The Mathematical Murder of Innocence

by Michael Carter

  “Er, yes, about that.”

  “Before you took on this case,” said Dawkins, “did you not receive a false report that the defendant had made a call to a criminal lawyer at the time of her child’s death, before calling for the ambulance?”

  The prosecution was on his feet. “My Lord, we all agreed previously that there are no grounds for this rumour. Checks on phone records show this is absolutely not the case. I really don’t know why the defence insists on raking it up.”

  “My point, “said Dawkins, “is not whether the rumour is true – it is not. My point is whether Professor Goodwin investigated this case already biased by a report which was falsely prejudicial to the defendant.”

  “I accept the question,” said the judge. “Professor Goodwin, please answer.”

  “Yes, the police did mention that such a rumour existed,” said Goodwin uneasily, “and that they were in the process of checking it out.”

  “In the light of this rumour, did that not make you consider that the defendant was already guilty, even before considering the other evidence?” asked Dawkins.

  “No, absolutely not,” said Goodwin unconvincingly. “My opinion was, and is, entirely based on the medical evidence and on the impossibly small probability of double cot deaths.”

  “Professor Goodwin,” said Dawkins. “You are aware, I believe, that we have consulted with Professor Roger Hudson, who is, as you well know, an eminent eye surgeon. He has examined the pathologist’s slides prepared in 2017 for the post-mortem of Andrew Richardson, the first son, and formally states there is no sign of retinal haemorrhages. He will be testifying later in this trial that the pathologist was mistaken, and that he mistook some shadows for haemorrhages.”

  “Yes, I am aware,” said Goodwin, “and have already written a report countering my colleague’s claim.”

  “Are you an expert on eyes, Professor?”

  “No, but I know more about abuse and shaken babies than my esteemed colleague.”

  “Was there any other evidence in the pathologist’s report pointing to a shaken baby syndrome, other than in the retinal slides?”

  “No, not directly. But I stand by my professional opinion.”

  “Professor, this time you may not be aware of the result of my cross-examination this morning of Dr Rodney Harris of Lambeth Hospital, the pathologist who did the post-mortem on the second child, George Richardson. He never was sure what caused the marks around the mouth. He formally admitted that, rather than being bruising before death, it may have another very simple and innocent explanation: that it is due to the blood draining differently from the tissues after the baby’s death, due to the pressure applied during the mother’s attempts at artificial resuscitation.”

  “No, I am not aware of this newly invented hypothesis, which based on the evidence I have seen, I reject. Dr Harris is mistaken. My diagnosis remains the same, it was death by suffocation.”

  “Did you personally examine the dead child?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Are you a pathologist, Professor?”

  “No, but...”

  “Then how can your diagnosis trump that of a qualified pathologist who did the post-mortem?” interrupted Dawkins angrily.

  “Once again, I know more about child abuse than any pathologist. That child was suffocated,” Goodwin retorted adamantly.

  “Professor Goodwin,” said Dawkins, “this so-called cot death law, one death is a tragedy, another death is a crime until proved otherwise… is it not also called ‘Goodwin’s law’?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Named after yourself?” asked Dawkins. “Were you at the origin of this law?”

  “Yes, I was,” replied Goodwin a little proudly.

  “Do other practitioners use it? Have there been court cases where other experts have used it?”

  “Yes, a few other experts use it. But most often it is me who is called as the medical profession’s best expert.”

  “And who,” asked Dawkins, “was the doctor who discovered F.D.I.A. – factitious disorder imposed on another?”

  “Again, that would be me,” Goodwin answered, with the same hint of pride.

  “Based on what analysis?”

  “I analysed eighty-one different cases of what I judged to be deliberate harm to children.”

  “What you judged… I see,” said Dawkins. “I found some of your papers on the internet; however, I found no published information on the data used to determine your conclusions.”

  “For confidentiality reasons I had to destroy them,” explained Goodwin.

