things to think about at once, aren’t there? Do go on.”
“I left her to go back to the bike, and next thing I know I’m being dragged off it and she’s yelling that I raped her.”
“So it was yet another coincidence that you, who so admired this rapist, should go with a prostitute who takes your money and then just happens to accuse you of sexually assaulting her for some inscrutable reason of her own?”
“The cops put her up to it,” said Drummond.
“And it was merely a combination of circumstances that caused two independent witnesses to see her sprawled face down on the ground, her clothing pulled down, with you kneeling over her? Sheer coincidence that it should look exactly like someone sexually assaulting his victim in the grim silence which had been enforced by the threat of mutilation with a knife?”
“I never had a knife.”
“No. It was just another coincidence that a knife was found exactly where you would have thrown it on returning to your bike, wasn’t it?”
“You’d have to ask the cops about that, too.”
“Ah, yes. And this statement that you gave the police after you had been arrested—did they manufacture that? We can have it played to the court, if you wish, Mr. Drummond, if you are saying it’s a fake. Are you saying that?”
“No. But they told me all those things I was supposed to have done.”
“And you pieced them all together and came up with a blow-by-blow account of what was done to these young women, and in what order, and with what degree of violence?”
“I must have.”
“Another coincidence, no doubt. But—perhaps you can explain one thing about your statement, if you would?” Whitehouse picked up some papers, and put on his glasses. “It’s concerning the assault on Mrs. Carole Jarvis,” he said. “You began your statement thus: ‘I saw that one getting into her car in Malworth, and I followed her.’” He looked up, removing his glasses again. “Who told you that?” he asked.
Drummond frowned. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
“Who told you that she had been in Malworth? The police didn’t know that that was where she had been until some considerable time after you made this statement. Only
she
knew that. She, her gentleman friend, and the person who followed her, of course.”
“I just said it.”
“Why?”
“Because … I live in Malworth, don’t I? I wouldn’t be hanging around Stansfield. But I knew the first one had been in Stansfield. So I just said I’d followed her there.”
Whitehouse threw the papers back down onto the desk. “What a remarkable coincidence, then, that she had
indeed
been in Malworth,” he said. “And did you just ‘say’ that you had threatened to mutilate your victims if they made a sound? Did you just ‘say’ that you had cleaned them up, then cut away and removed the tape? More coincidence, Mr. Drummond?”
“I heard the cops talking,” said Drummond. “I heard them saying that was what he’d done.”
“And it was a coincidence, was it, that you should have about your person adhesive bandages of the type described by the victims as having been used to bind them? Or are you also saying that the police planted them?”
“They were in the first-aid kit—it comes with the bike.”
“And moist tissues of the sort used to wash the victims after the assaults?”
“They come with the first-aid kit.”
“And best of all—that you have the same DNA profile as the rapist,” said Whitehouse. “The odds, Mr. Drummond, are three million to one against that single coincidence alone—one shudders to think
what
giddy odds your version of events reaches.” He turned to the judge. “No further questions, my lord.”
“Do you wish to re-examine, Mr. Harper?”
Harper shook his head, and the court rose for the day.
Barton Crown Court, Friday 10 July
So far Harper had called a couple of people to confirm that Colin Drummond had always dressed in black since leaving school, and a
“I left her to go back to the bike, and next thing I know I’m being dragged off it and she’s yelling that I raped her.”
“So it was yet another coincidence that you, who so admired this rapist, should go with a prostitute who takes your money and then just happens to accuse you of sexually assaulting her for some inscrutable reason of her own?”
“The cops put her up to it,” said Drummond.
“And it was merely a combination of circumstances that caused two independent witnesses to see her sprawled face down on the ground, her clothing pulled down, with you kneeling over her? Sheer coincidence that it should look exactly like someone sexually assaulting his victim in the grim silence which had been enforced by the threat of mutilation with a knife?”
“I never had a knife.”
“No. It was just another coincidence that a knife was found exactly where you would have thrown it on returning to your bike, wasn’t it?”
“You’d have to ask the cops about that, too.”
“Ah, yes. And this statement that you gave the police after you had been arrested—did they manufacture that? We can have it played to the court, if you wish, Mr. Drummond, if you are saying it’s a fake. Are you saying that?”
“No. But they told me all those things I was supposed to have done.”
“And you pieced them all together and came up with a blow-by-blow account of what was done to these young women, and in what order, and with what degree of violence?”
“I must have.”
“Another coincidence, no doubt. But—perhaps you can explain one thing about your statement, if you would?” Whitehouse picked up some papers, and put on his glasses. “It’s concerning the assault on Mrs. Carole Jarvis,” he said. “You began your statement thus: ‘I saw that one getting into her car in Malworth, and I followed her.’” He looked up, removing his glasses again. “Who told you that?” he asked.
Drummond frowned. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
“Who told you that she had been in Malworth? The police didn’t know that that was where she had been until some considerable time after you made this statement. Only
she
knew that. She, her gentleman friend, and the person who followed her, of course.”
“I just said it.”
“Why?”
“Because … I live in Malworth, don’t I? I wouldn’t be hanging around Stansfield. But I knew the first one had been in Stansfield. So I just said I’d followed her there.”
Whitehouse threw the papers back down onto the desk. “What a remarkable coincidence, then, that she had
indeed
been in Malworth,” he said. “And did you just ‘say’ that you had threatened to mutilate your victims if they made a sound? Did you just ‘say’ that you had cleaned them up, then cut away and removed the tape? More coincidence, Mr. Drummond?”
“I heard the cops talking,” said Drummond. “I heard them saying that was what he’d done.”
“And it was a coincidence, was it, that you should have about your person adhesive bandages of the type described by the victims as having been used to bind them? Or are you also saying that the police planted them?”
“They were in the first-aid kit—it comes with the bike.”
“And moist tissues of the sort used to wash the victims after the assaults?”
“They come with the first-aid kit.”
“And best of all—that you have the same DNA profile as the rapist,” said Whitehouse. “The odds, Mr. Drummond, are three million to one against that single coincidence alone—one shudders to think
what
giddy odds your version of events reaches.” He turned to the judge. “No further questions, my lord.”
“Do you wish to re-examine, Mr. Harper?”
Harper shook his head, and the court rose for the day.
Barton Crown Court, Friday 10 July
So far Harper had called a couple of people to confirm that Colin Drummond had always dressed in black since leaving school, and a
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