‘But there was none on the right fist of the man now tragically dead?’
‘No.’
‘Thank you, Mr Bateman.’
What Carl Bateman could not know was that when the limping man smashed Price in the face, he did not use a bunched fist, but a much more dangerous blow. He employed the hard heel of the hand, driving upward from the waist, hammering into the nose from the underside. Had Price not been of almost ox-like strength and an accustomed brawler, he would have been knocked flat and possibly senseless.
The brain surgeon, Mr Paul Willis, gave his evidence and left the witness box with no questions from Vansittart, but not Dr Melrose of St Anne’s Road Hospital.
‘Tell me, Dr Melrose, when you examined Mr Price’s nose between five and five thirty on the afternoon of last Tuesday fortnight, was there blood in the nostrils?’
‘Yes, there was.’
‘Crusted or still liquid?’
‘Both. There were crusted fragments near the end of the nostrils, but it was still liquid further up.’
‘And you discovered the nose bone to be fractured in two places and the cartilage pushed to one side?’
‘I did.’
‘So you set the bone, reshaped the nose and strapped it in order to let nature take its course?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘If the patient, before coming to the hospital, had very foolishly and despite the pain tried to reset his own nose, would that have caused fresh bleeding?’
‘Yes, it would.’
‘Bearing that in mind, can you say how many hours before you saw the nose the injury had been inflicted?’
‘Several hours, certainly.’
‘Well, three? Ten? Even more?’
‘That is hard to say. With complete accuracy.’
‘Then let me put to you a possibility. A young man goes out on the Monday evening, gets lamentably drunk in a pub, and on the way home wishes to urinate in the gutter. But, stumbling over an uneven paving stone, he falls heavily forward and smashes his nose into the tailboard of a jobbing builder’s lorry parked by the kerb. Could that have inflicted the injury you saw? The previous night?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Well, Dr Melrose, yes or no? Is it possible?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you, Doctor. No further questions.’
Vansittart was speaking to Jonathan Stein; in code, but it came through loud and clear. What he said was: that is exactly my client’s story and if he sticks to it, we both know the prosecution cannot disprove it.
At the back of the court Jack Burns swore inwardly. Why could not Melrose simply have insisted the injury could not possibly have occurred more than four hours before he tended it? No-one would ever have known. Damn scrupulously honest doctors.
Mr Paul Finch was the head of forensics. He was not a police officer, for the Met has for years used civilian scientists on contract for its forensic work.
‘You received into your possession a large quantity of items of clothing taken from the flat shared by the accused?’ Vansittart asked.
‘Yes, I did.’
‘And every stitch of clothing worn by the victim during the attack?’