by Peter Murphy
‘I have no idea, but I’m sure someone will explain it all to us eventually.’
‘Sounds to me like he’s trying it on,’ Raymond muttered sullenly.
‘Yes,’ Webb said, ‘well, you may be right, but there’s nothing we can do about it until we can speak to Dr Moynihan. Come on, let’s go and get a cup of tea.’
6
Dr Moynihan found them in the canteen about 20 minutes later.
‘Interesting case,’ he observed, setting his mug of police station tea down on the table, and easing himself into a chair. ‘Not the kind of thing a police physician has to deal with every day.’
Brian Moynihan was an amiable man in his mid-forties, transplanted years ago from his native Belfast when he went up to Cambridge to read medicine at Trinity Hall, and then moved on to a residency at the Royal Free in Hampstead. He had fallen in love with London instantly and had given up any thought of returning to Northern Ireland, though his accent remained intact. He had been the official police physician for the Islington and Bloomsbury area of North London for some seven years and, as such, was called in regularly to examine a wide range of people, from drunk drivers to drug addicts, whenever the duty sergeant thought that a medical opinion was needed. He wore a blue three-piece suit with a blue and white dotted bow tie, and well-shined light brown shoes.
‘I’ve had to ask Sergeant Miller to have him escorted to Barts. He will be there for a night or two for observation. Don’t worry. They will keep a close eye on him.’
Webb pretended annoyance.
‘Is that really necessary, Doctor? You do know, I hope, that he was arrested for murdering his wife in very brutal circumstances? We are very anxious to question him.’
Moynihan laughed politely. He was used to pressure of that kind from police officers by now, and had become utterly impervious to it. Once he was called in, the welfare of a detained person was his responsibility and his alone, and no police officer, however senior, was going to influence his judgement on a medical question.
‘Question him?’ he replied. ‘My dear Inspector, at this precise moment you would get more information out of my cat than you would out of Mr Lang. It would be a complete waste of your time, I assure you. In any case, I can’t permit it, from a medical point of view.’
Webb drummed his fingers on the table in frustration for a few seconds, and then reluctantly relaxed. It was pointless to argue. He took a deep breath.
‘What exactly is wrong with Mr Lang – from a medical point of view? Is it even a genuine medical problem?’
‘Oh yes,’ Moynihan replied at once. ‘He’s not malingering. There’s definitely something wrong. I’m not exactly sure what, at this stage. They will perform a few basic tests at Barts to eliminate the more obvious physical causes – concussion, effect of drugs, and so forth. But my hunch is that it’s not physical in that sense. My money is on shock of some kind, a very severe shock.’
Webb and Raymond considered this for some time.
‘He was completely passive at the scene,’ Raymond said. ‘He didn’t resist arrest, or try to run away – which he could have done, given that he had a knife. He didn’t say anything in reply to the caution when he was arrested, and apparently he hasn’t spoken to anyone since then.’
Moynihan nodded.
‘All classic symptoms,’ he replied. ‘It is as though he’s frozen, unable to function normally. The freezing expressed itself literally in his body when Sergeant Miller found him shaking uncontrollably in his cell. He had warmed up a bit physically by the time I saw him, thanks to the sergeant’s quick thinking, but his mind is still frozen. He couldn’t speak at all. I’m pretty sure he understood what I said to him, but he couldn’t respond to me.’
‘What could have brought this on?’ Raymond asked. ‘Could it be a reaction to what he did to his wife?’
‘Certainly. The trauma of what he did – seeing the blood, perhaps, seeing that his wife was dying – could well have triggered it. Shock of that kind has been well documented. It was commonly observed in soldiers in both world wars.’
‘What treatment will they give him at Barts?’ Webb asked.
Moynihan shrugged.
‘There’s not a lot they can do, really. They just have to keep him warm and hydrated, and keep him under observation. If it is shock, sooner or later it will lift, and he should get back to normal. But they can’t rush it. It may take a day, it may take two days or, if it is severe, it may take longer. In some of the wartime cases, it lasted for months, or even years. Of course, those were much more serious cases, but there’s no way to tell. We will just have to wait and see.’
‘Well, look on the bright side, sir,’ Raymond said, turning to Webb. ‘We have an eye witness, and we were on the scene ourselves a minute or two after it happened. Even if he never speaks another word again, the way I see it, we’ve got him bang to rights.’
7
Monday 5 April 1971 – just over three weeks earlier
Jess Farrar walked briskly into the ladies’ robing room at the Royal Courts of Justice and gratefully dropped the heavy briefcase she had hauled from her chambers on to the floor with a loud thud.
‘God, why do these cases have to have so much paper?’ she asked.
Her opponent smiled, walked over, and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
‘To drive us all mad, obviously. I always assume that at least 90 per cent of what solicitors give us is unnecessary in any given case. How are you, Jess?’
‘I’m fine, Harriet, thanks. You?’
‘I’m well. How is Ben? Did you have a good weekend?’
‘Pretty good. Nice dinner in Islington on Saturday night. It was a bit fraught earlier in the day, though.’
