‘And was there another flight to the French Island of Guadeloupe?’
‘Yes, sir, at ten o’clock.’
Vance smiled. ‘Thank you. No further questions.’
Old Charlie stood up to cross-examine.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Huggins, welcome to Miami.’
Miss Huggins squirmed prettily. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Charlie said abruptly: ‘There’s no direct flight from Tortola to Nassau, the capital of the Bahamas, is there?’
Miss Huggins looked taken aback by the change of tone. ‘No, sir,’ she said anxiously.
‘Is there a direct flight from Guadeloupe to Nassau?’
Miss Huggins looked worried. ‘I don’t know for sure.’
‘And there is a direct flight from Guadeloupe to Miami?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And from Miami there are frequent flights to Nassau?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Charlie gave his pearly-white smile. ‘Thank you. Now, the defendant came in and asked for this flight information quite openly, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And at this stage you knew who he was – that he was the person who had been interrogated by Commissioner Humphrey the day before in connection with his wife’s death. Not so?’
Miss Huggins looked nervous. ‘Yes, sir.’
Charlie punched the air with his finger: ‘And you knew that Mrs Johnston had used her authority to order him to return to Nassau to get his port clearance papers?’
‘Yes,’ Miss Huggins said worriedly.
Charlie smiled benevolently. ‘And in fact Mrs Johnston is your cousin. Or is she your aunt?’
Miss Huggins said nervously, ‘Aunt.’
‘And what relation to you is Joshua Humphrey, the Commissioner of Police?’
‘My cousin. But I call him uncle.’
‘Yes, uncle. Because of his age – and his importance.’ Charlie smiled. ‘In fact, most people in Tortola are related one way or another, aren’t they?’
Miss Huggins looked very worried about all this. ‘I guess so, sir.’
Old Charlie nodded, and smiled at the pretty girl paternally: ‘And after the defendant asked about the flights off the island, you phoned your uncle and told him, didn’t you, Violet?’
Miss Huggins nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’ She added, ‘I thought I should.’
‘You thought you should because the whole island was talking about him.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed apologetically.
‘Quite. And your uncle was very grateful for your tip-off.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Miss Huggins admitted.
‘Thank you,’ Charlie said gently. ‘Have a nice day, Miss Huggins.’
Old Charlie sat down happily. Vance rose and said, ‘I call Police Commissioner Joshua Humphrey, your honour.’
But Judge Ludman looked at the clock and growled, ‘I think that’s enough for one day.’ He turned to the jury. ‘Okay, we’re going to knock off until tomorrow. Now, I’ve decided that you folk must be sequestered in a hotel for the duration of this trial. Sorry about that, but this case is attracting huge international attention and I must ensure that you speak to nobody about it. A hotel has been arranged, you’ll be taken there by bus, you’ll be guarded all the time, not allowed to go anywhere. Your family will bring you clothes and toiletries but you will not be allowed to speak to them.’ He held up a finger. ‘You are not allowed – by law – to discuss this case with anyone, d’you hear? And you do not read the press or listen to the television about the case. Do you hear me?’
The members of the jury nodded self-consciously. Judge Ludman’s gnarled finger shot up and he cried, ‘Because today you are judges, ladies and gentlemen! Not housewives and butchers and bakers and candlestick makers but judges! Entrusted with matters of life and death!’ He grimaced then pointed at Harker. ‘You have the terrifying responsibility of deciding whether or not this man goes to the electric chair! And you have taken a solemn oath to God Almighty to discharge that responsibility without fear, favour or prejudice!’
Ludman glared at the jury. Everybody shifted, looking embarrassed. Judge Ludman picked up his gavel. ‘Okay, so we’ll knock off for the day. Goodnight!’
He banged his gavel.
Luke and Charlie accompanied Harker back down to the cells.
‘Vintage Ludman,’ Charlie said. ‘Hates juries.’
‘Seems to be a strong character,’ Luke said. ‘How’s his law?’
‘He used to be an excellent advocate.’
They entered the human zoo of the cells. As they waited for the warder to unlock the holding cells Harker said, white-faced, ‘How’s it going in your opinion, Luke?’
Luke was embarrassed that Harker had consulted him first. He held out his hand to Charlie in deference.
