"We were aware that there was a lot of pressure to get a move on with the prosecution of Billy and George Crater. Janet’s murder and its aftermath had been widely reported so there was a lot of public interest in the result, and ‘law and order’ is one of the government’s present catchphrases. The Minister Responsible was getting asked questions in parliament and he in turn was demanding answers from the police and the Crown Prosecution Service. They too were anxious to score a big hit against one of the country’s bigger crime families so matters trundled along at quite a fast pace.
“Mark sat on his patience very well and seemed mostly able to keep his feelings under control. He never discussed the details of Janet’s sufferings in the presence of Sue or any other woman and, as far as I know, he might only have ever talked about them with me. He was not by nature a vengeful person, but when we talked, he usually drifted into the topic of what had been done to Janet before she died. He had all the details. His scientist’s mind had insisted on having them and the police, the first team engaged in the criminal chase, had given them to him accepting that he needed them to help him come to terms with what had happened. So, he had no doubts about the Craters’ guilt. He knew it was Billy Crater, the psychopath, who had actually killed Janet, and he knew that both Billy and George had each had her more than once before she died. He knew when they had tied her up with her own stockings, and broke her teeth on the bottle of brandy they had pushed into her mouth to wash down the drugs they had forced her to swallow. He knew the size of every bruise on her body and the length of every cut they made on her and the sequence in which it was made, and he knew how long they had kept her alive while they had their fun with her and how long it had taken her to die after they had finished. He knew all that, and all he wanted was for our system of law and justice to deliver the only verdict that was possible on the two men who had done it all to her. Life imprisonment with no possibility of parole for as long as they lived. It was, from any perspective, the only fair and reasonable verdict that could possibly be reached.”
“But it was not to be, was it?” recalled Aunt Gwendoline.
“No, it was not,” he confirmed.
She felt the sitting room fill with a solid silence in which even the ticking of her clocks became muted. The pressure across her shoulders pressed down hard upon her. She made a great effort to take a deep breath and clear her head, and momentarily she feared she was going to pass out.
“Aunt Gwendoline?” asked Gerard, suddenly startled. “Are you sure you are all right? It’s very late. Are you certain you want me to continue?”
The moment passed and the deafness left her ears. “You had better tell me what happened next,” she whispered into the quietness.
He looked at her carefully and at the anxious Rani quivering at her feet and looking up at her. He needed to complete his story but he was suddenly more conscious of his ancient aunt’s frailty.
“If you are sure you are all right,” he offered.
“I am,” she answered more firmly. “And I’m sure if my old bones can take it then so can yours.”
Her tone did not leave him any room to doubt her. “Very well,” he resumed watchfully.
“The first day of the trial arrived and started off quietly enough. Mark and I got to the court early, but the television and press were already out in force and there was much thrusting of microphones and cameras into our faces as we struggled to get through them. We fought our way inside the court building and found our way through to the public gallery. There was some nudging and pointing in our direction by the other members of the public as we took our seats. Mark took it all in his stride, although he was pale and tense and had probably not slept well the night before.”
“Susan did not go with you?” Aunt Gwendoline asked.
“No. She didn’t want to have anything to do with the trial. Any time I mentioned it we both quickly ended up looking for an exit from the conversation. Whatever it was that was frightening her was still there and I was no nearer to finding out what it was. I do remember her kissing me goodbye that morning as she left for work. She had a look of concern, even anxiety, on her face. Her eyes were moist as she looked unblinking at me for a few seconds and brushed down my lapel. Then she said ‘goodbye’ and ‘do look after yourself’, before quickly leaning up and giving me a kiss before turning around and going. It took me completely by surprise. I had not had a kiss like that from her in a long time. It was a very soft, moist kiss. There was love in it I am sure, but also unhappiness and a whole lot of other emotions I couldn’t unravel. I couldn’t get it out of my mind that it felt like a kiss goodbye, and not just goodbye to go to work. I did wonder at odd times throughout that day whether she would be at home when I got back and I am pleased to say she was. But that kiss did puzzle me.”
“And your vase also was still intact when you got home?”
“Yes, Aunt Gwendoline,” he replied patiently. “It was still intact.”
She nodded her acceptance of the information and once again felt the pressure of a hand on her left shoulder holding her in her chair. She tried to shake it off, but its grip held firm.
“I’m still here, Mother,” she gritted out silently through her clenched teeth.
Gerard noticed nothing.
Chapter 17
“I know we should have faith in our system of justice, but to see the great lumbering beast in action does stretch one’s credulity,” Gerard sighed. “Mark and I sat patiently as a herd of barristers rustled in with much smiling and handshaking and passing of sheets of paper between them. It was all very theatrical and we felt we were watching a play. They divided into two groups, the Prosecution forming up on the right. There were three of them led by an almost stereotypical QC, about as wide as he was short, and two assistants who busily set about emptying a supermarket trolley full of documents on to the table in front of him. They tried to appear impressive but from the start they looked a pathetically small force to muster against the tribe of silks and barristers who seated themselves on the left for the Defence. Each of the Crater brothers had his own QC and each QC had at least three assistants, each bearing their own trolley of weighty books and bound and tagged folders which they proceeded to lay out on the groaning tables on their side of the court. They were quite an army. The court officers had to bring in extra chairs to seat them all.”
