Killing Satisfaction

by Jason De'Ath

  Norcroft finally got the opportunity to interrupt: “My Lord, these reports are the work of non-specialist medical doctors and not that of a trained psychologist. My client was examined by Mr Stephenson, who is a Clinical Psychologist at the Maudsley Hospital and a Fellow of King’s College London. In his expert capacity he found Arthur Jameson to be ‘of sound mind, memory and understanding’ and, therefore, fit to stand trial – Exhibit 97.” Norcroft sat down feeling that he had satisfactorily scotched that particular incrimination.

  “My learned friend is correct in his declaration, but many a madman has managed to fool the authorities into believing they were sane, when they quite plainly were not. There would seem to be little point in doing the opposite whilst already incarcerated, however.” asserted Carmichael.

  “My Lord, I stand by the assessment pronounced by the amply qualified Mr Stephenson.” countered Norcroft.

  Ravensdale settled the argument: “I think we shall accept the judgements of the various medical gentlemen upon their own individual merits, Mr Norcroft; Mr Carmichael. Please continue.”

  Carmichael continued his devil’s advocate method of prompting Ackroyd: “Superintendent, the accused has provided an alibi which apparently places him in Rhyl at the time of the crime: why then was he ever indicted?”

  “This Rhyl alibi, as the court is aware, is a late revision to Jameson’s original claim of being in Liverpool, both of which I would suggest are subterfuge – fake alibis to be blunt.” proffered Ackroyd with conviction.

  “What makes you believe that?”

  “It seems to me that Jameson probably went to Liverpool on a previous occasion – very likely the previous day, the 29th of July – as deliberate ploy to create a false alibi. Witnesses are invariably unsure of precise dates when recalling events that occurred months earlier and which they were not expecting to have to remember; Jameson would know that.”

  “My Lord, we still have not established why my client went from ordinary thief to a sadistic, sexually motivated murderer, overnight.” contended Norcroft.

  “Do you want to answer that?” guided Ravensdale, addressing Ackroyd.

  “Well, that’s impossible to know for sure, but I believe Jameson was tired of being a nobody and wanted to make a name for himself. Once he acquired a gun, it was just a case of dreaming up some nasty form of entertainment.”

  “This is pure hearsay, my Lord.” interjected Norcroft, “I see no justification for supposing such a fanciful sequence of behaviour.”

  “Mr Carmichael?” prompted Ravensdale, “Do you have any causal evidence?”

  “Not as such, my Lord, but if I may be allowed, I think it can be demonstrated that there was a momentum to this crime.”

  “Please go on.” instructed Ravensdale with intrigue.

  “Superintendent, Miss Fable has testified that she and Mr Mason attended a public house prior to driving to Cherrydean, and that they had done this several times in the weeks leading up to the 30th of July: is there any evidence that Jameson had been stalking the couple?”

  “Er, I believe there is. The landlord and bar staff at the Bowman Arms in Tapton, have made statements indicating that they were aware of a man fitting Jameson’s description present on a least one occasion prior to 30th of July, who appeared to be watching the couple and left shortly after they did. I believe he was following them to establish an opportunity to initiate his crime – a suitably secluded place, like a field entrance in Cherrydean.”

  “How exactly was he supposed to have got to Cherrydean – no car was recovered nearby?” queried Norcroft.

  “I don’t know... Perhaps he had a bicycle.” suggested Ackroyd.

  “I think my client would have to be a yellow-jersey to have been capable of catching them up, don’t you?” “I agree that is a mystery, but the gunman – Jameson or not – did get there.” reminded Ackroyd.

  Norcroft remained impassive: “Jameson, or not...? I believe we established earlier that the man in the pub was not the accused.” noted Norcroft pointedly.

  “Thank you, Superintendent, for pointing that out.” cited Carmichael with vigour (and chose to ignore Norcroft), “Let us return to the morning of the 30th of July. The defendant has admitted in his statement to being at the Verona and travelling by bus to Paddington Station. How does that conflict with his alibi?”

