Mr. Crankling had proved obliging. He was possibly the only man who could claim seniority in the service of the law to the Attorney General’s clerk, Mr. Messenger. He had started work at the Old Bailey as a boy, carrying up heavy scuttles of coal for the fires in the judges’ private rooms, until the Clean Air Acts and the installation of central heating had relieved him of this back-breaking job.
Something’s gone wrong, thought Bonnie.
The judge had reappeared, with all due ceremony. Counsel and solicitors were ready in their places. But there was no jury. Only the jury bailiff, in agitated conference with the clerk to the Court and, through him, with the judge. Finally the judge said, “Very well. Let them come in.”
When the jury filed back into their places it was noted that there were only ten of them, and it was clear that something had upset them. One of the ladies had been crying. The judge, after a short consultation with the Attorney General and de Morgan said, “I am sorry to say that there has been an accident. Fortunately not a fatal accident, but an unpleasant one. On the jurors’ way back from luncheon, a youth on a motorcycle skidded, lost control of his machine and mounted the pavement. Two jurors were injured and have been taken to hospital. Normally we might perhaps have proceeded with ten jurors, but I have decided that, in a case of this importance, a full jury is absolutely necessary. Two further jurors must be empanelled. Yes. What is it?”
The clerk and the jury bailiff were both trying to say something. The judge listened patiently and impartially to both.
When they had finished he raised his hand and said, “It seems, Mr. Attorney, that we are in some difficulty. We have exhausted our panel and there are no reserves immediately available.”
The Attorney General said, “In that case, my Lord, a new panel will have to be enrolled. It will mean some days’ delay I fear.”
“Are you not overlooking a possible solution of the problem? Are not these the precise circumstances in which it is incumbent on you to
pray a tales?”
The Attorney General said, “Oh.” It was the sort of noise he might have made if someone had poked him unexpectedly in the stomach.
The judge, who was clearly enjoying himself, now entered into a prolonged discussion with the jury bailiff, ended by saying, “You’d better take a constable with you.” When the two men had departed he said, addressing the Court, who were now in a high state of expectancy, “You are about to see an important principle demonstrated. That a jury is nothing more and nothing less than a cross-section of the public chosen, at random, to adjudicate in a criminal matter. A court official has gone out, into the street, to stop the first two appropriate persons he encounters to add them to the jury. And here, I think, they are.”
The two new arrivals were a middle-aged woman dressed in well-cut country tweeds and a grey-haired, brown-faced man who wore gold-rimmed spectacles. They had been walking together, but were not, in fact, acquainted with each other. Both had arrived with the idea of getting into Court, had seen the hundred-yard queue still waiting, without much hope, outside the entrance to the public gallery and had walked round to the front of the Court where they had been seized by the jury bailiff and told to follow him.
The judge regarded his captives benevolently.
He said, “My bailiff will have explained to you that you are to join the jury. I take it you have no objection?”
Both were looking dazed, but nodded obediently.
“Very well, then, I have only two matters to ascertain. May I assume that you are both over the age of eighteen?” This produced a smile. “I see that I can. And you are both citizens of this country?”
The woman said, “In my case you can certainly assume that.” Her manner of speaking underlined the status which her clothes had already announced. “I am Mrs. Gordon-Watson. I have lived all my life in this country. As also has my family before me for many hundreds of years.”
The man had produced a card, which the judge studied. He said, “You are Dr. Venkata Rajami?”
“That is correct, my Lord. And I am a citizen of this country. I came here twelve years ago from South Africa. I secured naturalisation six years ago.”
“Splendid. Your medical expertise will be most useful.”
“Not a doctor of medicine, my Lord. A doctor of philosophy of Durban University.”
“A philosophic outlook will be equally valuable,” said the judge courteously.
At that point he observed that the Attorney General was on his feet. He said, “With respect, my Lord, if Dr. Rajami was recently resident in South Africa, it would surely be inappropriate for him to be a member of this particular jury.”
