The Second Rumpole Omnibus

by John Mortimer

  Colefax clearly wasn’t a gardener, you don’t ‘weed out’ rotten apples. ‘Weeded out,’ he repeated. ‘And crushed! Detective Inspector Dobbs is a rotten apple, the tape-recordings I have to play you in this case will leave no doubt about that. He was taking bribes from a habitual criminal, a man of the worst possible character, who may yet redeem himself by giving evidence for the Crown in this case…’ I could hear the sound of distant violins as Colefax concluded, ‘… a man called Charles, or “Charlie” Pointer, whom the Crown will call, after, of course, you have heard the tape-recorded evidence.’

  As Colefax concluded his opening speech, I dragged myself to my feet. ‘My Lord, while the evidence is being given, I should like Mr Glazier to be outside Court.’

  ‘But he’s the officer in charge of the case!’ Colefax protested.

  ‘Precisely. I would like him out of Court because he’s the officer in charge of the case.’

  ‘Oh, very well. Will you leave us, officer?’ Mr Justice Vosper conceded with an ill grace. Mr Glazier left the Court, giving me a brief smile to show he didn’t blame me for going through the motions, but we all knew the trial could only have one result.

  Later, I was cross-examining Charles, or Charlie, Pointer – a cheerful little sparrow of a man who had the decency to look somewhat ashamed as he gave evidence in support of the Old Bill.

  ‘Charlie Pointer. Are you giving evidence for the prosecution?’ I asked him, more in sorrow than in anger.

  ‘I’m here to tell the truth, Mr Rumpole,’ Charlie said modestly.

  ‘Are you really? Did you tell the truth when you pleaded not guilty to warehouse breaking in 1974?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And yet the jury didn’t believe you, and you got convicted?’

  ‘Maybe that’s because you were defending me at the time.’ There was general laughter in which the Judge was delighted to join. When he had recovered, His Lordship said, ‘You asked for that, didn’t you, Mr Rumpole?’

  I ignored this rudeness and continued to address my questions to Charlie. ‘Inspector Dobbs gave evidence against you then, didn’t he?’

  ‘So he did last year, when I got off. You did better for me that time, Mr Rumpole!’ Charlie carried on with snappy backchat and was rewarded by another flurry of laughter.

  ‘You don’t like Inspector Dobbs, do you, Charlie?’ I asked him.

  ‘I’ve nothing against the man. Not personally, like.’

  ‘Nothing against him personally?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘In fact you became quite friendly with Inspector Dobbs, didn’t you – you rang him and asked him to a Chinese dinner?’

  There was a pause. Charlie looked incredulously round the Court and gave an exaggerated gasp of amazement.

  ‘I asked him? I invited out the Old Bill? You’re joking!’

  ‘No, Charlie,’ I said seriously. ‘Inspector Dobbs’s entire career is at stake, and his pension. I’m not joking.’

  ‘Look, Mr Rumpole.’ Charlie, it seemed, had decided to take me into his confidence. ‘He came to see me. He said they’d charge me with the job at Fresh Foods, which I never done.’

  ‘Oh, of course.’

  ‘And he said they had my dabs on the frozen-food store.’

  ‘Did you believe him – about the dabs?’

  ‘About the what, Mr Rumpole?’ One of Mr Justice Vosper’s weaknesses is that he needs simultaneous translation in criminal cases.

  ‘The fingerprints, my Lord,’ I explained to the old darling.

  ‘No, I didn’t really. But I didn’t want to face no trial about it. He said he wouldn’t do me if I paid him…’ Charlie looked accusingly at the grey-haired figure in the dock.

  ‘Paid him five hundred nicker?’ I suggested and got an explosion from the learned Judge. ‘Mr Rumpole! This is intolerable! There may be members of the jury who are not as familiar as you with criminal argot. Would you kindly translate again.’

  ‘Certainly.’ I gave him the retort courteous. ‘Five hundred pounds, my Lord.’

  ‘I couldn’t pay him straight away,’ Charlie suggested. ‘So I suggested we meet for a Chinese and talk it over like.’

  ‘You went, wired for sound?’ In the pause that followed, the jury started to look interested.

