by Nikki Attree
She’s also feeling somewhat disillusioned with her professional life. It’s as if she’s suffering from post natal depression, after the birth and exciting first few months of her ‘Happy Tails’ pet detective agency. The events of the past few weeks have demonstrated just how easily an unscrupulous client can manipulate her. That’s it really: she’s far too easily manipulated, both romantically and professionally.
Then there’s her brother. She can’t help making the comparison between the work he does, and what she does. She’s always felt in his shadow, but watching Robert at work brought home to her just how big a gulf there is between his knowledge, his experience, and hers. She can’t escape feeling that looking for missing animals is hardly crucial work, compared to saving us all from the truly evil dregs of society.
So, there we are: everybody is on hold, paused, waiting for somebody to push the ‘play’ button on the remote control of their lives.
* * *
Several weeks later they find themselves reunited in Highbury magistrates court, and the person pushing the ‘play’ button is a Justice of The Peace: Lord Lionel Longbottom, JP.
Lord Longbottom is a retired major and a no-nonsense type of chap, but he’s not exactly what you might call ‘au fait’ with the intricacies of today’s society. He regularly finds himself out of step with modern life, with all it’s technological gizmos and politically correct attitudes. Luckily he has his justice’s clerk14 who is rather more in touch with reality, and can explain it’s ins-and-outs to him.
The two of them are seated in the magistrates’ antechamber enjoying a coffee before the day’s proceedings kick off. LL is none too happy with the early start, but at least it might mean that he’ll be at his club, ensconced in his favourite armchair, in time for afternoon tea. So it’s imperative that everything moves as swiftly and smoothly as an army on a full stomach. Turning to JC he asks who, and what, are first on the agenda, and how quickly they can expect to be dealt with.
“Don’t worry sir, I think it will be quite straightforward” JC says reassuringly, glancing at his order of proceedings. “It’s a simple matter of two stolen dogs, held for ransom, and according to the CPS15, it should be relatively open-and-shut.”
“That’s good news” LL replies, adding that ‘man’s best friend’ has always been his favourite companion, and any scoundrel wicked enough to maltreat them can expect short shrift from him. “What kind of hound are we dealing with here?” he asks his clerk.
“I believe they’re a relatively new ‘designer’ breed known as Labradoodle, sir”
“Never heard of ‘em. A ‘designer breed’ you say?” LL scoffs, in his what’s-the-world-coming-to voice. “My type of hound is one who retrieves the birds that one has shot, or chases foxes with his chums. Of course those PC blighters have put a stop to all that, more’s the pity.”
“So, if I might just summarise ...” JC says, hoping to move things on: “we have two defendants intending to plead guilty: a Mr Jack Jones and a Mrs Pauline Smith, and one, a Mr Harry Smith, who is intending to plead innocent but who, according to the CPS, doesn’t have a leg to stand on.”
LL looks relieved. It does sound quite straightforward. He hauls his portly frame upright, and picks up his gavel16, but just as he’s about to call the court to order, JC notices an addendum: “oh, but there’s an anomaly, sir ...”
“An anomaly?” LL demands irritatedly, visions of afternoon tea at his club receding.
JC glances at his notes. “The victim is a Mrs Elizabeth Parker-Smyth, a film producer, and there’s a suggestion that she conspired with the accused to pervert the course of justice by colluding with them in the umm, ahem ... the ‘dog napping’, as the crime is popularly labelled.”
“Did she now? Well, we’ll see about that” LL snaps. If there’s one thing he loathes, it’s perverters of the course of justice. “A film producer you say?” he snorts, sounding disgusted by the job description.
“That’s correct sir. The dogs are appearing in her latest production, and the accusation is that she allegedly conspired with the, ahem, ‘dog nappers’ to waste police time, in order to publicise the film. CPS have suggested that she is questioned thoroughly, under oath, and if this allegation is proven to be correct, then you apply an appropriate community-based penalty.”
