Blood Roots: Are the roots strong enough to save the pandemic survivors? (24 page)

He did, however, wish to speak. He stood and waited till Theresa acknowledged him.

‘I would like to make a plea for clemency on behalf of my clients.’

There was a ripple of disbelief throughout the Great Hall. The feeling of hostility was tangible. Even Steven looked disgustedly at his father. Rick played to the audience in the public gallery, rolling his eyes.

‘And I want to make a plea for the maximum penalty,’ Duncan retorted firmly. His words were greeted by muted applause — just
long enough for people to let it be known where their sentiments lay, but not long enough to earn a rebuke from the judge.

Theresa pondered the situation for a moment then delivered her verdict. ‘We will have a recess until after lunch. Then the prosecution will make its case to the jury, requesting whatever sentence it feels appropriate. The defence may then enter a plea for clemency if, after the prosecution has made its case, it still wishes to pursue that course of action.’

Mark wished there was a court of appeal. The judge had made her own sentiments obvious. His task had never been going to be easy, but Theresa had just made it a whole lot harder.

She turned to face the public gallery. ‘Roger, will you please arrange for the accused to be taken back to the Punishment Room? We will reconvene at two o’clock.’

Theresa rose, prompting everyone else to stand too. She left the hall with Duncan hard on her heels. Mark did not follow.

Roger, Fergus, Zach and Harry arrived to collect the prisoners. They were joined by many others, including members of the jury, all intent on ensuring the hapless Chatfield brothers did not have any opportunity to escape. Behind the adults a group of children ran backwards and forwards chanting ‘Off with their heads, off with their heads!’ voicing the thoughts of most of the escort party, both official and unofficial.

Mark hung back, and Anne came to him and squeezed his hand.

‘Why did they plead guilty?’ she asked.

‘I asked them to.’ She looked at him enquiringly. ‘They were never going to get a fair hearing in a full trial,’ he explained. ‘A plea for clemency is their only hope.’

‘It doesn’t seem like much of a chance to me,’ Anne said softly. ‘Everyone’s so hostile — Penny, Steven, everyone. A lot of people are really angry you are defending them.’

‘I always knew it wasn’t going to be popular, but as long as I’ve got you, that’s all that matters.’ He held her close. ‘Have I got your support?’

‘You do,’ she replied. ‘I will be there for you after the trial,
whatever the outcome and however badly everyone else feels about you. But I have to tell you now, I agree with Steven and Penny. There is no place for those two monsters on this earth. And I’m sorry I can’t stay and support you now, I’ve promised to help Susan deliver the picnic lunch.’

He kissed her on the cheek, let her go, and sauntered slowly across Flag Court. He saw Greg and Jasper being pushed roughly into the Punishment Room and Fergus locking the door.

‘Get pedalling,’ Cheryl shouted through the window. ‘We’ll need plenty of electricity this afternoon.’

‘We want to use the electric grindstone to sharpen an axe,’ Bridget added.

The two sisters laughed and walked away.

Mark waited until all the adults had left then walked towards the Punishment Room. The children scattered and ran off. Suddenly he was the bogeyman.

When he peered through the window he saw the two brothers sitting dejectedly on crates. ‘I suggest you get on the cycles,’ he said.

‘You suggested we plead guilty,’ Greg retorted. ‘Fat lot of good that’s done us.’

‘Do you think you’d be any better off had Duncan called witnesses to the murders, or summoned some of the women you had raped?’

‘It’s going to be the same outcome anyway,’ Jasper sighed. His shoulders were hunched. He was staring at the floor.

Greg became agitated and stood up. ‘And there’s certainly no point in pedalling these frigging cycles,’ he said, striking out at one with his foot.

‘Do me a favour and get on the cycles,’ Mark said softly. ‘Do yourselves a favour too. Show them when they come back to collect you that you expect to live. And help remind them that if you’re executed, it will be them pedalling instead of you.’

With that he turned and walked away. He could hear the hum of the cycles as he passed under the arch beneath Cromwell’s Tower and walked into Lawn Court. Most people had gathered there. Some were sitting on benches eating the picnic lunch. Steven, Fergus, Roger
and Rick were playing bowls. As Mark walked down the centre path towards the West Gate he sensed all eyes had turned towards him. He felt isolated from the community, until Jane and Steven left their respective groups and joined him for a few paces.

Steven said, ‘We just want you to know, Dad, that you’re obstinate, and wrong, but you’re still our Dad and we respect you for doing what you think is right.’

