Judge Walden

by Peter Murphy

  ‘And what, if anything, did you decide?’

  ‘We didn’t decide. Oscar and Trevor did.’

  ‘You’ll have to explain that to the jury, please, Mr Findlay-Smyth. Let me ask you this: did you decide on any course of action at all at that point?’

  He takes a deep breath. ‘We agreed that Deborah would have to tell her father. He would have found out sooner or later in any case, and we both thought it better that he should hear it sooner rather than later.’

  ‘Were you present when she told him?’

  ‘No. We agreed that it would be better coming from her first.’

  Cathy allows a few seconds to pass by in silence.

  ‘Mr Findlay-Smyth, I ask you to think very carefully about your answer to the question I’m about to put to you. It’s very important. Before Deborah told her father that she was pregnant, did you ever offer to marry her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Was there any discussion about marriage between you at that stage?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What happened after she’d told her father?’

  ‘The next day I got a phone message instructing me to meet him at the house the following evening.’

  ‘How did you react to that?’

  ‘It didn’t exactly come as a surprise. I’d been expecting him to say something.’

  ‘Did you meet him at the house as he asked?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  Cathy nods. ‘Just before I ask you about that, Mr Findlay-Smyth, had Deborah given you any information about her father and brother before this meeting took place?’

  ‘Yes. I’d asked her about her father because of the sense I had of him of being a bit over-protective of her. She’d explained to me about the business he was in – loaning money to people at high rates of interest to cover things like gambling debts.’

  ‘Did that come as a surprise to you?’

  ‘It did. When we met at the tax seminar he came across as your average London middle-class entrepreneur; there was nothing obviously dodgy about him at all. He dressed nicely; he spoke well. There was nothing to suggest that he was involved with the underworld. He seemed completely above board.’

  ‘Did Deborah give you any specific information about him and Trevor?’

  ‘Yes. She told me about the time when Oscar and Trevor had been convicted at the Old Bailey because they went after a punter who hadn’t paid up, and made a real mess of him.’

  ‘Mr Findlay-Smyth, what happened when you kept your appointment with Oscar at the house?’

  ‘He took me outside into the garden. They have quite a big garden at the back with a wooden shed, the kind of shed gardeners use to store their tools. Trevor was waiting for us there.’

  ‘How did that make you feel?’

  ‘I was nervous. I didn’t think they’d do anything to harm me at the house. But I still felt a bit queasy about it all.’

  ‘Tell the jury what happened.’

  Findlay-Smyth takes a deep breath. ‘Well, first Oscar paces up and down while he reads me a lecture about getting his daughter pregnant: who do I think I am? Do I think I can abuse his daughter just because I’ve got a bit of money stashed away? That kind of thing. While this is going on, Trevor’s leaning against the door, saying nothing, but fingering a pair of secateurs they had hanging from a hook on the wall. Eventually, Oscar stops and asks me what I’m going to do about it.’

  ‘How did you respond to that?’

  ‘To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure what he meant – whether he was asking me to marry her, or to provide money for the child, or even whether he wanted me to pay for an abortion. All he asked me was: what I was going to do about it. I had no idea what to say, and by now, Trevor had taken the secateurs down from the hook and he was opening and closing them, making a cutting motion. So in the end, I asked Oscar what he wanted me to do.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘He said what did I expletive-deleted think he wanted? He expletive-deleted wanted me to marry his expletive-deleted daughter, and make an honest expletive-deleted woman of her; and to do that within the very near expletive-deleted future.’

  The jury have a little snigger among themselves.

  ‘You’re allowed to repeat someone’s exact language in court, Mr Findlay-Smyth,’ I intervene, to renewed chuckles in the jury box. ‘Don’t worry about swearing. We’ve heard it all before.’

  ‘Thank you, your Honour,’ the witness replies. But he doesn’t elaborate, and Cathy doesn’t ask him to.

  ‘Did Oscar add anything specific to what he’d said?’ she asks instead. ‘Do you remember any particular words?’

  ‘Yes. He said that if I didn’t marry Deborah, the boys would be round, and I’d be lucky to get out alive.’

  ‘Did those words sounds in any way familiar?’

  ‘Yes. I recognised them as the same words he’d used to the punter in the case at the Old Bailey.’

  ‘How did you know that? Is that something Deborah told you?’

  ‘No. After she told me about the case, I asked my secretary to go to the library and copy some newspaper reports of the case.’

  ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘I wanted to know a bit more about who I was dealing with.’

  Cathy pauses. ‘Mr Findlay-Smyth, as a result of what Oscar said – with Trevor practising with the secateurs while leaning against the shed door – what conclusion, if any, did you reach?’

  ‘I concluded that I had no alternative but to marry Deborah.’

  ‘When you say you had no alternative, what did you think would happen if you didn’t marry her?’

  ‘They would kill me, or at least beat me within an inch of my life.’

  ‘Did you consider explaining to them that you were already married?’

  ‘Somehow, that didn’t seem like a very good idea in the circumstances.’

