He walked to the window and called to Duncan and Steven who were sitting on a bench under the colonnade on the other side of Flag Court.
‘You OK?’ Duncan gasped as he and Steven ran up.
‘Of course I am.’
As Steven unlocked the door, Mark glanced towards Jasper and added, ‘I shall need to visit my clients again, in a few days’ time.’
Jasper nodded.
‘So they appointed you as their defence counsel?’ Steven said as the three of them walked under the arch of Cromwell’s Tower.
‘They did,’ he said, ‘eventually.’
Steven shook his head. ‘Well, I’ll be voting for the death penalty. Just so long as you know.’
‘Assuming they’re found guilty,’ Mark said.
‘They’ll be found guilty,’ Duncan said confidently. ‘I’m the prosecutor.’
The day of the trial finally arrived. Both Mark and Duncan had attended a pre-trial meeting with Judge Theresa. She had quickly grown into the role. It helped that she had her mother’s intelligence and bearing. All three were aware the trial was the prototype for any future legal proceedings and they were taking it seriously. The judicial system had been streamlined and new rules drawn up.
All voting members of the community were liable for jury service and a simple ballot would be held to appoint a jury. After considerable discussion it was agreed to limit the jury to seven people. Duncan wanted to call as many witnesses as possible, which would be difficult with a jury of twelve. Mark hoped he would have more chance of persuading a smaller jury.
A little before ten o’clock the community gathered in the Great Hall. The refectory tables had been pushed back against the walls and the benches rearranged facing the dais to form the public gallery. The positions on the dais were arranged in an arc so that all people there could be seen by all members of the public gallery and vice versa.
The left arm of the arc had seven chairs ready for the jury. The centre of the arc was formed by three desks, each with a gilt chair standing behind it. The large centre desk, which had the biggest gilt chair, was for the judge. The smaller desk between the judge and jury had a neat cardboard sign reading PROSECUTION. The desk on the other side had a sign reading DEFENCE. In the right of the defence desk was the prisoners’ dock, specially built by Steven.
The arc was completed by the lectern from which witnesses were to give evidence. Duncan had lobbied hard to have the lectern placed so that witnesses could give their evidence without having to look directly at those in the dock, worried that Jasper might intimidate any witness he called. To his surprise Mark had offered no objection to his request.
As the clock above the West Tower struck ten o’clock, the spectators were all seated in the public gallery. On the tenth chime, the door behind the dais opened and Theresa, followed by Duncan and Mark, filed in. Those in the public gallery stood, returning to their seats as soon as Theresa was seated.
Theresa wore her mother’s gown and wig. Duncan and Mark wore solicitors’ gowns which Duncan had collected from a law firm in The Shambles off Sevenoaks High Street. Duncan had made an attempt to comb his unruly crop of red hair and had even trimmed his beard, but he still looked more like a farmer than a lawyer.
‘We will first select the jury,’ Theresa announced. ‘This will be by ballot. Seven jurors will be selected. A majority of at least five is required to reach a verdict. If the accused are found guilty, the jury will also decide the sentence. The sentence will be decided by a simple majority, meaning that at least four members of the jury must agree.’
Theresa took a list of names from the top drawer of her desk. Each name on the list had a number written alongside. All members of the community over the age of fourteen except Virginia, Beatrice and Amy had been included.
Mark had argued in chambers that Virginia and her daughters were now full members of the community and should be included in the ballot. Duncan had counter-argued successfully that they were ineligible because they had been complicit in Jasper’s regime and therefore, in a minor way at least, were accessories to the brothers’ crimes.
Theresa nodded to Duncan, who had already placed numbered balls in a lottery drum Steven had made. He turned the handle and Mark drew out the first ball and handed it to Theresa, who consulted her list.
‘Rick Hoff,’ she announced.
Rick swaggered up to the dais, grabbing the chair closest to the judge. Mark suddenly realised that he had no ‘right of challenge’ — not that a challenge to Rick would have been easy. In reality, the five Americans, including Rick, were among the only people in the room who would have been eligible for jury service in pre-pandemic days. They, together with Jane and Zach, were the only adults present who hadn’t been directly affected by Jasper and Greg’s actions.
