St. Urbain's Horseman (53 page)

“What did he say to that?”

“He said as British law seemed to value property above everything else, and he quoted the thirty-year sentences of the Great Train Robbery as an example, then it would seem to follow that there was no property on this island quite so precious as Miss Loebner's bottom.”

Eventually, they got to Mallory's second visit to the house.

“Did you then discuss cannabis with him?” Mr. Fraser asked.

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“I asked him if he thought it should be legalized. He said the sooner the better.”

Cross-examining, Mr. Guy Harrington asked, “Did you find any cannabis in Hersh's house?”

“We found the butts of three cigarettes.”

“In your search, did you find cannabis or even traces of it in drawers or on shelves or anywhere else?”

“No.”

“Could the butts you found have been the remains of cigarettes brought into the house by Miss Loebner?”

“Yes. That's possible.”

Then Sir Lionel Watkins, manifestly bored, skewered Inspector Mallory.

“You say Hersh said cannabis should be legalized. The sooner the better. Is it possible you led Hersh on, suggesting to him that pot would be legalized soon enough, and then inviting his opinion?”

“No. I did not.”

“Did you, on your visit to Hersh's house with a photographer, properly caution him or did you say,” and here he mocked the inspector's bluff manner, “this is all unofficial, old chap?”

“I cautioned him.”

Sir Lionel smiled. He nodded. “That will be all, Inspector.”

Sergeant Hoare, called to the stand, substantiated Mallory's testimony and told of his initial difficulties with Stein at the door. The police doctor testified that Miss Loebner, when brought to him, had been in a state of shock, and that on examination he had discovered evidence of both vaginal and anal penetration. Entry of the penis into the anal passage had been eased with vaseline.

“Would you say entry was forced?”

“It could have been forced. But it is not necessarily so.”

“Would you care to explain?”

“The passage is narrow. If the member were large, and erect, this could account for the bruises.”

Cross-examining, Mr. Harrington asked, “Were there any scratches on Miss Loebner, indicating a struggle?”

“There were no anal bruises that would establish beyond doubt that entry was forced. On the other hand, she has a nasty bruise on her forearm. One inner thigh was slightly discolored immediately below the vagina. Her left buttock was also discolored.”

“Could the last discoloration have been the aftermath of a love tap?”

“Yes, but rather a strong one.”

“You say she was in a state of shock?”

“Yes.”

“Is that not natural, considering she had been picked up by the police at five-thirty in the morning, high on cannabis, and was then asked to submit to a rigorous examination of her private parts?”

“Yes.”

Old Lady Dry Cunt was the next to be sworn in.

“Did you hear or see anything unusual emanating from the Hershes' house on the night of June twelfth?”

“I heard music playing loudly.”

“Lumpy Gravy
by Frank Zappa?”

“I wouldn't know,” she said sniffily.

Ingrid Loebner's employer, a Mr. Ungerman, was sworn in, and testified to her good character. But, cross-examining, Sir Lionel instantly established that though Miss Loebner had only been with the Ungermans for three months, she had stayed out all night at least four other times.

“Does she, to your knowledge, smoke cannabis?”

“No. Not to my knowledge.”

“What is it you said she burns in her room some evenings?”

“Incense, I think.”

“Are you not aware this is burned to conceal the smell of cannabis?”

Mr. Pound objected strenuously. Sir Lionel withdrew the question.

Then Ingrid was sworn in.

“Did your father serve in the war, Miss Loebner?”

“He was with the medical corps. On the Russian front. It was terrible for them. They had no winter clothes.”

“Was he a member of the Nazi party?”

“Never,” she protested vehemently. “I told Hersh. My father disapproved.”

“Did you also tell Hersh your father was a dentist?”

“Yes.”

“What did he reply?”

“If that's the case, he said, he must have been very busy during the war, extracting gold fillings from Jews.”

Ingrid described how she had been enticed to Hersh's house, where she had been plied with liquor and cannabis. Hersh's actual arrival had been a surprise, she allowed, and she had immediately looked to him for help.