  ‘No, I daresay not. Did you subsequently ask Deborah to marry you, and did she accept?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you tell her what had happened between you, Oscar and Trevor?’

  ‘Of course I did. I told her that there had been a rather unpleasant scene, and they’d threatened me with violence. I was perfectly honest with her about it.’ He pauses. ‘But at the same time, I did tell her that I wanted to marry her.’

  ‘Why did you tell her that?’

  ‘I enjoy being married. All right, I hadn’t intended to marry Deborah originally, but I didn’t dislike her at all. And as I had no choice in the matter, why not make the best of it? What was I going to tell her? “I’m only marrying you because your father and brother will kill me if I don’t”? That’s not exactly a great way to start married life, is it? No. It was better to let her think that I would have married her anyway, even without the threats.’

  ‘Well, Mr Findlay-Smyth,’ Aubrey begins once Cathy has resumed her seat, ‘that’s all very interesting. But are you seriously telling this jury that you had no alternative but to turn up at Holy Trinity Brompton on the eighth of September 2012 and marry Deborah Martineau?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘No alternative at all?’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘Well, let’s think about that for a moment, shall we? What about telling Deborah – not her father – telling Deborah that you were already married? That would have done the trick, wouldn’t it? There wouldn’t have been any question of having to get married then, would there? She would have run a mile wouldn’t she?’

  ‘Oh, yes, great idea. Then I wouldn’t have to tell her father, would I? She would do it for me. “Daddy, the man who got me pregnant is already married to someone else.” Oh, yes, I’d really feel safe then.’

  ‘But then you go to the police, don’t you, and you tell them that these two men, who already have for
m for serious violence, have threatened you to make you enter into a bigamous marriage?’

  ‘That would just have made it worse.’

  ‘Worse? Worse than what? Worse than committing bigamy?’

  ‘Worse, in the sense that they would have definitely come after me. The boys would have been round and I would have been lucky to get out alive.’

  ‘Well, in that case, after you told the police, why not go on an extended visit to your Edinburgh office? You could even have stayed with your wife, couldn’t you? There’s a novel idea for you.’

  ‘Your Honour…’ Cathy mutters warningly.

  ‘Or better yet,’ Aubrey continues before I can admonish him, ‘why not visit one of your offices abroad – Hong Kong, perhaps? The Martineau family’s writ wouldn’t run that far, would it? The boys aren’t going to track you down to Hong Kong, are they?’

  ‘I couldn’t spend my whole life abroad,’ Findlay-Smyth protests.

  ‘We’re not talking about your whole life, are we? All right, feelings were running high just after Deborah found out she was pregnant. But after some time, when things had calmed down a bit, you could have made other arrangements couldn’t you?’

  ‘Such as what?’

  ‘Well, you’re not short of a few bob, are you, Mr Findlay-Smyth? Everybody seems to give you credit for honouring your obligations financially, if not in other ways. So, once things calmed down, you could have instructed your solicitors to contact Deborah and offer to see her right financially, couldn’t you? She’s not going to let her father kill you as long as you’re paying child support, is she?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Aubrey nods. ‘All right. In due course, you were arrested by DI Bairstow on suspicion of bigamy, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you were interviewed under caution, in the presence of your solicitor, Miss Vickery, at West End Central Police Station?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You were present in court when that interview was read to the jury, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I was.’

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr Findlay-Smyth: but to the best of my recollection, you didn’t say a word to the police about having been threatened, did you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You understood, didn’t you, that this was your chance to tell the police your side of the story?’

  ‘I was too afraid.’

  ‘You were cautioned that it might harm your defence if you failed to mention something you later relied on in court?’

  ‘I was afraid.’

  ‘Afraid of what, Mr Findlay-Smyth? Of two small-time loan sharks? You were in a police station, with your solicitor, talking to an experienced senior police officer. What was there to be afraid of?’

  No reply.

  ‘What you told the police was that you liked being married. Do you remember saying that?’

  ‘Yes: and it’s true.’

  ‘But you were already married, Mr Findlay-Smyth, weren’t you? If you like being married so much, why weren’t you living with your wife in Edinburgh?’

  ‘For the same reason he’s not living with his wife in Amsterdam.’

  The voice is female, and looking up I see that it belongs to a tall, thin woman seated in the second row of the public gallery, next to James Harhoff. She’s wearing a casual brown shirt, khaki trousers, and brown boots, and is sporting a bright orange scarf around her neck, her hair cropped very short: mid-thirties, I guess. I’m taken aback, as, evidently are counsel and the jury.

  ‘Please don’t interrupt the proceedings,’ I say reactively, without really focusing on what she’s said. ‘Otherwise I will have you removed from court. Who are you?’

  This is known at the Bar as one question too many.

  ‘I’m his wife,’ she replies.

  There is a stunned silence in court for some time. Recovering as best I can, I smile in the direction of the jury box.

  ‘Members of the jury, why don’t you take a short break?’ I say. ‘I’m sure you’re ready for a cup of tea.’

