Killing Satisfaction

by Jason De'Ath

  There are a number of critical elements to consider in this case and these are the ones upon which you should focus your attention. Firstly, the cartridge cases: are you convinced that the defendant left these in the hotel room, or is it possible that they were deposited there by some other unknown means? Secondly, can the identification evidence be regarded as incontrovertible, or is there room for doubt? Thirdly, is the defendant’s alibi sufficiently plausible, and he therefore could not conceivably have been in the location of the crime at the time it was initiated, or is it possible that the alibi is in some way false or misleading?

  If, members of the jury, you are persuaded that the defendant was not the gunman, then you must return a verdict of not guilty on all counts. The standard of proof is proof beyond reasonable doubt in returning a guilty verdict. Reasonable doubt should not be regarded as some fanciful or far-fetched theory, though. If the prosecution have met the standard of proof required, then it is not your duty to find some pretext upon which to avoid what is otherwise clearly proved and on which you are satisfied. Conversely, the accused is not obliged to prove anything.

  Ladies and gentleman of the jury, you will now retire to consider your verdict. It is important that in the pursuance of this duty that you seek to reach a unanimous verdict....”

  “Well, that was short and sweet.” whispered Norcroft to Robeson.

  “Yes, and pretty neutral.” noted Robeson appreciatively.

  “Mmm, I think our Honourable Justice’s faith in her Majesty’s police force may have been somewhat eroded over the last two weeks.”

  Chapter Forty

  (25 January 1966)

  On the Tuesday morning the jury were recalled by the judge, as they had still not arrived at a unanimous verdict, whereupon he directed them to return a majority verdict of at least 10 – 2. They then deliberated for a further four hours, finally announcing their reaching of a verdict at 2.15 PM that afternoon. Everyone involved was subsequently summoned back to the court to hear their momentous decision. The foreman of the jury stood to the instruction of the clerk of the court. There was an intense air of expectation in the courtroom. Jameson stood and fixed his gaze downwards, not daring to look at the jury. Carmichael had a decidedly pale complexion, decorated with a very pensive expression. For Norcroft, this was the pinnacle of his career so far; his whole future could hang on the outcome of this case and for one rare occasion in his life, he actually felt a slight sense of diffidence. In the public gallery, Arthur’s parents tightly gripped each other’s hands, while Arthur’s siblings gathered around them to lend support. The journalist’s pens were poised to write their headline for the late and morning editions. Vera’s parents stood like a solitary rocky outcrop for their daughter’s right to justice, amid a sea of Jameson supporters. Outside the courtroom, Anne Mason, accompanied by a (literally) resigned Tony Collins, awaited the announcement with a deep need of justification for the adversity that had afflicted their lives over the last six months. Vera Fable, unable to face the media, anxiously awaited alone in her Maidenhead flat for the most important phone call of her now blighted life.

  “Mr Foreman, have you reached a verdict on which you are all agreed?” asked the judge.

  “No my Lord.”

  “Have you reached a verdict on which the majority are agreed?”

  “We have, my Lord.”

  “Would you please read out your verdict.”

  “On all counts: abduction, murder and attempted murder, we find the accused, Arthur Jameson, not guilty.”

  There was instantaneous uproar in the public gallery as Jameson’s family and supporters gasped, cheered and laughed, much to the anguish of the Fables. Arthur nearly collapsed in shock and sheer relief. Carmichael visibly crumbled, while Norcroft took a deep breath before making the exaltation of whispering “Yes.” Robeson had never felt so relieved in his entire life, while Fiona Letheridge could not hold back her smiles of joy.

  This was all quickly extinguished by the court usher calling for order, as the jury’s voting figure had yet to be established – it was 10 – 2. The short interlude in the Jameson celebrations was concluded and the judge struggled to be heard instructing the warder to release the prisoner, who was now free to go.

  Arthur Jameson emerged into the Grand Hall to be immediately mobbed by his supporters, the press and his legal team. For the first time in his life, Arthur actually felt important and had a peculiar sense of achievement. But the honours and eventual adulation all belonged to Miles Norcroft, who had pulled off what many had (to begin with) considered to be an impossible task. He would be dining out on this episode for a very long time.

