by Jason De'Ath
By this stage the newspaper media were by and large supporting Jameson’s claim of innocence; there was a considerable swathe of public opinion in favour of acquittal, facilitated to some extent by John Leggett’s biased biography of Jameson, published in the Daily Express [a precursor to the intended article to be published in The Guardian]. Protesters were occasionally gathering outside the court with banners demanding Jameson be released. None of this sort of thing was particularly new to the Old Bailey or criminal trials in general, but it was nonetheless galling for the prosecution team to have to contend with, as they remained convinced of the righteousness of their case.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
(20 January 1966)
“Another day, another dollar.” sarcastically remarked Carmichael to Norcroft in the robing room, as they prepared to enter court.
“Hong Kong dollars in this case, old chap.” was Norcroft’s riposte, “Although I do regard this case as something of an investment.”
“Not if you lose, dear fellow.” smirked Carmichael.
“Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory there is no survival.” Norcroft quoted Winston Churchill with an air of defiance.
Carmichael parried with a challenge: “Five guineas say you will eat those words, dear boy.”
“To this I witness call the fools of time, which die for goodness, who have lived for crime.” retorted Norcroft quoting Shakespeare and then added: “You’re on.”
“Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.” noted Carmichael, also quoting Shakespeare.
Norcroft turned momentarily to face Carmichael in acknowledgement: “‘Tis a fine gentlemen’s agreement.”
Carmichael looked puzzled: “Is that another quote, old boy – can’t say that I know that one.”
“Marguerite Henry; an American author...” explained Norcroft, “My young brother insisted I read her Black Gold – it’s about a race horse; seemed appropriate.”
“I bow to your superior knowledge.” began Carmichael, which evoked a look of surprise on Norcroft’s face; “In your juvenile literary prowess.” he clarified with a smirk, which evoked a wry smile from Norcroft.
The clerk of the court brought the proceedings to order, as Ravensdale took his exalted seat at the front of the room and addressed Norcroft: “Would you like to summon another of your staggering array of witnesses.” he quipped.
“My Lordship: I call Gordon Storrington.” Storrington took his place in the witness box and read out the oath. “...Mr Storrington, you are a Hotel Manager employed by Mazal Mittelmann, who is the owner of the Verona Hotel in Maida Vale
– is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Thinking back to June/July last year, do you recall ever hiring any staff to assist at the Verona Hotel?” “I do not.”
“And did Mr Mittelmann inform you of having employed anyone to assist at the Verona Hotel.” “I certainly do not.” replied Storrington with notable zeal.
“What was your impression of the Jacobsens?”
“Opportunistic layabouts.” Storrington observed peevishly.
“I see. What were their duties at the Verona?”
“Frankly, I have not the slightest idea. But they did not contribute anything propitious.”
“Would you consider them to be trustworthy?”
“Not at all. In fact, I sacked them for suspected pilfering. Although, how one terminates the employment of a person not actually employed in the first place...well, it is a very peculiar business indeed.”
Carmichael shifted uneasily in his seat, but thought it unwise to antagonise this particular witness.
“When did they leave the premises?”
“Sunday the 8th of August.”
“Sunday the 8th of August.” repeated Norcroft turning to address the jury, “Members of the jury, you will recall that the cartridge cases were discovered the following day.”
“My Lord,” Carmichael finally saw his opportunity, “if my learned friend is implying that the Jacobsens planted the evidence to implicate the accused, may I remind him that Arthur Jameson was not even connected to this crime until the
17th of August. So, it would seem somewhat preposterous to suggest that the Jacobsens could have anticipated that.” “My Lord, for all we know, it was Jacobsen that tipped-off the police.” countered Norcroft.
“For what reason, Mr Norcroft?” implored the judge.
“Money.” Norcroft suggested rather mischievously.
“Mr Norcroft, unless you have some proof, you will withdraw that accusation.” ordered Ravensdale.
“I do not and I withdraw it immediately, your Lordship...I have no more questions.”
“Mr Carmichael?”
“No questions, my Lord.”
The next witness was “Dave” Engelgardt, son of a Russian émigré who managed to escape from Stalin’s maniacal regime in 1947, and landlord of the Bowman Arms in Tapton.
“...Mr Engelgardt, do you recall Gregg Mason and Vera Fable visiting your public house during July last year?”
“Yes, I do remember a couple, who I now know to be...the two people you just mentioned.”
“And how often did they visit your pub during that period?”
“I think, once or twice a week for about a month.”
“And how long would they stay?”
“I dunno, about an hour, I’d guess.”
“On some occasions did you notice another patron who appeared to take an interest in the couple?”
“Yes, there was two or three occasions when I noticed this man, who wasn’t a regular, seem to be watching the couple...in a slightly creepy way.”
“What do you mean by ‘creepy way’?”
“I dunno, it just seemed like he was spying on them, and they certainly didn’t seem to know him...It was odd because he only started coming in after they first did, and since the murder, I haven’t seen him...Also, he would always leave just after them.”
