Rumpole and the Reign of Terror

by John Mortimer

  'I know,' Plaistow gave me a patronizing smile, 'until the jury comes back with a verdict. You're so predictable, Rumpole.'

  'And you believe that everyone's guilty the moment the government says so. Perhaps that's the difference between us.'

  Tiffany Khan took her seat behind me, her hand clutching a crumpled handkerchief that had dried her tears. She was doing her best to be brave and looking as beautiful as when she was beside the clock in the public gallery, looking down on me to check my performance. With her was a neatly dressed grey-haired man, perhaps in his sixties, whom she introduced as her dad, Ray Timson, who had been fingered so rarely by the police that I couldn't remember ever having had to defend him.

  'We were against the marriage in the first place,' Ray explained, 'but now Tiffany's old man's in such trouble, I thought I'd come along and give her my support. You'll do your best for him, won't you, Mr Rumpole?'

  'Oh yes, I'll do my best.' I didn't tell him that my best might not be good enough.

  'Where's Barry?' Tiffany looked round, in a sort of panic at the absence of her faithful supporter.

  'He's a witness,' I explained. 'A character witness. So they're keeping him outside the court.'

  'I thought I saw Will sat there too, Will Timson. What's he here for?'

  There was no time for an answer. An enthusiastic usher called out, 'Be upstanding!' and Mr Justice Bullingham, in all his new-found glory, sailed into the court and took possession of the case.

  •

  Half an hour later the jury was sworn in and Peter Plaistow was soon winning their hearts with his opening speech. It was a standard jury, five men and seven women, including a studious-looking Chinese woman, an eager young man who might have been a schoolteacher, a powerful middle-aged black mother and no doubt ruler of a Caribbean family, a Telegraph-reading businessman in an old school tie who looked resentful, no doubt because he had far more lucrative business somewhere else, a serious young woman, perhaps a journalist, who was already taking notes, a fat man in a checked open-necked shirt who was ready to laugh at Peter Plaistow's feeble attempts at a joke and who would, I was sure, be the life and soul of the jury room, a young couple who seemed pleased to find themselves sitting next to each other, and a formidable woman in her fifties who sighed wearily from time to time as though she had not yet forgiven everyone in court, including the judge or his prisoner, for dragging her into Court Number One at the Old Bailey on a windy November morning.

  Plaistow took them through the story. Dr Khan's flight from Pakistan, apparently for some obscure political reason, his success as a doctor and his inheritance of his father's house in Kilburn, and then the police suspicion which caused him to be followed. 'On one occasion,' Plaistow told them, 'Dr Khan visited a house in Highfield Road, Willesden, the house of suspected terrorists, well known to the police, who have subsequently been arrested and confined in Belmarsh Prison.

  'And now, members of the jury,' Plaistow was no longer jovial but alarmingly serious, 'we come to the most serious and utterly alarming part of this case, the letters found in Dr Khan's desk, under lock and key at Oakwood Hospital.'

  'I wish to make it quite clear to this jury,' I had risen, probably unwisely, to my feet at this point, 'that Dr Khan denies any knowledge whatsoever of these letters.'

  'Isn't my learned friend a little too eager to give us his denial?' Peter Plaistow talked to the judge as though they were old friends sharing a drink at the Sheridan Club.

  'Yes, indeed. Your time will come, Mr Rumpole. There's absolutely no need for you to jump the gun.' The Mad Bull was smiling and, to my surprise, I saw him transfer the smile to the public gallery, where She Who Must Be Obeyed was sitting, as though in judgement.

  I sat down to the worst of welcomes, a look of compassion from my instructing solicitor, Bonny Bernard.

  Then Plaistow read out a translation of all the letters. In his clear, matter-of-fact tones, they sounded more shocking than ever. By the end the jury were not looking with horror at the apparently unperturbed doctor in the dock, they turned their faces away and refused to look at him at all.

  •

  It was afternoon before I got a chance to cross-examine the Special Branch officer in charge of the case. Hilda and I had lunched on sausages and mash in the company of Bonny Bernard in the Old Bailey canteen.