“Not a good start,” commented Aunt Gwendoline.
“Not encouraging and it didn’t get any better,” Gerard confirmed. “No sooner had they all settled after their lengthy fussing than it was all upstanding to welcome the Judge, and by the time he had given his preliminary address about the case to be tried followed by another little speech about the jury selection process, it was time for lunch, which the Judge decreed should take two and a quarter hours. It was impossible to feel there was any sense of urgency to get on with the business in hand.”
He took a deep breath to control the frustration that came back to him by recalling the events.
“After lunch the Judge moved to begin selection of the jury. Immediately one of the defence barristers was on his feet with some point of order or something. The prosecution barrister responded with some filibuster while one of his assistants rapidly flicked the pages of one of the legal books they had carted into court with them, and a defence barrister countered with a reference to something in one of the books on the Judge’s desk. At that point the Judge decided that further discussion was needed in his room out the back so out they all trooped. We twiddled our thumbs for about three quarters of an hour, then no sooner had they all returned to the court than a different defence barrister raised another objection, at which point the whole business of the Judge and barristers trooping in and trooping out for a quiet chat began all over again. This continued for the rest of the day, interrupted, of course, only by a break for afternoon tea. It took another day before the jury was in place.”
“It does sound tedious,” Aunt Gwendoline agreed.
“I
t was more than that. The pace at which things happen in court is glacial. I’m sure that if the rest of us conducted our everyday life in the same pedantic manner we would still be debating the relative merits of reeds versus rushes in the roofing of our mud huts. It was so frustrating, especially when you know the answer and all you want to do is get to the decision and get on with the rest of your life. I was only relieved that Mark was able to hold himself together while all the nonsense was going on. But finally the jury was in place, except that it was now a quarter to four in the afternoon of the second day so the Judge offered the Prosecution the opportunity of delaying the start of the case until next morning. And that offer was, of course, accepted.”
Gerard took another deep breath to calm the anger he still felt at the pace of the proceedings.
“Mark never gave any outward show of impatience,” he continued. "I saw him look over at Billy and George Crater in the dock and study them on a few occasions. Neither showed any remorse or any feelings whatsoever, only a sort of supercilious boredom and indifference to what was going on. I saw them look back at Mark once or twice and then at someone over our heads. I turned around to see who it might be and immediately had to swallow hard. It was Frank Crater, their elder brother.
“For no particular reason, when Mark and I arrived in the court on the first day we seated ourselves at one end of the front row in the public gallery. Being humans and creatures of habit we made for the same seats every day without particularly thinking about it. It seems that Frank Crater made a point of waiting out of sight for us to arrive before quietly taking his place, one seat in from the opposite end of the back row. He was there whenever I looked, although he never returned my glance. The end seat was taken by I don’t know what you would call him, a friend, a minder, a bodyguard. The press and gawping members of the public filled in the seats in between. I suppose I should not have been surprised to see him there, but it was not the most comfortable of situations. I worried in case he and Mark should accidentally meet on their way into or out of the court, but by the time we stood up to leave at the end of each session he was gone so they never did meet and I don’t know what I would have done about it if they had.”
Aunt Gwendoline pressed her hand to her forehead. The hand on her left shoulder was becoming unbearably heavy. She was tired and she needed to go to bed. It was very late and her age would not let her cope with the night hours as she used to. If only the hand would let her go.
Chapter 18
“Day four of the trial arrived,” Gerard continued. "Unknown to us, it was to be the last. By ten o’clock we were all in our places in the public gallery, ready finally to hear the opening shots in the case for the Prosecution. We were all called to stand while the Judge ambled in. He sat, we sat, he adjusted his spectacles and blew his nose, shuffled some papers and then he invited the Prosecution to begin. Incredibly, even before the prosecution barrister was able to get to his feet, Billy Crater’s man was standing up and interjecting. ‘May it please Your Honour…’ he blasted out, and then followed up with something very fast in that mixture of Latin and legalese that lawyers employ in order to remain incomprehensible to anyone familiar only with plain English. The prosecution barrister looked stunned and started gasping like a freshly landed fish. ‘Your Honour, I object…’ he attempted, but he was drowned out by Billy’s man talking very quickly and loudly over him. And then everything deteriorated into the closest thing to a pub shouting match I should ever imagine is permitted in a court of law. We in the public gallery could only look on open mouthed.