“You don’t think this was all just a coincidence?”
“No, definitely not. He seemed to be tailing them.”
Norcroft addressed the jury: “So, we have a man taking a disturbing interest in a couple who were subsequently abducted and brutally assaulted... Mr Engelgardt, do you see that man in court today?”
Engelgardt searched the faces in the courtroom: “No, I do not.” he declared with complete assuredness.
“Are sure, Mr Engelgardt: it couldn’t be the defendant – the man in the dock?”
Engelgardt took a long hard look at Jameson: “No. No, I’m certain it wasn’t him...though he does bear a vague resemblance – but not him.” he asserted positively.
“Thank you Mr Engelgardt, you have been most helpful. No more questions my Lord.”
Carmichael immediately stood up: “Mr Engelgardt, do you drink when you are serving at the bar?” “Only a little.” he admitted dispassionately.
“A little...? How much would be a little?”
“Depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“How many customers buy me a drink.” the barman drolly answered, which caused a few giggles in the gallery.
“Very amusing, Mr Engelgardt. Roughly, on average, how many would you say?”
“No more than six.”
“Have you ever heard the adage of beer goggles?”
“Yes.”
“Can you be certain that your perceptions were not affected by alcohol consumption?”
“Yes, because I’m teetotal.” A gasp went up in the court and then a trickle of laughter followed; Carmichael visibly shrunk, while Norcroft struggled to retain his composure.
“No more questions my Lord.” said Carmichael quickly sitting down and looking somewhat embarrassed.
Norcroft seized the opportunity to ram the knife in deeper: “Er, did the police ever investigate this stranger in your pub?”
>
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Thank you.”
“Have you finished, Mr Norcroft?” Norcroft indicated that he had. “Then you may step down Mr Engelgardt.” instructed Ravensdale, “Do you have any more witnesses this morning, Mr Norcroft?”
“Yes, my Lord: I recall Mrs Pomfrey-Jones.” said Norcroft rather enigmatically; Carmichael glanced at him with concerned curiosity.
Mrs Pomfrey-Jones looked as though she were dressed for a wedding, having dolled herself up with her best finery and she was incongruously cheerful.
“...Mrs Pomfrey-Jones...” started Norcroft.
“Please call me Alice.” she insisted; Ravensdale raised his eyebrows in expectation of some antics.
“Of course, dear lady. Alice, I would like to just re-examine your police statement. Because, last night, your written statement reappeared – as if by magic.” Norcroft was going to have fun with this.
“Oh, how jolly.” she inexplicably exclaimed.
“If you could pass this to the witness.” requested Norcroft, handing the statement forward to the court usher. “Now,
Mrs...sorry, Alice, can you please confirm that this is your original statement?” “No.” she said bluntly, a hush descended over the court.
“I’m sorry, did you say no?” enquired Norcroft with mock surprise.
“This isn’t my statement?” she affirmed.
“Um, but the police supplied this document and identified it as your statement – forgive me if I am confused.” continued Norcroft feigning ignorance. “Does it not bear your signature?”
“No. That is not my signature...This isn’t my writing, either. In fact, this isn’t even the paper that I used.” she asserted disdainfully. Carmichael closed his eyes in discomfort and wished for a giant hole to open up.
“Not your signature?” exclaimed Norcroft theatrically; Ravensdale sighed.
“No. It doesn’t even say the same things.” she complained.
“My Lord, we appear to have a rather disquieting situation.” Norcroft noted with delight.
“Yes, we do.” Conceded Ravensdale, “The court will adjourn for an early lunch, and both counsel with attend my chambers forthwith. Reconvene at 1 PM.”
The court was cleared and (yet again) the two lawyers were called to the headmaster’s office for a possible caning; this time it was Carmichael who was most nervous.
“Gentlemen, it would appear that we have a serious problem.” Ravensdale looked extremely concerned, “An apparent matter of evidence falsification...Were you aware of this, Mr Norcroft, before proceedings begun this morning?” “I was not my Lord.” Norcroft lied.
“Hmmph, I can’t say that I believe you, but I will have to give you the benefit of the doubt...What do you know about this Mr Carmichael?”
“I...I’m flabbergasted, my Lord...I am truly astonished.”
“That I do believe.” noted the judge. “I shall have to call for an inquiry into this matter. I presume both parties are happy to allow the police to conduct an internal inquiry – I don’t think this needs to be put into the public arena.” “No, quite.” they both meekly agreed in unison.
“One really has to wonder what goes through the minds of officials who perpetrate such foolish ventures; somebody trying to save face no doubt. This sort of thing does nothing for the reputation of the legal process. I am most disappointed.” the judge lamented.
“Likewise, my Lordship.” accorded Carmichael.
“I do hope you have a genuine reason for recalling this witness, Mr Norcroft?”
“Er, yes, of course, my Lord.”
“We wait with bated breath.” gibed the judge.
As the two advocates emerged from the judge’s chamber, Norcroft sniped: “Are sure you wouldn’t like to make it ten guineas?” Carmichael decided not to rise to that.