  “Trains do not run to Liverpool from Paddington Station.” Ackroyd declared with satisfaction.

  “Indeed; members of the jury, Jameson would have needed to go to Euston in order to catch a train to Liverpool... Now, turning to Miss Fable’s identification of Arthur Jameson in the line-up of the 26th of August: what was your impression of her attitude towards that difficult task?”

  “She was determined not to make any mistake; she wanted to be certain before she made her identification.”

  “And were you satisfied that she made a clear and decisive choice?”

  “Yes, she handled it impeccably.”

  Carmichael sighed as Norcroft rose to his feet: “What colour was the accused’s hair at that line-up?”

  “Er, I think it was dyed reddish-brown.” recalled Ackroyd and braced himself for what he knew Norcroft was leading to.

  “Did any of the other men in the line-up have that colour hair, Superintendent?” Norcroft challenged.

  Ackroyd took a deep breath and restrained his irritation: “No...But, considering the fact that he had dark brown or black hair at the time of committing the crime, it would seem to me that his hair colour that day was as much an advantage as it was a disadvantage – they effectively cancelled each other out.”

  Norcroft did not choose to pursue the point. Carmichael recommenced his examination:

  “What was Jameson’s reaction when he was picked out?”

  “He was visibly shaken. In my professional opinion, he looked like a guilty man in shock at being caught, rather than an innocent man bewildered. He struck me as resigned to it.”

  “Now, we know from his statement that he denied any involvement in this crime, but could not provide a verifiable alibi – is that correct?”

  “Yes, his claim was to have been in Liverpool, staying with some villains, who he was afraid to name.” “Did that seem plausible?”

  “I can’t say that it wasn’t possible, but an un-provable alibi is worthless. This later alibi seems to me an after-thought, invented out of desperation. Why not just tell us that story from the outset?”

  “Why not indeed, members of the jury; I would suggest because he had not yet dreamt it up.”

  Norcroft inevitably interrupted: “My Lord, my client had visited Liverpool on a number of occasions around that time and his recollection of events was a little confused. He honestly...” – Carmichael made a muffled scoffing sound – “he honestly wanted to tell the truth; unfortunately, what he believed was the truth at that time, was not helpful. The court will hear witness evidence that corroborates my client’s alibi during the defence case.”

  “My Lord, I am sure that the court is waiting with bated breath for that.” Carmichael sneered.

  “Mr Carmichael!” chastised the judge.

  “My Lord.” Carmichael bowed to the judge’s authority, “Superintendent, you were able to persuade, were you not, a number of Jameson’s closest friends to give evidence against him – was this a difficult process?”

  “No, not at all. Most volunteered; others were easily won over, once they heard the details of the crime and the weight of evidence against him.”

  “That, I think, is in dispute.” contended Norcroft.

  “If you say so.” argued Ackroyd derisively.

  “I do, my Lord.” added Norcroft, with a nod to the judge in contempt to Ackroyd.

  “Can we curb the bickering, please.” groaned Ravensdale, “Please continue, Mr Carmichael.”

  “Thank you, my Lord. Superintendent, what was your impression of Miss Fable’s account of the events of the 30th and

  31st of July?”

&nbs
p; “She was remarkably articulate; she remembered a great deal of detail, right from the earliest interviews.”

  “So, you would regard Miss Fable’s evidence as highly credible?”

  “Yes, I would. In my experience, she represents a particularly lucid and accurate witness, despite her dreadful suffering.”

  “Thank you, Superintendent Ackroyd, you have been most obliging. If you would remain, I believe my learned friend may have some questions.” Carmichael turned to Norcroft with a sickly smile.

  “Yes, I certainly do.” agreed Norcroft, “Superintendent, my client, Arthur Jameson, was not your only suspect, was he?”

  “We did have another suspect, early on, but he was subsequently exonerated.”

  “By which you mean that Miss Fable was unable to pick him from a line-up?” “Principally: yes.”

  “In fact, on that occasion, Miss Fable picked out a completely innocent volunteer, didn’t she?”