“What did Stein say when he arrived?”

“He said, Do you want her now? She's crazy for it. All ways.”

“And what did you say to that?”

“Nothing. I was very frightened.”

“And then what happened?”

“Stein sent me to Hersh's bedroom, carrying a tray with brandy.”

“What were you wearing?”

“I was naked.”

“Isn't that unusual, rather?”

“He had hidden my clothes,” she protested.

“Who had?”

“Stein. He forced me. He warned me, yeah, Hersh was very important. He said he could make me a star, yeah, but he would have
to see what I looked like naked. He said I was to please Hersh or they would both be very angry with me.”

“And you were willing?”

“But he had hidden my clothes,” she cried. “He had a wet towel in his hand. He had already hit me with it. He warned me the marks didn't show. I thought I would play for time. I didn't want him to hurt me again.”

“What happened when you entered Hersh's bedroom?”

“He was in his underwear, yeah? They were blue ones. I asked him why he kept a rifle.”

“How did you know he had one?”

“Stein had taken me to see it. He said it didn't pay to be a disobedient girl in this house.”

“I see. And what did Hersh say when you asked him why he kept a rifle?”

“He said he might be planning to shoot some Germans. Maybe you. Who knows.”

“Then what happened?”

“He grabbed me by the hair and forced me on the bed and made me take it in my mouth.”

“He obliged you to commit
fellatio?”

“That's to suck the cock, yeah?”

Mr. Pound nodded reprovingly. “Yes,” he said.

“Yes. It was so.”

“Did you struggle?”

“I was too frightened.”

“Did you scream for help?”

“But my mouth was full, yeah? How could I?”

“What happened next?”

“I said to him, yeah, why do you treat me like an animal? He said, because I am kind. It's more than your father would have done for mine, he said, if he had the chance.”

“And then what happened?”

“He was drunken. He wished to sleep. Go away, he said. Go downstairs. You do everything Harry asks or there will be trouble.”

It was time to adjourn the court.

“Members of the jury,” Mr. Justice Beal said, “I need hardly say you will take care not to speak to anybody about this case, and tell me if anybody approaches you about it.”

Ingrid resumed her testimony at 10:30 on Friday morning. She told the court about the saddle and the use Harry had put it to. She said he wanted to take photographs and threatened her with violence.

“What did Stein do then?”

“He forced me on to the rug, facing downwards.”

“And then what happened?”

“He forced his cock up my ass hole.”

“Did you resist?”

“But, naturally. It hurt me. But he held the riding crop in his hand.”

“How long did this go on?”

“I can't remember. I think I passed out.”

“When did Hersh appear again?”

“It was four o'clock. I remember that.”

“Was he dressed?”

“He was wearing a dressing gown, but you could see it.”

“See what?”

“His gown was not belted. It hung open.”

“What did he do?”

“He was very angry with Stein.”

“Why?”

“Not because he had done it to me. He didn't care, the fucking.” She stopped, flushing. “Excuse me, your lordship.”

Mr. Justice Beal waved her on.

“The witness's grasp of English is imperfect,” Mr. Pound said. “She doesn't realize which words are offensive.”

“Carry on, please, Mr. Pound.”

“Yes, your lordship. Why was he angry then?”

“Over the rifle. And the saddle. Especially the saddle. He took Stein into another room and shouted at him, and when Stein came out, yeah, he put the saddle aside.”

“Could you not have taken advantage of their absence to escape?”

“I had no clothes. They had a gun. They had the riding crop. And they were back presently, yeah?”

“And then what happened?”

“At first Hersh was very kind. He poured drinks. He sat down beside me and all he made me do was, well, he took my hand and put it on his thing.”

“His penis.”

“Yes. It was so. Then his mood changed. He asked me had I ever been in the Hitler Youth. I said I was born too late. This made him laugh. I said my older brother had been in the
Hitler Jugend
, it was all a nonsense. My father saved Jews in the war. This made him laugh even more. He thought it was funny.”