‘Good,’ Charlie said. ‘It’s going fine so far.’
Luke said to Harker above the hubbub: ‘It’s going very well. Charlie has neutralized all Vance’s innuendoes pertaining to your possible motive.’ He added, ‘You can afford to sleep better tonight.’
Harker stepped through the gate into the human zoo. ‘Sleep?’
As they emerged from the building into the late afternoon, Charlie-said, ‘I’m going to Beauty’s Paradise, just down the road.’
‘What do you think?’ Luke asked.
‘As you say, we’ve done okay so far,’ Charlie said, striding along, head down. ‘But don’t count your chickens …’
43
It was another beautiful Floridian day. When Luke Mahoney arrived at the courthouse the crowds on the fourth floor extended down the stairs, out down the stone steps into the sunshine of the parking area. Luke was a little late. Court had already begun.
‘I call Joshua Humphrey, your honour,’ Edward Vance was saying.
Luke sat down next to a pale-faced Harker. Joshua Humphrey strode to the witness stand, portly and resplendent in his uniform. His gold-braided cap was tucked under his arm, as regulations required, his swagger stick and white gloves were in his hand. He took the oath at attention, glaring into the middle distance. Then he sat, also at attention.
‘Are you the Commissioner of Police in the British Virgin Islands, stationed in Road Town, Tortola?’ Vance said.
Humphrey said to the middle distance: ‘I am, my lord.’
‘Please,’ Vance said, ‘address your answers to His Honour. Now, did you ever know the deceased in this case?’
Humphrey said to the far wall: ‘No, my lord. Not in the flesh. But I sure read her book, Outrage.’
Vance pointed at Harker dramatically. ‘And do you know the defendant?’
Humphrey’s eyes darted at Harker, then reverted to the wall. ‘Certainly do, my lord. I mean your honour. I arrested him in connection with this here case.’
Vance said, pacing across the courtroom. ‘And where did you do that, Commissioner?’
‘At Tortola airport, my lord, on ninth September. He was trying to leave the island on an expired passport. Whereas I had his valid one in my possession. I looked in his baggage. I found a pistol. I seized same.’
‘Is this it?’ Vance held up a Browning .25 pistol.
‘It is, my lord. I mean your honour.’
‘I put that in as Exhibit Ten, your honour,’ Vance said. ‘Was it loaded?’
‘It was, my lord. The bullets are in that plastic bag attached to the trigger.’
‘Very well. Now you’ve told us that you had his valid passport in your possession. Why was this?’
Commissioner Joshua Humphrey said stolidly, ‘Because the day before he was being questioned concerning the murder of his wife, Josephine Valentine Harker, the deceased in this case. I had tol’ him to return the following day at noon for further questioning and to ensure the above I took, possession of his said passport. But the next morning he tried to leave using his expired one, plus smuggling said pistol, so he was arrested.’
‘Very well,’ Vance said. ‘Pause there. Now, when and
where did you first meet the defendant?’
Humphrey stiffly launched into his serious evidence. ‘At four o’clock in the afternoon of Thursday eighth September, 1996, my lord. Acting on information received I proceeded in the police launch out to the defendant’s yacht which was at anchor in Road Town bay. I boarded and entered the wheelhouse. I looked down the hatch into the saloon. There I saw the defendant, my lord. Evidently he had not heard me. He was sitting at the table opening a bottle of rum. He was wearing only short trousers. He was unshaven.’
‘So what happened?’ Vance said.
‘I told him he was in the British Virgin Islands illegally on account of he did not have port clearance papers from Nassau, his last port of call. An’ because his wife, Josephine Valentine Harker, the mate according to his crew list, had not reported to the Immigration Department as required by law.’
‘Very well, Commissioner Humphrey, what happened then?’
Humphrey shifted his ample buttocks. ‘I told the defendant I wanted him to accompany me to the police station. He said, “I was about to come to see you anyway because I want to report the death of my wife.”’
‘Indeed?’ Vance said. ‘So then what happened?’
‘We went to the police station. There I questioned him about his wife. Finally I recorded a statement from him. I cautioned him that he was not obliged to say anything but if he did it may be used in evidence. He then made a statement, freely and voluntarily. I typed it and read it back to him. He signed it.’