  They file out, obediently but slowly and reluctantly, twelve pairs of eyes riveted on the second row of the public gallery, as they make their way to where Dawn is holding the door open for them and trying to hurry them along.

  ‘Would you mind telling me your name?’ I ask, after they have gone.

  ‘Elies van der Meer,’ she replies.

  ‘And did I hear correctly? You’re claiming to be Mr Findlay-Smyth’s wife?’

  ‘I am his wife,’ she insists. ‘We met in 2014, when he came to work at his bank’s office in Amsterdam. I was working for one of the bank’s clients. I married him in Amsterdam in May 2017, after Monica’s death.’ Her English is faultless, with only the slightest hint of an accent. ‘I am sorry that I interrupted the proceedings. But it seems that the court is not fully informed about the case.’

  ‘It seems that you may be right,’ I agree.

  Both counsel look shell-shocked, Cathy especially. I suspect this is a detail of his life her client has omitted to confide to her.

  ‘Mr Brooks,’ I suggest, ‘you probably want DI Bairstow to take a witness statement from Miss van der Meer, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I do, your Honour.’

  ‘Yes. Very well. Then I will rise to allow that to be done, and once we have that statement, perhaps you and Miss Writtle might like to address me about where we go from here.’

  ‘Your Honour,’ Cathy says, getting to her feet rather slowly, ‘I have no objection to a witness statement being taken from her, of course; but can I just point out that if what Miss van der Meer says is true, Mr Findlay-Smyth was legally free to marry her. He hasn’t committed bigamy with her.’

  ‘That’s quite true,’ Elies van der Meer replies before I get the chance, ‘but he has with Veronica.’

  ‘Veronica?’ I ask. ‘Who’s Veronica?’

  ‘Veronica Ho,’ Elies replies. ‘Hong Kong office. She’s flying in today. She’s planning to be at court tomorrow, I believe.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ I distinctly hear Cathy mutter to herself.

  ‘Your Honour, I think we may need until tomorrow morning,’ Aubrey ventures.

  My last image on leaving court is of Marcus Findlay-Smyth, still standing in the witness box, staring fixedly ahead and looking distinctly white around the gills.

  ‘Don’t discuss your evidence with anyone overnight, Mr Findlay-Smyth,’ I warn him.

  ‘When I said tomorrow morning, Judge,’ Aubrey says apologetically, ‘what I should have said was, tomorrow afternoon.’

  Counsel asked if they could come and see me in chambers about ten minutes after I left the bench. I’ve ordered up a nice cup of tea for us from Carol. I think we’re all in need of one.

  ‘It seems that Miss Ho won’t be at court until at least mid-morning. If Miss van der Meer is right, Miss Ho represents a further act of bigamy, so Cathy and I will have to see what we can do to sort it all out. But we can’t do that until we’ve seen what they have to say to DI Bairstow.’

  ‘I didn’t make it any easier for you,’ I confess. ‘I shouldn’t have asked who she was, but it slipped out before I could bite my tongue.’

  ‘I doubt it’s made any difference, Judge,’ Cathy says, generously. ‘I don’t see any way to keep it from the jury.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ Aubrey agrees. ‘We’ll just have to see what happens tomorrow.’

  We all sip our tea in silence for a few seconds.

  ‘Well, while I have you both here,’ I say, ‘there was something else I wanted to ask you about. Can we keep this off the record for now?’

  They both nod. ‘Of course, Judge,’ Aubrey replies.

  ‘I believe you both spent a couple of weeks in Judge Drake’s court recently, doing two benefit fraud cases called
Bourne and Karsten. Was there anything… I’m really not sure how to put this… was there anything about Judge Drake’s conduct of those cases that caused you any concern?’

  They look at each other for some time.

  ‘The reason I’m asking,’ I continue, ‘is that someone has made an anonymous report to Sir Jeremy Bagnall, one of the senior civil servants responsible for Bermondsey, to the effect that Judge Drake may have lost the plot a bit. I understand that I’m asking a rather delicate question of you, but I’m not sure who else I can ask. Is there anything at all you can tell me?’

  They continue to look at each other for some time.

  ‘Well, Judge,’ Aubrey replies, ‘the first thing to say is that we didn’t report anything. We’d have come to you if we’d had any concerns.’

  ‘That’s what I would have assumed.’

  ‘Judge Drake handled the trials very well, I thought,’ Aubrey continues. ‘I can’t disagree with any of his legal rulings.’

  ‘That’s because they were all in your favour, Aubrey,’ Cathy adds laughing. We all join in, to break the tension a little. ‘But I agree with Aubrey. He got the law right as far as I could see, and his summings-up were very clear – leaning towards the prosecution a bit, but that’s normal for Judge Drake, and he never leans too far. I’ve advised my solicitors and clients that we don’t have any viable grounds of appeal, if that helps.’ She pauses. ‘But there was that one episode, Aubrey, wasn’t there – if that’s the right word – I’m not sure it amounted to an episode exactly.’

  Aubrey shakes his head. ‘If you’re thinking about the same thing I am, I would call it more of a moment of confusion.’