FRED: It’s not Hubert I’m worried about. I can’t help thinking about them.
KEITH: Who?
FRED: All the people who’ve been waiting for us. (Pause.) And now we’re here.
(Light change. Light fades on the room. Pool of light downstage, where CASSANDRA CRESSWELL, serious and hard-working, is seated looking through a bundle of papers. SWIVER, older, more relaxed and less senior, is standing, also looking down at the papers. They are both dressed in dark, formal clothes.)
CASSANDRA: (Reading.) Blood on the sleeve of the fleece he put out for his mother to wash.
SWIVER: His birth mother.
CASSANDRA: Yes. His birth mother. Placidity Johnson.
SWIVER: She runs ‘Bammy’s’. Caribbean cuisine. Quite interesting. You ever eaten there, have you?
CASSANDRA: Blood of the victim’s group.
SWIVER: Afraid so. Baked black crabs, they do at ‘Bammy’s’. Don’t you ever eat Caribbean?
CASSANDRA: Three wounds. Not inconsistent with a kitchen knife. And they never found the weapon…
SWIVER: I’d put you down as Thai. Am I right? You tried ‘The Midnight Garden’? It’s in that new shopping mall. Opposite the bus station.
CASSANDRA: Full confession.
SWIVER: Of course. Isn’t there always? (Pause.) I don’t mean ‘The King of Bangkok’, down by the
multi-storey.
CASSANDRA: Signed. (She puts the papers in a briefcase.) He didn’t make things easy for us.
SWIVER: Do they ever? Stewed cat and bean shoots. That’s what they serve you down ‘The King of Bangkok’. Have we got a run?
CASSANDRA: What do you think…?
SWIVER: I think… Worry about it when we see him.
(They cross the stage to where, over in another pool of light, we see BYRON JOHNSON, a seventeen-year-old boy, is sitting at a table. Born in the town, he speaks with a North Country accent. SWIVER also sits. CASSANDRA stands, asking questions.)
BYRON: Started when Winston…
CASSANDRA: Winston Jardine?
BYRON: Him. He move in the Bammy Restaurant. Move in with my birth mother.
CASSANDRA: With Placidity…?
BYRON: And Placidity bring him tea in bed, wash out his clothes, give money to him and he’s cheating on her the whole time! Sometimes in the place he keep down Jubilee Road where he does dealing and all of that. Sometimes he don’t even bother to move out of the restaurant…
CASSANDRA: I take it you and Winston didn’t get on, exactly.
BYRON: He always laugh at me. Calls me ignorant. Thick head! Numbskull. You know what that word means?
CASSANDRA: I’ve got an idea.
BYRON: I no more ignorant than what he is. What he did with Fleur.
CASSANDRA: Your sister…?
BYRON: She didn’t want to do it. She’s too young and she didn’t want it. Started when Placidity in the hospital. Winston Jardine made her do it.
CASSANDRA: And so…?
BYRON: So there is why I called on him. Down Jubilee Road. Told him to stop it with Fleur.
CASSANDRA: What did he say?
BYRON: Nothing. He say nothing. He’s dead when I got there.
(Grins.) Too dead to say anything at all!
(Pause.)
CASSANDRA: You say the door was open?
BYRON: Open. Somebody knife him. Not before it was time to do so.
CASSANDRA: Did you read your statement to the police? You signed it.
BYRON: (Contemptuous.) ’Course I read it!
CASSANDRA: (Reading from it.) ‘I stabbed Winston three times. I think I got him in the chest and twice in the stomach. I was in a daze after. I threw away the knife.
I can’t tell you where. It’s a blank what I did after.’ Did you tell the police that?
BYRON: No.
CASSANDRA: Not any of it?
BYRON: None of it.
CASSANDRA: (Giving him the document.) Read it again. Think about how much of it is true. (She stands up.) We’ll be back.
SWIVER: We’ll be back.
(Light fades on BYRON. CASSANDRA and SWIVER move away from him to downstage centre.)
CASSANDRA: What do you think now?
SWIVER: I think… We keep the worst news from him.
CASSANDRA: Which is?
SWIVER: (Gloomy.) Mr Justice Keith Craxton has come here to try this case.
CASSANDRA: What can we do about that?
