in the end we had to use a sprinkling of paraffin.’
‘Whose suggestion was that?’ Clement slipped in.
The witness blinked slightly, then shrugged. ‘I’m not altogether sure. I think mine – or else maybe Godfrey’s?’
‘Go on,’ Clement said.
‘Yes. Well, we got the bonfire going. The kiddies were pleading with their grandfather to start letting off the fireworks, and I think he was teasing them, pretending he was going to make them wait or something, but I saw him eventually head off to the shed to collect them. He usually brought them out in a wheelbarrow.’
‘Were the fireworks stored in tin boxes, for safety?’ Clement asked sharply.
‘I have no idea, but I doubt it,’ Kenneth said flatly. ‘Otherwise, I can’t see how so many of them would have gone off like they did when the shed caught fire,’ he added logically.
Clement made a note and sighed. If only people would be more careful! ‘And how do you think the shed did catch fire, Mr Wilcox. Did you see anything strike it – say, another firework from someone else’s display?’
‘No, I don’t think so. The only thing I can think of is that some burning newspaper from the bonfire must have blown in on the wind, through the open door, and landed on one of the exposed fireworks. I wish now we’d never used that damned paraffin. Mind you, it wasn’t only the embers from our fire floating about – the wind was so strong, I think plenty of other bright orange bits and bobs blew in from the neighbours’ bonfires too.’
‘Did you actually see any burning newspaper or embers blown into the shed?’ Clement asked sharply.
‘No sir, I didn’t,’ his witness admitted honestly. ‘But then, I wasn’t really looking or taking much notice. I didn’t realise at the time that it might be important, unfortunately. Hindsight’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it?’
Clement nodded, acknowledging the truth of the man’s wry comment. He also knew from the police statements that none of the family there that night could tell them how the shed had caught fire, with such tragic consequences.
‘I see. Did your father-in-law carry an electric torch with him? It must have been dark inside the shed.’ Clement tried a new tack.
‘Yes, he did. A big, heavy, black rubber thing. He certainly didn’t go in there with a box of matches or a candle or an exposed flame, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ Kenneth Wilcox said smartly. ‘No one could accuse the old man of being such a fool!’
Out of the corner of his eye, Clement noticed someone, he thought on the press bench, make a sharp movement of some kind, but when he turned his head to look more closely, saw only industriously bent heads as they took down the witness’s words in their best shorthand.
‘I see. Did your father-in-law seem himself that day?’ Clement asked next.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Was he in good health? Did he have a cold, or was he in any way breathless?’
‘Oh, do you mean could he have been taken ill suddenly and somehow done something to set things in motion? No, I don’t think so,’ Kenneth Wilcox said, frowning thoughtfully. ‘He was always in good, hearty health as far as