The oversight of arranging a challenge clause was brought home by the next name called out: ‘Steven Chatfield.’ His son’s partner had been Jasper’s final rape victim. Steven chose not to sit next to Rick, picking instead the centre chair of the seven.
‘Susan Morgan.’
Mark grimaced. Susan’s mother Diana had been condemned to death by Jasper. Mark had argued before the trial that Diana had committed suicide, but Theresa and Duncan would have none of it. There was no doubt in their minds that if Diana had taken her own life, she had only done so because her execution was imminent. The charge of murder was to stand.
Susan stood and shuffled forward, wincing from the pain in her arthritic knees as she stepped onto the dais. Whether it was because she didn’t like Rick or wanted to walk as short a distance as possible, she chose the seat at the end of the semicircle closest to the public gallery.
‘Jennifer Steed.’
At last, a ray of hope. Mark had heard a rumour that Jennifer had once been Jasper’s mistress. Hopefully she still had a soft spot for him. Jennifer strode purposely to the dais and took the seat next to Rick.
Duncan spun the drum again.
‘Luke Dalton.’
Mark wondered if Luke’s inclusion was advantageous or not. He had a good rapport with the lad but Jasper had killed Luke’s Uncle Warren. The young man seemed somewhat reluctant to make his way to the dais, where he sat beside Steven.
‘Kimberley Steed.’
Mark noted that Kimberley also appeared reluctant to join the jury. Her glasses had been splattered with blood when Greg had shot her father Cameron.
Mark mused on the fact that one of the biggest problems at the trial was that many of the potential jurors were also potential witnesses. It was hardly ideal, but given that Jasper had systematically raped every woman at Haver it couldn’t be avoided. Mark was a pragmatist, however; he felt an unfair trial was better than no trial at all. He knew that everyone in the hall other than himself wanted the Chatfield brothers executed. Even those such as Jane and Anne who had not lived at Haver now knew of the terror the Chatfield brothers had wrought. Jasper and Greg had no supporters.
It was time to draw the final number. Mark glanced out at the Great Hall. It was clear from the craning of their necks that some people, such as Cheryl and Bridget, were keen to be called. Others, such as Roger, Anne and Jane, were not. He handed the ball to Theresa.
‘Paul Grey,’ she said then, posing the question on everyone’s lips, added, ‘Do you feel well enough, Paul?’ Paul nodded. He wanted to be on the jury. He wanted to try the monsters who had been complicit in the death of his son Mathew.
Cheryl and Bridget helped their father up to the dais and seated him between Luke and Susan.
‘Thank you, members of the jury,’ Theresa said. ‘I will remind you that a guilty verdict requires a majority of five.’ She looked down towards the hall. ‘Roger, could you please take …’ She searched for some faces. ‘… Fergus, Zach and Harry to the Punishment Room and collect the accused?’
‘Shall we tie them up?’ Fergus asked.
Theresa looked at the towering figure of Roger and the tall frame of Zach. She smiled. ‘I don’t think that
will be necessary. I’m sure you four can handle them.’ Harry pulled back his shoulders and led the escort party out of the Great Hall.
Five minutes later, Jasper and Greg were led in and ushered into the dock. Mark noticed how small and insignificant the two brothers looked. Their fancy clothes were gone. They were the only people in the hall wearing the hated grey tunics.
Theresa wasted no time. She turned to Greg and read out the list of charges. ‘How do you plead?’
‘Guilty to all charges,’ he said.
Duncan’s face revealed both his surprise and his disappointment.
Mark had expected the guilty plea. He had spent many hours with Jasper and Greg. He had kept his expectations secret from everyone, including his own family.
There was cheering and clapping from both the jury and public gallery.
‘I will have no demonstrations,’ Theresa said sharply in a manner reminiscent of her mother. The hubbub in the Great Hall died down immediately, and several members of the jury blushed.
She turned to Jasper and read out an even longer list. ‘How do you plead?’
