So Pinhead was released, to the cheers of his supporters, and the Detective Superintendent had to pay another call on Betty Yeomans to comfort her once again. I had an opportunity of meeting Mrs Yeomans later, and I found her to be a young woman of considerable spirit. I know how the conversation went, with Betty leading off on the apparently absurd result that no one had been guilty of her husband's murder. 'So Pinhead never stabbed Ted,' she said. 'Never cut him. So who did then? Would they mind telling me that?' 'I'm sorry, Betty. I know it's hard.' Gannon was as distressed as the widow.
'Or did Ted just pull out a knife and do himself? Was it all a mistake like that trial of Pinhead? Is that what they're telling us?' 'I don't know, Betty.' And Gannon told her, 'They seem to have lost interest in what Pinhead did. It's what I did, what the Judge did, where we went wrong. That's all their Lordships is concerned about.' 'Someone killed Ted, that's all I know. Someone's got to suffer!' 'The most likely person to suffer is going to be me.' Gannon , looked grimly into his future.
'Not you, Roy. Not after all you've done for us. I'm not ? going to let that happen!' Betty Yeomans gave him her promise.
If the Detective Superintendent thought he was the most likely person to suffer by the change in Pinhead's fortunes he had, at least, Mr Justice Featherstone as a companion in misfortune. Of course the two never met until... But that time was still in the future. On the night of the Appeal Judgment Guthrie was alone; his wife, the handsome but sometimes ruthless Marigold, was away on a visit to her sister in Coventry. Guthrie hoped that they would be too busy exchanging family news to watch the television, but he knew that she would learn of the public rebuke in due course, and she was unlikely to comfort him and bind up his wounds. He dined alone at the Sheridan Club; no one he knew was in that night, and those he didn't know took pains, he imagined, to ignore him.
After dinner he sat alone in the bar, drinking port and, when that occupation began to pall, he drank brandy. He was still doing this when the bar had emptied and Denver, the barman, was cleaning up and looking forward to going home to bed. Guthrie, however, seemed to be a fixture, unburdening his soul in words that Denver quite failed to keep to himself.
'Justice!' the Judge said bitterly. 'I've had no justice whatsoever.' 'I'm sorry about that, sir, truly sorry.' The Sheridan barman had a kindly heart.
'No one to represent me, Denver. No chance to put my case.
Engaged in another court, as it so happened, while the Court of Appeal rubbished me. Rubbished me, Denver! "The Trial Judge was reckless enough to say..." Reckless, Denver! You tell me, quite honestly, would you say that I was reckless?' 'No, Sir Guthrie. But you are my last gentleman, sir.' 'Your last gentleman! That's probably it. Too much of a gentleman to answer back. Not so many of us about nowadays, are there?' 'I was just about to pack up.' Denver had polished the last glass and was about to hang up his white jacket.
'Is that what you're advising me to do, Denver?' Guthrie looked more stricken than ever. 'Jack it in, hang up the scarlet dressing-gown, take to golf?' 89 'A very good-night to you. Sir Guthrie,' was the barman's firm reply.
So Guthrie came down the steps of the Sheridan Club unsteadily, not quite drunk but still not as sober as a judge, and in the street he bumped into someone who appeared to be leading a group of revellers and whom he recognized, after protests and apologies, as Henry, who had been his clerk when he was Head of our Chambers. 'Out on the town, are you?' And Guthrie, looking round at the clerk's friends, added, 'I say, are you all in the law? Please accept my profound sympathy.' 'Not exactly. Sir Guthrie,' Henry told him. 'Not all of us is in the law. What you see here is the cream of the Bexley heath Thespians up in town for our annual outing.' 'And piss-up,' added a male thespian who was carrying a theatre programme.
'That was not the purpose of the evening. Sir Guthrie.' Henry maintained his dignity. 'The purpose of the evening was to witness Miss Diana Rigg performing in the living theatre.' 'I'd like to play opposite her, I honestly would,' the thespian with the programme said longingly.
'Hedda Gabled Not many laughs in it, was there?' This came from Dot Clapton, who, as you will remember, was also a member of the acting group.
'Never any of those. Not in that Henry Gibson,' said another star of Bexleyheath, and Dot explained, 'So we was all off to Blokes for a bit of a bop.' 'A bit of a bop, eh?' Guthrie seemed overcome by sadness.
