I remained glued to a German news channel which I kept on all day and night. Finally, a report of Anke’s death appeared and my knowledge of the language proved just good enough for me to follow the details. A body of a girl, in her early twenties, had been washed up on the side of the river that led from the bottom of the dam. She had drowned after probably being knocked unconscious by bouncing off the wall of the dam. The police, having established who she was from the identity card found on her body, had provisionally concluded it might be suicide and asked anyone who knew her, or had seen her on the day in question, to come forward. They were also appealing to witnesses who might have been present at the scene.
A terrible thought tore through me, as if a knife had actually pierced my flesh: She hadn’t died immediately and if I had alerted the police at the time she might have been saved!
Collapsing into a chair, I began to shake and broke into a cold sweat. One way or another, I was responsible for her death. Hadn’t I sat back and allowed her to take the LSD? Worse still, done nothing to try to save her after she fell into the dam!
After several minutes, I began to grow calmer. It was time to face up to what I had done and pay the price.
Twenty-Two
Now, I was seated in a police interview room at Brockendorf Military Police Headquarters opposite a nervous-looking police corporal. I handed in a typed statement prepared earlier. When I had told him I wanted to confess to a serious crime he had cautioned me by saying,
“You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
“Here’s my written statement. You’ll obviously be referring the matter to a higher authority for their consideration. For the record, I’ll read out what I’ve prepared.”
A few days ago, I killed a woman called Anna Stillsmann from Hanover. Her body was recently found washed up near the Wolfram Talsperre dam. We had a row and she fell over the wall and into the dam. I didn’t report what had happened to anyone. She told me that her parents had died in a car crash and she was all alone in the world.
My name is Charles Courtley and I am a judge advocate, attached to the British Army of the Rhine, currently serving in Germany. I have been separated from my wife for some months now and was engaged in an affair with the above person.
Open mouthed, the corporal stared at me.
“Sir, as a judge, you do realize the importance of what you’ve just told us? In view of that, I’m obliged to arrest you on suspicion of murder.”
Once again, he cautioned me.
“Do you wish to add anything further to your statement at this stage?” he asked.
I shook my head calmly.
“No. I’ve made my position quite clear. All I will say is that I take full responsibility for her death.”
“The Special Investigations Branch will want to interview you again, sir, that’s for sure. Meanwhile, you’ll be kept here in the police guardroom whilst the authorities decide whether you need to remain in custody.”
In the event, it was decided that I should be allowed home after I gave assurances that I wouldn’t leave Germany, surrendered my passport, and reported daily to the police guardroom. There was no real risk of my absconding – where could I possibly go?
Later, back at home and sipping a glass of brandy, I wrote a short letter of resignation to the JAG. My emotions were concentrated into one overwhelming feeling which blotted out everything else: I may not have murdered Anke in the legal or physical sense, but morally I had killed her. She had lost her life because I, someone who was appointed to uphold the law, had allowed her to take LSD.
I was a judge used to punishing others for their crimes and only recently one such punishment had caused a loss of life – Sgt Cockaigne’s. Now, by the same token, I had to punish myself and the only way I could do it was to pretend that I had actually killed her. Illogical as it was, I refused to consider the consequences of what I felt I had to do. My guilt would never be assuaged otherwise.
* * *
The officer from the Special Investigations Branch, Royal Military Police, sat diagonally across the table from me in the police interview room at the Fortress. He was dressed in a khaki jumper with epaulettes denoting his rank and a corporal in uniform accompanied him. The tape machine recording the interview stood against the wall making a faint buzzing noise.
The officer was a sallow man, aged about 40, with expressionless black eyes and a cynical sneer to his mouth. He went through the preliminaries, including reading the caution again and going through the normal suspects’ rights which included my having a lawyer present if I so wished.
“I’m quite happy to be interviewed without legal representation,” I said.
“So be it. I’m sure with your great experience of the law, it wouldn’t be necessary anyway,” he said, his sneer twisting momentarily into a semblance of a grin. “First of all, let me introduce myself. I’m Lieutenant Colonel Meleager of the Special Investigations Branch – the detective branch of the Royal Military Police, as I’m sure you know. I’m also legally qualified and liaise closely with the Army Prosecuting Authority. I shall be asking you about the day of the incident at Wolfram Dam. Corporal Tonks from the RMP is sitting in as an observer.”
I nodded. I had expected to be formally interviewed by someone senior and wasn’t surprised that they had actually brought in somebody who was also legally qualified as well.
Meleager glanced down at my statement and said, “I shall read this again, for the record, as this is now a formal interview.”
After reading it, he laid the document aside and gave me an intense stare.
“Do you still stick with this initial account?”
“Of course,” I replied, “I signed and dated it.”
“Indeed, but I would like you to elaborate on what actually happened so I shall continue asking you further questions. Tell me about this row first – how bad was it?”
“I’m not obliged to answer. You know that, as you’ve already cautioned me.”