‘And even though you’re wrong, and you’re going to lose, we still love you,’ Jane added.

He squeezed both their hands and they hurried away. It had meant a lot.

Walking beneath the stately oaks in the garden, he rehearsed his presentation out loud as he had always done before the Toastmaster speaking competitions he had taken part in back in New Zealand. On those occasions there had been trophies and titles at stake, now it was two lives.

Sometimes when he had lost a speaking competition, he had known he had given the best speech. But it was the judges who had the final say, and the judges always had prejudices. He remembered one competition in particular, where there had been two clear contenders for the title, himself and a woman who had given an excellent speech on race relations.

His own speech had been on divorce, and he felt from the applause when he finished that he had the title in the bag. As they waited for the judges to return with the result, people came up and congratulated him. The other main contender had looked across and given him a smile of defeat.

After what had seemed an age, the judges returned and named the other contestant as the winner. Later Mark discovered why he hadn’t won. During his speech he had said that divorce was rarely the fault of a single partner in a marriage. Unbeknown to him, the husband of the chief judge — a lady in her mid-fifties — had run away with his twenty-five-year-old secretary the week previously.

He wondered how many guilty verdicts had been delivered in trials because one strong-willed jury member had worn everyone
else down, or how many non-guilty verdicts had been delivered for the same reason. The lives of Jasper and Greg lay in the hands of seven people, each with their own opinions and prejudices.

He turned and made his way back towards Haver House, determined to see Theresa alone. He didn’t want to run the risk of losing the trial unfairly due to the prejudice of a single member of the jury prepared and able to wear down the remainder. He had one person in mind, someone whom he believed was capable of battling to get his own way, just to spite the defence counsel. Except it wasn’t about the defence counsel, it was about the lives of Jasper and Greg.

‘It’s very irregular,’ Theresa said when he had made his submission, ‘as is having this meeting without Duncan being present.’

‘Let’s be honest, we’re having to make up the rules as we go along. You usurped the jury’s control when you announced you would decide the details of any sentence.’ Theresa opened her mouth to speak, but he continued. ‘You wanted to protect the children from witnessing another public execution, right?’ She nodded. ‘I’ve agreed to all Duncan’s conditions and requests,’ Mark pleaded. ‘All I ask is this one thing. It’s not as if it’s a change — we’ve never discussed in detail how things would be handled at the end of the trial.’

‘I’ll think about it. I’m not going to promise anything. I’ll decide at the end of your plea for clemency.’

Mark knew he had done the best he could. He also knew that there were now two rounds to the competition. He had to win the preliminary round outright, and in the process convince Theresa to grant his request. What, he wondered, were the chances? The Chatfield family had killed both her mother and her sister, and Jasper had raped her.

The public gallery had filled well before two o’clock. Theresa, keen to get things over and done with, had arranged for Roger to have the accused in the dock before the court reconvened.

Duncan had spent the break rehearsing his presentation and talking to the jurors. The latter was extremely irregular, but in the confines of Haver perhaps inevitable.

As the clock above Cromwell’s Tower chimed two, the excited chatter in the public gallery died. The young children who had been on the dais imitating the haka and poking out their tongues at Jasper and Greg were summoned to return to their seats.

The door behind the dais opened and Theresa, Duncan and Mark filed in. As soon as everyone had settled in their seats and was quiet, Theresa turned to the jury.

‘The defendants, Greg and Jasper, have both pleaded guilty to the appalling crimes of which they were accused. It will be the jury’s task, following submissions by the prosecution and defence, to decide
the nature of their sentence. Once the jury has reached its decision, I as judge will determine how the sentence will be administered.’ She turned her attention to Duncan. ‘The prosecution will now make its recommendation for sentence.’

Duncan rose to his feet, swirled his gown and turned to address the jury. ‘Members of the jury,’ he began. One of the children in the public gallery whispered something to their mother, which prompted Duncan to depart from his prepared presentation, turn to the throng in the Great Hall and add, ‘and citizens of Haver …’ From that point on, he spent more time addressing the public gallery than the jury. ‘There can only be one punishment for the crimes these monsters have committed — the death penalty.’

There was a murmur of agreement from the public gallery. Cheryl and Bridget clapped, but stopped when Theresa glowered at them. Several members of the jury nodded in agreement. Rick did not hold back, puckering his lips in approval of Duncan’s words and nodding vigorously in turn to the judge, Mark, Jasper, Greg and finally to the public gallery.