  ‘Yes,’ Charlie admitted.

  ‘Who suggested that?’

  Charlie looked around the Court as if for help. He saw no officer in charge of the case and finally his eye rested on the Judge. ‘My Lord. Do I have to say?’

  ‘Mr Rumpole has asked the question. He may not like the answer,’ Mr Justice Vosper told him, so Charlie answered, ‘Superintendent Glazier.’

  ‘You see, Mr Rumpole. I did warn you that you might not like the answer.’ The Judge looked down on me, pleased with himself.

  ‘On the contrary, my Lord. I like it very much indeed!’ I was delighted to disappoint him. Then I turned to Charlie. ‘You reported this alleged conversation?’

  ‘This alleged request for a bribe, Mr Rumpole,’ the Judge corrected me.

  ‘If your Lordship pleases.’ I gave him a brief bow, and then went back to work on Charlie. ‘You reported this alleged request for a bribe to my client’s superior officer?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you are a grass, aren’t you, Charlie Pointer?’

  At last I had irritated Mr Justice Vosper beyond endurance. ‘Mr Rumpole!’ he thundered. ‘Are you going to conduct this entire case in what the jury may well find to be a foreign language?’

  ‘You are a police informer, aren’t you, Charlie?’ I asked to make my meaning clear. Charlie cast down his eyes, ashamed.

  ‘On that occasion, I have to admit it, yes.’

  ‘And when you went to Inspector Dobbs, and promised to tell him the name of the firm – I beg your pardon, my Lord, the gang – who did the Fresh Foods job…’

  ‘I never!’ Charlie sounded genuinely outraged. But I pressed on, ‘Oh yes you did, Charlie. And Inspector Dobbs was going to pay you for your information. He promised you five hundred nicker, or, for the benefit of His Lordship, pounds. So that’s how the sum of money got to be mentioned in the Chinese restaurant.’

  ‘He was offering to pay me?’ Charlie pointed to himself, grinning incredulously.

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘Mr Rumpole.’ The Judge appeared to think that it was time he took a hand in the proceedings. ‘May I remind you that that suggestion is quite contrary to the evidence of tape-recording the jury have heard.’

  ‘It’s inconsistent with this witness’s questions, my Lord. It’s not in the least inconsistent with my client’s answers.’ I gave a reply which I hoped was enigmatic and was rewarded by seeing the Judge look totally confused.

  ‘I’m afraid, Mr Rumpole,’ he said, ‘I no longer follow you.’

  ‘Then perhaps, my Lord, we can have a little demonstration. I would just like to remind the Court of the words of the tape again. May it be played?’

  A mechanically minded officer switched on the device. We heard the familiar clatter of the Chinese restaurant, and then the voices.

  CHARLIE: You want another payment, Inspector?

  DOBBS: No one works for nothing, Charlie.

  CHARLIE: What’s going to happen if I can’t pay?

  DOBBS: I’ve got the whole Squad behind me. And I want to get my fingers on what you promised. When are you coming through, Charlie?

  CHARLIE : How much do you want off me, Mr Dobbs?

  DOBBS: Five hundred nicker, Charlie.

  CHARLIE: Can I have a few more days to collect the money? I’ll sell my old banger.

  DOBBS : Next Thursday, Charlie. I want it by then. Next Thursday’s pay day.

  I was painfully aware that the recording was having a depressing effect on the jury: there could not, they must have thought, possibly be stronger evidence of Dobbs’s guilt. All the same, I was determined to press on with my little experiment.

  ‘Charlie. We’re going to play that tape again
with your questions left out. Instead of them, I want you to read the list of questions the usher will hand to you. Will you do that for us?’

  I gave the usher a sheet of paper which he took round to the witness-box. Charlie looked at it, gave a small, sporting shrug and said, ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘I’m sure you don’t. With your new interest in assisting the course of justice. Yes. Shall we begin?’ Mr Morse gave the officer the copy of the tape we had prepared with silent gaps instead of Charlie’s questions. In these pauses, he read from the list I had handed him. It came out like this:

  CHARLIE (reading): I’m going to get paid, aren’t I, Inspector Dobbs?

  DOBBS : No one works for nothing, Charlie.