'There was a time when I could indulge myself in a bit of a bop. Before the pressures of life in the law became too much for me. Where is this Blokes you go to?' 'Leicester Square, just round the corner.' And Dot extended an invitation. 'Feel like a rave-up, do you?' 'Speaking for all the assembled thespians here. Sir Guthrie,' Henry told him, 'we should be honoured if you would join us, just for a drink.' 'That's very kind of you but....' he no doubt became aware of Dot's considerable attractions, 'that would be quite impossible.' Like other judicial decisions, this one was almost immediately reversed and Guthrie found himself, a quarter of an hour and a couple of rum and Cokes later, standing under flashing lights and moving vaguely in time to some very loud music in what he fondly imagined to be an offhandedly seductive manner, while Dot danced expertly and appealingly around him. And even then, according to Dot's subsequent account, he was still bemoaning his lot.
'What was I meant to do, quite honestly? Go down the cells, keep a fatherly eye on Pinhead Morgan, make sure the Old Bill didn't fit him up, see he had tea and biscuits and a clever solicitor? I can't do that, you know. I simply haven't got the time. If the Judges are going to carry on, we've got to trust the police, Debby.' 'Dotty.' 'What did you call me?' 'My name's Dot, Dotty. Not Deb, Debby.' 'I'm sorry. It seems I'm always making mistakes.' 'Don't you worry, Judge. You're an excellent mover.' The next morning, when I came into Chambers, Dot had just received a large bunch of flowers and Erskine-Brown, with his usual nose for a scandal, was reading out the inscription on the card which accompanied the tribute: from A JUDICIAL ADMIRER. THANKS FOR THE BOP.
'I don't read your correspondence, Mr Erskine-Brown,' Dot was entitled to say. 'So I'd be glad if you kept your eyes off mine.' 'Only taking a friendly interest, Dot. Is it serious? When's the engagement?' 'I've seen enough of married men, Mr Erskine-Brown, not to want one of my own, thank you very much.' At which point Henry, who had been engaged on the telephone, said, 'We've been waiting for you to come in, Mr Rumpole. You've got a police officer up in your room, sir.' "There you are, Rumpole.' Erskine-Brown was clearly delighted. 'They fingered your collar at last!' I did, I must confess, go through a moment of extreme unease. Was it something to do with my income tax?
When I got up to my room the client's armchair was occupied by a large, comfortable, grey-haired man who looked, as I have said, less like a bent copper than everyone's favourite uncle. Also there was the indispensable Mr Bernard, who effected the introduction. 'I told Superintendent Gannon he couldn't have a better brief, Mr Rumpole. Not one with your talent for acquittals. He saw my point, didn't you, Roy?' 'Acquittals! That's what's caused all this mess, the way you lawyers let Pinhead out laughing.' His words were bitter but his voice was low and reasonable, one of the mildest-mannered men, I thought, who ever faked a confession.
'You blame the lawyers for that?' I added, in fairness to our much-abused profession, that it wasn't a lawyer who rewrote the dubious page two.
Gannon didn't answer me directly but said, 'I gave Betty Yeomans my solemn oath I'd get her a conviction. That's what's kept Betty going, my promise to her. Someone had to pay for Ted Yeomans's life.' 'Even someone who hadn't killed him?' I asked.
'Pinhead was guilty all right.' 'Beyond reasonable doubt?' I started to look at the proof of my client's evidence, prepared by Mr Bernard, while Gannon gave his views on the presumption of innocence, 'Lawyers' language!' Again the contempt was deep but the voice was gentle. 'You don't believe me, do you, Mr Rumpole? I can see that. Nobody believes a copper nowadays. The world was a whole lot better when people had faith in us. That's what I think about it.' 'All right.' I
didn't argue about who had caused the loss of faith as I was anxious to get down to the facts of the matter.
'Pinhead was arrested on the night of the incident.' 'The night he killed Ted Yeomans,' Gannon insisted.
'He was someone known to the police. He'd packed a lot in.
Common assault, affray, take and drive away, possession of an offensive weapon. So you thought right from the start, Pinhead Morgan was a likely suspect.' 92 ms 'Seemed probable.' 'You were busy on the morning he confessed?' I asked.
