John Mortimer - Rumpole On Trial

by Rumpole On Trial(lit)

  'Mr Rumpole, I didn't hear that,' Graves warned me in adetached sort of way.

  'Did you not, my Lord? It must be the acoustics.' After which interruption I took up my conversation with the witness again. 'Later that day you say a young man rang at the door and when you opened it he attacked and robbed you.' 'I heard the bell. I thought, he's back again, I'll give him a piece of my mind.' 'You weren't frightened of him when you went to the door?' 'Not then, no. I was when I saw him, though.' 'Why?' 'Well, he had this, what they calls it? Ballycarver?' 'Balaclava, yes. He'd pulled it down, had he? You say in your statement that his face was hidden the second time he called.' 'It was hidden a bit, yes,' she had to admit.

  'Mrs Parsons, can you be sure it was the same boy?' i93 I was rewarded by a silence, and then she said, 'I think it was the same.' 'You think so?' 'He had the same clothes, a dark jersey, like, and jeans, training shoes, whatever they call them, plimsolls, that's what we knew them as.' 'The uniform of thousands and thousands of young men all over London. But you didn't see his face?' 'Just his eyes. That was enough for me.' 'His eyes may have been enough for you, Mrs Parsons.

  They may not be enough for a jury to convict this young man on a serious charge of robbery with violence.' At which point I gave the twelve honest citizens a long and searching look and sat down, not altogether displeased with my performance.

  I have often said that life at the bar would be a great deal more pleasant if we could do without clients. Clients get in the way, they fuss, they tell you things you'd rather not know, and then they prance into the witness-box and destroy the defence you have carefully built up by a moment of unnecessary candour. Some clients are, of course, more bearable than others, and as a general rule I have found that the more serious the crime the politer the client. Murderers are always grateful, those who contest parking fines, never. An exception to this rule was young Joby Jonson; the crime he was accused of was as appalling as his manners. All the same, I forced myself to pay him a visit in the cells under the Old Bailey after the first day's work was done.

  'The time has come for you to tell the truth, Joby. Confession is good for the soul. Now I want you to admit that someone told you to go round to the old lady's house and ask her if she was still living there, then scarper. That was in the morning. What were you doing in the afternoon?' 'I told yo.' Joby was in his usual laconic mood. 'Did'n' I?' 'Yes, and for once I believe you. You were dropping an Ecstasy pill you'd bought off some girls down from Manchester , an activity which led to an unseemly bout of folk-dancing outside the Superloo in Euston Station, and probably a horrible reaction of shivering and thirst, plus a certain loss of memory.' 'How comes yo know so much about doing an "E", Mr Rumpole?' He made it sound like an accusation. 'How come I know so much about everything? I know you went to the house in the morning because your palm print was on the door and Mrs Parsons saw you. That was why she picked you out at the I.D. parade. I know you didn't go in the afternoon because the group you work for were so desperate to discover our defence. They're dead scared you'll say another of their lads came after you and did the serious business. Well, you'll have to tell the truth, Joby, before this case is over.' I sat down opposite him then and saw him stare at his feet. He didn't lift his eyes to ask, 'What's this group yo's on about then?' 'Don't play games with me, sunshine.' I spoke to Joby in the language he understood, that of the copper and criminal.

  'You know damn well who I'm talking about. You can start telling us the truth tomorrow.' Then we left our client with a certain amount of relief and Mr Bernard went off to arrange the attendance of a witness on whom I placed our few remaining hopes.

  The next morning I asked the Judge if I might call a character witness, a particularly busy man, to give his evidence before my client Jonson went into the witness-box. The old Gravestone gave his usual icy disapproval to this suggestion until he heard that Joby's character was to be vouched for by none other than Sir Sebastian Pilgrim, bat carrier, philanthropist and believer in Britain. 'Of course,' he purred.

  'Sir Sebastian's time is of the greatest value, both to himself and to his country. No doubt it's only his sense of public duty which brings him to this rather sordid case. We'll certainly meet his convenience, provided you have no objection, Mrs Erskine-Brown?' Phillida bowed in graceful agreement and Seb entered the witness-box, a handsome and imposing figure, perfectly at ease and prepared, even in his advancing years, to hit the bowling to the boundary to tumultuous applause from the 195 Jury. When he admitted he was Sir Sebastian Pilgrim, Graves gave him one of his spectral smiles and went off down Memory Lane. 'You need no introduction, I'm sure, to those of us who remember that century against Pakistan in your Final Test.' Seb looked charmingly modest and I got on with the business in hand. 'And do you run an organization called the Youth Enterprise Reform Trust, allegedly to help boys who have fallen into criminal ways?' 'Once again. Sir Sebastian, your wonderful work with Y.E.R.T. is well known to many of us.' Graves continued to butter up the witness, who wasn't entirely delighted with the form of my question.

