by Peter Corris
Briefly, he tried to counter some of the evidence he had heard given, asserting that he had not intended to defraud his employees of their bonds and that they had not pressed him for money. He claimed to have had money from his business in his pocket ‘on the night of the tragedy’ and no need to steal. The gun was for shooting rabbits.
A newspaper report on the trial stated that Moxley ‘broke down and wept several times during the recital’. There is, naturally, no sign of this in the transcript but his language was emotional at times, especially when referring to his son and his work. He made much of several injuries he suffered in the course of his timbercutting – a broken collar bone and concussion from a fall. He insisted that he had carried on working hard through these mishaps:
The hardest work I should say a man could do is an axe and a crosscut saw and a 14-pound hammer and wedge. I have been in the habit of working anything up to 21 hours a day to exist – to exist.
He went into details about his hours of work, missing his dinner, working seven days a week for extended periods, and falling into bed exhausted. Perhaps sensing that he needed to provide grounds for what he would assert in closing, he turned his attention back to the shooting incident. He claimed that he had changed from one who did not let things worry him to a condition ‘where everything upsets me’.
His headaches were catastrophic and could only be relieved ‘a little bit’ by aspirin and powders. Further, his friends had told him that when in the grip of severe headache he did things he could not recall later. ‘These headaches, gentlemen,’ he said, ‘were very severe, right up the side of my skull, and there were occasions when I thought my head must burst.’
Winding down, Moxley referred again to his war record and again to his having a mother and a sister and to his respect for women. He did not mention a wife, although at times he had referred to Linda Fletcher as his wife.
He concluded with the two strands of his claim to be innocent. One, that he had no memory of the events of the night in question, and two: ‘It may seem ridiculous to you, having heard the evidence. It may seem ridiculous. I may say that on the night of this tragedy I had no control over my actions whatsoever. Perhaps these things can be explained. I cannot.’ He added a few barely relevant remarks and concluded:
I may say, gentlemen, that as far as doing these people any injury that I am charged with, I have no knowledge whatever, absolutely none. I know nothing about the shooting of these people, and I do not think anyone does. That is the last word I wish to say, gentlemen, and I still maintain that I am innocent.
The court adjoined for lunch at 2.15 pm.
Hungerford called Linda Fletcher to the stand and questioned her about Moxley's ‘fits’. Mrs Fletcher said he had a couple of bad ones every week. McKean objected to the word ‘fits’, arguing that it was a medical term and the witness was not qualified to use it. The judge did not rule on this but said the witness could describe what she saw. From then on Hungerford encouraged Mrs Fletcher to use the term ‘attacks’. She tried to, but sometimes reverted to ‘fits’. At some length she described how Moxley, when working in the yard of the Burwood house, chopping or sawing wood, would fall to the ground, thrash about and foam at the mouth. For about 20 minutes he would be in this condition, unable to speak or hear, until the attack passed. Wtth the help of Moxley's son she would get him inside to bed, where he would sleep for a couple of hours. On waking he would drink several pints of water and be unable to recall anything of what had happened.
She said he took up to seven Aspro tablets at a time. ‘He lived on them.’ The attacks dated, she said, from when he had been shot in the head. He was not subject to them before that. Hungerford asked her to describe Moxley's general demeanour about the house. ‘He would be terribly excited,’ she said, ‘and he would be rushing around and he would be wanting things done at the very moment he spoke of them. He was a terrible excited chap like that.’
Hungerford asked for specific examples and Mrs Fletcher said that, when things went wrong with a job he was doing, he would throw his tools around the yard.
‘I said to him, “You're mad. You ought to go back to the bush. You're silly.”’
She said that Moxley had had an attack about four days before 5 April and that he had banged his head upon falling in the bathroom. She recalled that at some time after he had been shot ‘A piece of bone came out of his right ear. I picked it out with a pair of tweezers. It was the length of my nail, that is to say, my small nail. I measured it. We were sitting on the step and he fainted that day.’
Apparently satisfied with her evidence, Hungerford asked no more questions. McKean then subjected the witness to a gruelling examination that occupies 15 closely typed pages in the transcript. Almost for the first time, the trial participants seem to come alive in the document. McKean attempted to probe the nature of the relationship between Moxley and Mrs Fletcher, implying, by close questioning on the structure of the house they occupied, that they lived together as man and wife:
Q: He occupies the same room as you?
A: He certainly does not.
Q: He has never shared your room of course, has he?
A: Indeed no. He has too much respect for that.
Q: He has never shared your room?
A: Indeed he has not.
Q: How many rooms have you in your house?
A: Three rooms and a dining room and kitchen.
Q: But at no time have you lived together as man and wife?
A: No, we have not lived together as man and wife but some people used to think he was my husband, that is, outsiders, but I have not lived in his bedroom.
Q: You call him Mr Fletcher?
A: When he took my name to buy a car they knew him as Fletcher then.
Q: He was known as Mr Fletcher to all the outside world?
A:No.
Q: He was known as your husband?
A: No, indeed he was not.