Vance said, ‘I tender this statement in evidence, your honour.’
Old Charlie stood up, his hands spread in sweet reasonableness. ‘No objection, it’s God’s own truth.’
‘Read the statement please,’ Vance said.
Humphrey cleared his throat, then read in ringing Caribbean tones: ‘I was on watch in the wheelhouse until midnight when my wife came up from our cabin to take over. I had been drinking quite a lot, about half a bottle of whisky. We were in the Gulf Stream, battling into the trade winds on the engine, on automatic pilot. It was a dark night. No moon, overcast. I handed over to my wife and went below to sleep. I expected her to wake me in six hours to take over again. I woke up naturally and found it was half past four. I went up to the wheelhouse. My wife was not there. I looked out on deck, I couldn’t see her. I went below to the forward cabins. Not there. I looked in the toilet. I was worried now. I dashed back to the wheelhouse, took the helm off automatic, turned the yacht around and went steaming back the way we had come. I put on all lights. I blew my foghorn. I put the helm on automatic and dashed out on deck with binoculars. I knew she had a life-jacket on. I searched for her all night. I threw two life-rings and the yacht’s life-raft overboard at different intervals. I fired off flares. When daylight came I widened my search. I was frantic. I saw nothing all day. At nightfall I decided it was hopeless. I turned around and set off for the Virgin Islands to report to the authorities. That is all.’
‘I put that statement in as Exhibit Eleven, your honour.’ Vance turned back to Humphrey. ‘Then what happened, Commissioner?’
‘I told the defendant he could not sleep on his boat because I had impounded it for forensic examination. I took possession of his passport. And I told him I wanted to resume questioning at noon the next day.’
Vance said, strolling towards the witness stand, ‘Now, the next morning did Dr Smythe, a forensic scientist with the US government, come over from St Thomas to examine the boat with you?’
‘Yes,’ Humphrey said stoically. ‘I pointed out a cracked glass on the speedometer, a broken handset on the radio, a bullet mark in the saloon upholstery, and bloodstains on the transom.’
‘Thank you,’ Vance said, ‘we’ll get that evidence from Dr Smythe. Now, you told us at the outset that you arrested the defendant at the airfield the next morning. Did you caution him?’
‘I warned him that he was not obliged to say anything but anything he did say could be used in evidence. He made a verbal statement.’
‘I tender this statement in evidence, your honour.’
Charlie raised his palms at the bench. ‘No objection,’ he beamed. ‘We’ve got nothing to hide.’
Vance nodded and Humphrey continued: ‘He said, “Leave me alone, I am returning to Nassau to get my port clearance documents, for Christ’s sake”.’
‘I see …’ Vance said to the jury with a disbelieving smile. ‘He said he was returning to the Bahamas. But did you look at his ticket?’
‘Yes, my lord, I took possession of said ticket in his pocket.’ Vance passed him a document. ‘Yes, this is it.’
‘I put that in as Exhibit Twelve, your honour. What is the destination printed on that ticket?’
‘Guadeloupe, my lord. I mean, your honour.’
‘Is there no onward destination after Guadeloupe?’
‘No, nothing. Ticket ends in Guadeloupe.’
Vance smiled at the jury. ‘Strange …’ he said. ‘Now, did you ask the defendant if he had a licence for this gun you found in his possession?’
‘I did. He took an American licence from his wallet – but, of course, that don’t give him no right to smuggle it aboard an aircraft.’
‘Is this the licence?’ Vance passed him a document.
‘It is.’
‘I put that in as Exhibit Thirteen, your honour. Now, did you find anything else in his wallet?’
‘I did. I found another American licence for a .38 Smith & Wesson pistol. I asked the defendant where it was. He said it was stolen some time ago from his car in New York.’
‘I see,’ Vance said. ‘Stolen? So then what happened?’
‘I returned to my police station with the defendant, and put him in the cells. I then returned to his yacht where Dr Smythe was still doing his forensic examination.’ Humphrey paused dramatically. ‘That afternoon, I decided to charge the defendant with the murder of his wife, Josephine, the deceased in this case.’