  “You had to destroy them… how very convenient.” The note of sarcasm was clear in Dawkin’s voice. “Who else routinely diagnoses F.D.I.A. on parents harming their children?”

  “Several of my colleagues around the world.”

  “Names please, Professor Goodwin.”

  “I’m sorry, that is also confidential information.”

  “Oh, yes, I forgot its confidential!” the defence said with disdain. “You cannot give me any specific names of doctors diagnosing your invention of F.D.I.A., but it is certainly not confidential when you diagnose it in the case of Mrs Richardson!”

  The prosecution was halfway up to object, when he seems to have thought better of it. He sat down again audibly tut-tutting.

  “How many hours of medical consultation did you spend with Mrs Richardson in order to arrive at your diagnosis?” asked Dawkins.

  “No, I didn’t spend any time with Mrs Richardson,” said Goodwin somewhat hesitatingly. “As I said earlier, I did a detailed study of her case notes and behaviour, with a lot of input from the prison doctor.”

  “Is the prison doctor a specialist in F.D.I.A.?”

  “No, he’s a generalist.”

  “How many other specialists in F.D.I.A. were able to meet Mrs Richardson to confirm your diagnosis?” insisted Dawkins.

  “None, I was the only specialist involved. But believe me, as the discoverer of this disorder, I do know what to look for!” Goodwin countered defensively.

  “No other second opinion?” asked Dawkins incredulously. “And you didn’t even spend time with the defendant?”

  Dawkins paused for effect, and then went on the attack. “Would it not be true to say that you are applying purely the fruit of your own research, and your own ideas – Goodwin’s Law and F.D.I.A. – in order to come to your conclusions?”

  “No, I’m not applying purely my ideas and research,” retorted Goodwin. “Please do not forget that I have studied paediatrics for many decades, a discipline which encompasses the ideas of many different experts. However,” he continued in his lecture voice, “my use of the cot death law and F.D.I.A. is quite legitimate for the simple reason that I am judged by my peers to be the leading expert on these particular subjects.”

  But Dawkins was on a roll. “And yet first you use Goodwin’s law to decide that these are criminal acts and not natural accidents; and second you use the disease you discovered – F.D.I.A. – to explain away the unlikely probability of a mother deliberately killing both children. If the two babies had not died, but with the same information and NHS case notes, would you still have diagnosed Mrs Richardson with F.D.I.A.?”

  “It would have been more difficult. Part of the diagnosis is her having deliberately harmed her children.”

  “But only if she harmed them,” retorted Dawkins. “It seems to me Professor that you have created a self-fulfilling circular argument. She has F.D.I.A, so that’s why she harmed her children. But how do we know she has F.D.I.A? Because she harmed her children. A circular argument that relies on itself to be valid is not an argument, and it’s certainly way too fragile even to consider being used as proof in a court of law. And I argue diametrically the opposite – she never did have F.D.I.A., only severe depression, and she never did harm her children!
Furthermore, you ignore other medical experts’ opinions to make two false claims of a shaken baby for one death and smothering for another! All this just to validate your pet theory, having originally been misled by false reports of suspicious phone calls!”

  “No, I beg to differ,” insisted Goodwin, his voice also rising to match that of the defence barrister. “The statistics clearly speak for themselves. It’s impossible that she didn’t harm her children. One in 72 million, remember! How can it not be murder?!”

  “No way!” I whispered, shaking my head violently. Actually, it was a stage whisper. My subconscious actively wanted my comment to be heard.

  The judge looked sharply at me. “Juror number 6, er…” he consulted a paper, “Mr Fielding. I have already given you a warning. Do not interrupt. Do not express your opinion.”

  Dawkins continued. “There are quite a lot of cot deaths every year, aren’t there Professor?”

  Ah! I thought to myself. At last the defence is getting there! Go for it!

  “Yes,” replied Goodwin.

  “So that is why there was no suspicion at all attached to the first death?” asked Dawkins.