  'I do run that organization to help deliquent boys,' he said.

  'I don't know why Mr Rumpole used the word "allegedly".' 'No doubt a slip of the tongue, wasn't it, Mr Rumpole?' the Judge suggested.

  'Not exactly, my Lord. Perhaps if I go on a little my meaning may become clear.' And I asked Seb, 'Are you also Chairman of Maiden Over Holdings, which is planning a development near Euston Station that includes building a large hotel and a tourist shopping-centre?' 'I am.' 'We are most grateful to businessmen such as yourself, Sir Sebastian, who have so much faith in Britain's future,' Graves chimed in, and I wondered if we were going to have these varied versions of 'Oh, well played, sir' after every ball.

  'And aren't you having trouble with certain householders who refuse to sell their homes to make way for this magnificent and palatial development?' 'No, I don't think so. Not particularly.' Now, I thought, Seb was playing for safety.

  'Are you not? Do you not employ, among others, estate agents called Jebber & Jonas?' There was a pause as the witness seemed to be searching his memory. Then he said, as casually as possible, 'The name seems familiar.' 'Please answer the question. Do you employ them or not?' 'From time to time.' Seb's smile to the Jury seemed to be saying, 'It couldn't matter less,' but I asked the usher to hand him one of the estate agent's letters obtained by courtesy of by Jonson Dot. 'Is this a letter from that firm to a Mr Peter Clapton of MacGlinky Terrace, asking him to sell his house to make room for a new hotel development?' 'That would seem to be so.' Seb had just glanced it it.

  'Is it your hotel development?' 'Well, I can't think of anyone else with similar plans.' 'Perhaps no one else is so anxious to invest in the future of this great city, Mr Rumpole.' I ignored Graves's support for the great cricketer and went on. 'And isn't Mrs Parsons of 1 Pondicherry Avenue also a householder who wod't sell to your company?' 'You mean Mrs Louisa Parsons, the victim in this case?' The Judge was no longer smiling.

  'Oh yes, my Lord. What's the answer. Sir Sebastian?' 'She might be.' The athlete's shoulders in the business suiting gave us a small shrug. Had I been Portia I v'ould have interrupted long before this, for I was breaking all the rules by treating my own character witness with increasing hostility.

  When she did rise, to the obvious satisfaction of the learned Judge, I knew it was useless to argue and accepted her criticism with a good grace. 'Of course,' I surprised her, 'my, learned friend is perfectly right. This is a characte1" witness and I will come at once to my client's character. Sir Sebastian, do you take the view that young delinquents should admit what they've done and tell the truth about it?' 'Yes, I believe that's the start of reform.' Seb looked safely back on his home ground.

  'Admirable sentiments in my view.' The Judge, of course, agreed.

  'I thought your Lordship would feel that. Sir Sebastian, do you really want Joby Jonson to tell the truth about this case?' 'Yes, indeed.' 'He came to your club having been in trouble over a few minor matters
. No violence in his record?' 'I think that it was only some quite trivial thieving-' 'And you hoped to reform him?' 'I always hope, and I thought there was some good in the lad. He turned up regularly at the club. I felt I might make quite a useful spin bowler out of him.' 197 'Not as useful as you. Sir Sebastian, if we remember the Australian wickets in 1975. They went down like ninepins, members of the Jury.' I looked at the honest twelve and thought they were becoming just a little bored with his Lordship's cricket reminiscences, so I hammered away at the case, and at Seb. 'Did you also hope to turn him into quite a useful young thug to terrorize Mrs Parsons into selling her house to your company? That's the sort of job you give your enterprising young lads, isn't it?' 'My Lord, that's the most outrageous suggestion! Mr Rumpole is cross-examining his own witness.' Phillida was up on her hind legs again and, surprise, surprise, his Lordship was on her side. 'Mrs Erskine-Brown, I am in complete agreement.