“Very well” LL sighs, “as one might say in the moving pictures: let’s get this show on the road.” He strides through the door into the courtroom. JC orders the court to rise. LL sits down; everyone else sits down. He glares sternly at the defendants in the dock, and bangs his gavel on the desk. JC orders them to rise.
Jack is dressed smartly in his Jason Gable outfit: suit, shirt (freshly ironed by his mum), and tie. Between him and Harry, acting as a buffer zone, is Pauline. She’s dressed in a somewhat bizarre mash-up of the sober granny disguise from the waist up, and her normal gear below: miniskirt, and leopardskin leggings. On the other side of her is Harry, looking daggers at Jack, unshaven, and wearing regulation prison tee-shirt and jeans. As none of them can afford a lawyer, all three are represented by the duty solicitor.
JC addresses the accused, ordering them to confirm their identity and asking them how they plead. They answer as expected: Jack and Pauline - “guilty”, and Harry defiantly shouts “not guilty”, adding: “it waz all ‘is idea. The bleedin bastard!” at full volume, gesticulating wildly at Jack.
There’s an excited murmur from the public gallery. JC barks: “silence in court!” like a stern umpire at Wimbledon.
The first witness is called. It’s Annie’s brother, D.I. Robert Capello, the investigating detective. He outlines the facts of the case, the evidence against the accused, and describes the circumstances of their arrest in the ‘Sleep-A-Lot’ car-park, Wembley.
The defence lawyer has no questions for him, so he returns to his seat, next to his sister. “First game to the prosecution” he whispers to her, and then stretching the tennis metaphor to it’s limits: “let’s see who wins the set.”
The next witness is Mr Charmley-Walker, representing Wags, and under strict instructions not admit any liability.
Prosecutor: “so, you are the manager of the boarding kennels from where the dogs were stolen?”
“Well, it’s actually an exclusive five-star hotel for canine guests, and my job title is executive client liaison” he replies nervously.
“Ah yes, I see that Wags proudly announces itself to the world as the ‘Hilton for Hounds’?”
Lord Longbottom looks up approvingly from his Times crossword and makes a note of Wags. It sounds like his kind of place.
Charmley-Walker: “that’s correct. We are undoubtably the premier canine ...”
The prosecutor interrupts him: “so, in your expert opinion, do you think that the real Hilton hotel would employ staff who spend the night sleeping on the job, rather than monitoring the CCTV cameras? Or leave security doors unlocked?”
Charmley-Walker splutters: “the staff member in question has been disciplined, and if I might be allowed to add, our security systems are the best of any ...”
The prosecutor interrupts him again: “do you think that the real Hilton hotel would allow guests to be kidnapped from their rooms? Or, in this case, dog napped?”
A ripple of laughter runs around the public gallery. The prosecutor turns, and bows slightly to his appreciative audience, before asking Charmley-Walker to confirm that he was aware of the dogs’ roles as celebrity film stars. Then he gets the Wags manager to agree with him that their V.I.D.17 status was undoubtedly the reason they were targeted, and he wonders why, as such, they were not given better protection?
Charmley-Walker shrugs, and splutters a standard denial of corporate responsibility: “our V.I.P. clients are themselves responsible for any additional personal security arrangements beyond the excellent systems we have in place. We cannot be held accountable for ...”
Once again the prosecutor interrupts him: “finally, might I ask why your canine guests were sharin
g the same room that night?”
Charmley-Walker shrugs, blushes, and splutters that what the guests get up to in the privacy of their own rooms is none of his business. The courtroom again erupts in laughter. LL wields the gavel and JC bellows: “silence in court!” with all the authority he can muster in his umpire’s voice.
Elizabeth is the next witness to be called by the prosecution. She’s been sitting with Miranda, next to Annie and Robert, fidgeting with her phone - messaging her journalist contacts and trying to drum up more coverage of the court proceedings. There are a few reporters there, but not nearly as much of a media presence as she’d hoped for. The story has been old news for several weeks now; the juicy bits are done and dusted, and there won’t even be any cute dogs to snap today.