“True. I can’t force you to answer, but I don’t need to remind you that if you don’t reveal something now which backs up any defence later, that could be held against you.”
I nodded. But there was no point in me giving further details because I would have to fabricate them as I went along. My mind wouldn’t go beyond the fact that I wanted, indeed needed, to face trial for Anke’s death. Only by paying the price would my conscience be stilled. I refused even to consider what the charges might be.
“The row was bad enough for her to fall over the wall,” I said.
“At the beginning of your statement, you say you killed her. So you admit that you pushed her during the row?”
“You can draw your own conclusions about that.”
A flash of irritation registered in Meleager’s eyes.
“It’s not the purpose of this interview for me to draw conclusions. It’s for me to ask you questions and for you to answer them.”
“I repeat what I told the RMP Corporal initially. I take full responsibility for Anke’s death and have nothing more to say to you.”
Meleager sighed.
“Very well. But I have to warn you again that your unwillingness to answer further questions about this matter may harm your defence. Meanwhile, the case will be reported up the chain of command and, as a civilian subject to military law here in Germany, you will probably face trial by court martial. The German authorities had primary jurisdiction but as no witnesses have been traced to the scene they have asked us to deal with this matter instead.”
I decided to irritate my interviewer even more.
“As a judge advocate stationed here in Germany, I believe that you will find there is an issue as to whether I am actually subject to military law. In any event, I would resist attempts to have me dealt with by way of court martial. I’m not in the army and if the Germans don’t w
ant to deal with it under their criminal code why can’t I be tried by judge and jury in England, just like any other citizen of the UK?”
“But if you’ve committed a crime here, as you appear to admit, I think you’ll find you must be subject to military law. Earlier this week I researched the position and as you enjoy all the military privileges just like any other member of our support staff it would seem its jurisdiction covers you.”
“That’s your opinion. But tell me, have you discussed all this with the Army Prosecuting Authority who makes the final decision as to whether to proceed?”
“They will no doubt keep me informed...”
“They may well tell you that, at some stage, the Attorney General is bound to be consulted. I imagine that he would want to avoid a lot of legal wrangling over this and the easiest course would be to apply for a voluntary bill of indictment from a High Court judge.”
Although not often invoked, this process allows for any citizen of the UK charged with a serious crime abroad to be brought before an English court and stand trial.
Meleager’s jaw dropped only slightly, but enough to tell me that this hadn’t crossed his mind.
“This interview is now terminated,” he announced abruptly. “You are free to go. Regard yourself fortunate that we’re not keeping you in custody.”
“Don’t worry. If I was going to run away I’d have done it by now.”
Twenty-Three
So absorbed was I with my problems that I ignored phone messages left by Andrea to call her. Then one day, she turned up on my doorstep. I didn’t invite her in.
Eventually, she said breathlessly, “I couldn’t understand it, Charlie. You never rang back so finally I contacted the German office and spoke to Margery. She said you’d been suspended from duty but wouldn’t give any details. I’d seen from the papers that an English judge in Germany was involved in some way in the death of a German girl and I was so worried that I felt I had to come over. I’m staying in a guest house so won’t impose if you need to be alone, but if I can help...”
“No-one can help me anymore. Leave me alone, Andrea...”
She was crying and I longed to take her in my arms. Deep down, I still loved her but for her sake I had to drive her away for good. Even if it meant being brutal about it.
“Go away, Andrea. We’ve both had affairs now, so we’re quits. Our marriage is over. Just think about what’s happened. I killed a girl and must face the consequences.”
“I have to ask you this, Charlie, is it really true?”
“I had an affair with this girl and I wanted it to end,” I lied. “We argued and I lost my temper. Then I pushed her and she toppled over the dam. So I killed her.”
Andrea goggled at me.
“I don’t believe that, Charlie. I know you – you’re not capable of doing such a thing!”
“She attacked me, trying to scratch my face with her nails. I saw red, lost my temper and pushed her, quite deliberately, over the edge.”
“Oh God, Charlie – that means you murdered her, doesn’t it?”
I couldn’t prevent my lawyer’s mind from kicking in for a second.
Not necessarily. It could be manslaughter which would mean a lesser sentence...
I dismissed the thought. Sentence wasn’t relevant. What mattered was taking responsibility for Anke’s death.
“Just go, Andrea,” I said savagely. “Stay away from me! There’s no future for us. I’m going to prison because I killed someone. Life will never be the same again for either of us.”
“Charlie, you can’t mean that! Even if you’d done this terrible thing, I would stick by you.”
I knew I had to twist the knife and make sure Andrea left me for good. I thought of a riposte which would cause a wound, incapable of ever being healed.
“Only after I killed her did I realize just how much I really loved her, Andrea. I never felt that way about you.”
She turned white and fled, in tears.
A few days later, a letter was delivered by hand from the Fortress, forwarded from the Attorney General’s office in London. As I had anticipated, it explained that it would be more appropriate to issue a voluntary bill of indictment against me in London and I would be tried at the Central Criminal Court there. I had been right, trying me as a judge advocate by way of court martial would have proved difficult anyway and the civilian courts were deemed more suitable.
