Court Out - By Elle Wynne Page 0,48

make the house look nice every morning.”

“Ah, I see,” says Quinn. “Is it possible though that morning the house was even more messy than normal?”

“I suppose so?”

“Because, apart from the broken bottle, lamps had been knocked over, cushions were on the floor, ashtrays spilt and so on?”

“Yes.”

“So it’s perfectly possible, isn’t it that someone came into the house and caused that mess during a struggle with Marina?”

My head shoots up, but before I can so much as blink, both Corr and the Judge have started to speak. Corr graciously sits down and stops talking.

“Miss Green, please do not answer that. Mr. Quinn, as you well know, that is not a question that this witness can answer. Please confine yourself to questions and not comments,” warns Mr. Justice Wynne.

Quinn flashes a wide smile to the court.

“Of course, so sorry My Lord. I have no further questions.”

Yeah, right. That was a deliberate attempt to try and make the jury second guess the evidence. Helen Green leaves the witness box and hurries out of the courtroom, clearly glad that her role in proceedings has finally ended.

The next witness is one of the police officers who attended the scene. He goes through the various photographs that were taken with the jury, showing them the different rooms of the property, pictures of the pool and the gardens.

From the raised eyebrows and quiet murmurs, it’s apparent that the sheer luxury and opulence of the mansion is having the desired affect. This really is like a morbid version of ‘Through the Keyhole.’

Quinn stands up unannounced and addresses the court. “My Lord, I have raised the question of a site visit with My Learned Friend. I think it court be of great benefit if the jury were to actually visit the scene, get a feel for the house in person.”

There is a visible ripple of excitement in the jury box.

“Mr. Corr?” asks the Judge with a hint of exasperation in his voice, “Is this something you think is appropriate?”

“No, My Lord, it has never been deemed necessary before.” He pauses as he recognises that the jury are looking at him like he has just deprived them of a great day out. With an audible sigh, he continues, “However, I am of course willing to undertake such an excursion should it assist the court.”

“Well Mr. Corr, Mr. Quinn, I won’t make any decision now, lets see how we get on”

Before the jury have a chance to register any disappointment at this, Corr has the most crucial exhibit in the case produced by the officer, the weapon used to beat Marina prior to her death. The courtroom falls silent as a large transparent plastic bag is produced by the officer who unsheathes a large silver trophy around two and half feet in length.

It is an unusual shape, the base resembling an upside down wine glass and the top a large silver beaker attached to the slim stem. On the top is a gold figure perched on a crown: a small man and his football. Even from here I can see the red stains of blood covering most of the object. The jury are all staring at it with looks of horror and fascination.

“Can you please tell the jury what this is officer?” leads Corr.

“This is the 2004 Player of the Year award,” replies the policeman.

“Is it engraved with a name?”

“Yes, it is Sir.”

“And what name is on it please?”

“Ryan Hobbs,” says the officer, after pausing for effect.

“What is the staining that we can see on the trophy?”

“That is blood, Sir.”

“Whose blood is it?”

“Mrs Hobbs’, Sir.”

The jury are clearly struggling with a desire to examine the trophy in detail with the pure revulsion in being in such close proximity to a murder weapon.

“Where was the trophy found?” Corr asks.

“By the bins outside, next to the packed suitcases.”

“Were you aware of where this trophy was normally kept in the house?”

“I understand it came from a trophy cabinet in the hall area of the house.”

“Is that the same one we can see in photograph 20?” says Corr, flicking expertly through the photograph bundle.

“Yes” replies the officer, looking at the picture of a huge gilt trophy cabinet with mirrored internal glass panels. There aren’t actually many trophies inside, more framed pictures of Hobbs in action. Very narcissistic if you ask me.

The jury are spared from seeing the photographs of Marina’s body after she was removed from the pool; I wish I could say the same. The remainder of the afternoon is spent with the