‘Guilty to all charges,’ he said.
There was a groundswell of muted comment from the public gallery but no clapping or cheering.
Duncan was visibly annoyed. He had spent many hours preparing his case and coaching his witnesses. He had even used the interval while Roger and his party had been away collecting the accused to make his final plans and to decide which witnesses he would call. He had been cheated.
‘It is the duty of the jury to decide the broad nature of the sentence,’ Theresa said. ‘I myself as judge will decide the details of the sentence, however.’
Mark was taken aback. It had been agreed that the jury would decide the sentence, yet Theresa had taken it on herself to determine the details of it. She had obviously grown in confidence since accepting the role of judge. He could only assume that though she didn’t want the responsibility of deciding on the death penalty, she wanted to control how the executions would be carried out. He couldn’t see a problem with that. Despite the deviation from what had been agreed, he didn’t lodge an objection.
He did, however, wish to speak. He stood and waited till Theresa acknowledged him.
‘I would like to make a plea for clemency on behalf of my clients.’
There was a ripple of disbelief throughout the Great Hall. The feeling of hostility was tangible. Even Steven looked disgustedly at his father. Rick played to the audience in the public gallery, rolling his eyes.
‘And I want to make a plea for the maximum penalty,’ Duncan retorted firmly. His words were greeted by muted applause — just long enough for people to let it be known where their sentiments lay, but not long enough to earn a rebuke from the judge.
Theresa pondered the situation for a moment then delivered her verdict. ‘We will have a recess until after lunch. Then the prosecution will make its case to the jury, requesting whatever sentence it feels appropriate. The defence may then enter a plea for clemency if, after the prosecution has made its case, it still wishes to pursue that course of action.’
Mark wished there was a court of appeal. The judge had made her own sentiments obvious. His task had never been going to be easy, but Theresa had just made it a whole lot harder.
She turned to face the public gallery. ‘Roger, will you please arrange for the accused to be taken back to the Punishment Room? We will reconvene at two o’clock.’
Theresa rose, prompting everyone else to stand too. She left the hall with Duncan hard on her heels. Mark did not follow.
Roger, Fergus, Zach and Harry arrived to collect the prisoners. They were joined by many others, including members of the jury, all intent on ensuring the hapless Chatfield brothers did not have any opportunity to escape. Behind the adults a group of children ran backwards and forwards chanting ‘Off with their heads, off with their heads!’ voicing the thoughts of most of the escort party, both official and unofficial.
Mark hung back, and Anne came to him and squeezed his hand.
‘Why did they plead guilty?’ she asked.
‘I asked them to.’ She looked at him enquiringly. ‘They were never going to get a fair hearing in a full trial,’ he explained. ‘A plea for clemency is their only hope.’
‘It doesn’t seem like much of a chance to me,’ Anne said softly. ‘Everyone’s so hostile — Penny, Steven, everyone. A lot of people are really angry you are defending them.’
‘I always knew it wasn’t going to be popular, but as long as I’ve got you, that’s all that matters.’ He held her close. ‘Have I got your support?’
‘You do,’ she replied. ‘I will be there for you after the trial, whatever the outcome and however badly everyone else feels about you. But I have to tell you now, I agree with Steven and Penny. There is no place for those two monsters on this earth. And I’m sorry I can’t stay and support you now, I’ve promised to help Susan deliver the picnic lunch.’
He kissed her on the cheek, let her go, and sauntered slowly across Flag Court. He saw Greg and Jasper being pushed roughly into the Punishment Room and Fergus locking the door.
‘Get pedalling,’ Cheryl shouted through the window. ‘We’ll need plenty of electricity this afternoon.’
‘We want to use the electric grindstone to sharpen an axe,’ Bridget added.
The two sisters laughed and walked away.
Mark waited until all the adults had left then walked towards the Punishment Room. The children scattered and ran off. Suddenly he was the bogeyman.
When he peered through the window he saw the two brothers sitting dejectedly on crates. ‘I suggest you get on the cycles,’ he said.