  DSupt Ackroyd had deliberately kept a low profile, having suspected for some time that the case was slipping away from them; the verdict was not entirely a surprise to him and he knew that the press would converge on him at the first possible opportunity. His next course of action would be to arrange a meeting with the prosecution team and CPS to consider whether there was any mileage in mounting an appeal against the decision, but he was not hopeful.

  Anne Mason and Tony Collins quietly withdrew from the Old Bailey and disappeared unnoticed into the London crowds. Meanwhile, the Fables fought their way through the scrum outside the court and managed to hail a taxi to facilitate their escape, and Allerton-Brown was given the unenviable duty of having to ring Vera Fable with the news – she did not take it well.

  Roger Ackroyd’s return to Scotland Yard was a melancholic one. The Marsholm Murder had been his last big case, before enforced retirement; he had hoped to go out on a high. The main office was like a morgue; DS Cambridge had made himself scarce as soon as he had heard that Ackroyd was back in the building. Upon entering his office, his attention was immediately drawn to a small sheet of paper sitting on his desk, clamped down by a snow globe paperweight. He tentatively picked up the note to find that it simply read: ‘Report to DCSupt Allsop ASAP’.

  With a deep sense of despondency, Roger knocked on his superior officer’s door. Upon entering the office, he determined that Allsop was even more pokerfaced than normal, which was no mean achievement. “Ah, Roger: how are you? Please sit down.” The Chief-Super’ was being uncommonly polite.

  “Thank you, sir...I’ve had better days.”

  “Yes, yes I heard. Damned bad luck; you deserved better.”

  “I assume we’ll appeal?”

  “Probably, though unless we can come up with some better evidence, it will just be a token effort.” “I’d like to see this one through, sir.”

  “I know, Roger. But I don’t think there’s going to be any satisfactory conclusion...You got the right man; the evidence just wasn’t there, I’m afraid. You did your best: no one is blaming you...May be if Jameson hadn’t been gifted a fancy barrister...” The conciliatory tone was ominous. “Roger, I know you won’t want to hear this, but I think it is time you hung up your hat; call it day. I can appreciate it’s not the way you would have wanted to go out, but that’s just in the nature of the job, isn’t it? We never win them all.”

  Roger was by now more or less reconciled to the inevitable: “I guess you’re right, sir.” he conceded with a heavy hearted sigh.

  “It’s just the one that got away – it’s always the big ones that get away.”

  “Well, I’ve always wanted to take up golf.” Roger noted in good-humoured defeat.

  Vera’s parents anxiously returned to her Maidenhead flat, where they had been staying for the duration of the trial. Jack Fable knocked tentatively on the door several times to no avail. Muriel eventually took control and hammered on the door loud enough to wake the dead. Thankfully, that wasn’t necessary, as Vera was simply having a nap after the trauma of the news from the court.

  Vera wearily answered the door: “Oh, hello mum; dad.” She turned and ambled back down her hallway using two walking sticks for support, leaving the door open; her parents followed behind.

  “I presume they rang you with the result?” asked Muriel guarded
ly.

  “Yes, Mr Allerton-Brown told me.” Vera sounded dejected.

  “I’m sure there’ll be an appeal.” proffered Jack benevolently.

  “Yes, I expect so.” Vera agreed, but did not seem optimistic about the prospect as she lowered herself onto the sofa. “Shall I make some tea, love?” asked Muriel comfortingly.

  “Mmm, okay.” was Vera’s less than enthusiastic response; her mother scuttled into the kitchen, desperately trying to hold back her tears.

  Jack sat down beside his daughter and gently cupped her hand in his: “You mustn’t let this knock you back – you’ve been doing so well of late... Look, let’s get you moved down to our place, so we can look after you. You’ll feel safer once you’re there permanent’.”

  “Yes...I’ve already handed in my notice to the landlord.”

  “Well, no need to wait until then; we’ll get you started today. Pack some clothes and we can sort the rest out later.” “I’ll have to tell the hospital.” she fretted.