“Are you not overlooking an important point, Mr. Attorney? When members are added to a jury under
a tales, no challenge is permitted by either side.
Let this man and this woman be sworn. Very good. Now, Mr. Attorney, we are at your disposal.”
The Attorney General, who was still red in the face, said, “I do not propose to do more than outline the case for the Crown quite briefly. My witnesses will speak for themselves. The charge, members of the jury, is that the accused did, on November 1st last year, by the deliberate administration of a noxious substance, cause the death of Jack Katanga.”
Not bad, thought Roger. It was a speech in the modern idiom, comprehensive, but unemphatic and dispassionate. It dealt with the acquisition of weedkiller by the accused, the opportunity he had made to use it and his reason for doing so.
“In considering this,” he said, “you must bear in mind that the accused comes from a country where small offences are often punished by custodial sentences. He may well have thought that the same applied here.”
There was no doubt that the jury were impressed.
“I will first show you the scene at which the events of Thursday, November 1st, took place.”
A young policeman produced a plan of Katanga’s house and copies were handed round. Wyvil said, “I observe that the outlines of the outside walls and most of the inside walls are drawn heavily, whilst the eastern end of the wall between the sitting-room and the kitchen is more faintly indicated. Could you tell us the significance of this?”
“As I understand it, the sitting-room was originally L-shaped. It took in not only the present space, but also the area to the north of it. When the kitchen was enlarged into a kitchen dining-room, this area was added to it and a wooden partition was put up blocking it off from the sitting-room.”
“I hope that is clear,” said Wyvil. The jury who were studying their copies of the plan signified that it was.
“You will find that the thinness of the dividing wall assumes some importance at a later stage in these proceedings.”
She resumed her seat. Martin Bull indicated that he had no questions.
Next came a plump man with a sheaf of photographs which were handed round. Wyvil said, “It might help this witness if he had a copy of the plan. He can then explain from what point these photographs were taken.”
Two had been taken from the road in front, two from the garden at the back and four inside the house. Martin Bull was particularly interested in the two taken from the garden.
He said, “Allow me to congratulate you. Compared with the photographs we sometimes see these are remarkably good and clear.”
The plump man looked gratified.
“For instance, when you took this one you were standing on the lawn, I imagine.”
“That’s correct.”
“The jury can see from it the patio which runs along outside the drawing-room and dining-room and the glass doors from both rooms which lead out onto it. I observe a small structure at the right-hand end. Can you tell us what that is? A coal bunker, perhaps?”
“As a matter of fact, I looked inside. It’s a garden shed, with spades and forks and things like that.”
“You’re a gardener yourself?”
The witness admitted that he was.
“Then you must have noted how well kept the garden was. We can see a lot of it from your second photograph.”
“Yes, indeed. I always think the sign of a good garden is when the paths are nicely kept. Not that it’s too difficult, nowadays, with the weedkillers they sell.”
The judge said, “You mean that it is no longer a question of ‘grubbing weeds from gravel paths with broken dinner knives’, as Kipling puts it, in that beautiful poem, which I learned by heart when I was a boy and have never forgotten.”
There was a hushed moment while the Court waited to see if the judge would recite the poem to them, but he evidently considered that this would be out of place and said sharply, “Come along. Let us get on.”
“You are Dr. Alfred Moy-Williams, a licentiate of the Society of Apothecaries?”
The way in which the Attorney General said this appeared to underline the fact that this was the minimum qualification with which a doctor was entitled to practise.
Dr. Moy-Williams shifted uncomfortably and said, “Yes.”
“The deceased was your patient and you were called in, when he collapsed, some time before two o’clock on November 1st. Would you tell us, in your own words, what transpired?”
Dr. Moy-Williams did his best. He described the previous accident, the scar which it had left and the arrangement he had made for the use of the bougie.
“And your certificate of death was—?”
“Myocardial infarction caused by laryngeal spasms resulting from atresia of the trachea.”
“Perhaps you would be good enough to translate that into layman’s language.”
“Heart failure, caused by blockage of the windpipe.”