'I went to see someone in hospital. When I got back to the station I was met by D. I. Farraday, who told me that Pinhead was ready to talk.' 'That's right. They'd had a short interview with him on the morning when you were away. According to Farraday's note, all Pinhead said was, "When's the guvnor back? I feel I'd now like to tell him about my involvement."' 'Something like that.' 'So what made him change his mind?' 'They need to talk, Mr Rumpole. They need to tell someone about it; they can't keep it bottled up any longer. Then the truth comes out. And you lawyers won't believe it.' 'He's said to have the mental age of a child. Did he use all the words in this confession statement?' 'As far as I'm concerned he said exactly what I wrote down.' 'You wrote on single sheets of paper. Loose sheets?' 'Yes, I'm sure I did. D. I. Farraday and D. S. Lane saw that.' 'No paper between the sheet you were writing on and the table?' 'No, I'm sure there wasn't.' 'You know the E.S.D.A. machine thinks differently?' 'You can't rely on a machine.' I thought, well, he would say that, wouldn't he? I got up and went to the window. Then I turned back to look at the solid man filling my armchair. 'Superintendent Gannon, you do understand the case against you?' 'I wrote down what Pinhead said,' he insisted.
'You're sure you didn't improve on it later? So you could keep your promise to an unhappy woman?' I hope I made it sound as though I could understand the temptation, but he shook his head and simply answered, 'I'm sure.' Claude Erskine-Brown had two overriding ambitions: he wanted to bring a little extra romance into his life and he wanted to become one of Her Majesty's Counsel, learned in the law. The fact that his wife Phillida could write the magic letters Q.C. after her name was, for him, a matter of continual disquiet. His efforts to achieve his two great objectives were not, at that time, wholly successful. His pursuit of young women, and his efforts to get them to accompany him to the Opera, led, as often as not, to embarrassment for all concerned. In search of the elusive silk gown he got himself elected to the Sheridan Club, where he hoped to make friends with judges and old Keith from the Lord Chancellor's office, who would further his career., So far, his membership hadn't brought him the great reward. It did, however, lead him to invite me to lunch at a time when the criminal community had apparently gone off on holiday and business was slack. I accepted with reluctance, not being greatly attracted to the sight of a lot of judges and publishers sitting together drinking Brown Windsor soup (the Sheridan was proud of its cuisine, less nursery food than old-fashioned railway dinners). However, I went along for the claret and there, in the bar before lunch, we met Guthrie Featherstone and had a conversation with him which was to add greatly to his difficulties.
'I'm so sorry, Judge,' Erskine-Brown started to commiserate with his Lordship, as I thought tactlessly, on the reverse he'd received in R. v. Pinhead Morgan. 'You must be suffering a great deal.' 'Suffering?' Guthrie smiled recklessly. 'No, I'm not suffering.
I'm feeling, well, on top of the world, really.' 'You're being brave about it.' And then Claude told the Judge, even more tactlessly, 'Of course, anyone can make mistakes.' 'Mistakes?' Guthrie looked puzzled. 'What are you talking about? Who's been making mistakes? Have you heard about anyone making mistakes, Rumpole?' 'Oh, no one. Absolutely no one at all,' I tried to reassure him. 'Mistakes simply don't occur in the law.' 'I summed up in that case absolutely fairly on the evidence before me. Are you suggesting that was some kind of a mistake?' 'God forbid!' I said fervently.
'Well, anyway, you look well.' Claude was anxious to change the subject he'd introduced. 'I'm so glad you're feeling well, Guthrie.' 'Top of the world!' Guthrie smiled with boyish enthusiasm.
'There is more to life than stuffy courtrooms and summingsup, Claude. Life has better things to offer. Greater pleasures.
And thank God I'm still young enough to enjoy them.' 'Of course you are!' Claude encouraged the Judge.
'At least I'm still young enough to indulge in a bit of a bop occasionally.' 'A bit of a what?' I was puzzled.
'A bop, Rumpole. That means a dance-up,' Erskine-Brown translated for me.
'A dance-up?' 'A modern idiom which you might be too square to understand,' Guthrie said, and Claude was unwise enough to make a joke at which he laughed prodigiously. 'Rumpole's not square. He's round!' 'Oh, I can see this is going to be a hilarious luncheon.' By this time I was feeling quite gloomy, but then Guthrie decided to make his confession.