She is power-dressed for her appearance anyway, expecting to be on live TV later, and she puts on a commanding performance as she sweeps up to the witness stand. JC hands her the swearing-the-oath kit: a bible and a cue card, but Elizabeth doesn’t have time for all that rigmarole: “I have to say, this is extremely inconvenient” she says haughtily, addressing Lord Longbottom. “I do hope that it won’t take long. I have a film to complete, and there’s a camera crew waiting for me outside ...”
LL interrupts: “if you’ll just shut up for a moment, Mrs Parker-Smyth, we’ll do our best to accommodate your busy schedule. Now if you could please just take the oath, we can get on with your testimony. I can assure you that I too would like to wrap things up by teatime.”
Elizabeth reads the words on the card, familiar from countless courtroom dramas, flicking her hair occasionally and giving a performance heavily influenced by Bette Davies and Marilyn Monroe. The prosecutor takes her through her statement, omitting the revelations about her collusion with the dognappers, and concentrating instead on their cruel disruption of her highly significant film project, and their callous disregard for her family’s feelings.
Elizabeth is certainly convincing in her role as the hapless victim. She even manages a few tears as she describes how upset she was to receive the photos of the bedraggled and bloody dogs. Sitting in the public gallery, listening to her mother’s emotional performance, Miranda is chastened, but a little confused. “Maybe I was wrong to judge her so harshly” she thinks to herself. “Perhaps she was a lot more upset than she seemed at the time. She certainly hid it well though.”
LL is also not unmoved by Elizabeth’s performance. Not only is he a bit of a sucker for well dressed, bossy women, but when they have so clearly been wronged by having their much loved hound threatened, then he is more than sympathetic. He wonders how on earth she could possibly be accused of conspiring with these scoundrels to pervert the course of justice.
Elizabeth shatters the mood though by reverting to her true character: “is that it then?” she asks testily. “Can I do my piece to camera now? The news crew are waiting outside.” She climbs down from the witness stand but JC stops her. LL asks the defence barrister if he has any questions for the producer, and he replies with a qualified negative: “not for the moment, m’lord, but I would ask the witness to remain in the courtroom until we have heard from Mr Jones, as I believe I might have some more questions for her at that point.”
LL addresses her: “thank you Mrs Parker-Smyth. You may step down for the moment, but as you have just heard, you will remain in court and, I am sure I don’t have to remind you, still under oath.”
Elizabeth pouts, and flounces her way back to her seat next to Miranda. She leans over to Annie and complains in a loud voice. Annie shrugs, and Robert whispers: “first set to the prosecution” to his sister.
* * *
Next on the stand is Harry. He reads the words on the card with some difficulty, stumbling over some and mispronouncing others, much to the amusement of the public:
“I swear by Almigh’y God - ha, that’s a joke ... that the evidence I shall give - what evidence? I’m fekin innocent ... shall be the truth, the ‘ole truth and nuffin but the truth. So ‘elp me - and while we’re at it ... so ‘elp me, I swear to give the bleedin bastard standin over there, an almigh’y kickin!”
The court erupts in laughter, mixed with a few cheers from the gallery. Umpire JC bellows “silence in court!” and waves play on. LL wields the gavel, and gives Harry his first public warning for contempt of court. “I see we’ve got a badly behaved rogue on our hands here” he thinks, “one who likes a bit of f-ing and blinding on court, like that miscreant McEnroe blighter.”
Prosecutor: “so, Mr Smith, or should I call you ‘Flash Harry’ ...?” (cue more laughter from the gallery and reprimands from the umpire). “Apparently you are here to tell us that you are not guilty? That there has been a dreadful miscarriage of justice? And that you had nothing to do with the charge of stealing these dogs with intent to extort a ransom?”
Harry nods. “That’s right mate. I ‘ad nuffin to do with stealin them dogs. I was just letting the mutts stay in me ‘ouse. I bleedin ‘ate dogs - dirty, disgustin animals!”
“And you deny taking, and sending, these distressing photographs to Mrs Parker-Smyth?”
He shows the photos to Harry, who shrugs, then hands them to JC, who in turn hands them to Lord Longbottom: “exhibits D and E, sir.”