‘Oh?’
‘West Ham lost again –’
‘Oh, dear –’
‘Yes, so Ben and Simon were pretty depressed for a while.’
‘He still takes Simon to games, does he? He’s been doing that ever since he and I joined chambers, just when Simon’s mother, Anne Gaskell, was getting her divorce, before she and Kenneth were married.’
‘Yes. He doesn’t see him as often now. Simon’s playing football himself most Saturdays, and when he is free to go to Upton Park he usually goes with his father. But he and Ben still go once in a while. He’s grown into such a nice young man, Harriet, and he’s already talking about which university he wants to go to. He’s thinking of law. It’s amazing how time flies.’
‘Well, a lot of that is down to Ben. He took an interest in Simon when he must have been feeling very low.’
‘It’s been good for both of them. Simon really looks up to Ben and I think having someone who looks up to him has been good for him.’
Harriet smiled. ‘Talking of Ben, has he had anything to say about our case today?’
Jess laughed. ‘Not much. I have told him about it – well, we always talk about our cases – but with his wife on one side and his chambers room-mate on the other, he’s been a bit coy about it. I get the impression he thinks that discretion is the better part of valour.’
‘I can’t say I blame him – especially with our former head of chambers trying it.’
‘Yes, it all feels slightly incestuous, doesn’t it?’
‘Absolutely, and Bernard Wesley would be the first to applaud that. Keep it all in the club, as far as possible. That was always his motto as head of chambers.’ She paused. ‘And I know he will be scrupulously fair, but I have to admit, he’s not the judge I would have chosen for my side of the case.’
‘A bit too prim and proper for you?’ Jess smiled.
Harriet nodded. ‘I think my girl could have done with someone a tad more understanding of human foibles. Not that she has any, of course –’
‘Of course not.’
‘But I know your man is going to throw some mud at her –’
‘The boyfriends, yes –’
‘Whom she started seeing out of desperation only because he was working all the hours God sent –’
‘In an effort to keep her in the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed –’
‘Or because he didn’t care about her any more –’
‘Said lifestyle including a predilection for drink and drugs.’
Harriet did not reply immediately.
‘I don’t think you can prove that.’
‘I think I can.’
Harriet nodded.
‘Look, Jess, do we have to fight this all the way? Can we talk about it?’
‘Maybe. What’s she suggesting?’
‘She’s the mother. She wants custody. If he will give way on custody, she will allow him very liberal access, including nights and weekends to accommodate his hours of work. He can basically see them whenever he wants to. It will be a very good deal for him.’
‘Harriet, she’s running around with drug dealers. She’s not a safe custodial parent for the children.’
‘She denies that.’
‘He is convinced of it.’
‘I don’t think you can prove it.’
‘In front of Bernard Wesley? I think I can.’
They were silent for some time.
‘I can’t understand why she wants custody, anyway,’ Jess added. ‘Having to look after the children must be cramping her style a bit.’
‘I don’t think that’s fair. She’s entitled to a night out.’
‘It’s not just a night out though, is it? Our information is that the children spend more time with her parents than they do with her. She’s out almost every night, getting back in the early hours. My man’s not making this up, Harriet. This is coming from her friends. I’m going to ask Bernard to order a welfare officer’s report.’
Harriet shrugged.
‘Fine. I can hardly oppose that.’
‘The welfare officer is bound to talk to the children. They’re old enough to know what’s going on, or at least to tell the welfare officer where they are spending all their time. The truth is going to come out.’
‘She says she has nothing to fear from that.’
‘I still don’t understand why she wants to put herself through all this. I would have thought it would have suited her down to the ground to have access when it fits in with her social life, and not have to deal with the responsibility of full custody.’
Harriet nodded.
‘I take your point, Jess. But at the end of the day, she is a full-time mother, even if she does venture out for some fun at night. And he’s not exactly the perfect custodial parent, is he? He works all the hours God sends. He’s never home, and that’s not good for the children either.’
‘It’s not ideal,’ Jess agreed. ‘But if it comes to a choice between a father who’s working too hard and a mother who is running round with drug traffickers, I think Bernard is going to go with the father. And frankly, if you fight this all the way in front of Bernard, and I can prove that she’s taking hard drugs, he is quite likely to order that any access should take place under supervision – if he allows her any access at all.’
Harriet was silent for some time.
‘Well, I’ll speak to her again,’ she said. ‘But I can’t hold out much hope, Jess. She’s digging her heels in. She seems to feel that the whole world is against her.’
‘Too much cocaine can do that to you, I’m told,’ Jess replied.
8
‘May it please your Lordship,’ Jess began, ‘I appear for the husband, Henry Lang, in this case. My learned friend Miss Harriet Fisk appears for the wife, Susan Lang.’