  That is a question that should never have been asked, as you must know perfectly well, Mr Rumpole.' 'My Lord, may I say something?' Seb looked like an honest outsider, anxious to put an end to the lawyers' bickering. 'I think it only fair that I should be allowed to answer Mr Rumpole's accusation. There is no truth in it at all.' 'No truth in it at all.' Graves dictated the words to himself and wrote them down carefully. 'Spoken, if I may say so, like a great sportsman. Mr Rumpole, you will confine yourself to questions about your client's character.' 'Delighted, my Lord. Always anxious to oblige. Sir Sebastian, despite his talents as a bowler, did you come to the conclusion that young Joby Jonson was not an entirely trustworthy criminal? Good enough to send with a final warning before lunch perhaps, but the afternoon terrorist attack had to be done by another of your proteges, shrouded in a balaclava helmet.' 'Mr Rumpole!' I had now lit the blue touch paper and Mr Justice Graves went off like a rocket. 'This is quite intolerable!

  I stopped you when you pursued this line before and you have totally disregarded my ruling. You persist in attempting to involve this most distinguished gentleman in the terrible crime of which your client stands accused. That is not the way in which we "play the game" in these courts, as you should know perfectly well.' 'I'm extremely sorry, my Lord.' I managed my most charming smile. 'I've never entirely understood the rules of cricket.' Loitering outside the Court after a midday Guinness and slice of pie, I saw Ballard accost Prosecuting Counsel and tell her, with a look of triumph in his eye, that he had 'done it'.

  'Oh, congratulations,' Phillida sounded unimpressed. 'Done what exactly?' 'Seen old Keith from the Lord Chancellor's office. I said that I'd been quite wrong about Claude, and that recently he's been showing a good deal ofgravitas.' 'How about bottom?' 'Yes. Quite a lot of that too.' 'I'm glad you put that right.' 'So what about lunch? Honestly, it really is very nice in the health-food bar, and I wouldn't have to send a taxi back to Chambers, like last time, for an extra sub out of the petty cash.' 'Sorry, Ballard, I think I'm going to be rather too busy for lunches out in the foreseeable future.' Soapy Sam looked disappointed, but our Portia had won her case. I wasn't so sure that I was going to win mine. My cross-examination of the great sportsman had been the high point. Then I had to call Joby and, although he told the truth as I had put it to Sir Sebastian, he wasn't the sort of witness the Jury could ever fall in love with and Phillida used her considerable skill to bring out his many unattractive qualities.

  As always I felt a considerable relief when my client had left the dangerous prominence of the witness-box and been returned to the silence of the dock. Now it was up to me, and I've never had any doubt, since I won the Penge Bungalow Murders by my two hours of brilliant deduction and emotional appeal, of my talent for a final speech. In a notable passage I summarized the position. 'Members of the Jury.' I leant forward and spoke to them as though we were alone together and Mr Justice Graves had melted away like an icicle °n a hot afternoon. 'Perhaps now young, Joby Jonson has taken the first step on the road to reform by telling you the truth. Until he went into that witness-box he was protecting his boss, his gang leader, that well-known cricketer whose performance in the Test Matches so delighted his Lordship.

  But the much-loved Seb Pilgrim had no intention of protecting him. He used Joby for a minor but disagreeable role in a plan to terrorize an innocent old lady into selling her house. And then he was content to see him locked up for years in a penal dustbin for the crime he planned.

  'If that's cricket, Members of the Jury, you might think we'd all be a great deal better off playing tiddlywinks.' When the speech was over I sat down and felt a great weight lift from my shoulders. I had done my job as well as I could, and now it was up to the honest twelve to make a decision. His Lordship, during his summing up, inserted a pointed and carefully polished boot into the defence at every possible opportunity and made it clear what he would like that decision to be. After a couple of hours in their room the Jury lost their collective bottle and agreed with him. In passing sentence Graves referred with disgust to an unwarranted attack on a great British sportsman and a public figure. 'Sir Sebastian,' he said, 'has devoted his life to the reform of youths such as you, Jonson. Unhappily you have proved quite unreformable. You will go to prison for five years.' During which time, I thought, if there were anything Joby did not know now about the life of crime, he would certainly have learned it. So he was taken down to the cells to continue his education. You can't, I suppose, win them all, but in Joby's case, it seemed to me, we had been bowled out by the umpire.

  It was in a somewhat doleful mood that I went back to Chambers and, finding Dot once again alone in the clerk's room, I thanked her for the help she and her father had given us, and said he should keep a careful lookout for young men in balaclava helmets. I also thought the time had come to tell her, as both Ballard and Henry had not yet dared to do, that we'd had a Chambers meeting to discuss the exotic ornament in her nose.