  Ackroyd bristled, struggling to contain his indignation: “This was quite soon after the events: she was understandably still in shock, finding it difficult. She was desperate to help us catch this man; erroneous, but understandable, I think.”

  Norcroft looked unconvinced and shuffled through his notes: “It wasn’t that soon after, Superintendent: the 17th of

  August – well over two weeks.”

  “True, but she’d had her leg amputated only a week before.” growled Ackroyd.

  “A week...? Um, the 6th, in fact...”

  “My Lord, I must protest.” beseeched the incensed Carmichael, “My learned friend would seem to be determined to diminish the extent of the victim’s injuries and suffering.”

  “Hmm, I quite agree. Move on, Mr Norcroft.”

  “As your Lordship pleases... For the record, my client’s identity parade took place on the 26th of August.

  Superintendent, what led you to the Verona Hotel?”

  “Well, initially, our original suspect. Obviously, the discovery of the cartridge cases was the key lead. The fact that our other suspect had stayed at the same hotel was purely coincidental.”

  “Coincidental? It was, I remind you, the day after my client’s stay – the day of the crime...”

  “Yes, which is how we know that man could not possibly have been the gunman.” said Ackroyd in a superior tone.

  Norcroft paused and smiled rather unnervingly: “I’m so glad you mentioned that, Superintendent. The witness who supplied that evidence was Derick Jacobsen, wasn’t it?” “Yes.” conceded Ackroyd with suppressed fury.

  “Yes, Derick Jacobsen: the man of a thousand statements.” mocked Norcroft, much to the amusement of the public gallery and even a few of the jury. An inflamed Ravensdale was poised to castigate Norcroft, but he immediately apologised and withdrew the comment, which just about appeased the judge, while the court usher ordered ‘silence in court’ before the merriment had any chance to amplify. “How many statements did Derick Jameson and his ‘wife’ produce?”

  “Three...Though the third was much as the first.”

  “Yes, three; plus the one in court... Let us consider Jacobsen’s first statement: no mention of my client and an alibi for your original suspect – correct?”

  “At that stage, Jameson was not in the frame. In fact, he was only known as ‘A. Johnson’ of a false address – at that stage.”

  “Very true, Superintendent. Soon after, this other suspect became the primary target of your investigation, and conveniently, Jacobsen changed his statement, thereby denying him an alibi... Then, when he was cleared and my client became ‘enemy number one’, Jacobsen conveniently changed his statement again, didn’t he?” “He has a few memory problems.” accepted Ackroyd.

  “Yes, that’s one way of putting it... The problem is that Jacobsen’s third statement makes it impossible for the accused to have been in Liverpool on the 29th of July, as the prosecution seems to want to suggest, and conveniently, hey presto, Jacobsen changes his mind, again, to accommodate that little theory. Don’t you find that odd; and don’t you think it is odd that the hotel register has been altered?”

  Carmichael finally got his chance: “My Lord, there is no proof of that.”

  “The jury will ignore that remark.” instructed Ravensdale, adding: “Watch your step, Mr Norcroft.”

  “My Lordship is most gracious...” Norcroft was compelled to grovel. “How exactly did you identify ‘A. Johnson’ as my client, Arthur Jameson?”

  “We had information that Jameson used that alias.”

  “What information, Superintendent?”

  “Er, it was anonymous.”

  “I see: an anonymous informant?”

  “An anonymous witness.” corrected Ackroyd.

  “The fact is, Superintendent that, up to that point, there was nothing to connect my client to this crime. Then, suddenly, cartridge cases appear in the room my client stayed in the night before the crime – convenient isn’t it?”

  “Not if he’s guilty, it isn’t – it’s just a fatal mistake on his part.” Ackroyd asserted, glancing at the jury with confidence.

  “I’ll have to beg to differ on that point.” Norcroft tactfully retorted, “One last issue with the cartridge cases, Superintendent: the spent cartridge cases were left in the hotel room – rather casually, it has to be said – presumably on the morning of the 30th of July, prior to the crime? Isn’t that odd? I mean, the gun hadn’t been used at that stage, had it?”

