Court Out - By Elle Wynne Page 0,66

of the second bundle.” He waits for them to all find the relevant page. “Now Mr. Hobbs, you can see here many newspaper stories relating to different occasions where no less than fourteen girls sold stories of their illicit liaisons with you. Most of them are supported by independent, incontrovertible evidence.”

“They’re all money grabbing liars,” he snarls, barely looking at the pages.

“All liars?” asks Corr calmly. “Please turn to page 79.”

I follow his instructions and am confronted with a full-page colour photograph of Hobbs locked in a passionate tangle with a brunette. One of his hands is up her skirt. There’s a pause.

“Yeah ok, that was a one off,” he mumbles.

“Turn to page 82.”

This time it’s a picture of him with his head buried deep within the cleavage of a tarty looking blonde. Another topless blonde woman in black PVC shorts is kissing the back of his neck.

“Now please page 85,” says Corr in an almost singsong voice. This picture shows Hobbs zipping up his flies as he emerges from a toilet cubicle in a nightclub followed by a disheveled lady in a similar state of undress.

“I think we can safely conclude that you took your marriage vows as guidance and not absolute,” comments Corr. “If you want Mr. Hobbs, I can show the jury some more pictures?”

“No,” he mutters petulantly.

“Right, moving on then. Amanda Windsmore sold her story and it was splashed across every tabloid in the country the morning of the 19th of July. You were made aware of the scandal when you were on your way to training. That would have been at about midday wouldn’t it?”

“Yes. I’ve already told you that once,” he snaps.

“And you claim your battery had gone on your phone so you couldn’t call Marina?”

“That’s what happened,” he says in a bored voice, looking over at Quinn.

“Your Overfinch has an inbuilt charger though doesn’t it?”

“I was in such a state. It didn’t occur to me.”

“You didn’t use the club phone or ask to borrow a mobile to call her though, did you?”

“I couldn’t remember the number,” he protests.

“What? You didn’t know your own home phone number?” enquires Corr incredulously.

“No, of course I knew that. I didn’t know Marina’s mobile number.”

“But you didn’t try and call the house?” he presses.

“No. I didn’t think she would answer” Hobbs retorts.

“You presumably knew that this story would devastate her?”

“She would have known it was all lies.”

“She’d have been upset to have her husband accused of sleeping with a child though, surely?”

“Yes,” he concedes after a pause.

“And as a loving, doting husband, you'd have wanted to comfort her, reassure her that everything was okay?” he pushes.

“Of course!”

“But you didn’t do that. You went out drinking when you could have easily driven home to see her,” says Corr, turning to the jury to make his point.

“I needed to relax, to unwind.”

“You didn’t care about her at all. She’d stood by you through all of your previous infidelities so why would this time have been any different?”

“It wasn’t like that!” protests Hobbs.

“So when you came home and found her with her cases packed you went mad, didn’t you?”

“That’s not what happened.”

“You were so incensed that she was going to leave you, you attacked her.” says Corr, his voice rising slightly.

“No I didn’t!” shouts Hobbs, his tone a complete contrast to Corr.

“You used your trophy to beat her didn’t you? You hit her on the head with it a number of times.”

“That’s not true. Marina was killed by intruders.”

“No, Mr. Hobbs, she was killed by you. After you had beaten her senseless with the trophy you drowned her in your pool.”

“I’d never hurt her!”

“But you’ve got a violent temper, haven’t you?” says Corr coldly.

“Not at all!”

“Well Mr. Hobbs, only that afternoon you broke another man’s nose!”

“He called me a nonce!”

“So you think he deserved it?”

Hobbs falls silent before exclaiming happily.

“I couldn't have drowned her in the pool. You heard the police officer. My trousers were bone dry when they nicked me!”

Corr pauses and the court waits for his next move. Wait a minute, just wait a minute. I quickly scrawl a note on the reverse of one of the witness statements and yank the back of his gown. He turns around, takes it from me and reads it before placing it on top of his papers. There is a moment of pure silence.

“You’ve had that pool since you remodeled the house?”

“Yes,” Hobbs agrees uncertainly.

“And you use it regularly all year round?”

“It’s heated, so I normally swim in it every day. I