  “We’ll ring them. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

  “I just can’t understand that jury: why didn’t they believe me?” she lamented, obviously taking it personally.

  “Two of them did – it was a majority verdict...It doesn’t mean they didn’t believe you, anyway; reasonable doubt, I suppose.” Jack tried to appease her, but it was a fruitless task.

  Muriel brought in the tea and some biscuits she had found in a cupboard; placing them on the coffee table, she gave Jack a glance of solicitude, before sitting on the edge of the sofa next to her daughter.

  “What do I do now?” Vera implored.

  “Get on with the rest of your life, my dear. Whatever you do, don’t let...him beat you.” her mother advised encouragingly.

  Jack pitched in: “You’ve still got everything to live for, my darlin’; if you can get through this, you can get through anything.”

  Vera suddenly brightened: “Yes, yes you’re right: I will rebuild my life...Let’s have that tea.”

  When Anne Mason and Tony Collins arrived back at 16 Fern Drive in Maidenhead, Anne’s brother Ewan Williams was already parked on the drive waiting for them: he immediately jumped out of his car to greet their arrival.

  “Well? Did they convict him?” asked Ewan, who was visibly agitated. Anne and Tony looked at each other apprehensively and then at Ewan.

  “He got off.” Anne stated emotionlessly.

  “He what?” Ewan exclaimed in alarm as his sister walked past him in a somewhat despondent state. Ewan looked disconsolately to Tony for an explanation:

  “I don’t know...He was acquitted by a majority verdict.” “Majority? What does that mean?” impugned Ewan.

  Tony shook his head: “He got off...It just wasn’t unanimous. That’s it.”

  Ewan followed Tony into the house, where Anne was already filling a kettle. Tony walked into the living room: mentally exhausted, he slumped onto the settee and lit a cigarette; he didn’t look to be in a mood for dissecting the days’ events. Ewan decided to interrogate Anne:

  “So, what happened?”

  “The jury returned a not guilty verdict.” she responded impassively.

  “I don’t understand it...I thought he was a dead cert’ for guilty.” Ewan complained.

  “He had a good lawyer...I don’t know, maybe they did get the wrong man.” she consoled herself.

  “Now what...? Will they appeal?”

  “I’ve no idea. I expect they’ll let us know in due course.”

  “You don’t seem too bothered?”

  “I just want to move on, Ewan. Life’s too short.”

  “I know, but...”

  “Perhaps they’ll reopen the investigation – look for another suspect.”

  “What? But...that girl was so sure.”

  “Apparently, that couldn’t be trusted.” she asserted rather unkindly.

  “So, that’s it, is it?”

  “I don’t know, Ewan, I really don’t.” This persistence was starting to antagonise Anne and sensing that, Ewan decided to back off, quickly changing subject:

  “I assume the kids are at mum’s?”

  “A-hu. Will you be wanting a cupper, before you go?” she asked rather pointedly.

  Ewan frowned in frustration: “No – I better go. I’ll leave you two to...do whatever you do.” he grunted irritably, before making a hasty exit.

  Anne brought the tea into the living room and set next to Tony.

  “I don’t know why he’s so uptight.” noted Tony.

  “He’s just worried about me... I think he needs a conclusion even more than I do.”

  “Mmm. Well, you’ve got me, now, so he shouldn’t worry.”

  “Yes. I’ve got you, now.” she restated with an air of gratitude. “My silver lining.” she added affectionately.

  The Jameson clan all descended on 16 South Park Lane, sweeping aside a pack of hungry press reporters. This was the first time the Jamesons had been a united family for a great many years and the first time most of them had seen Arthur for at least several years. It was a peculiar reunion under very peculiar circumstances. Ernie Jameson handed around glasses of whiskey or sherry to all those gathered in the small lounge area of the house, in order to propose a toast to his son, and to justice.

