‘This is my son. You people don’t know anything. He is innocent, and he is mine, and I have the right to be here.’ She pointed to a man and a woman who were sitting behind Ramzi. ‘You leave him alone – you keep your hands off my child. All this is your fault. He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t be here if you’d taken care of him. He’s mine, my baby, mine.’
The couple remained motionless, we all remained motionless, all except for the two court staff who began trying to reason with her, but she just shouted above them.
One of the male judges spoke to the staff.
‘Let me hear her speak.’
They stopped shouting at her, she stopped screaming, and the judge continued.
‘You do realise that I could have you charged with contempt of court. What do you have to say for yourself?
The woman pointed to Ramzi. ‘That’s my son, which means I have the right to be here.’
The judge turned to Ramzi. ‘Is this your mother?’
Ramzi shook his head.
‘Could you speak, please?’
‘No,’ Ramzi said, looking straight at the judge.
‘Where are your parents?’ asked the judge.
Ramzi lifted his shoulders. The judges whispered to each other.
‘OK. Where are your foster parents, or your guardians?’ asked the judge.
Ramzi pointed to the couple. ‘They are my foster parents.’
‘But where are your biological parents?’ asked the judge.
‘I don’t know,’ said Ramzi. ‘I don’t know who my parents are.’
The woman screamed, ‘How can you say that? Forget all them fancy words you know, I’m your mother, I’m the only one that cares about you. What are they doing to you? These people don’t care about you, I care about you.’
‘Silence,’ shouted the judge. He then looked towards the couple. ‘Do you know this person?’
The man replied, ‘We have seen her before. She appears sometimes and makes these outrageous claims, and then she disappears. We understand that she has some mental health issues.’
The woman then charged towards the couple but was held back by the two men.
‘Mental health issues!’ she shouted. ‘I’ll give you mental heath issues. You’re all mental, the lot of you. Give me my son. Come on, son, we’re going home.’
‘OK,’ said the judge. ‘I want you to leave this courtroom now. If you have parental claims on this boy you must go through the proper channels. This may be the place but this is not the time.’
The woman began to cry. ‘He’s mine, you can’t have him. He’s mine, and you are all devils. You’re the ones with the mental health issues. Yeah. This is no court, this is a joke.’
‘Remove her from the court, please,’ said the female judge.
The two men then took her arms and held her in some fancy jujitsu arm locks and led her out. She was still shouting, and we could hear her shouting all the way out of the building.
‘Right,’ said the female judge, ‘let’s get on with the business in hand. ‘Can the legal representatives of the juveniles both stand?’
Two young men stood up. The judge continued.
‘I take it that court procedure has been explained to your clients?’
They both said, ‘Yes.’
‘And you are both happy with their guilty pleas?
One of them replied, ‘We are not happy with them, and we have tried to talk to them as much as we could. We have given them as much advice as legally possible but they both insist on entering guilty pleas.’
The judge looked towards Lionel and Ramzi.
‘Do you understand that you are entering a guilty plea which cannot be changed at a later date?’
They both said, ‘Yes.’
‘These are serious charges. Are you happy with your legal representation?’
They both said, ‘Yes.’
‘And you wish to stick with your plea?’
Once more they both said, ‘Yes.’
‘In that case,’ said the judge. ‘There will be no need to call any witnesses. We will review the reports and return at nine a.m. tomorrow morning for sentencing. If there is no other business we shall adjourn until tomorrow.’
It was quick and it was strange. The woman claiming to be the mother of Ramzi certainly caused some courtroom drama, but I was more surprised by the way that Lionel and Ramzi seemed to have no life left in them. They remained emotionless throughout the hearing; they just didn’t seem to care about what was going to happen to them.
After the judges left the courtroom and people were collecting their belongings and making their way out, I saw the woman who had caught my eye earlier. I nudged Mrs Joseph.
‘Who’s that?’ I asked.
‘I have no idea,’ she replied.
I looked behind me. Mrs Martel was still there.
‘Mrs Martel. Who’s that lady over there?’
‘Don’t you know who that is?’ she replied. ‘That’s Miss Ferrier, Lionel’s mother.’
‘Didn’t you recognise her?’ asked Mrs Joseph.
‘I didn’t get a good look at her face,’ I said, a little embarrassed. But I had a plan. When we had left the courtroom but were still in the court building, I left Mrs Joseph for a moment and went to Miss Ferrier. I knew it was going to be tough but it was my one chance.
‘Miss Ferrier,’ I said. ‘Do you remember me? Jackson Jones.’
‘I remember you,’ she said. ‘Most kids just want to shout at me and throw things at me. You were the one that said you wanted to talk to me, but you couldn’t fool me, I’ve seen enough tricks in my time. Talk to me.’
‘But Miss Ferrier, it wasn’t a trick, I really did want to talk to you. I’m not like the other kids.’
‘All kids are alike. No manners, no discipline, no anything.’
