“Did you loosen any part of her dress?”
“No.”
“Indulge in any form of sexual play?”
“No.”
“On the thirtieth, you returned to the same place. Why?”
“To enjoy the privacy and the view.”
“The view from there is the same as the view from the road.”
“There aren’t other cars rushing about the place.”
“Did you kiss Mrs. Curson?”
“Yes.”
“Did you loosen any part of her dress?”
“No.”
“When you thought you saw a peeping Tom, were you personally in any form of undress?”
“No,” he said dully. He looked up and his voice quickened. “But I wish we’d both been stark naked. At least then I’d have a memory.”
*
It was December the fifteenth, a Sunday, five days before the end of the Michaelmas Term.
Bladen sat on the chair in the cell. He knew the cell intimately. It was thirteen feet long, eight feet wide, and ten feet high at its highest point. The roof was slightly arched, the very narrow window was iron-barred. Under the whitewashing on the walls were innumerable messages, many of which could still be read: five new and obscene messages had been written or scratched over the whitewash. The lavatory basin was cracked and stained, but the lavatory seat was spotless because it had to be cleaned each day. The floor was polished, so polished it was dangerously slippery. There was a wooden chest-of-drawers that was shaky and apparently on the point of collapse: obscene messages had been scribbled on the sides and underneath each of the four drawers. The six-foot-long bunk had springs that squeaked at every movement: at first the chorus had kept him awake, now he no longer noticed it. On the small shelf above the bunk was a bible and hymn book, both little read but missing many pages which had been used as cigarette papers. On the door, just above the Judas hole, were the rules and regulations: the list of things done and things not done.
He lit a cigarette, half smoked it, then stubbed it out in the overfilled ashtray. After the trial, when he was a convicted man, he was going to think with longing of all the cigarettes he hadn’t bothered to smoke right down to the end: but that certainty wouldn’t make him now smoke the next one to the full.
He would be convicted of a crime of which he was innocent. Even his own counsel didn’t believe he was innocent. Tutt would fight like hell for him, but that didn’t mean Tutt believed any more than the jury would. After all, hadn’t he been in Lovers’ Lane with a beautiful woman? Could anyone seriously believe they hadn’t gone there to make love and, in the middle, had been caught by the peeping Tom?
Chapter 14
The assize court at Denbrington had been built on the principle that the majesty of the law was of more importance than the mechanics. The courtroom was lofty and architecturally pleasing: in the centre of the ornate cupola was a mosaic in stained glass: the dais was backed with carved wooden panels of a very high craftsmanship: the set of ten chairs, for the members of the council who by ancient charter were entitled occasionally to sit with the assize judge, were said to be by Hepplewhite and the red leather was of the very finest quality: there was a fresco behind the jury box depicting the purity of justice… But the acoustics were bad so that it was frequently difficult to hear what was being said and the seats were hard and uncomfortable: cynics claimed the first was of little account and the second conducive to shorter cases.
Stimpson, prosecuting counsel, was of medium height, with a strongly featured face and a head of black hair that was always very carefully swept back and looked neat even immediately after taking off his wig. He had a habit of hunching his shoulders and leaning his neck forward slightly as he addressed the court on an important point.
“…Members of the jury, the accused is charged with murder. Murder, in a classical definition, is described thus: ‘Where a person of sound memory and discretion unlawfully killeth any reasonable creature in being and under the King’s peace with malice aforethought, either express or implied’, the death following within a year and a day.
“On a charge of murder, members of the jury, you are at liberty — should the evidence so warrant — to acquit of murder and return a verdict of manslaughter. Therefore, with his Lordship’s permission, I should like to spend a short time in explaining to you the difference between murder and manslaughter as such difference concerns us in this court.”
Mr. Justice Neame, an austere-looking man with a tight mouth and large ears — responsible for his nickname of Flappy — spoke. “Mr. Stimpson, can not this question be better dealt with by me at another time?”
“Undoubtedly you will be better able to do this,” said Stimpson smoothly, “but I would respectfully suggest that from the beginning the jury should have in their minds the distinction between the two offences in order to be able accurately to assess the evidence.”
The judge leaned back in his chair and stared at the back of the courtroom, as if he had lost interest in the matter.
“Members of the jury,” said Stimpson, “manslaughter is defined as the unlawful and felonious killing of another without any malice, either express or implied. You will note the importance of malice.
“Express malice is where a person sets out to kill another without justification, or fully knows that his act is likely to cause death. In the absence of express malice, however, provocation may reduce a killing from murder to manslaughter.
“Provocation is an act or acts done by the deceased to the accused which in any reasonable person would cause loss of self-control and does cause such loss in the accused. This loss of self-control must be sudden, temporary, and of sufficient intensity that for the moment the accused is not master of his own mind.