  CHARLIE (reading): What’s going to happen if the old firm find out I’m a grass?’

  DOBBS: I’ve got the whole Squad behind me. And I want to get my fingers on what you promised. When are you coming through, Charlie?

  CHARLIE (reading): How much are you paying me for the info, Mr Dobbs?

  DOBBS: Five hundred nicker, Charlie.

  CHARLIE (reading): Can I have a few more days to get the gen on the Fresh Foods job? Then I’ll come through with the names.

  DOBBS: Next Thursday, Charlie. I want it by then. Next Thursday’s pay day.’

  The officer switched off the tape. The Court was silent. The jury looked at me, as though I had just lifted my wig and released a pigeon. Even the Judge had the decency to appear thoughtful.

  ‘Very clever, Mr Rumpole,’ Charlie conceded.

  ‘Thank you, Charlie.’

  ‘It’s just not true. That’s all,’ Charlie began to bluster. ‘That’s not how it happened. I’ll take my oath.’

  ‘Mr Rumpole.’ The Judge saw the consequences of my experiment. ‘If what you are suggesting is correct, then someone has been guilty of falsifying this tape.’

  ‘That is so, my Lord.’ I was glad of the chance of agreeing with the old darling. ‘A falsification to which this witness was clearly a party.’

  ‘And the other party?’ His Lordship asked.

  ‘That is something, my Lord, which I hope we may be able to find out, before this trial is over.’

  ‘I’ll call Mr Glazier.’

  Martin Colefax said this, quite casually, at the end of the prosecution case. The name was called outside and presently the senior officer, still in his blue suit and Rugby Club tie, marched modestly to the witness-box. Glazier lifted the New Testament in an experienced manner, and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. As he did so, I wondered why Colefax had called him ‘Mister Glazier’. I mean just ‘Mister’ Glazier. Wasn’t my learned friend for the prosecution rather underdoing it? Why not give the Super his full title? Why not say proudly: ‘I call Superintendent Glazier, a most senior and experienced officer, of the Serious Crimes Squad. Step forward, Superintendent.’ That’s what I’d do. So why plain ‘Mister’?

  ‘Mister Glazier, on the fourth of March, when this conversation in the Chinese restaurant took place, were you Inspector Dobbs’s senior officer?’ Colefax began his examination in chief.

  ‘I was.’

  ‘And as such, would you supervise Dobbs’s contacts with police informers?’

  ‘I would expect to do so, yes.’

  ‘And would you have to authorize any proposed payment of five hundred pounds to a police informer?’

  ‘If it was a sum of that size, yes,’ Glazier agreed.

  ‘Did Inspector Dobbs ever tell you he meant to use the man Pointer as a police informer?’ There was a moment’s pause, and Colefax asked again. ‘Did he, Mr Glazier?’

  ‘No, my Lord.’ The officer turned respectfully to the Judge. ‘He never did.’

  ‘Or ever ask your permission to pay Pointer five hundred pounds?’

  ‘No, my Lord.’ Now Glazier answered without hesitation.

  ‘Or any sum of money whatsoever?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But Mr Rumpole, our client says he told the Super all about it.’ An agitated Mr Morse was whispering into my ear in an excited manner, but I silenced him.

  ‘Sit quiet, Morse, old darling,’ I whispered back, ‘and let’s listen to the damning evidence of Mr Glazier.’

  ‘Mr Glazier.’ Colefax had done it again. ‘At the end of April, did the man Pointer come to you with a complaint against Inspector Dobbs?’

  ‘Yes, he did.’

  ‘What was the nature of that complaint?’

  ‘Just a moment. Do you object to that question, Mr Rumpole?’ The Judge looked at me as though he was expecting an attempt to stifle the witness.

  ‘Oh no, my Lord,’ I told him cheerfully. ‘I’d like to hear the full extent of the case that can be fabricated against my client.’

  ‘Mr Rumpole.’ Vosper, j., was not pleased. ‘Whether or not it is fabricated is entirely a matter for the jury!’

  ‘Exactly, my Lord!’ I looked at the twelve old darlings in the jury-box with the deepest respect, and said as meaningfully as I could, ‘and for no one else in this Court.’