I smiled in an attempt to humour her. ‘I got manners, lots of them, and discipline, I got that too. I’ve even got anything, or I’ll do anything, anything to get to the truth.’
She looked at me as if to pity me. ‘Why do you want the truth? What would you do with it?’
‘I don’t really know until I know what the truth is, but when I know, I know that I’ll want others to know so that people will think about truth and not believe lies. That’s the truth, Miss Ferrier.’
She looked at me wondering about what I had just said. I looked at her wondering about what I had just said.
She yawned. ‘Are you clever or just full of fancy talk?’
‘I’m just a kid trying to make sense of all this.’
‘You want to talk to me that badly, do you?’
‘I do, Miss Ferrier.’
She glanced around. ‘I can’t see what’s so important about talking to me. I’m just a nobody.’
‘I think you’re a somebody, Miss Ferrier.’
The pitch in her voice changed. Instead of speaking at me she spoke to me.
‘I understand that the kids on the street give you a hard time.’
‘You understand right.’
‘Come and see me Sunday morning, about nine. The street’s empty then, they’re all asleep.’
‘Oh, thanks, Miss Ferrier, thanks so much.’
‘Just make sure you come early or the kids will give you hell. They give me hell all the time.’
I thought for a moment. ‘Will you promise not to give me a warm shower?’
‘I don’t promise anything,’ she said, and walked away.
Chapter 15
Mr Edgar Arnold Joseph
After we left the court Mrs Joseph took me to a small restaurant in the same park that Lionel and Ramzi had been arrested in. We sat outside in the sunshine, which was good for her, she was wearing a light summer dress, but I was still fully suited. After five minutes in the midday sun it dawned on me. I wasn’t in court any more, my mother was not with me, and I probably looked stupid. I took the jacket off, it was the least I could do.
We talked about the mo
rning’s events, both of us still completely confused by the woman claiming to be Ramzi’s mother. Although she had no proof of her claim, in her own way she sounded very convincing. On the other hand it was believed that Ramzi was probably abandoned on the other side of the country. How would she have managed to track him down? After so many foster parents how would she have kept up with his movements?
I was very surprised by the boys’ guilty pleas. They did the crime of course, there were so many witnesses who saw it, but I was surprised that their solicitors didn’t convince them to enter some other plea. Something like manslaughter, or guilty due to diminished responsibility, but like Mrs Joseph said, that would mean admitting they were mad. The speed of the proceedings suited Mrs Joseph fine. In keeping with her ideas of celebrating life, she didn’t want to sit through lots of stories describing the death of her husband from different angles; she wanted to be filled with positive memories. We had a small lunch that took for ever to eat due to her telling me the life and times of Edgar Arnold Joseph. Now I know everything about him.
She told me that he was born in a small city in the north of England and was an only child. His body was covered with scars that he gained from living dangerously on bombsites as a small kid. At the age of eight he listed his hobbies as climbing up difficult trees, crashing home-made go-karts, jumping off speeding roundabouts and swinging on swings, rolling down hills in dustbins, and getting lost. His ambition was to climb Mount Everest, or the Post Office Tower. When he was eleven years old he began to take his schoolwork very seriously and his parents and his teachers began to see how intelligent he was. He had a great head for figures and was fascinated with science and the way that things work. His parents thought that he would do even better in a different environment. They weren’t rich but they worked hard and sent him to a boarding school. He hated it. He said it wasn’t so much about the school and the way they taught, or the other pupils, it was about home. He just loved coming home at the end of the day. Which apparently was the way he was as a teacher. He loved going to school, but he also loved going home, and at a boarding school he couldn’t come home at the end of the day. After one term he was taken out of boarding school and admitted back into his comprehensive school.
He left school with lots of qualifications in all the right places and went to study philosophy at a university in the south of England. He didn’t like it there either. Nothing wrong with the south of England, nothing wrong with the university, it was just too far away from home again. One cold day, just before he left university, he was on campus when he met Mrs Joseph, or Mary Dowling as she was then. She was trespassing. Twice a week she would casually walk on to the campus and use the university gym. Just like a student. But she was never a student. Her education had ended after sixth form college and she had become a successful classical concert organiser. She made a lot of money and now considers herself semi-retired. In other words she said, ‘I’ll do a job if my heart’s in it, or if the money’s great.’
They got married just after Mr Joseph left university, but soon after, tragedy struck. Mr Joseph’s mother was killed in a car crash. His father lived for another eight years but then he died after suffering a stroke. At the time of his father’s death Mr Joseph was working for a large management group. He had a fancy title but basically his job was to spy on other workers in the company. After the death of his father he decided that he wanted to do something meaningful, and so he went into teaching. From everything that Mrs Joseph told me, I could tell that they really did love each other, and he really loved teaching.