'As a matter of fact, Marigold was away,' he began confidentially, 'and I didn't fancy spending the evening here, among a lot of dusty old lawyers, so I took a young lady out bopping.' 'Claude takes them to Wagner,' I said. 'I suppose it lasts longer.' 'A judicial bop!' Erskine-Brown thought the matter over.
'Good heavens, I'd never have imagined it.' 'What I do find interesting, to be absolutely honest with you fellows', Guthrie seemed to be enjoying his confession 'is how many people today... well, let's say young women girls, if you like... how many girls rather prefer the older man as a partner, in every sense of the word.' 'Gerontophilia, is that the in-thing nowadays?' I asked, as innocently as possible.
'I mean, not really old. Not in your class, Rumpole,' Guthrie said, as I thought unnecessarily, 'but the slightly older' 'Judge?' I supplied the word.
'Even judges are human.' Guthrie spoke as though letting us into a closely guarded secret.
'So you mean, you actually struck lucky with your Bopee?' Erskine-Brown could hardly believe his ears.
'Oh, yes,' Guthrie answered us with some satisfaction.
'Beyond all reasonable doubt. Successful in every way, Claude. In every possible way. It was an evening to look back on with joy. When one's bopping days are over.' He looked at his watch. 'Sorry, you chaps. Lunching with a couple of the younger members.' At that time I didn't know Toby Harringay, nor did I realize exactly who he was until he was identified as one of her partners at the Pentium Bridge School by She Who Must Be Obeyed. However, I had been conscious of him in the offing, a moist-eyed, perpetually smiling fellow with suspiciously jet-black hair and a Sheridan Club bow-tie. As soon as Guthrie had left, he showed us how much he had been enjoying the conversation by saying, 'What exotic lives judges lead nowadays, don't they?' He had quite clearly heard everything.
Erskine-Brown smiled in a noncommittal manner and led me in the general direction of the soup. As we went I quoted Robbie Burns: '"There was a chield amang us taking notes."
Rather unfortunate that.' Toby Harringay was not the sort to let a good bit of gossip waste its sweetness on the desert air. Only a few afternoons later he was seated at the green baize opposite Hilda, with another couple of senior citizens who occupied the afternoons in polishing up their bidding at the Pentium School in Sloane Street. It was while the cards were being shuffled. She told me, that Toby began to spread the story which he couldn't possibly keep to himself.
'Hanky-panky,' he said. 'And this will come as a shock to you, Mrs Rumpole, among the Judiciary. Bed-hopping! I'm afraid that's what it comes to. Like those dreadful young people that go on package holidays to Menorca. You wouldn't believe it of judges, would you? But, oh my! You should hear them talking about it in the Sheridan Club.' 'Oh, the dear old Sheridan.' Hilda as yet knew nothing of the shock in store. 'Rumpole must get round to joining it.' Toby started to deal out the cards and the information.
'There was a judge holding forth in the bar the other day.
What do you think he was on about? Points of law? Reform of the jury system? Not at all. It was all about how he'd taken some young bopper to a discotheque and how girls prefer the older man
as a partner, "in every sense of the word"! Honestly, ladies. It was quite shocking to an old gentleman like me. You probably know the Judge I'm talking about, Mrs Rumpole.' 'Oh, probably,' Hilda said casually. 'Rumpole's friends with so many judges.' 'Tall chap, always looks terribly nervous. Fotheringay, no, Feather something.' Toby was now sorting out his hand.
'Not', Hilda was almost afraid to ask, 'Featherstone?' 'That's it! Mr Justice Featherstone. Wouldn't like to be hauled up before him, would you? Not after he's spent a hard night of hanky-panky in the discotheque. Your shout, Mrs Rumpole.' 'Guthrie Featherstone! Oh, dear.' Hilda could hardly bring herself to count her points. She was already beginning to wonder if it were not her clear duty to see that Marigold knew.
The more I thought about the defence of Detective Superintendent Roy Gannon the less I gave for our prospects.
Neither the Judges nor the police were having a good time that year, and they seemed to have sunk in the public estimation to the level of traffic wardens and income tax inspectors.
John Mortimer - Rumpole On Trial Page 10