  'You've got an uphill task defending that little doctor, haven't you, Rumpole? The letters …'

  'Don't tell me, Hilda. I don't need reminding.'

  'And Leonard's giving you a perfectly fair trial, isn't he?'

  'So far. He hasn't seen any danger of acquittal, so he's relaxed. Just wait until he jumps down into the arena.'

  'And who's the prosecutor? He's got such a lovely speaking voice, don't you think?'

  'His name's Peter Plaistow and he's a close personal friend of the Prime Minister. There really isn't anything lovely about him.'

  'Such a good-looking young man.'

  'Thank you so much for coming down to the Old Bailey, Hilda,' I said as we finished the sausages, and I struck the note ironic. 'You've been such an encouragement.'

  'Oh, I've thoroughly enjoyed myself, and I'm looking forward to watching you trying to make bricks without straw.'

  So now I was standing up and, facing the superintendent, trying to find a straw or two to make my bricks with.

  'Superintendent, will you tell us when these letters first came into the hands of the police?'

  'It was about a year ago. I think it was quite near to Christmas.'

  'And how did you get hold of them?'

  'A police officer found them. In Dr Khan's desk.'

  'Did you know that Dr Khan was away on holiday?'

  'That was our information, yes.'

  'Did you tell the hospital authorities that you wanted to search Dr Khan's desk?'

  'No.'

  'Why not?'

  'Isn't it obvious, Mr Rumpole?' The Bull didn't jump, but climbed delicately into the arena. 'If the superintendent had done that, Dr Khan would have been warned and might have removed the letters. Is that the situation?'

  'Quite right, My Lord.'

  'So you are only too pleased to accept His Lordship's answer to my question?' I asked the witness.

  'I think I was merely pointing out the obvious situation, Mr Rumpole.' Hilda's Leonard was positively purring.

  'I only regret,' and I said this as politely as it was possible for an outraged Rumpole to speak, 'that when you give evidence I have no opportunity of cross-examining Your Lordship.'

  Leonard didn't rebuke me for this. Instead he turned to the jury and said, in the friendliest possible way, 'Mr Rumpole is inclined to make these sorts of remarks, members of the jury. They are completely out of order and I advise you to ignore them.' Then he turned to me with a condescending sort of smile and said, 'Have you any further questions to put to this officer, Mr Rumpole?'

  I glanced up at the public gallery. I thought I detected, on Hilda's face, a smile of pleasure. Then I got back to work.

  'So you acted without a search warrant?'

  'Yes, we did.'

  'Without the permission of the hospital authorities?'

  'I've told you that.'

  'So you sent in a Special Branch officer?'

  'Yes.'

  'Alone?'

  'With the assistance of Constable Rogerson.'

  'To attack the Relatives' and Visitors' Centre by night?'

  'It was night-time, yes.'

  'To force the lock on the Relatives' and Visitors' Centre door?'

  'They said it didn't give much trouble.'

  'I've seen it. It could've been dealt with by any experienced burglar. And they forced the lock on the doctor's desk.'

  'They said that didn't give much trouble either.'

  'So they came like thieves in the night and stole these letters?'

  'They took them, yes.'

  'Like common burglars?'

  'Or like front-line fighters in the war against te
rror?' Leonard once again descended into the arena.

  'Let me ask you something else, Superintendent.' I was anxious to avoid another exchange of polite insults with Leonard. 'We have had translations of the letters sent to us. I want to ask you about the original documents in Urdu. Did you have them tested for fingerprints?'

  'We did.'

  'And what was the result?'

  'There were no fingerprints on them.'

  'None at all?'

  'No. Nothing.'

  I gave the jury the look of surprise and then turned back to the witness.

  'The burgling officers were wearing gloves?'

  'As they were instructed to do.'

  'There were no envelopes with the letters?'

  'We found no envelopes. Perhaps they'd been destroyed.'

  'Perhaps they had. But the person, whoever it was, who wrote them, or typed them out, left no prints?'

  'None at all. Perhaps whoever typed them wore rubber gloves when handling the paper. They didn't want to be identified.'