“Provocation as a defence depends on the fact that it causes such lack of self-control that malice is negated. When, therefore, the provocation is such that it inspires a desire to kill, there is only one exception which is recognised as reducing murder to manslaughter and that is when one spouse finds another actually in the course of adultery. Further, the killing must immediately follow the act of finding the spouse in adultery. If the one spouse goes off to get a suitable weapon for the killing, then this doctrine of provocation no longer holds good because the spouse has had time to cool down and to gain the intention to kill.
“Members of the jury, in this case the prosecution says that the accused was in his car with a companion, Mrs. Curson, at a place off the public road generally known as Lovers’ Lane. The deceased, a peeping Tom, approached the car in order to gratify his perverted tastes and was unfortunate enough to attract attention.
“The accused was with the wife of another man. Not only discovered in a position of very great embarrassment, he was also discovered by an employee of his companion’s husband, a man who immediately identified him. Angered, embarrassed, and scared, he got out of the car and attacked Thompson with a blunt instrument, inflicting a severe wound across the forehead. We suggest that the blunt instrument was the starting handle of the car and you will hear evidence that the shape of the wound corresponds to the shape of the starting handle: I must tell you, however, that the most exhaustive tests on the starting handle of the accused’s car failed to produce any evidence at all that it was used in this manner.
“Thompson collapsed to the ground. He was then kicked in the face and the ribs: he suffered severe bruising at both sites and in addition, on his face, characteristic cuts. By now only semi-conscious, Thompson was then either rolled over the edge of the rock face, or he rolled over in an effort to avoid further punishment, and he landed head first on a piece of loose rock ten feet below. You will hear that it was this blow which killed him: death took place within a very short time of it.
“Members of the jury, I have told you that for provocation to reduce to manslaughter a case where there is a desire to kill, or an act is done which the doer must fully know is likely to kill, there is only the one instance where a spou
se is found in adultery. A man who finds himself spied on when in the company of another man’s wife has no such defence. If he intends to kill the man who spied on him, or carries out an act or acts he must fully know are likely to kill the other, then he is guilty of murder, not manslaughter.
“In this case, the prosecution say that the intention to kill, or the knowledge that death was likely to result, is manifest in the weapons that were used. Remember what these weapons were: a blunt instrument, similar to a car’s starting handle, and a boot…”
*
Stimpson had an almost toneless voice which seemed at first to render boring everything he said. But, as this opening address went on, it became obvious that his delivery was in itself a pretty deadly weapon. It stripped away all emotion, all prejudice, and left only the facts, which in this case were quite damning, and the harsh neutrality of the law.
“…You will all, members of the jury, no doubt have heard the expression circumstantial evidence. Some of you may have heard it used in a pejorative sense. But I would remind you of an equally well-known saying, ‘Witnesses may lie, circumstances cannot’.
“A murder is something that by its very nature is usually carried out when there are no witnesses. We can, therefore, only deduce what happened from the surrounding facts and this is, quite simply, what is meant by circumstantial evidence. Facts cannot lie, as witnesses can, facts cannot be mistaken, as witnesses can: facts are facts. The prosecution will present the facts to you. You will then draw certain conclusions from them and I would suggest that such conclusions are quite inevitable…”
*
The first formal witness, Adams, was called into the witness box at twelve-fifteen He wore a suit that was much too large for him and was obviously a hand-down or bought second-hand. He was quite unawed by the surroundings and was even reluctant to leave the box at the end of his evidence.
Police Constable Elwick, who had been called to the scene by Adams, entered the box next. He stood to attention and gave his evidence at a speed that suggested he had spent a long time learning it word perfect. He was briefly cross-examined by Vallis, to underline the fact that the body had shown no signs of being moved.
The judge looked across at the clock. “It’s a little early, Mr. Stimpson, but this seems a convenient moment to adjourn.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
The judge shut his notebook, carefully placed the pencil he had been using alongside two spare ones, stood up, returned counsel’s bows, and then walked to the back of the dais where his clerk was holding open the door. He left the courtroom.
The warder in the dock said: “O.K.?”
Bladen stood up and turned, to go down the steps at the back of the dock. For the first time, he met the gaze of all those who were in the public seats. It was a shattering experience. As counsel, he had naturally appeared before large numbers of persons before, but they had never all stared at him as these people were staring. In their gaze was lascivious, greedy expectancy. They had come hoping for a verdict of guilty after a lot of dirt: guilt was so much more interesting than innocence. In ancient days, they would have rejoiced in seeing men torn to pieces by wild animals.
“Hurry up, chum,” said the warder.
Bladen went down the stairs. A policeman waited at the foot of the stairs and silently indicated he should turn to his left. He went along the brightly lit corridor, that resounded to the noise of those above as they shuffled their way out of the courtroom, and reached the cells, one of which had its door open.
He went inside the cell. The warder stood by the door. “Bit shaken up top, weren’t you?”
Bladen nodded.
“You’re not the first one, not by a long way. Some of ’em are like animals. I read that in the days when there was hanging the women used to become so excited they’d get a feeling when the judge shoved on his black hat. Now how the hell could you prefer that to a man?”
Bladen shrugged his shoulders.