Lunchtime was not an enjoyable experience for Carmichael, whom had largely lost his appetite. Norcroft, conversely, was enjoying a hearty plate of steak and kidney pie, with mashed potatoes and peas. Sharing his table in the Old Bailey canteen was his junior, Fiona Letheridge, looking as radiant as ever.
“So, Miles, what exactly are you going to ask Mrs Pomfrey-Jones?” she enquired before tucking into her leak and potato pie.
“Ah, yes, good question. I must admit to still be working on that one.” Norcroft confessed to Fiona’s dismay.
“Well, you had better hurry up, or ‘old Raven’ will have your guts for garters: you know how he hates the police being berated in public.” she remarked with an unexpected familiarity with Judge Ravensdale.
“True my dear, but I could not resist knocking ‘Mr Twist’ of his pedestal. It has been jolly good fun so far today.” He chuckled to himself.
“Yes, but what is your excuse going to be?” she implored.
“Feint heart never won fair maiden.” asserted Norcroft with a wink.
“Oh really, Miles. I’ve a good mind to tell your wife.”
“Now that would be procurement of a serious crime – you would be de-barred.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“She would ruddy kill me.” Norcroft proclaimed, “I only married the old battle-axe because her father was on the Bar Council...until his untimely death; probably poisoned by the mother-in-law from hell.” he reflected miserably. “Oh dear, poor Miles; whatever will he do?” teased Fiona.
Alice Pomfrey-Jones confidently retook the stand and Ravensdale eyed Norcroft with distrustful expectation. “Mrs Pomfrey-Jones...Sorry, Alice: your house is in quite close proximity to Marsholm Wood, isn’t it?” “Yes, my house is the nearest. Wonderful for dog-walking.” she noted.
“Yes, I’m sure it is. On the morning of the 31st of July, do you recall hearing any gunshots?”
“Not that I remember, but I’m quite used to it, you see – what with the farmers and gamekeepers.”
“Yes, of course. Well, thank you, Alice. No more questions my Lord.”
“Really? Was that it?” barked Ravensdale, “What exactly was the point of that?”
“My Lord, I merely sought to fix the time of the shootings.” explained Norcroft unconvincingly.
“Indeed...Yes, well, I suppose. You may step down Mrs Pomfrey-Jones... I hope your next witness has something useful to contribute, Mr Norcroft?”
“I certainly believe so. I call Detective Sergeant Edward Cambridge.” “Oh god.” murmured the judge under his breath.
DS Cambridge was well accustomed to the witness box, having attended court on numerous occasions during his 25 years of service to the Metropolitan Police Force, so Norcroft expected to encounter well-rehearsed rhetoric and diversion, which he hoped to be ready for.
“Detective Sergeant, you were Detective Superintendent Ackroyd’s right-hand man in the investigation of the
Marsholm Wood crimes, were you not?”
“I was in charge of organising the investigation team, if that’s what you’re implying?”
“Yes, but you were also in the direct line of command under the Superintendent?” “Technically, yes.”
“Do you recall seeing the Verona Hotel’s guestbook ledger when you first visited that establishment on the 4th of August?”
“I have a vague recollection.”
“Do you recall seeing the pencil note against the entry for Room 26 on the 29th of July?” “I can’t say that I do.” replied Cambridge bluntly.
“Well do you recall seeing it when the book was taken for evidence on the 11th of August?”
“Um, I don’t believe I do, no.”
“You are an experienced police officer, detective; surely you would have noticed that?”
“One of the constables in the team was responsible for analysing the guest ledger.”
“I see...Would you care to consult your notebook for the 11th of August?”
DS Cambridge paused thoughtfully, before leafing through his notebook and then took a deep breath: “Right, I see that I did make a note of that.”
�
�Yes, of course you did. So, what happened to that note in the ledger?” asked Norcroft with emphasised curiosity.
“I don’t believe I know.”
“But, would you accept that whoever did erase that note, must have done it after the book entered into police custody?”
“I suppose it must have.” he reluctantly conceded.
“Something of an oversight not to notice, let alone that it should happen in the first place, don’t you think?”
“If you say so.”
“Oh, I do say so, detective. There is every reason to believe that this evidence was doctored in order to allow incrimination of either the original suspect in this case, or the defendant, isn’t there?” “I can’t imagine why.” contested Cambridge dismissively.
“Er, Mr Norcroft,” interrupted Ravensdale, “I appreciate the importance of the issue, but I fail to comprehend what this has to do with the case against the defendant?”
“It doesn’t your Lordship, but it does relate to the prosecution’s false alibi theory; and, whatever the reason, it does demonstrate a willingness on the part of the investigating team to falsify evidence in order to bolster their case.” “I suppose – carry on.” granted the judge, albeit reluctantly.
“DS Cambridge did you and your superior pay the Jacobsens a visit on the 11th of August, prior to them changing their original statements?”
“I think we did, yes.”
“What exactly transpired at that visit?”