  “I imagine that that is the case,” replied Goodwin.

  “So what I want to challenge next,” said Dawkins, “is indeed your statistics.”

  Yes, yes! I thought.

  “Mrs Richardson was presumed innocent of anything when her first child died,” continued Dawkins. “So, the probability is not that of both children dying – the first one is already dead. Surely you should only use the probability of the second death happening on its own – one in 8,500 to use your figures – not one in 72 million? Very different! In April of this year we have an innocent lady, and then a one in 8,500 chance happened.”

  Oh… I thought. Nice try. But not really in the right direction.

  “No, sir,” replied Goodwin with a certain confidence. “One in 8,500 is indeed the probability of one cot death. And to follow your logic, that is why we do not lock up all the parents who suffer this tragedy. Of course, we give them the benefit of the doubt. Once. What changes is the second cot death. If you like, you can’t use your get-out-of-jail-free card twice. It’s cumulative, you see. For the second death it does indeed go up to one in 72 million.”

  I was shaking my head violently again. I got a sharp look from the judge. Stephanie put her hand on my knee to warn me. In any other situation, I would have really appreciated this gesture, but my mind was elsewhere.

  “Professor, could you explain to me where you got the one in 8,500 figure from?” asked Dawkins.

  “Yes,” said Goodwin, “it comes from the C.E.S.D.I. study – that is ‘Confidential Enquiry into Sudden Death in Infancy’. This analysed 400 sudden infant deaths in the UK over a period of three years. The report identified three main factors associated with an increased risk of death in a particular household, which were (1) the presence of smokers, (2) younger mothers under twenty-seven, and (3) whether the household had no wage earner. In the absence of these three factors, which is indeed the case for the Richardsons’ household, the report gives an estimate of S.I.D.S. of one in 8,543 live births, to be precise.”

  “But surely Professor, there is a reason for these cot deaths other than these factors?” insisted Dawkins. “Could it not be genetic – which could explain why some families suffer more than others?”

  Yes, at last! I thought. I was nodding furiously. Stephanie’s hand was back on my knee again to warn me. I liked its warmth; we should do more of this…

  Goodwin smiled. “I was expecting this question. There is plenty of evidence that child abuse runs in families, but there is no evidence that cot deaths do.” He was clearly in his stride. “Firstly, let me assure you that cot deaths are a totally random phenomenon. No one, I repeat no one, has identified any gene contributing towards them despite a lot of research. Secondly, if such a gene were to exist – which I very much doubt – it would have shown itself somewhere in the family history. As I said, I was expecting this question. That’s why in the months before trial I have had a team doing extensive research into both families. We found nothing. Not one unexplained infant death. That’s clear evidence of no S.I.D.S. gene, at least not in this family.”

  “I don’t believe it!” I shouted out. “I can’t believe he just said that!”

  “Mr Fielding,” roared the judge. “This is absolutely your last warning!”

  The lead defence was looking at me quizzically, but he also looked crestfallen. He had obviously used up the last of his ammunition and had not expected such a clear rebuttal from the witness on the question of genes. He whispered a question to his junior Hill, who just shrugged his shoulders.

  “No further questions,” said Dawkins, shaking his head and picking up his papers.

  I just could not believe that he was not better prepared for this. At least he should put up a mathematician as another expert witness to counter these arguments.

  Chapter Six

  I deliberately caught the judge’s eye this time. I was silently shaking my head with an incredulous look, pleading him with my eyes. With both hands doing somewhat Italian circular style movements, I was indicating towards the defence barrister to say he could not just stop there, not now!

  The judge bent down and spoke to the clerk, nodding in my direction. The clerk then came over to me. “Mr Fielding, if you have a question for the judge, be so good as to write it down, but do stop interrupting and gesticulating.” He did not need to ask me twice. I took one of my sheets of notepaper and quickly started writing.

  “May I re-examine the witness, my Lord?” asked the prosecution.