“Ah, well, it takes all sorts to make the world, as the lesbian said to the nancy boy, just before she cut off his necessities. I’m told you’ve got some special grub coming along?”
“I… I expect so.”
“You’re lucky, then. The food they dish up in this place would make a pig sigh. I’ll bring your tray along as soon as it arrives.” The warder shut the door.
The metal door clanged against metal jamb: the metal bolts slammed home: the metal lock clicked shut. These were the sounds that ruled him, thought Bladen.
An access of terrible despair made him turn and hammer on the door with clenched fist as he shouted his innocence. Self-control soon returned and he stopped. No one came along to see what the matter was: probably, he thought, it happened all the time.
Where was Katherine at this moment? The prosecution were calling her so she would have had to be present from the beginning of the trial, though not in court. Was she wandering round, sick with the agony of fear, desperately trying to overcome the indignities, the embarrassments, the agonies? Or was she sitting in one of the waiting rooms, dumbly wondering how her pleasant life could have been so blasted? How was Curson treating her? How was he going to treat her? This case would attract tremendous publicity and soon the public would be certain that, despite their sworn denials, she and he had enjoyed themselves in the car. How would Curson take that?
Bladen suddenly considered the future. Murderers were no longer hanged but received prison sentences and eventually were allowed to return to the world. If he served the average ‘life’ sentence, something under ten years, he would be just over forty when released. As a disbarred, disgraced barrister, his potential in the employment markets was not going to be very great. He suddenly cursed. The human mind was a crazy thing. What the hell was the use of worrying about ten years hence? Wasn’t there enough to worry about in the immediate future?
*
Katherine felt mentally and emotionally frozen. The world was no longer totally real. Dully, she stared round the waiting room. The majesty of the law was not in evidence here. The place had the hostile bleakness of a provincial railway station waiting room. The walls were a dirty brown in colour, the benches were stained and worn, the unpainted table had been scribbled over, and the smell of the lavatories permeated the place.
She lit a cigarette. It was lunchtime, but she was certain that food would make her sick.
That morning, in the agony of the ordeal ahead, she had pleaded with Elmer to come with her to court, to comfort her, to help to shield her from the world. He had been too busy.
A woman, poorly dressed, came into the waiting room and went through to the lavatories. When she returned, she stared curiously at Katherine, noting the expensive dress and coat, the crocodile-skin handbag, the rope of pearls, the smooth skin that spoke of constant care, and for a moment it seemed she was going to speak: then she saw the look in Katherine’s eyes and left.
*
By ancient custom, visiting counsel always lunched at The Wild Boar, an old coaching inn in which some of the period charm still remained.
Stimpson, Tutt, and Vallis, all wearing wing collars and tabs, shared the same table.
“Some more spuds?” asked Stimpson. “They’re not bad.”
“I’ve eaten worse,” agreed Tutt. He helped himself to two more roast potatoes and then some peas. His girth was largely explained by his fondness for food.
“I reckon Adrington is the best town for food,” said Stimpson.
“You surely don’t mean that restaurant in the main street?”
“Why not?”
“I had a meal there that was a disgrace. The steak was as tough as old bootlaces.”
“I’ve often wondered where that saying came from,” said Vallis. “Who’s ever got down to eating old bootlaces to discover just how tough they are?”
Tutt cut a potato in quarters, then heaped gravy over one of the quarters. “Your literal mind will get you into trouble one day, Bill.”
The waitress came up to
the table and, although Tutt had not finished, asked them what they wanted for sweet, wrote down their orders, collected up the dirty plates, and left.
“Mind if I smoke?” asked Stimpson.
“Carry on,” answered Tutt.
“How’s the time?”
He looked at his watch. “Twenty minutes to go.”
“And only twenty! I’ve appeared before Old Flappy God knows how many times and I can’t remember his ever being even a minute late.” Stimpson lit a cigarette. “Did you come across Bladen before this trouble?”
“I met him once or twice. They say he was very much an up-and-coming.”
“I think he was pretty good.”
Vallis poured some water into his glass. “It’s a bit shattering to see what a woman can do to a bloke.”
“Nonsense!” said Stimpson. “All you’ve got to do is keep away from ’em.”
“That’s all right at your age, but I’m still young and lustful.”
Tutt chuckled as he speared another quarter of potato.
Chapter 15
The police surgeon gave his evidence and was only lightly cross-examined. Stimpson then said that the witness requested to be excused further attendance on account of a very great pressure of work. The judge tartly observed that pressure of work was not unknown to persons outside the medical profession before giving the doctor permission to go.
The police photographer was called to prove the photographs he had taken, and these were put in evidence together with the sketches he had made.
The pathologist went into the witness box. He had dressed with the usual care and his grey suit fitted him with the neatness of first-class tailoring. He looked just as self-confident as he felt.
“I carried out an investigation at the scene of death,” he said, after answering the preliminary questions, “then conducted a post mortem at the city mortuary.”
“Will you look at these photographs, please, and say if these show the body as it was when you carried out your investigations?”
Prisoner at the Bar Page 13