LL stares at the images of Gizmo and Doodle chained-up in the shed, muddy and bedraggled in one, bloody in the other, and he feels the anger rise. These unprincipled scoundrels need to be taught a lesson.
Harry: “na, it was all that geezer’s idea” he turns and points an accusing finger at Jack. “Poncey git poured toma’o sauce all over ‘em” he snorts in derision. “You ‘ave to be ‘arder than that to persuade someone to do wot you want. Me, I’d ave ...” He tails off into silence, realising that to finish the sentence might be counterproductive.
The prosecutor prompts him: "please continue, Mr Smith. You were about to tell us exactly what you would have done with the dogs?"
"Nuffin" Harry replies sheepishly.
"Moving on to the morning of the hostage exchange in the ‘Sleep-A-Lot’ car-park ... the arresting officer heard you shout: “there are only two pigs - we could ‘ave made a run for it. What a f-ing loser you are, mate!"
Hearing Harry quoted in the lawyer’s Eton accent is enough to elicit another giggle from the gallery, with the usual tennis-themed reprimands from umpire JC, who then has to explain the porcine reference to Lord Longbottom.
The prosecutor continues his line of questioning: “so, is that a statement from someone who claims to be innocent, Mr Smith?”
“Well, I don’t remember sayin nuffin like that” Harry replies surlily. “But you know ‘ow you can say stuff in the ‘eat of the moment, like? As it ‘appens, I was just givin Jack a lift in me van. ‘Ow was I to know what ‘e was up to?"
"So, just to be clear, you are telling the court that you were in no way involved in this crime, and that Mr Jones was the sole perpetrator?”
"Yeah, that pretty much sums it up" Harry replies smugly.
The magistrate shakes his head in disbelief and intervenes, speaking sternly to the witness: “now listen to me, Mr Smith. I have already given you one warning for contempt of court, and now this is your final warning before I charge you with perjury. I remind you that you are under oath, and I would strongly advise you to tell the truth.”
Harry ignores LL’s warning. He points at Jack and shouts: “it was ‘im! The dirty two faced scumbag! He was the one wot stopped me from gettin away."
Prosecutor: "getting away from what exactly, Mr Smith?"
“Oo d’ya think, you tosser? The pigs of course."
"Ahem, but you just told us that you had nothing to do with the dognapping, so why did you need to escape from the police?"
Harry looks confused: “I dunno. Like I said, it was the ‘eat of the moment, like."
"So, to sum up Mr Smith, if you could just answer one simple question ... and before you do, I must remind you that the magistrate has already warned you about perjuring yourself ... were you,
or were you not, involved in the theft of two dogs from the Wags kennels?”
Harry shrugs and looks lost for words.
"A simple yes, or no, will suffice Mr Smith ...”
Harry stares at his feet, and mutters something unintelligible under his breath.
"What did you say? We can’t hear you Mr Smith ...”
Eventually Harry looks up. "Well OK, I s’pose I did ‘elp Jack a bit, like" he says sullenly, “but, y’know, ‘e was the brains behind the operation, like.”
“Yes, I can quite believe that” the prosecutor says, turning triumphantly to the gallery (cue the laughter-reprimand routine). "So Mr Smith, you are now finally admitting that you were indeed equally involved in this crime?”
"I s’pose so" Harry says, like a naughty school-kid.
“And I take it that you would like to change your plea to ‘guilty’?”
Harry nods, reluctantly.
"Have you anything else to say?"
There’s a long pause, but Harry can’t think of anything else to say.
"In that case, I have no further questions for the witness, sir” the prosecutor announces to the bench, and sits down.
The defence barrister stands up to question Harry. As mentioned, none of the three defendants can afford a lawyer, so all three are represented by the same duty solicitor. He has quite a job on his hands. It’s clear that there’s no love lost between his clients. They each have their own agendas, and entirely different versions of the facts. Nether the less, it’s his job to put a positive spin on their testimonies. Now he has his chance to extract some sense from Harry, tease out anything mitigating to say in his defense, and try to rescue the situation his client has put himself in.