SWIVER: (Brightening up.) Nothing. What do you say we go Chinese for lunch? They do Peking up by the Leisure Centre.
(They go.)
(Light on the lodgings. ELSPETH and FRED are playing backgammon and drinking whisky.)
FRED: How’s your Matrimonial?
ELSPETH: (Sighs.) There’ve been developments. The wretched husband agreed to go to a psychiatrist.
FRED: For cake sitting?
ELSPETH: It seems she’s an expert in the subject. You can see why I don’t want to get married.
FRED: (Looking at her.) I don’t want you to get married either.
ELSPETH: Oh, come on, Fred. I intend to devote myself entirely to no goods. I’m only interested in someone gorgeous who has absolutely no respect for married life.
FRED: Men who’d bolt at the faintest whiff of orange blossom? Is he like that?
ELSPETH: Who?
FRED: Your boyfriend. On Thursday.
ELSPETH: Oh. Yes. I’ll be pretty safe with him. He’s allergic to marriage.
FRED: (Sits.) Odd, that. Lucy rather took to it.
ELSPETH: Your wife?
FRED: It was the songs. Brought us together.
ELSPETH: Songs?
FRED: We soon found out. We both knew the words of songs. Not just the choruses, you understand, but the verses. Not many people know those…
ELSPETH: I don’t suppose they do…
FRED: Songs don’t have words any more.
ELSPETH: You all say that…
FRED: We do?
ELSPETH: People of your age.
FRED: Words! We used to sing them, all over the place. In cars… Walking in woods. In bed…very often.
(Sings.) ‘Our romance won’t end on a sorrowful note,
Though tomorrow you’re gone;
The song is ended, but as the songwriter wrote,
“The melody lingers on.”
They may take you from me,
I’ll miss your fond caress.
But though they take you from me,
I’ll still possess…’
You know what that leads into…?
ELSPETH: No idea.
FRED: (Sings again.) ‘The way you wear your hat,
The way you sip your tea,
The mem’ry of all that –
No, no! They can’t take that away from me!’
(Pause.)
She was unfaithful to me, of course.
(He sits and then sings again.)
‘We may never, never meet again
On the bumpy road to love…’
(He stops singing.) She cheated me. With death… (Pause.) ‘It’s a bit of a bugger,’ she told me. ‘I’m going to die.’ She wrote out all sorts of lists. What to do about the boiler. Her favourite shops. How to scramble eggs. Lists of instructions. As though she were going away on holiday. (Pause.) I don’t know why I’m telling you all this… It was a long time ago.
ELSPETH: Yes.
FRED: Last day. Well, I tried all our songs on her. But there was only one she wanted. Ridiculous! My father used to sing it, at Christmas.
ELSPETH: What was it? ‘The Holly and the Ivy’?
(FRED sings very loudly – another 1920s song. KEITH enters. Looks round as though to find something to object to.)
KEITH: You’re drinking whisky!
FRED: (Drinking.) You got us. Bang to rights!
KEITH: Hubert remembered? (He sits.)
FRED: No. Hubert didn’t remember…
KEITH: Then how?
FRED: We went down the offy.
FRED: Visited the off licence. Corner of Mulberry Road. Between the betting shop and the Adult Interest Videos… Do I have to keep translating for you?
KEITH: (Goes to the drinks table, pours himself a whisky.) Am I to understand… You and Elspeth went into an off licence. Together?
ELSPETH: We kept each other company.
KEITH: You went into a public off licence?
FRED: It appeared to be open to the public.
KEITH: It didn’t occur to you… You might be recognised?
FRED: I don’t think so. We didn’t hear anyone saying, ‘Look, there go Elspeth and Fred buying two bottles of Bell’s with a Visa card.’ Did you hear anyone say that, Elspeth?
ELSPETH: No one at all.
FRED: Will you take your oath on it?
ELSPETH: I swear… By Almighty God.
KEITH: Were you…approached?
FRED: I’m afraid I’m getting a little past the approachable age. Were you approached, Elspeth?
ELSPETH: No one approached me.
KEITH: What would have happened if there had been habitual criminals in the off licence?
FRED: Well, I imagine there were. Don’t you, Elspeth?
ELSPETH: Probably.
