‘We both will,’ Daniel assured him. ‘I’m going to call you as a witness. I need an expert to swear to all of this. We haven’t needed you before because there were no fingerprints.’
Ottershaw’s face shone. ‘Good. Should we have a cup of tea?’
‘What?’ Daniel was caught on the wrong foot.
‘Do you want a cup of tea? I’m not working all night without a cup of tea and a piece of cake!’
‘Oh – yes. Yes, please.’ Daniel had not realised how much he would like that. ‘Would you like me to make it?’
‘Good idea. Then get ready to work, my boy. We’ve a lot to do. But we’ll start by establishing the ground rules, eh?’ He looked steadily at Daniel.
‘Yes . . .’
‘Good. They are simple. I’ll do as you say, as to the law. You do as I say, as to science – and human nature.’
‘I’ve—’
‘You’re agreed. Excellent.’
Daniel had been about to argue the point, but he looked at Ottershaw again and changed his mind. ‘Yes, sir.’
Ottershaw waited.
‘Yes, sir,’ Daniel reaffirmed.
‘Now, about that tea . . .’
Daniel slept on Ottershaw’s sofa for a couple of hours, then rose and washed. He borrowed Ottershaw’s razor at risk of cutting his throat; he had never used an open blade before. He borrowed a comb to make his unruly brown hair lie reasonably flat.
He then carefully packed the gun Ottershaw had lent him for the demonstration he planned in the courtroom.
After a hasty breakfast of porridge, they set out for the courthouse. Ottershaw at least had a reasonable spring in his step. He did not know Blackwell enough to care deeply about saving his life. Daniel, on the other hand, knew both Blackwell and Mercy, even if he had met them only recently. He cared very much, not just that Blackwell might lose his life, and Mercy lose all that she c
ared about most, but also because they trusted Daniel to help them, whether it was a tactic to engage him or not. Although it might have begun that way, now it was real.
The trial began very much as it had adjourned the day before: the gallery was packed, the jurors expectant, and Sefton looked confident and very nearly triumphant. He could already smell the delicious aroma of victory, and the dish was set before him.
‘Mr Pitt?’ the judge said with his eyebrows raised.
‘Yes, my lord.’ Daniel rose to his feet. ‘I call the only witness for the defence: Dr Octavius Ottershaw.’
Sefton rose immediately. ‘My lord, Dr Ottershaw is well known to the court. He is a fingerprint expert. Possibly the best. We hardly need his expertise to tell us that there are no fingerprints on the gun that was used to murder Hinton.’
The judge looked at Daniel. ‘I do hope this is not a diversionary tactic of desperation, Mr Pitt?’
‘No, my lord. Far from it,’ Daniel responded immediately.
‘Then proceed. And please hold your remarks, Mr Sefton. I will not hang a man before I have heard his defence. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ Sefton said, with strained temper showing through his acquiescence.
Daniel called Ottershaw, who took the stand and swore to his name, place of residence, and some brief but impressive qualifications.
‘Dr Ottershaw,’ Daniel began, very aware that he must hold the jury’s attention with every word he said. They were already convinced that Blackwell was guilty, for which he could hardly blame them. They did not want to hear explanations, and above all they did not want to hear excuses. Sefton was aware of that and would play to it the instant he saw the opportunity. ‘Are you quite sure all people’s fingerprints are different?’ Daniel asked innocently. He must keep it brief.
‘Yes, sir, quite sure,’ Ottershaw replied. Then he turned to the jury. ‘You, sir,’ he looked at a large, impressive man, very well dressed. It was easy to imagine he had a good opinion of himself. ‘Your fingerprints are unique to you. They are not exactly the same as those of any other man on earth.’
The juror took it as a compliment, and it showed in his face.