“Did you know Hersh was Jewish?”

“It's a drag. Who cares?”

“Answer yes or no, please.”

“I did not know. Then he told me. I said you are so nice, I would not have guessed. He didn't look, you know. Well, maybe my English was not right. But he turned very, very angry in the face.”

“And then what happened?”

“He pushed me. He shoved me. He grabbed me very, very hard here,” she said, indicating her arm, “and he told Stein get her dressed and out of here immediately.”

“Then what happened?”

“Stein thought this was a bad idea. He said to keep me prisoner until the morning. I have marks on me, he said. Hersh shoved him too. He shouted I want her out of here right now.”

So Stein, in spite of his misgivings, at last allowed Ingrid her clothes and she escaped.

“It was a nightmare,” she said, breaking down.

Cross-examining, Sir Lionel Watkins was swift but lethal. He established, in short order, that it was not unusual for Miss Loebner to sit in The Scene until midnight. He confronted her with the fact that the police had found a small quantity of cannabis in her room; and so, possibly, she would recognize a joint when and if she was offered one.

“It was not mine,” she cried. “A student friend left it there with his sleeping bag, yeah. I did not even know it was there.”

He also got her to admit that she had not gone to the police station herself, but had been stopped by a cruising patrol car. Then, without warning, he demanded, “Are you on the pill, Miss Loebner?”

She looked to the bench where Mr. Pound sat.

“Miss Loebner, do you understand my question?”

“Yes.”

“Yes you understand my question or yes you take the pill?”

“Yes. The pill. I take it.”

“Were you on the pill the night of June twelfth?”

“I don't remember.”

“Odd. I should have thought that would be most important to you.”

Why, Sir Lionel demanded, had Ingrid not thrown a vase through a window and screamed for help? Or a chair? Why, once left alone in the living room, had she not fled into the streets nude rather than suffer gross indecencies?

She quit the stand, visibly shaken, holding a handkerchief to her face. Then Mr. William Coxe opened for the defense, on behalf of Stein. Mr. Coxe expressed sympathy for the jury, decent people, who had already been subjected to some plainspoken testimony, especially from the aggrieved Miss Loebner, whose uncertain grasp of the Queen's English encompassed an exact knowledge of those
words that were usually associated with the gutter. “The charge brought against Stein,” he said, “has always been easy to bring, but terrifyingly difficult to prove and, contrary to what you have heard from my learned friend, the medical evidence does not support the charge of violence. You are asked to believe, members of the jury, that Miss Loebner was raped, violated, and held a prisoner, but it is the case for the defense that she went happily with Stein to Hersh's house and …”

Jake began to drift, his mind elsewhere, until Sir Lionel Watkins, a spare man with a severe manner, stood at the bar, and opened the defense on his behalf. Sir Lionel's main point was that Miss Loebner had lied for two reasons. “When the police discovered her, she was high on cannabis, an offense for which she could be deported forthwith. She was also fearful of her employer's ire, for this, as we have heard, was not the first, or indeed the second, time she had been out all night, but her employer had warned her it would be her last. Unless she had a cracking good story to explain her absence.”

On and on Sir Lionel rolled, inevitable as the tide, his wrath rising to crash against the jury in a splendiferous crescendo. “Her last words, on being flung out of Hersh's house, were, I'll fix you for this, you mother-fucker bastard. I will fix you for this, you mother-fucker bastard.”

As Sir Lionel sat down, Jake surged with hope, he basked in the jury's rueful glances. Jacob Hersh, the ill-used bourgeois, a good white colonial type, albeit a Jew, victimized by a scheming foreign tart. All Jake's antennae screamed reprieve, reprieve, and then Harry was called to the stand, and even as he padded across the well of the court, his complexion sallow, his fixed smile scornful, Jake felt the wind change. He shuddered with apprehension himself.

Mr. Coxe smiled reassuringly, trying to put Harry at ease.

“Could you tell us exactly what happened when you entered The Scene coffee bar on Finchley Road?”