FRED: There aren’t many off licences you can go into these days that haven’t got a habitual criminal or two, taking a look at the special offers.
KEITH: They might be people we’ll end up having to try…
FRED: Not Elspeth. Unless their marriages are on the rocks. Did any of them say their marriages were on the rocks, Elspeth, and they were after a bottle of Smirnoff to forget?
ELSPETH: No one spoke to me.
FRED: None of our customers were there, apparently.
KEITH: What are all the people of this town going to think if they see a couple of Her Majesty’s Judges wandering around an off licence…buying whatever you said.
FRED: They might possibly think that Judges are human beings like the rest of us. You wouldn’t like that, would you, Keith? (Gets up, pours more drinks.)
KEITH: You know perfectly well. When we arrive in a town we’re meant to keep…a little apart. A little…aloof. We have duties as well as privileges.
FRED: I know. You want to bang us up. In the nick. Sentenced to live together. Away from our homes
and loved ones. Those of us who’ve got any loved ones left. We’re not meant to go disco dancing, or slink into Singles Shopping Night at the supermarket. According to you, we’ve been given a custodial sentence!
(He hands a drink to KEITH. KEITH drinks, then looks hard, and with hostility, at FRED.)
KEITH: This is my home town, Fred. If you can all it a home. A space curtained off in Mother’s bedsit, behind the station hotel.
FRED: You do tell us that…every time we come here.
KEITH: Mother was a chambermaid…
FRED: We remember.
KEITH: A way of life you’ve never experienced…
FRED: I have to admit. No such word as ‘chambermaid’ appears on my CV.
KEITH: You’ve never seen the underside of life. You’ve no idea. What was left behind in various bedrooms!
FRED: I can imagine…
KEITH: (Drinks.) You can’t. They made use of the place. To do things they’d never do at home. And left the mess for decent people to clean up. Like Mother. I’ll never forget what she found…on one occasion.
FRED: A severed finger…?
KEITH: No…
ELSPETH: A chocolate cake!
(ELSPETH and FRED look at each other, suppress laughter.)
KEITH: (Suspicious.) What’s the matter with you two?
ELSPETH: Nothing.
FRED: Nothing whatsoever.
(Pause. He looks at KEITH’s glass.)
You’ve drunk all the off licence whisky. You’d like another? (KEITH shakes his head.)
KEITH: And another thing… It’s completely unacceptable.
FRED: What’s unacceptable now?
KEITH: The so-called dinner they served up to us. Our first night here!
FRED: Those rather nervous-looking prawns? Peering out of yellow rice? Not a particularly happy dish.
ELSPETH: Oh, you mean the paella?
KEITH: (With rising indignation.) I don’t care what it’s called. That was disgusting and since then it’s got steadily worse. You’ve got to speak to Wendy about it.
FRED: I have?
KEITH: Of course, Uncle Fred. It’s your department.
As the…
FRED: Oldest?
ELSPETH: The most…experienced.
KEITH: The Senior Judge. A privileged position.
FRED: Of course. You try the murders. I do the serious stuff. Like ticking off the cook. You know if I did that, Hubert would be terribly upset.
KEITH: Why on earth?
FRED: Well, of course he would. Wendy is his mother.
KEITH: Is that some sort of mitigating circumstance?
FRED: She gets these wretched concoctions off the television. She was proud of it. She thinks she’s achieved some sort of culinary miracle.
KEITH: Then you must disillusion her.
FRED: So why don’t you tell her?
KEITH: Why should I do your job?
FRED: Because you’d probably love it. She’ll be terribly hurt…
KEITH: Force yourself, Fred! Have the courage to find somebody guilty for once in your life.
(Light change. FRED, KEITH and ELSPETH go.)
(Light downstage. BYRON and SWIVER are sitting, CASSANDRA is standing.)
CASSANDRA: When you saw Winston on the floor. What did you do?
BYRON: Don’t know what you mean…
SWIVER: Did you, by any chance, kneel down?
BYRON: That’s what I did. Kneel down. To see if he’s dead, like…
CASSANDRA: Might you have touched him?
BYRON: Might have…
CASSANDRA: I’m thinking about the blood on your sleeve…
BYRON: Sure. I touched him. Yes.