McKean went on to ask about the language they used to each other and of each other when talking to friends and acquaintances. Mrs Fletcher admitted that Moxley called her Lin and she called him William and sometimes Bill, but that neither claimed to be married. They went occasionally to the pictures together but otherwise did not socialise.
Mrs Fletcher had an invalid pension of 17 shillings and sixpence per week and Moxley paid board for himself and his son. She bridled when McKean asked if Moxley was supporting her at anytime.
‘I have never been a kept woman in my life.’
At another point when McKean was attempting to establish Moxley's presence in her bedroom or hers in his, she held her ground:
Q: He never had one of those attacks in your room, did he?
A: He did not and I object to you saying that.
When Mrs Fletcher said that Moxley's health was failing ‘every day’ since being shot, McKean's questioning verged on harassment. He baited the witness about the precise meaning of the words ‘failing’ and ‘every day’. His object was clear – to attack Moxley's statement about his work ethic. Mrs Fletcher became confused and said that McKean was putting his questions in a ‘funny’ way. McKean virtually mocked her use of the word.
Armed with the statements about ‘failing health’ and frequent fits, McKean moved to the question of whether it were possible for Moxley to work, as he claimed, for seven days a week. Sensing the danger, Moxley interjected: ‘This woman would not tell a lie to save my life.’ McKean persisted and Mrs Fletcher protested:
‘I cannot tell you because you won't let me explain. I can't explain anything in the silly way it is going on.’
Hungerford objected to the manner of the questioning and McKean did not press the point. Clearly he had won the exchange. If what Mrs Fletcher said was true, Moxley could not have been the worker he claimed to be. A minor point perhaps, but if what she said about his health and the ‘fits’ was untrue, the defence was severely damaged.
McKean returned to the question of the relationship between Moxley
and Mrs Fletcher with questions about times of waking and sleeping, the preparation of meals and other domestic matters. Several times the witness described his questions as ‘silly’ and McKean was condescending in reply. At one point he asked, ‘Who is Douglas?’ as though he had not registered the name of Moxley's son, which had been mentioned several times. Despite this apparent lack of focus, he established that no doctor had been called to attend to Moxley when in a ‘fit’.
The Crown prosecutor's final questions were designed to bring the matter back to the facts at hand.
Q: Until he had his sleep would he be helpless?
A: Yes.
Q: Until he had a sleep would he be able to use a spade to dig the ground?
A: No.
Q: Or able to drive a car for a long distance on the road?
A: No, he wouldn't be fit to be driving a motor car as I always told him that.
Q: Would he be well enough to tie knots?
A: According to what knots you want me to say?
Q: Would he be strong enough to tie a man's hands behind his back?
A: Yes, I don't know whether he would do anything like that.
Hungerford's next witness was George Lawrence, a sawmiller who had worked with Moxley in the bush. He testified that Moxley took ‘fits’ but his description was much milder than that of Linda Fletcher. The events lasted only a few minutes and Moxley did not thrash about, merely twitched a litde. Lawrence made no mention of frothing at the mouth. He did say that Moxley was inclined to be ‘dreamy’ for some time after the attacks – unable to concentrate on the job at hand.
Hungerford put questions about Moxley's demeanour and state of mind. Lawrence was perhaps helpful to the defence case, though uncomplimentary. He said Moxley had difficulty keeping a train of thought and his memory was deficient on details of where and when he had delivered wood. Lawrence said that, privately, he coined ‘Dopey’ as a name for Moxley. He said Moxley was often slow and hesitant of speech and dishonest, claiming he sold green wood for the full price whereas Lawrence knew he charged ‘a ridiculously low’ price for it.
McKean treated George Lawrence with more respect than he had the previous witness, but Lawrence's evidence was not helpful to the defence. He said that Moxley's attacks lasted a fairly short time and that he would be back working, chopping or sawing wood within half an hour. Though ‘dreamy’ and ‘slowified’, he performed these tasks as though he knew what he was doing. Lawrence found Moxley's kindness towards his horse and refusal to use a whip ‘peculiar’ but McKean made nothing of that. When McKean asked questions about what names Moxley (whom he knew as Hudson) and Linda Fletcher used for each other, Hungerford objected and McKean did not press the point.
Hungerford called a paramedic, who had taken Moxley to hospital after he had fallen and broken his collar bone and shoulder blade, and another wood hauler. Their evidence virtually cancelled each other out: the paramedic finding Moxley normal in his reactions and the other witness describing argumentative, excitable behaviour accompanied by extravagant arm gestures and head movements. Moxley, he said, was known as ‘Dopey’ at the sawmill and his behaviour could be described as ‘childish’. McKean's questioning of these witnesses was perfunctory.
Hungerford said a witness he intended to call was ill and asked for an adjournment. This was granted. At the next day's proceedings Hungerford called for Moxley's sister, but she did not appear. Two matters were dealt with before the last witness was called: the jury asked for their fees to be increased and for precise information as to the height and weight of both victims. The judge said he did not have the power to increase the fees but would recommend it, and would see that the other information was supplied.