  “Just one moment please, Mr Scott,” said the judge eying me.

  After a few minutes I had finished writing my note:

  Sir, the Professor does not even know how to use GCSE maths. He’s murdering basic probability. You need to get a mathematician to cross-examine him:

  •He’s mixing up ‘cause given effect’ with ‘effect given cause’.

  •He should have a null hypothesis of the probability of murder to compare with the probability of two natural deaths – both unlikely events.

  •No account taken about the sheer number of births over time.

  •Random outcomes do NOT mean random causes.

  •So he’s assuming statistical independence when there probably is statistical dependence.

  •“Clear evidence of no S.I.D.S. gene.” You cannot prove a negative!

  •The true odds are much, much less than one in 72 million.

  Stephanie, who was surreptitiously reading what I was writing, seemed to at least understand the first and last sentences. “Are you sure?” she whispered without moving her lips.

  “Mm-hmm,” I replied.

  “Wow, you know no fear! Good for you!” she whispered again.

  I handed the paper to the usher who carried it to the judge. The furrow on his brow got deeper as he read it.

  The judge shook his head resignedly. “It seems that our juror has some questions that are very important for him,” he said. “I cannot allow interruptions in court, but I am here to ensure a fair trial, and that means that the jury should have all the information they reasonably need. It’s very rare, but a judge can take written questions from a member of the jury and ask them to the witness himself, if he decides the questions are appropriate. And that is now what I propose to do.”

  Peter Scott, QC, looked alarmingly at the judge. The judge gave him a reassuring sign, gently waving his fingers up and down while nodding his head and pursing his lips forward. Doubtless trying to convey something along the lines of ‘let this young man get it out of his system before he pollutes the whole jury’.

  I suddenly realised that I had not really written questions, more like observations, and rather laconic ones at that. Would the judge be able to understand what I had w
ritten? Maybe he flunked GSCE maths, or O-levels as they must have called them in his day? If only I had had the time to write out the concepts a bit clearer.

  “Not sure I follow all of this,” said the judge, “but let’s try the first one. Professor Goodwin!”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Are you mixing up ‘cause given effect’ with ‘effect given cause’?”

  “Pardon, my Lord. This sounds like semantics. I really don’t understand the question.”

  I was visibly shaking my head in a dispirited and desperate manner.

  The judge scowled at me. “Neither do I, really, I’m afraid,” he said. “Let’s try the next one. Do you have a hypothesis for the probability of murder?”

  I audibly groaned at the way the judge was now murdering my question. Did he deliberately exclude the word ‘null’? Why didn’t he read the whole sentence? The judge looked at me, perplexed.

  “But that is exactly what I have been saying since the beginning, my Lord,” answered Goodwin to the judge’s modified version of my question. “For statistical reasons, the only possible hypothesis is that of murder.”

  Again, I was shaking my head.

  “Hmmm,” said the judge, “I really don’t understand these questions.”

  “I’m not sure the juror does either, sir,” added Goodwin, ever trying to be helpful.

  The prosecution had got to his feet. “May I suggest, my Lord, that we move along? I’m sure Mr Fielding will have plenty of time to discuss these questions with his fellow jurors later on.”

  The judge seemed to come to a decision. “I have a proposal to make. But first I need to consult with counsel. For that I must ask the usher to clear the jury from the court. It won’t be for long.”

  We all trooped out and went to the jury room.

  I pieced together the discussion that took place in our absence from certain sources that I shall keep confidential.

  Once we had gone, the judge called the prosecution and defence barristers forward. Apparently, nobody else could really hear what they were saying. “The pertinence of your expert witness’ testimony resides not only in his mastery of statistics but that he is seen to master statistics,” the judge said to Scott and Sturdee. “And given that Mr Fielding has publicly made what might well be an erroneous assertation, so that there might be no doubt in the rest of the jury’s mind, I will ask Mr Fielding to ask and explain his questions himself.”