Andrea, presumably accepting that our marriage was over for good, had returned to Brighton immediately and I decided to go back to London myself and stay in the Wanderers until the court hearing. I heard on the grapevine that Meleager had requested again that I be kept in custody but that the Attorney General disagreed so I was free to return to England under my own steam.
Quite what would happen after the court hearing, I didn’t know. I was determined to take responsibility for Anke’s death, but to what extent I hadn’t decided yet. Would an acceptance of manslaughter be enough to assuage my guilt or should I take the full rap for murder?
When I arrived at the Wanderers (which I had given as a forwarding address) I received a letter from the DPP’s office enclosing a copy of the voluntary bill of indictment which contained, as it turned out, only one charge of murder anyway. A hearing date at the Old Bailey in London had been set down in a few days’ time. I was advised to seek representation at the hearing, but decided I wouldn’t bother. I would just accept the charge and perhaps the never-ending turmoil in my mind would cease.
So, when I turned up at the Old Bailey on the day of the hearing, I was completely on my own. As I walked towards the doors of Number One Court where I was due to appear, Giles Crossett approached me across the concourse.
“Charles, old chap, I felt I had to attend, especially when I heard you weren’t even represented. An old mate from the DPP’s office told me all about your case and that, as far as they knew, no lawyer had been instructed on your behalf. I can’t believe what I read in the newspapers that you killed a girl by pushing her off the top of a dam. It’s just too bizarre! But my chum also told me that you’d admitted it at the time and murder was the only appropriate charge. I take it that today you’ll ask for an adjournment so that you can obtain legal advice?”
“I might just plead guilty and get it over with.”
“My God, man, you could go to prison for life! Now, when you go in, just enter a not guilty plea and ask for an adjournment. Your case is the talk of barristers and judges all over the country! What you need is a first-class QC. Indeed, Harris Fortescue is very interested in taking it on. He’s probably the best criminal silk there is at the moment.”
* * *
I sat in the anteroom of Fortescue’s chambers, listlessly turning over newspapers and periodicals whilst I waited for my conference with the QC to begin later that afternoon. I was trying to think as to what I should tell him, but I found myself unable to concentrate.
Coming from the same chambers as Hub Sheckleworth before he left the Bar, Harris Fortescue actually occupied the same room as his predecessor. I had a strange feeling of déjà vu as I entered, remembering the time I had gone there before hoping Sheckleworth would want to represent me at my disciplinary hearing and being so disappointed by his attitude. The furnishings of the room were much the same too, but a shiny, black laptop had now replaced Hub’s leather blotter.
At first sight, the Bar’s leading criminal silk didn’t seem impressive. He was small, very neatly dressed in a dark blue suit and possessed a face with regular, almost feminine, features. However, his deep-set blue eyes, framed by thick, black lashes bore into me and his voice, light and slightly husky, was utterly compelling.
“I don’t normally see anyone before they instruct a solicitor, but I was intrigued about your case from the start and felt I ought to meet you as soon as possible. It seems that you admit to killing this girl but won’t go into any specific details. Is that the case?”
I decided not to answer his actual question.
“R
eferring to your first point, I intend to instruct a solicitor without delay and provide him with funds, after which he’ll contact your clerk...”
Fortescue held up his hand.
“Don’t worry about that. Any representation by me will remain entirely on a pro bono basis. I’m not concerned about the money and wouldn’t want you to meet my usual fees anyway. It also leaves me to probe what’s really going on here more freely, which means simply I feel able to explore the background of this case and attempt to go behind your simple assertion that you killed this woman. However, I need to know a lot more detail, in order to advise you properly.”
“I’ve made it plain that I take full responsibility for her death. That’s all I’m going to tell you.”
Fortescue shook his head.
“You’re not helping me much, are you? Firstly, we must decide if your case amounts to murder or manslaughter, in law?”
“I repeat, I take responsibility for Anke’s death and I accept that I must pay a price for that.”
“Accepting responsibility for what, though? You know the law, as it stands. It would only be murder if you intended to kill her or intended to cause her really serious bodily injury. Alternatively, if you only intended to cause some harm and her death was caused through your reckless actions it would be manslaughter.”
“I’m not prepared to elaborate further, sorry.”
I was determined to be stubborn. Fortescue sighed.
“But you still have to decide how you intend to plead: guilty of murder, full stop, or guilty of manslaughter, as an alternative?”
Would accepting that I was guilty of manslaughter alone be enough to salve my conscience? Of course, it would still mean a sentence of, at the very least, five years’ imprisonment.
“All right,” I said impulsively, “let’s go for the lesser charge.”
“Good, although that’s not to say that the prosecuting counsel will accept it and drop the murder charge, but the jury might still deliver a sympathy verdict.”
Wig Betrayed Page 15