Dr Edward Spencer Holloway, visiting medical officer for Long Bay Gaol, testified that he had examined Moxley and seen him on several occasions. He had not observed him to have fits of any kind, although he complained of headaches. Hungerford questioned the doctor about the effects of syphilis on behaviour and on the brain. Holloway conceded that syphilis could induce epileptic fits and cause intermittent periods of insanity, leaving the inflicted person sane at other times. He hedged his bets, however; questioned as to whether hard work in the bush could induce fits in a person susceptible to them – but the condition be ameliorated after a period of rest and care in prison – the doctor answered, ‘Yes, I think that is a possibility. I would not state it very strongly, though.’
Then Hungerford tried, not very eloquently, to score an important point for the defence:
Q: Supposing a person's brain is affected by syphilis and is deteriorated, would you say that the excitement of a fight or hard struggle would be likely to affect the person who was suffering – I mean to affect the brain – to put him off his balance, say?
The doctor was less than forthright:
A: I suppose it would, it might do so, at all events.
McKean merely asked whether Holloway had observed Moxley exhibit abnormal traits. The doctor said he had not. The judge asked whether there was anything to indicate deterioration of the brain. The doctor said there was not.
Evidence was then given about the physical characteristics of the two victims as described earlier and arrangements were made for the jury to see Frank Wilkinson's car.
In his final statement, Hungerford told the jury that the evidence was purely circumstantial. No one had witnessed the crime. He spoke at length about the ‘horrible and revolting’ violence involved: ‘I ask you on that ground whether it is possible that a person in his right senses could perpetrate such a terrible deed.’ He drew the jury's attention to the evidence about Moxley's syphilis and his head wound. He pointed out the strangeness of Moxley's description of the fictitious Mumby, closely parallelling his own characteristics and suggested that Moxley was suffering from, without using the modern terms, a split or duel personality. He concluded, ‘…at the time Moxley took the lives of these young people, he was in the grip of demon madness and he was not guilty on the ground of insanity.’
McKean began with what was evidently one of his characteristically unconventional ploys. He alluded to a case in Western Australia where a murderer had dismembered his victim's bodies, but ‘the jury were not deterred from doing their duty’. Hungerford's objection to this parallel was upheld but McKean had made his point. He traversed the evidence on Moxley's behaviour and asserted that ‘no reasonable man could come to the conclusion that on this particular night he did not know what he was doing’. In a dramatic flourish, McKean pointed to Moxley and said:
Mumby sits there without a shadow of a doubt.
Percival Halse Rogers's summing up was long and detailed. He carefully outlined the intricacies of the law as it related to the crime of murder and stressed that a reasonable doubt could lead to a verdict of not guilty. He made it clear that, if the jury determined the accused had killed the two people, the only question they then had to ask related to his sanity. He then defined insanity as a condition of a person not knowing what they were doing or not knowing that what they were doing was wrong. This was known as the McNaughton rule, stemming from a 19th-century case and applied in most English-speaking countries until well into the 20th century.
Although judiciously put with an appearance of fairness, the judge's comments went a long way towards contradicting the defence case. He stated that people operated on the basis of circumstantial evidence in the normal course of their lives; he implied that the relationship between Linda Fletcher and Moxley was perhaps not as she stated and that could have a bearing on her evidence; he pointed out that no medical evidence had been produced to show that Moxley was insane and that connections between syphilis and insanity remained ‘theoretical’. This was objected to by Hungerford, and the judge modified the remark.
The Crown was not obliged to prove a motive, the judge said. Perhaps most damaging to the defence were his comments on the matter of memory. He drew the jury's attention to statements and actions by Moxley that cast doubt on his claim to ha
ve had a memory failure after the second fight with Frank Wilkinson. He quoted MacKay's evidence that Moxley had said ‘I’ sorry I let you down’ and suggested this could be seen as revealing a clear knowledge of what he had done.
The jury retired at 12.05 pm and returned at 3.45 with a verdict of guilty. Even given the dispatch with which criminal trials were conducted at the time, this was a very short deliberation. When asked if he had anything to say, Moxley replied, ‘Nothing.’ A newspaper report said he appeared to sway slightly on hearing the verdict.
The judge said the verdict was one with which he agreed. Addressing Moxley, he said that his counsel had done everything possible in his defence, that the jury had listened to the evidence with the closest attention and that Moxley had committed ‘one of the most foul crimes ever known in this state’. He then pronounced the archaic formula.
The sentence of the court is that you, Cyril William Moxley, be taken from hence to the place from whence you came, and that on a day hereafter to be named by His Excellency the Governor and the Executive Council you be taken to the place of execution and there be hanged by the neck until you be dead, and may the Lord have mercy on your soul.
* * *
* A certificate from the Director General of Public Health on the results of these tests carried out on Moxley was admitted into evidence.
AFTERMATH
Underworld ‘Got’ wilkinson
SMITHS WEEKLY, 30 JULY 1932
Two thousand people gathered outside the funeral parlour in City Road to witness the departure of Dorothy Denzel's coffin to Rook-wood Cemetery. Many would have been merely curious, but ‘Dorrie’ Denzel had been a very popular young woman in the Hawkes-bury district and many would have remembered her winning the ‘Hawkesbury Queen’ beauty contest two years earlier. At Rookwood she was buried beside Frank Wilkinson in the Independent section of the cemetery.