‘You suggested we plead guilty,’ Greg retorted. ‘Fat lot of good that’s done us.’
‘Do you think you’d be any better off had Duncan called witnesses to the murders, or summoned some of the women you had raped?’
‘It’s going to be the same outcome anyway,’ Jasper sighed. His shoulders were hunched. He was staring at the floor.
Greg became agitated and stood up. ‘And there’s certainly no point in pedalling these frigging cycles,’ he said, striking out at one with his foot.
‘Do me a favour and get on the cycles,’ Mark said softly. ‘Do yourselves a favour too. Show them when they come back to collect you that you expect to live. And help remind them that if you’re executed, it will be them pedalling instead of you.’
With that he turned and walked away. He could hear the hum of the cycles as he passed under the arch beneath Cromwell’s Tower and walked into Lawn Court. Most people had gathered there. Some were sitting on benches eating the picnic lunch. Steven, Fergus, Roger and Rick were playing bowls. As Mark walked down the centre path towards the West Gate he sensed all eyes had turned towards him. He felt isolated from the community, until Jane and Steven left their respective groups and joined him for a few paces.
Steven said, ‘We just want you to know, Dad, that you’re obstinate, and wrong, but you’re still our Dad and we respect you for doing what you think is right.’
‘And even though you’re wrong, and you’re going to lose, we still love you,’ Jane added.
He squeezed both their hands and they hurried away. It had meant a lot.
Walking beneath the stately oaks in the garden, he rehearsed his presentation out loud as he had always done before the Toastmaster speaking competitions he had taken part in back in New Zealand. On those occasions there had been trophies and titles at stake, now it was two lives.
Sometimes when he had lost a speaking competition, he had known he had given the best speech. But it was the judges who had the final say, and the judges always had prejudices. He remembered one competition in particular, where there had been two clear contenders for the title, himself and a woman who had given an excellent speech on race relations.
His own speech had been on divorce, and he felt from the applause when he finished that he had the title in the bag. As they waited
for the judges to return with the result, people came up and congratulated him. The other main contender had looked across and given him a smile of defeat.
After what had seemed an age, the judges returned and named the other contestant as the winner. Later Mark discovered why he hadn’t won. During his speech he had said that divorce was rarely the fault of a single partner in a marriage. Unbeknown to him, the husband of the chief judge — a lady in her mid-fifties — had run away with his twenty-five-year-old secretary the week previously.
He wondered how many guilty verdicts had been delivered in trials because one strong-willed jury member had worn everyone else down, or how many non-guilty verdicts had been delivered for the same reason. The lives of Jasper and Greg lay in the hands of seven people, each with their own opinions and prejudices.
He turned and made his way back towards Haver House, determined to see Theresa alone. He didn’t want to run the risk of losing the trial unfairly due to the prejudice of a single member of the jury prepared and able to wear down the remainder. He had one person in mind, someone whom he believed was capable of battling to get his own way, just to spite the defence counsel. Except it wasn’t about the defence counsel, it was about the lives of Jasper and Greg.
‘It’s very irregular,’ Theresa said when he had made his submission, ‘as is having this meeting without Duncan being present.’
‘Let’s be honest, we’re having to make up the rules as we go along. You usurped the jury’s control when you announced you would decide the details of any sentence.’ Theresa opened her mouth to speak, but he continued. ‘You wanted to protect the children from witnessing another public execution, right?’ She nodded. ‘I’ve agreed to all Duncan’s conditions and requests,’ Mark pleaded. ‘All I ask is this one thing. It’s not as if it’s a change — we’ve never discussed in detail how things would be handled at the end of the trial.’
‘I’ll think about it. I’m not going to promise anything. I’ll decide at the end of your plea for clemency.’
Mark knew he had done the best he could. He also knew that there were now two rounds to the competition. He had to win the preliminary round outright, and in the process convince Theresa to grant his request. What, he wondered, were the chances? The Chatfield family had killed both her mother and her sister, and Jasper had raped her.
Blood Roots: Are the roots strong enough to save the pandemic survivors? Page 26