‘Let us just remind ourselves,’ Duncan continued, ‘of the crimes that these monsters have perpetrated against our community, against our brothers, our sisters, our parents, our aunts and uncles, our cousins and our children …’

Mark found himself not only listening to the content of Duncan’s presentation, but also judging him as if he were judging a Toastmaster’s speaking competition. His cousin proved a much better speaker than he had expected. Duncan spoke with passion, but why wouldn’t he? Greg had killed his brother Cameron. Jasper had killed his cousin Warren. Both had pleaded guilty to killing his favourite aunt, the crippled, defenceless Aunt Margaret. Jasper had also admitted raping Duncan’s sister Jennifer and two of his nieces.

Duncan had obviously practised a few dramatic sweeping gestures and sweeps of his gown. Mark judged that to be a mistake. The gestures looked overacted and insincere. Duncan was at his best when he simply spoke from the heart.

His address was highly irregular. Jasper caught Mark’s eye several
times and jutted out his chin as if demanding Mark intervene. Mark simply shook his head gently and held a finger to his lips. Even Theresa looked at him, the look on her face suggesting that if he objected, she would support him.

But Mark felt objections would do him little good. By objecting, he would only alienate the jury. The community at Haver had been denied a full trial by the guilty pleas. They felt cheated. They wanted justice restored, and Duncan reminding them of the terror the Chatfields had wrought upon them was providing them with a sense of closure.

Duncan presented the same evidence he would have done had he called witnesses, simply using the words he had prompted the witnesses to use when preparing for the trial. He also spent a lot of time detailing the crimes of Nigel and Damian, neither of whom were alive to stand trial.

Duncan led his relatives through the worst events since the outbreak of the pandemic. How Nigel and his sons had enslaved them while enjoying a life of luxury. He dwelt at length on the first execution, of Paul’s son Mathew, reminding the audience that he had run away, because he was being raped by Damian, and how Jasper and Greg were accessories to Mathew’s murder by standing by and watching Damian swing the axe.

He also reminded them that after Mark, Steven and the rest of the escapees had fled from Haver, Jasper and Greg stood by and watched again as Damian had beheaded their frail Aunt Margaret for saving Steven from becoming another of Damian’s victims.

He next outlined the massacre following Mark and Steven’s escape — in Mark’s mind the first relevant content in Duncan’s presentation — reiterating how Jasper and Greg had shot Cameron Steed and Warren Dalton in cold blood and how their actions had led in turn to Damian shooting Melanie Morgan and Charlene Dalton.

‘And they shot me too,’ Bridget yelled from the public gallery.

‘Of course,’ Duncan said, flustered by the interruption, ‘I was coming to that.’

Although it had nothing to do with the case in hand, he reminded
his relatives of how much better life had been after Diana had overthrown the Chatfield tyranny. How the school had been established, how they had enjoyed the freedom of being able to play cricket and other games. Mark noticed the prosecutor was losing his audience.

However, Duncan recovered both his composure and his audience as soon as he related the events following Jasper regaining power.

‘And what did these monsters do as soon as they were back in charge?’ he asked. ‘They enslaved us once again. They murdered Diana and systematically raped every woman in this community.’

For once he was looking at the jury rather than the public gallery, his eyes dwelling on Jennifer, Susan and Kimberley.

‘Our wives, our mothers, our daughters and our sisters.’

He turned to Theresa, who had also been raped.

‘I rest my case. There can be only one sentence to be passed on these two monsters … these murderers, these rapists. I demand the death sentence.’

There was a spontaneous round of applause both from the public gallery and the jury. The only member of the jury who wasn’t clapping was Steven, but his face betrayed the fact he too fully agreed with Duncan’s sentiments.

Rick, who had suffered none of the events described, not only stood up and led the clapping, he went over to Duncan and shook his hand.

Mark looked at Theresa, his expression pleading with her to take control. Eventually she held up her hand and the commotion gradually died down. When all was quiet she turned to Mark and asked bluntly, ‘Given the prosecution’s presentation, do you still wish to make a plea for clemency?’ She obviously didn’t feel such a presentation was necessary.

‘Yes,’ said Mark firmly. Rick rolled his eyes in ridicule. ‘But before that I’d like a short recess please.’

‘Very well,’ Theresa said evenly. ‘Return the prisoners to the Punishment Room and have them back here for when we reconvene at four o’clock.’