  'You never?' The idea of the solemn conclave entertained us both.

  'Nothing much was decided,' I said, 'except young David Inchcape told me...' 'Yes, Mr Rumpole,' Dot Clapton sounded unusually breathless, 'what did he tell you?' 'Only that quite honestly he hadn't noticed whether you had a diamond in your nose or not.' I left to the sound of Dot attacking her typewriter with unusual ferocity. The next day, and on all the days after, her nose was unadorned.

  In the end most questions are resolved in the clerk's room.

  We were assembled there on the hunt for briefs one morning when Claude Erskine-Brown came bounding in, having at last had the courage to buy The Times, which he had opened on an inner page where the list of those privileged to be crowned in silk was printed.

  'Hallo there. Hallo, you chaps. Hallo, Liz. Good morning, Dot. Hi there. Henry,' he chortled in his joy. 'You've all seen The Times, of course. Great news isn't it, and totally unexpected? Seen it, have you, Rumpole? I shall be leading you, my dear old fellow. I shall be sitting in front of you, doing your next murder for you.' 'Don't bother,' I begged him. 'You'll probably be too occupied with royal divorces.' 'Do you honestly think so? Well, you've seen the list, haven't you, Ballard? It seems thatgravitas is no longer called for.' 'Congratulations,' Ballard had the grace to say. 'It's wonderful news about your wife.' 'Philly?' Claude looked unaccountably surprised. 'What about Philly?' 'Haven't you looked at the front page of that newspaper, Erskine-Brown?' Ballard was astonished. 'And the photograph.' Hit seemed the poor nerve-wracked fellow had crept out of the house early, bought the paper at the Temple tube station and turned, with trembling fingers, immediately to the Silk list. Our Portia plays her cards pretty close to her chest and she had not told the rest of us, and certainly not her husband, that she was about to be wrapped not in mere silk, but in 201 scarlet and ermine. Mrs Justice Erskine-Brown was now about to take her place on the High Court bench and, as her photograph made clear, she was going to be a good deal easier on the eye than Mr Justice Graves.

  'Bless thee, Portia, thou art translated!' I said as I looked at it.

  'She never even told her clerk!'
Henry complained, and somewhere inside Ballard the penny finally dropped. 'So that's what she meant,' he told us, 'when she said she was leaving the Bar.' When Erskine-Brown first stood up in Court decked out in the full glory of his new-found Silk, he found himself bowing low and saying, 'if your Ladyship pleases', and, 'with very great respect', to his promoted wife. And I had to pay a similar tribute to Hilda when D. S. Appleby telephoned to tell me the result of the long-delayed quest for fingerprints She Who Must Be Obeyed had ordered. 'They found one,' I reported to her as we sat on either side of the gas-fire in our once-violated sitting-room, 'on the window frame over there.

  It was the thumb print of an old con who was sent down for robbery with violence for a good many years. He now acts as father confessor and driver to that great British cricketer and reformer of the young, Sir Sebastian Pilgrim. Fred Bry it was who entered our premises by night. You know what that means, Hilda? It means that the case of Joby Jonson is not entirely over.' 'Then I'm very glad I got the burglar alarm fitted. That's all I can say.' 'It's not all I can say, old thing. I'd like to say thank you for insisting on the fingerprint evidence. It shows how important it is to have a woman on the case.' 202 I have often wondered how my career as an Old Bailey hack would terminate. Would I drop dead at the triumphant end of my most moving final speech? 'Ladies and gentlemen of the Jury, my task is done. I have said my say. This trial has been but a few days out of your life, but for me it is the whole of my life. And that life I leave, with the utmost confidence, in your hands,' and then keel over and out. 'Rumpole snuffs it in court'; the news would run like wild fire round the Inns of Court and I would challenge any jury to dare to convict after that forensic trick had been played upon them. Or will I die in an apoplexy after a particularly heated disagreement with Mr Injustice Graves, or Sir Oliver Oliphant? One thing I'msure of, I shall not drift into retirement and spend my days hanging around Froxbury Mansions in a dressing-gown, nor shall I ever repair to the Golden Gate retirement home, Weston-super-Mare, and sit in the sun lounge retelling the extraordinary case of the Judge's Elbow, or the Miracle in the Ecclesiastical Court which saved a vicar from an unfrocking.