Chapter 16
No Comments
The next morning we did exactly as we did the previous day. I was picked up in a taxi by Mrs Joseph, the press were waiting at the court, and the same two strong men walked us in. Inside the courtroom were most of the people who were there the day before, most of them sitting in the same seats. The seats we chose were almost the same, and Mrs Martel was in exactly the same place, right behind me. Miss Ferrier had moved position and was now sitting next to Ramzi’s foster parents, right behind where the boys would be.
The judges came in, we stood up, they sat down, and we sat down. There was something about this ritual that I found amusing. Deep down I didn’t want to do it. I wondered what would happen if I did the opposite from everyone else. I was tempted to be rebellious, but I didn’t. There was something about the way it was done that made me automatically follow the crowd, I was a little disappointed with myself. The boys were brought in; their expressions hadn’t changed from the day before, and again they didn’t look at anyone in the court except the three judges. Their parents and guardians were like mere spectators.
The female judge continued in her role as the main speaker. After once again confirming with the boys that they understood the court’s procedures she began her major speech.
‘Together you have taken the life of an innocent man, a hard-working, well-respected teacher, who was doing you no harm. We have before us many accounts of how you committed this most hideous crime, but we know not why. Your lack of cooperation when questioned, and your inability to show any remorse, leaves us in no doubt whatsoever that you would commit this, or a crime of a similar nature, in the future. My experience, and the experience of my colleagues here on the bench, tells us that those who kill without motive are those who are most likely to kill again. We have looked at the reports brought before us, which include social services reports, school reports, and police reports, and although much of your behaviour may be deemed odd, you are both of sound mind. In other words you knew exactly what you were doing. We are here to work in the interest of the public, and to protect the public from people like you. And that is what we must do when considering our sentence. Do you have anything that you would like to say?’
The boys stayed silent. The judge repeated herself.
‘Do you have anything to say?’
The boys said nothing.
‘Lionel Ferrier. You have pleaded guilty to the murder of Mr Edgar Arnold Joseph. The sentence that I pass upon you is that you should be detained at Her Majesty’s Pleasure, in such a place and under such conditions as the Secretary of State may now decide. You will be securely detained until the Home Secretary is satisfied that you have matured and are fully rehabilitated. You will only be granted liberty when the Home Secretary believes that you are no longer a danger to the public. Do you understand the sentence?’
For the first time Lionel looked uneasy. He looked around the room as if looking for his mum, and then he looked back to the judge.
‘Yes. I know it means life, doesn’t it?’
The judge took her glasses off and placed them on the table in front of her. She leaned forward, and the tone of her voice changed. She sounded gentler.
‘Young man, you have to understand that this can be longer than life. A typical life sentence is in fact fifteen years; you could be detained for the rest of your natural life. It depends on your behaviour and the success or not of your rehabilitation. I suggest you talk to your legal representative, who will explain. But be in no doubt, however you look at it, you are going to be away for a long time.’
She turned to Ramzi.
‘Ramzi Sanchin. You have pleaded guilty to conspiring to murder Mr Edgar Arnold Joseph. The sentence that I pass upon you is that you should be securely detained for ten years. Do you understand the sentence?’
‘Yes,’ replied Ramzi very quietly. ‘I do understand.’
The judge put her glasses back on and made some notes, then she looked up and addressed the people in the public gallery.
‘While this case has been going through the courts we have ordered that the names of these two young people be kept out of the public domain. This restriction was put in place in order to avoid any prejudgement by the press and others, and to respect the basic principle of law that states that every citizen is innocent until proven guilty. This principle is at the forefront of our minds when dealing with all cases, but even more
so when dealing with juveniles in a case that has attracted a lot of media attention. We cannot allow our schools to become places of violence; young people must know that if they take dangerous weapons into schools they will be severely punished. And young people who kill innocent people should also know that the law will not protect them. And so this court will lift the restrictions on the publication of the names of the two defendants.’
She turned to Ramzi and Lionel.
‘From here you will be taken to a secure unit to begin your sentences. I sincerely hope you are able to turn your lives around.’ She then turned to the court security. ‘Take them away.’
As we were leaving the courtroom Miss Ferrier walked past us at speed with her hands covering her face. I wanted to say something to her but it felt like the wrong time. Mrs Joseph was stopped by one of the solicitors representing the Crown. I could tell by the way they greeted each other that they had met before, and his smile and the tone of his voice told me that this was a man who was feeling victorious.
‘Mrs Joseph. We have had several requests from members of the press for a statement from you.’
‘No,’ replied Mrs Joseph. ‘I have nothing to say, and what good would it do, anyway?’
‘You only need to go up there, say a few words, and they all run away to get their stories in. At the very least it clears the pavement,’ the solicitor said smoothly.
I intervened. ‘I think you should do it, Mrs Joseph. It will get rid of them and stop them from making things up.’
‘But Jackson, what am I going to say to them?’
‘Look,’ said the solicitor. ‘All you have to do is go out there and say you’re glad it’s all over, and that you just want to get on with your life. That’s all.’
She seeked reassurance. ‘Is that really all?’
‘That’s all,’ he said.
‘OK, I’ll do it.’
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