  'That's a very helpful remark and I hope My Lord and the jury will remember it. But there are none of Dr Khan's prints on the letters, are there?'

  'I told you,' the Superintendent sighed. 'But perhaps he didn't want to be identified.'

  'So he put on rubber gloves to read the letters and then left them in a drawer at the hospital with a lock that could easily be forced and went off on holiday?' I gave the jury the look of incredulity. 'These terribly incriminating letters?'

  'That seems to be what he'd done.'

  'A pretty amateurish sort of terrorist, wasn't he?'

  'You needn't answer the question,' Leonard advised the witness, who took his advice gratefully. 'That sort of point, Mr Rumpole, is more apt to your final speech.'

  'And Your Lordship's comments,' I might have said, 'will be more apt when the case is over. We seem to be getting,' I might have used an old line, 'a case of prosecution adjudication.' But I didn't say any of that, I concentrated on the witness.

  'After you had obtained the letters you kept Dr Khan under observation?'

  'We did.'

  'And he was arrested early in the new year?'

  'Yes.'

  'You had received information about the letters in his desk?'

  'We had.'

  'Someone knew he had received the letters and where he kept them?'

  'Obviously.'

  'Perhaps you'd be good enough to tell My Lord and the jury – who that someone was?'

  This question brought Peter Plaistow out of his seat, rising to his feet and protesting that if this superintendent was now being asked to reveal his sources the matter should be ruled on by His Lordship in private. Leonard accordingly invited us into his room. As we left the court I saw Hilda look down at me frowning slightly, as though she were about to be cheated of the best part of the drama.

  'The police can't be made to reveal their sources in a terrorist case. It would be far too dangerous for the source and no one would ever dare give the police information again.' This was Plaistow's argument when we got to the judge's room.

  'That has to be right, doesn't it, Rumpole?' Leonard was easily persuaded.

  'In this case it has to be wrong,' I told him. 'My defence depends on the quality of the information and the nature of the source of it.'

  'I'm sorry, Rumpole.' Leonard didn't look too distressed. 'I'm afraid the position is perfectly clear. Special Branch can't be asked to reveal their sources. By the way, Rumpole, we're honoured by the presence of your good lady.'

  'His good lady?' Prosecution counsel looked confused.

  'Mrs Rumpole is in the public gallery. Taking an interest in our proceedings.' Leonard seemed particularly proud of the fact.

  'She came here to see a fair trial,' I told the judge. 'I hope to be able to persuade her that this was a fair trial.'

  'I'm sure she'll understand the position about sources.' For the first time Leonard looked a little anxious.

  'I'll do my best to explain it to her,' I promised him. 'By the way, if I can't ask about sources I'd like to ask the prosecution to admit certain facts.'

  'Such as?'

  'That a burglary took place in a shop in Heckling Street, London. Among the articles seized was a paper containing Dr Khan's address and telephone number and some notes in Urdu concerning terrorist activities.'

  'There won't be any difficulty about that admission, will there, Mr Plaistow?' I felt the judge was anxious to reassure not so much me as She Who Must Be Obeyed.

  'I'm sure there'll be no difficulty, Judge.'

  Plaistow clearly thought he could afford a minor concession. So we left the judge's room and I returned to the court with, I felt, one hand tied behind my back. I would have to rely on another route to the source of the information, or misinformation, that had landed my client Khan in the dock.

  •

  'I think Leonard was being a bit hard on you, Rumpole,' She Who Must said over our lamb chops that evening in the mansion flat. 'I don't see why you shouldn't know who gave the police the information, even if it's not going to help you at all.'

  'Thanks very much, Hilda. I know how sensitive Leonard is to public opinion.'

  'On the other hand,' she warned me, 'it's no use you trying to be rude to Leonard.'

  'That is one of the facts of life,' I assured her, 'which, however reluctantly, I have learned to accept.'

  •

  'Officer B, you say you saw Dr Khan enter the house in Highfield Road, Willesden. How long was it before he came out again?'

  'Approximately ten minutes,' the Special Branch operator, who hid under the title of 'Officer B', told the court.

  'Approximately ten minutes? Hardly enough to launch a decent plot, was it?'