"The Judge had great difficulty restoring order and eventually did so by sending a stern look in the direction of the Defence and raising a determined hand to silence a possible interruption by the Prosecution. ‘Do I take it…’ he finally asked Billy’s QC into the interlude he had created. He then enunciated something in legal Swahili which was again beyond comprehension by us in the public gallery and Billy’s man immediately agreed. ‘Your Honour I object…’ the prosecution barrister attempted again, but once more the Judge raised his hand. ‘You may well object,’ he acknowledged, ‘but this is an interesting line of argument which is going to need the most careful and detailed consideration. Members of the jury, you will retire while I listen to the arguments. I will ask the ushers to clear the court. Return the prisoners to their cells.’
"I know I groaned inwardly. ‘Here we go again,’ I thought, and I assume Mark felt the same. The prosecution barrister was not happy. He had clearly been caught flat-footed. In the public gallery, it was apparent that only Frank Crater and his minder had any idea of what was going on. They sat immobile and emotionless while the rest of us gaped at each other in bewilderment until the ushers arrived to guide us out.
"Mark and I waited outside the court, then after an hour of nothing happening we wandered out into the sunshine. We had a coffee followed by something to eat. There was no recall to the court after lunch and the sneaking suspicion that something had gone seriously wrong started to grow in us as the afternoon passed. At half past four it was clear that nothing more was going to happen that day, so we pushed our way without comment through the press corps and left the television presenters to fabricate their flapping speculations for the evening news bulletins all on their own.
"We found out the next day the magnitude of the Prosecution’s defeat. When we arrived in the court, the place was a mess. It looked like a classroom from which the wild and uncontrolled class had dashed out at the end of school without putting anything away. There were books and papers everywhere. Teetering piles of legal tomes covered the barristers’ tables and the Judge’s bench, all open at various pages and sliding off each other on to the floor in all directions, and a forest of folders covered every other available surface. The court was a shambles.
"At ten o’clock the Judge arrived. We stood, he entered, he sat, we sat and then, after clearing his throat, he turned to the jury.
"‘Members of the Jury,’ he began. ‘The prosecution and defence counsels and I have been engaged in some very detailed and technical legal arguments over the past day. I do not intend to describe them to you. Indeed, I would not expect you to understand them if I did. Nor is it important that you should do so. But after considering all the compelling arguments from both sides I have decided that in the particular cases that you were called to decide upon, namely the Crown versus William Crater and George Crater, the defendants have no case to answer. That is how I now rule. You are therefore discharged from your duties and the defendants are free to go.’
"He tried to add something about his ruling not being interpreted as prejudicial to the defendants or something similar, but his words were drowned out by the roar and pandemonium that erupted from the public gallery. He did not try to control it. Those of us who were still paying attention were called to rise, the Judge retired from the court and mayhem and disbelief were left to reign. In the dock Billy and George Crater punched the air and did a little dance of victory while their barristers sat back smugly in their chairs with their legs stretched out in front of them. The prosecution barrister slammed a few books down on his table before giving his defence counterparts a begrudging handshake. ‘Interesting point of law,’ I heard him mutter to them.
“Mark stood rigidly on his feet looking ashen, facing them all in stunned incomprehension. The case was over and not a single item of evidence had been presented. ‘No case to answer’ was the verdict. None of Janet’s suffering, none of her pain, none of her terror, nothing of the hours of agony and degradation she had been forced to endure, was ever going to be presented in a court of law for the world to see and adjudicate upon. And the two criminals who had done it all to her were going to walk away free without even the shadow of a question mark hanging over them. It was too much for anyone to accept.”
Chapter 19
Silence settled into Aunt Gwendoline’s sitting room and filled it to its darkest corners where the light of the two table lamps would not reach. Out of th
e blanketing darkness she heard the striking of her oak-cased clock in the hallway, its voice reminding her of what she already knew, that it was late and that she was very, very tired. The pressure on her left shoulder which had held her in her chair while her grand-nephew had been telling his tale lifted and she was free to move again.
“My dear Gerard,” she sighed. “I had not realised how late it has become. I am most desperately tired and you, dear boy, must be the same. It has been a fascinating story and I am sure there is more to come, but I do feel we have done all we can do for today.”
Gerard came out of his thoughts and also smiled tiredly. He became suddenly aware of exactly how dark it was outside.
“It is late and I’m afraid I have kept you up much beyond your usual bed time,” he agreed. “It has been a great help for me to talk about Mark and Janet and what happened around the time of the trial, but once I got going I’m afraid I just bored ahead. I hope it hasn’t been too much for you, me talking on like that.”
“That is what great-aunts are for,” she consoled him. “But I will now bid you good night and send you on your way. I must give Rani her supper and take myself to my bed.” She bent down and caressed the dog’s soft ears. “You have been a very patient dog, haven’t you? Yes, you have. And exceptionally good dogs should get a nice supper before they go to bed, shouldn’t they?”
“Can I help with the clearing up?” Gerard asked half-heartedly.
“I’ll see to it in the morning,” she smiled to him. “But now have a safe journey home, and promise me that you will come again soon and complete your story for me. There is a lot you haven’t told me. I am still no nearer to knowing why your lady friend Susan broke my late sister Alice’s vase in the precipitate manner she did. And then there are also the three falling stars which I must sort out.”
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