  “This is a glorious day for the Jameson family.” Ernie announced, “My son ‘as been exonerated, just as I knew ‘e would... ‘Ere’s to our Arfur’s freedom an’ a bigger an’ better future.” The room erupted with cheers and laughter; Arthur was clearly overwhelmed by this adulation: friends and family were shaking his hand and patting him on the back, as though he had accomplished something of personal acclaim. It almost made it all seem worth it.

  When the commotion had subsided and everyone had settled into separate group conversations, Arthur’s brother, Fred, took him to one side:

  “So, what’re y’ur plans for the future, Arfur?” he asked with concerned interest.

  “Dunno. I ‘aven’t really fought about it.”

  “Y’u need to, Arfur. Y’u don’ wanna end up inside again.”

  “What, get a job y’u mean?”

  “Well, that is what normal people do... Maybe you could work wiv dad again – learn the trade. There’s good money in plumbin’. Better than nick.”

  “I dunno, fixin’ peoples toilets a’n’t much dif’rent to sloppin’ out.” scoffed Arthur.

  “Come on, Arfur, y’u need to fink more positive. Y’u can’t put mum frew nuthin’ like this again.”

  Arthur looked at his mum’s joyful face and promised himself to go straight: “Yeah, I’ll work summit out.” he acceded.

  The Snow Hill Chambers contingents were also in a state of jubilation. Miles Norcroft was hailed a heroic champion of the legal profession by his compatriots. Head of Chambers, Roland Forsyth QC was already predicting that Miles was destined to take silk in the near future in his little speech to the gathered company of fellow barristers and their clerks; everyone raised their glasses to this now perceived illustrious patron of British jurisprudence, while the calls for a speech were led by Fiona Letheridge.

  “Colleagues, colleagues...” Norcroft gestured for quiet, “Friends, and I think can honestly say, that I consider every one of you a personal friend,” he ingratiatingly affirmed, “in my short career at the bar, I would like to believe that my successes have been the result of my own diligence; my supreme intelligence...” there was a good-natured outburst of amusement, “and of course, my abundant charm.” there was further amusement. “But seriously, friends, I could not succeed without the team effort, so I thank all those who have contributed to today’s success, and in particular, I would ask you all to raise your glasses to my intrepid investigator: Robi Parmer.”

  The humble private eye looked suitably embarrassed as the entire assembly turned to face Robi, who had been standing quietly at the back, avoiding the limelight and keeping a low-profile like all good PI’s should; but no one deserved commendation more than he, f
ore without his contribution, they probably couldn’t have won.

  The Prosecution did mount a half-hearted attempt at forcing an appeal, but without any new evidence and only the flimsiest of arguments for a retrial, the petition was expeditiously refused, and so the case of The Monster of Marsholm Wood, as John Leggett’s 1967 book would eventually immortalise it, was consigned to legal history. There were some rumblings of discontent in the early seventies, following Leggett’s subsequent publicised doubts in respect to his original assertion of Jameson’s innocence, but other major cases, such as the Moors Murders and the Kray twins’ felonious activities, rapidly overshadowed the case, such that it was largely forgotten by the 1990’s.

  PART FIVE

  The Past, the Present and the Futile

  Chapter Forty-One

  (21 August 2006)

  After forty years, the case of The Monster of Marsholm Wood was long forgotten by the majority of the general public. However, it was strictly still an unsolved case and with advances in DNA fingerprinting, many old cases were being reopened. So it was that this cold case landed on the desk of Detective Inspector Michelle Cartwright, daughter of the DC Cartwright who was part of the original investigating team. Her father was now a long retired Detective Sergeant. This was a case that he had never forgotten and had often talked about to his aspiring daughter – the one that got away, they always called it. Unfortunately, DI Cartwright did not fare much better on the 10th of March 2000, because when the request for the evidence boxes was made, it was discovered that everything had seemingly been destroyed or lost: sometime during 1984, a routine clear out of old evidence stored at New Scotland Yard was conducted and someone decided that the case was dead – no one had anticipated the advances in forensic science that might have been applied to the case. DI Cartwright therefore had no choice but to indefinitely shelve the investigation, and there it hypothetically sat in the offices of the Cold Case Squad until the 21st of August 2006.