“Thank you. And subsequently, I believe, you had occasion to revise your former certificate.”
After a moment for thought the doctor said, “I concluded, subsequently, that it was likely that some poisonous substance had been ingested which broke open the scar in the gullet.”
“If I do not pursue this matter now,” said the Attorney General, “it is because we shall be getting somewhat more—er—precise information from other witnesses.”
Martin Bull said, “I have no questions for you, doctor, but considerable sympathy. We all know how easy it is to be wise after the event.”
Dr. Moy-Williams smiled gratefully. Dr. Thorn took his place on the stand and implied that he, at least, was an old hand at the game by rattling off the oath without looking at the card.
“You are Dr. Ian Thorn, M.A., B.M., B.Ch.?”
“I am.”
“Can you tell us why you were called in?”
“The Will of the deceased stipulated cremation – therefore—”
“Wait a moment,” said the judge. “Has the deceased’s Will been proved to us?”
Martin Bull, getting up quickly, said, “If you please. The defence will be calling the solicitor who drew up the Will, which has now been probated. I can, however, assure the Court that the opening clause did enjoin cremation.”
The judge said, “Thank you, Mr. Bull.”
The Attorney General whispered to his junior, “Have we seen the Will?” Wyvil shook her head. “Then we’d better do so quickly.”
“Yes, Dr. Thorn.”
“The regulations imposed on me two duties. To discuss the death with the deceased’s regular medical attendant and with the nurse who had attended him. It transpired that this was his wife. I accordingly discussed the matter with her.” He paused uncomfortably. He was well aware that he was not entitled to repeat what Dorothy had told him. What made it even more difficult was that it seemed uncertain whether she would herself be able to give evidence. He understood that worry and a succession of sleepless nights had brought her to a state where sedation was proving very necessary.
The Attorney General was also aware of the difficulty. He said, “Might I suggest, doctor, that you confine yourself to saying that
as a result of what she told you
, you concluded that further action was necessary.”
“That is quite correct,” said Dr. Thorn gratefully. “I contacted Dr. Summerson, of Guy’s Hospital, who was known to me, and arranged for the body to be taken to the Putney Mortuary, so that an autopsy could take place.”
“Was this step also the result of your own observation?”
“Yes. I had noted significant signs of blistering at the back of the mouth and tongue and in the oesophagus.”
“Yes. Well Dr. Summerson will be able to tell us more about those. Thank you, doctor.”
“Dr. Thorn,” said de Morgan, rising for the first time, “we all observed your embarrassment when you were dealing with your conversation with Mrs. Katanga. You appreciated, correctly if I may say so, that the rules of evidence prevented you from reporting what she said to you. That is the rule which excludes what we call hearsay evidence.”
“Yes.”
“It is a rule which, like a number of others, has been devised, for the protection of the accused, against third-party statements made in his absence and which he cannot check.”
“Certainly.” It seemed to him that the former Attorney General was making heavy weather of it.
“However, I am entitled, on behalf of the accused, to dispense with that protection if I wish. And I do so wish. Because I think that in this case it is essential that the truth and the whole truth should be brought out, no matter whom it harms or helps.”
“What’s the old goat getting at?” muttered the Attorney General. Wyvil shook her head.
“I therefore invite you to tell us what it was that Mrs. Katanga said that led you to invoke the help of Dr. Summerson.”
Dr. Thorn thought about this for a moment. Then he said, “Actually it was the scarring in the mouth and throat—”
“No, no, doctor. Let me correct you. That was your
second
reason for flying to Dr. Summerson. The first reason, you told us, was something Mrs. Katanga said to you.”
Dr. Thorn looked round the Court for inspiration. Finding none, he said, “She told me that the accused had visited the house that morning and had been left alone in the sitting-room.”
“And if she had told you that the vicar had called, and had been left alone in the sitting-room, would that have caused you to insist on an autopsy?”
“Well—no.”
“So what is it about the accused that his visit sent you hotfoot to Guy’s Hospital?”