They were in one of the large, cavernous old courtrooms in the Royal Courts of Justice which looked as though it could accommodate a vast throng of spectators; but because the case involved children, the court was sitting in chambers, and the public were excluded. The small group of people present, seemingly huddled together in the small central space in front of the judge, looked almost comical set against the imposing dimensions of the room. The large empty spaces produced an eerie echo whenever anyone spoke. It was not a relaxing atmosphere, and even though she now had considerable experience of court appearances, Jess felt nervous. Behind her sat the reassuring figure of her instructing solicitor, Geoff Bourne of Bourne & Davis, and his presence was a comfort. Jess had worked for the firm before becoming a barrister, and so knew Geoff well. He could be relied upon to inject calm into tense situations, but she wondered whether today that skill might be pushed to its limits.
Henry Lang, looking uncomfortable in his best grey suit and a red tie, sat next to Geoff. He was visibly agitated, and was doing his best to ignore his wife, who sat only a few feet away with her solicitor, Val Turner, behind Harriet Fisk. It would not take much interaction between the two of them to set things off. Geoff was determined not to allow that to happen, and Jess had confidence that he would keep Henry in check. But Jess had met Henry Lang in two lengthy conferences, and his distress about the proceedings he was involved in was very obvious. It was not unusual for parties to divorce cases to have strong feelings, and any lawyer doing that kind of work had to get used to dealing with emotional outbursts. But there was something about Henry Lang, an intensity she could not quite define, but something that ran deep and which worried her. She could only hope that he would not reveal whatever it was to Mr Justice Wesley. Raw emotions, understandable as they might be, did not impress a judge who had to decide which parent was more likely to be a stable, cooperative force in the lives of the children.
‘Yes, Miss Farrar,’ the judge replied, with a broad smile in the direction of each of the barristers in turn.
The Bar was a small profession, and it was not unusual for a judge to know the barristers who appeared in front of him quite well. But the connection in this case was especially close. Mr Justice Wesley had only been on the High Court Bench for about a year, and as Bernard Wesley QC he had played an important role in recruiting Harriet Fisk to join his chambers – the first woman to do so – and in encouraging Jess Farrar to become a barrister. There was a strong personal connection, too. Bernard and Amélie Wesley were sociable people and gave regular dinner parties; both Jess and Harriet had been their guests more than once.
This familiarity was a challenge, of course. Wesley knew that it was more than usually important for him to be – and to be seen to be – objective and unbiased. He also knew that to be objective and unbiased was difficult, if not impossible, certainly once he had started to read the case papers. Written affidavits, even though sworn to under oath, were not the same as live evidence given in court by witnesses who could be cross-examined. But to someone with a lifetime of experience of reading case papers, even an affidavit could have the ring of truth or untruth to it, and Wesley’s first impressions were rarely very wide of the mark. With the best will in the world, those impressions were already forming in his mind, which meant that he would have to take all the more care not to let them show.
‘My Lord, this is the husband’s application for custody of the two children of the family. Your Lordship should have affidavits from both the husband and the wife. May I ask whether your Lordship has had the opportunity to read them?’
‘I have,’ the judge replied.
‘I am much obliged. My Lord, it will be my submission that this is a case in which your Lordship would be greatly assisted by a welfare officer’s report. There is a huge conflict of evidence between the parties, which your Lordship will inevitably have to resolve, and I would submit that the full hearing of my application should await the report.’
She looked expectantly at the judge, who turned to Harriet Fisk. Jess resumed her seat.
‘I don’t disagree with my learned friend, my Lord,’ Harriet said. ‘Mrs Lang has no objection to a report being ordered, of course. The only
application I am instructed to make today is for interim custody, pending the report. The children are with the wife, and it makes sense for them to remain with the wife until the matter is finally resolved.’
Jess sprang to her feet immediately.
‘That might make sense if the court could be assured that the children were not being left alone.’
‘Whenever my client has to go out, they are cared for by her parents, who live conveniently close,’ Harriet countered.
‘And if the court could be assured that the children were not being exposed to criminal influences,’ Jess added.
‘That is pure speculation,’ Harriet replied. ‘Your Lordship has heard no evidence about any criminal activity.’
‘It’s in the husband’s affidavit.’
‘On which I have not had the opportunity to cross-examine him. When I do, I am confident that your Lordship will reject those allegations as baseless.’
Bernard Wesley held up a hand.
‘Yes, yes, all right, I’ve got the point.’ He looked across to his right, where the welfare officer had been sitting, following the proceedings carefully. ‘Mrs Cameron, how long do you think you will need for your report?’
Wendy Cameron consulted her notebook.
‘My Lord, taking into account other work, and as we are about to run into Easter, can I ask for somewhere between six and eight weeks? I will speak to the parties today to make arrangements for an initial interview, which will save some time. But I can’t really guarantee a report any sooner than that.’
Mr Justice Wesley nodded.
‘Yes, very well. I’m going to ask the solicitors on both sides to keep in touch with the welfare officer and let the court know when it would be realistic to set a date for a final hearing.’
He paused.
‘Assuming, that is, that the parties are not able to reach an agreement. Needless to say, it is always in the best interests of the children if the parties can reach an amicable agreement about custody and access. I hope both sides will bear that in mind.’