‘Thank you,’ Vance said. He sat down.
There was a silence. Charlie stared at the witness, his mouth open; then he stared at the judge, amazed. Then he stared at the jury. Then, still seated, he turned to the prosecution table.
‘Is that it?’ he demanded of Vance incredulously. ‘You ain’t going to let the jury know what the defendant said in answer to the charge of murder?’ Charlie stood up, seething with indignation. He threw his pen down on the table so hard it bounced. ‘Well,’ he said, his benevolent old face creased in disgust, ‘we’re sure going to get to the bottom of this in my cross-examination!’
He strode from his table up to the witness box. He put his foot on the dais, his elbow on his knee and glared at Humphrey, black lawman confronting black lawman. He waited a dramatic moment, then hissed sarcastically, ‘You don’t say …’
Humphrey looked at old Charlie worriedly, eyes wide. Then he smirked unhappily. ‘I don’t say what, sir?’
Charlie leant towards him. ‘Bi-i-i-g deal …’ He thrust out his arms wide. ‘Bi-i-i-i-i-i-g deal, the Commissioner of Police of the BVI, Joshua Humphrey himself, tells this honourable court that after his discussion with the forensic scientist he decides, in his infinite police wisdom, to charge the defendant with … wait for it … murder!’
Humphrey swallowed. ‘Yes, sir. That’s what I done.’
Charlie looked at him with withering contempt. ‘And you thereby hope to leave this jury –’ he pointed at the twelve bemused folk – ‘these good honest Americans you hope to leave with the impression that if you saw fit to charge the defendant with murder then he must be guilty!’ His finger shot up as he turned to the jury. ‘You do not have the fairness to tell this jury what the defendant replied!’
Humphrey protested, bug-eyed, pointing at Vance. ‘The District Attorney decided, not me, my lord.’
‘Aha!’ old Charlie cried, ‘you say the District Attorney is up to something? It’s he who wants to leave the jury with that fallacious, unfair impression!’
‘Your honour,’ Va
nce cried, leaping to his feet. ‘I strenuously object to the allegation!’
Old Charlie cried triumphantly, pointing at Humphrey, ‘Your witness said it, not me! He doesn’t want us to know what the defendant said when he was charged with murder. Because –’ he suddenly whirled and glared at Humphrey –‘because the defendant said, didn’t he: “For the umpteenth time I deny the charge, you silly old fart!”’
There was a shocked silence. Then a titter ran through the courtroom, smothered laughter. ‘Isn’t that what he said?’ Charlie thundered.
Humphrey had his eyes downcast, intensely embarrassed. He muttered: ‘Somethin’ like that.’
‘Something like that?’ Charlie echoed. Then he cried, ‘Didn’t you write it down and ask him to sign it?’
Humphrey shifted. ‘No,’ he muttered.
‘Why not?’ Charlie persisted. ‘Why not? The law says you must write down his answer!’ He paused, then went on, ‘Because you didn’t want the jury to know that he thought you a silly old fart!’
Commissioner Humphrey was slumped in embarrassment. Vance rose. ‘Please, your honour, Mr Benson is deliberately embarrassing the witness!’
‘Darn right I am,’ Charlie cried, all smiles. ‘Because I intend to prove what a bully he is, your honour! I put it to you, Commissioner Humphrey, sir, that you didn’t write it down because you didn’t want the jury to know that the defendant had vehemently denied the charge umpteen times, and you didn’t want the jury to know he became so angry with you because you were persecuting him!’
Humphrey shifted his buttocks, sitting at attention again. ‘I wasn’t persecutin’ him, my lord. I didn’t write down his reply because I didn’t think his insulting answer was relevant, my lord.’
‘But what about his denial?’ Charlie cried incredulously. ‘The defendant denies the charge and you don’t think that’s relevant?’ Charlie stared, then jabbed with his finger. ‘Surely to God the jury should know that he denied it!’
Humphrey shifted. ‘Guess so.’
‘So it was, and is, relevant! So why did you say it wasn’t? And why didn’t you write it down?’ Before the unhappy witness could reply, Charlie continued: ‘Do tell us – is there anything else that you’re concealing from this court?’
Unofficial and Deniable Page 35