  ‘What was Pointer’s complaint?’ Colefax went back to work with the witness.

  ‘He said that Inspector Dobbs had demanded money from him and threatened to charge him with participating in the Fresh Foods robbery if he didn’t pay up.’

  ‘So what course did you take?’

  ‘I provided Pointer with a pocket tape-recorder and asked him to keep an appointment with Dobbs in a Chinese restaurant, my Lord.’ At this Vosper, J., nodded his understanding, and made a note.

  ‘And, as a result of that instruction, was this conversation recorded?’ Colefax asked.

  ‘Part of this conversation was recorded.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Glazier.’ Colefax sat down and the Judge looked in my direction.

  ‘Mr Rumpole. I imagine you have questions for this officer?’

  ‘Just a few, my Lord.’

  ‘Then I’ve no doubt the jury will be better equipped to understand your case after a little rest. Ten thirty tomorrow morning then, members of the jury.’

  His Lordship rose, we stood and bowed him out with more or less respect, and then I gave my orders to the faithful Morse.

  ‘Mr Morse. I’ll have to tear you away from your tomato plants. I want you to call on my friend Fred Timson, head of the Clan Timson, biggest family of south London villains, valued clients of mine. Oh, and send someone up to see the waiters in the Swinging Bamboo, we might unearth something. Your man needn’t speak Chinese, but he should be prepared to invest in a mound of sweet-and-sour lobster.’

  ‘What do I ask Fred Timson?’

  ‘Ask him to tell us all he knows about Charlie Pointer, and everything he’s heard about Mr Glazier. Now Dobbs, my old darling.’ The Inspector had been released from the dock and set at liberty for the night. ‘Why does your Super dislike you so?’ The Inspector scratched his head and mused a little.

  ‘I can only think,’ he said at last. ‘Well, I did once make a complaint. It’s ironic really, what I complained about…’ This was exactly what I’d wanted to hear. I interrupted him in some excitement. ‘Why didn’t you say so to me before? Never mind, Dobbsy. It’s not too late to tell me all about it…’

  That evening, in front of the electric fire in Casa Rumpole, I did my best to engage my better half in conversation. ‘Not a bad day, Hilda.’ Silence. ‘Quite an effective little trick with a tape-recorder. I think the ladies and gentlemen of the jury enjoyed it.’ More silence. ‘You know what we always say in Court? Listen to the questions. The questions are so much more important than the answers.’ Still more silence. ‘My questions, Hilda. Are more important than your answers!’ Still more silence. ‘Just as well, seeing that you haven’t got any answers to provide.’ A prolonged pause, after which I said. ‘What’s the matter? Are you about to enter a nunnery? Have you taken a vow to ever hold your peace? Oh please, don’t even bother to tell me.’

  I found it hard to sleep and was up early the next morni
ng. By seven thirty I was having breakfast with old Morse in Rex’s café opposite the Old Bailey. As he puffed his smouldering pipe tobacco over my bacon and fried slice, he gave me news which caused me to rise to cross-examine my client’s superior officer with a good deal of interest and some anticipation of pleasure to come.

  ‘Mister Glazier.’

  ‘Yes, Mister Rumpole?’ The witness looked at me, unperturbed.

  ‘When did you first know that Charlie Pointer was a grass?’

  ‘When he came to me and told me that your client had asked for a bribe, Mr Rumpole.’ Glazier was a cool customer and I would have to be careful.

  ‘Did that surprise you?’

  ‘Surprise me that your client was a rotten apple? I was surprised, sir. And extremely upset.’ The jury looked at Dobbs; it was a look of great suspicion.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. No, I meant did it surprise you that Charlie should be prepared to act as a police informer, for the first time in an honourable career as a warehouse breaker?’

  ‘Did you say “honourable”, Mr Rumpole?’ Mr Justice Vosper asked in a carefully calculated tone of surprise.

  ‘Yes, my Lord. Charlie Pointer was breaking his own code of honour when he decided to grass. That’s why I suggested he didn’t do so voluntarily.’ I did my best to explain my meaning to His Lordship, who merely sighed and said, ‘I should be interested to know just what you are suggesting.’