  'He might have been taking instructions. It was a house where we have arrested a known terrorist.'

  'And did this known terrorist know anything about Dr Khan?'

  'No, but we had other information.'

  'Oh yes? From whom exactly?'

  'He can't reveal his sources.' Plaistow rose, with exaggerated weariness, to his feet, the judge was in agreement and that was the end of the prosecution case.

  •

  I had spoken to Barry Whiteside and he was anxious to get away as soon as possible as he had an important meeting at the hospital. I wanted him as a character witness, I told the judge, so might I take the unusual course of calling him before my client and at the start of the defence case?

  I thought I saw Leonard glance up at the public gallery, where She Who Must Be Obeyed had resumed her usual seat beside the clock, almost as though he were seeking instructions. Then he told me that I might call my character witness first if Mr Plaistow had no objection. Plaistow agreed and Barrington Whiteside entered the witness box.

  34

  'MR WHITESIDE,' I started after Barry had been sworn in and recited his credentials, 'as a hospital administrator you have worked with Dr Khan for I think it's fifteen years?'

  'Sixteen and a half.'

  'And you also knew him as a friend?'

  'I am acquainted with him and his wife, yes.'

  'An acquaintance? You saw a good deal of each other, you and your wife, Benazir, and him and his wife, Tiffany?'

  'We saw a little less of each other lately.'

  I looked round the court. On the benches behind me Tiffany was puzzled, shaking her head. Benazir, in her bright sari, gave me a smile. I turned back to the witness box.

  'Why was that?'

  'Dr Khan seemed changed. He was silent. I thought he was troubled. It was as though he had something on his mind. He didn't seem to want a social life.'

  'Really? Mr Whiteside, you know the charges that have been made against your friend Dr Khan?'

  'Indeed, I think the whole country does.'

  'You're probably right. He is accused of taking part in and encouraging terrorist activities. It's also alleged that he knew of terrorist plans and failed to inform the police. With your knowledge
of his character, what is your view of the possibility of any of the charges being true?'

  There was a long pause. Barry sipped water from the glass in front of him. Then he started quietly. 'I've said he seemed very remote, withdrawn. I'd say he was worried …'

  'Speak up, Mr Whiteside.'

  'I did feel that he might be engaged in something illegal.' Barry turned up the volume. 'I know he'd been involved in politics of some sort in Pakistan. Looking back on it, I suppose I'd have to admit the charge might be true. Of course I have no evidence …'

  'No, you haven't have you, Mr Whiteside?' I could not contain my excitement. The witness had walked straight into the trap I had set for him. Now I got the usher to hand him a piece of paper.

  'Is that proof of evidence you signed for my solicitor before the hearing of Dr Khan's case before the Special Immigration Appeals Commission?'

  'I think so.'

  'Just read out what you said about Dr Khan's character then.' And, as Barry appeared reluctant, I had to encourage him. 'Just read it out, please. So we can all hear you.'

  '"In my opinion, and I know him extremely well, Dr Khan is incapable of any illegal act and in particular any act of terrorism."'

  At which I surprised Barry, and possibly the jury, by asking Mr Justice Leonard Bullingham to rule that I could treat the witness as hostile, the law being that you can't call a witness and cross-examine him unless he has been found to be hostile.

  'The witness mustn't just be hostile to Mr Rumpole's client.' Peter Plaistow was on his feet and complaining. 'He must be proved to be hostile to the truth.' Having had his say Plaistow subsided.

  'The completely contradictory statements clearly prove this witness is hostile. I have to say that if Your Lordship were to refuse my submission I would have to proceed at once to the Court of Appeal. In the interests of a fair trial for Dr Khan, I feel sure that both the Appeal judges and public opinion would be on my side.' That was the gist of my submission to Leonard.

  His Lordship took time for thought. No doubt a newly appointed judge wouldn't wish to be rubbished by the Court of Appeal in one of his first cases; but it might have been public opinion that weighed more with him. To check this he glanced up to the gallery. I'm not sure what the slight frown that She Who Must donated to him was meant to say but, happily, he interpreted it in my favour.