SWIVER: And then?
BYRON: I go home. Back to ‘Bammy’s’…
SWIVER: You were seen…coming out of Winston’s room.
BYRON: I don’t remember.
CASSANDRA: Did you tell anyone what you’d found?
BYRON: (With rising anger.) Why you ask me these questions?
CASSANDRA: It’s my job.
BYRON: Be on my side. Help me. That’s your job, isn’t it?
CASSANDRA: I can’t do my job unless you answer my questions. (Pause.) Or at least some of them.
BYRON: (Angrier.) Questions! Always questions!
CASSANDRA: The police asked you plenty of questions. In the car when you were arrested…
BYRON: Some… They asked me some…
CASSANDRA: Did they ask you why you went down to see Winston?
BYRON: I think so…
CASSANDRA: You think so? Did you read your statement again?
BYRON: I read it! Of course I read it…
CASSANDRA: Let me remind you. I’ve got another copy. Just read it again. Out loud.
(She hands BYRON a copy. He looks at it. Silence.)
Well…
BYRON: I’m reading it…
CASSANDRA: Aloud, please! Read it aloud…
BYRON: Why?
CASSANDRA: You can do that, can’t you?
BYRON: (Hurt.) ’Course I can…
CASSANDRA: All right. How does it begin? Just a couple of sentences.
BYRON: (Hesitant.) ‘I go down to see Winston in Jubilee Road because I didn’t like what he’s doing to my sister.’
CASSANDRA: (She takes back the copy.) It doesn’t say that at all…
(Light change. CASSANDRA and SWIVER go.)
(Light on the lodgings. FRED sitting. HUBERT standing.)
FRED: (With difficulty.) Hubert. I’ve got something quite serious to say to you…
HUBERT: Back still playing up?
FRED: Th
e back is much as always. This is about the dinners.
HUBERT: Mother’s anxious about them…
FRED: Is she really?
HUBERT: She keeps on at me. ‘Did they enjoy my rice and seafood Mediterranean-style dish the first night?’ ‘They haven’t said,’ I tell her, and she looks anxious. It’s my belief she’s losing sleep over it.
FRED: That’s not necessary!
HUBERT: Can I give her a word of reassurance?
(Pause. FRED makes up his mind.)
FRED: I don’t see why not…
HUBERT: You’re telling me…it went down well?
FRED: Remarkably well.
HUBERT: Greatly enjoyed.
FRED: We loved it.
HUBERT: And since then…
FRED: Tell Wendy she’s not to worry.
HUBERT: That’s going to be a considerable weight off her mind.
FRED: (Anxious.) It’s not paella tonight, is it? Elspeth’s got
a guest…
HUBERT: Her boyfriend?
FRED: Her friend.
HUBERT: Cassoulet.
FRED: (Fearing the worst.) What’s that?
HUBERT: Mother’s doing cassoulet. Sausages, cut up and floating around in a sort of brown substance. Provençal cassoulet. She got it off the television. She’s pinned a lot of hopes on it.
FRED: Of course. I understand. Thank you, Hubert.
(HUBERT goes. FRED picks up the paper, and quietly sings a well-known 1920s song. KEITH enters.)
KEITH: I saw Hubert.
FRED: So did I.
KEITH: You’ve had a word with him?
FRED: A word or two.
(Pause.)
KEITH: He didn’t look particularly upset.
FRED: Did you want him to be?
KEITH: Naturally. You were going to tell him that Spanish whatever it is, was completely unacceptable…
FRED: Yes. I was…
KEITH: So you made it clear?
FRED: No, I didn’t.
KEITH: What?
FRED: I said we loved it.
(Pause.)
KEITH: (Coldly angry.) We were relying on you.
FRED: Wendy was proud of that paella. She’d had sleepless nights wondering if we liked it. So what does it matter?
I couldn’t hurt her feelings.
KEITH: Then, may I say…you’re completely unfitted for our line of business.
FRED: I think you’ve already made that clear…
KEITH: I don’t know what you mean.
FRED: Don’t you? Didn’t you have a word in the right places? A glass of sherry with the Chief Justice? A port with old Tredgold from the Lord Chancellor’s office… I know exactly why I was taken off crime.
Naked Justice Page 2