  “I don’t know. He could have fired some practise shots. We don’t know how long he’d had the gun.” Ackroyd pointed out bluntly.

  Norcroft paused momentarily before launching into his final attack: “Superintendent, if my client was in Liverpool on the Friday afternoon, as witnesses will confirm, then how could my client possibly have got back to the railway station in time to catch a train back to Euston, and then somehow make his way to Cherrydean?” “I don’t know – perhaps he flew.” sneered Ackroyd in frustration.

  “Flew...?” Norcroft made a theatrical display of incredulity to the court, before adding the quip: “I presume you mean, as in, pigs might...?” The courtroom erupted into uproarious laughter – even the Prosecution had to smile at that one. “Mr Norcroft, are you intent on bringing this court into disrepute.” thundered the judge.

  “Please forgive me, my Lordship... Superintendent, with all due respect to my client, do you really think he is the sort of person to charter a plane?” Jameson was simultaneously confused and offended by this comment.

  “As far as I’m concerned, he was in Cherrydean at half past nine on the evening of the 30th of July. How he got there, and what he did before hand, is frankly irrelevant in regard to his guilt.” responded Ackroyd firmly.

  “Perhaps, perhaps. Or, perhaps my client is, in fact, completely innocent. I have no more questions for this witness, my Lord.” ended Norcroft abruptly, with intentional disrespect to the detective.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  (14 January 1966)

  A short adjournment was the inevitable conclusion to the Ackroyd altercation, which left time for just one more witness before lunch, that being Dr Jeremy Forsyth, the Surrey County Coroner, who took the stand looking as grumpy as ever... “Dr Forsyth, you examined the body in situ at the murder site?” started Carmichael.

  “Correct.” confirmed Forsyth a little fractiously.

  “What were your conclusions?”

  “The man was stone-dead – that much was obvious. I removed a sheet that some member of the public had placed over the body. Immediate examination revealed what appeared to be two large calibre gunshot wounds, probably fired at close range, though there was no evidence of residue; however, this was no doubt due to the fact that a bag was between the gun and man’s chest, at the time of the shooting – as described by Miss Fable. The bullets had not passed through the body; I deduced that the shots were fired at a slight sideways angle to the chest, such that the bullets travelled through the cross-width of the body; this combined with the ba
g would likely account for the bullets remaining lodged in the victim’s body.”

  “Would you say that death occurred more or less instantaneously?”

  “From the superficial examination, I couldn’t say for certain; but the location of the entry wounds suggested probable damage to the heart and lungs, which generally induces a rapid death.”

  “And what time did you estimate death to have occurred.”

  “Early hours of the morning of the 31st of July – consistent with Miss Fable’s account.” concluded Forsyth somewhat indifferently.

  “Thank you Dr Forsyth. My Lord, I would be grateful if the jury could examine Exhibit 11, the crime scene photo’s.” Carmichael sat down to what was in effect a formality.

  “Your witness, Mr Norcroft.” needlessly reminded the judge, while Norcroft hesitated over his notes.

  “My Lord.” acknowledged Norcroft, “Dr Forsyth, you arranged the post-mortem, is that correct?” “Yes – that is my job.”

  “As you say ‘that is your job’; why then did you fail to have the body formally identified prior to the post-mortem being conducted?”

  Forsyth shuffled uncomfortably and looked suitably offended: “I was under the impression that identification had already taken place...By Miss Fable. I was unaware that they were not related – that nugget of information had failed to filter through.”

  “I see. So you are of the view that this error was due to the police being negligent?”

  “Not exactly.” snapped Forsyth, “There was simply a misunderstanding – it happens. I don’t believe the victim’s next of kin has made any complaint.”

  “No, Mrs Mason hasn’t complained...”

  “What exactly is your point, Mr Norcroft?” interrupted Ravensdale, slightly vexed.

  “My Lord, I am merely demonstrating that this case was prone to police incompetence from the outset.” “That’ll be enough of that, Mr Norcroft.” warned the judge sternly.