Corrupted: Murder and cover-up at the heart of government (Charles Holborne Legal Thrillers Book 4)

by Simon Michael

  Charles considers. ‘If we tell her where Teddy is, she’ll rush off to see him, we’ll be stuck here and she’ll probably be followed. I know it sounds cruel, but just leave her where she is for the moment. It’s only for a couple of hours.’

  Peter Bateman joins them. ‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ he says. ‘Well, my last witness has failed to show again, so I’m going to close my case. Are you calling any evidence, Charles?’

  Charles shakes his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Good. That makes things nice and simple. Are you proposing to make a submission of no case to answer?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Then, with your permission I’ll tell the usher that we shall just need a further hour or so. They’ve a trial listed after us and want to know how long we’ll be. OK?’

  ‘Fine.’

  Twenty minutes later Charles rises to make his closing argument. Worlock looks at him with a benign expression, his pen in his hand, ready to take notes.

  ‘Firstly sir, may I make it clear to the members of the bench that I do not make this submission lightly. Edward Smith is charged with a dreadful offence. Anyone hearing the evidence we have heard must be filled with revulsion and sympathy for Maurice Drake, whatever his deeds or misdeeds in life. And anyone hearing that evidence would want justice for Mr Drake, which means ensuring someone faces trial for his murder and, if convicted, feels the full weight of the law.’

  These initial comments are aimed at the two lay magistrates on the bench, one to each side of Worlock. Charles is confident that Worlock, who has a first-class analytical mind, will put emotion out of his considerations and simply look at the quality of the evidence. Unfortunately Charles can’t be so sure of the lay magistrates, public-spirited but untrained members of the public. Some of Charles’s colleagues refer to lay magistrates as wooden-tops, and his pupil master once told him that when appearing before them he should make his point, repeat it once for the members of the bench who were deaf or half-asleep, and then repeat it a second time to make sure any idiots among them have understood and remembered it.

  Charles has a rather better opinion of lay magistrates, but he nonetheless has to steer a careful path. He cannot address them as if they were members of a jury because that would be potentially over-emotional; at the same time he has to ensure they put emotion out of their minds and focus analytically on the evidence. He has to put his points with sufficient simplicity that even a non-lawyer will understand, and he must do it without being patronising.

  ‘There are two competing principles at stake here. I have touched on the first: to ensure justice for Maurice Drake. But the second is as important, and more wide-ranging: it is to ensure that the quality of the evidence put forward by the Crown stands up to scrutiny. The entire purpose of committal proceedings, like the grand jury proceedings from which they derive historically, is to test the evidence; to make sure it reaches a minimum standard. It wastes time, resources and public money to allow patently inadequate evidence to go before a jury. And, more fundamentally, it is not justice to send a man to trial for murder when, at its high water mark, the evidence will not support a conviction. That is of particular importance in a capital case, because a wrongful conviction for murder has irreversible consequences. So it’s all the more important to keep the second principle in mind in cases of this gravity. We are here today to filter these cases, and ensure only those with merit go forward.

  ‘Now, of course, when you consider the evidence you have heard, the bar is deliberately set at a low level. You have to be satisfied only that a reasonable jury, appropriately directed as to the law, could properly convict. You do not have to be satisfied that you would convict on the evidence; you just have to be satisfied that a conviction on that evidence would fall within the envelope of reasonably permissible verdicts.

  ‘It is because the bar is set so low that submissions of no case to answer are so rarely made during the course of committals. Indeed, in my fifteen years of practice, I can only remember one or two occasions where I have ever made such a submission. But I do so in this case. When you analyse the evidence, it is my submission that it doesn’t even get close to being evidence that a jury, properly instructed as to the law, could reasonably find sufficient for a conviction. Let me start with what is agreed between the parties.’

  For the first time Worlock applies his pen to his notebook. In failing to take a note of anything Charles has said so far, Worlock is making it clear that Charles’s submissions are not yet worthy of being recorded, and Charles expects no less. Nothing he has said so far will have been news to the experienced stipendiary.

  ‘Firstly —’ Charles counts off the points on his fingers — ‘there is no dispute that Edward Smith had been staying in Maurice Drake’s flat in the days before Mr Drake’s death. So, of course, his fingerprints will be all over the flat. But of course, that doesn’t raise even a prima facie case that he was the murderer, just that he was staying there. Secondly, there is no dispute that Mr Drake was murdered in the flat. Again, that constitutes no prima facie case that Edward Smith was responsible. Thirdly, there is no dispute that the murder implement might have been Edward Smith’s neck chain; but it might equally have been a multitude of other implements, such as a common piece of telephone cable. I doubt even Mr Bateman would suggest that a jury, properly directed, could find these facts, taken alone or together, could possibly lead a jury to be satisfied so that it was sure that Mr Smith was the culprit.

  ‘What about motive? There the Crown doesn’t even raise an affirmative case. I wondered if there was to be a half-hearted suggestion that Mr Smith wanted vengeance because Mr Drake stole his St Christopher medallion. Why theft of a St Christopher would be motive to murder the thief is beyond me but, even so, that implicit suggestion is completely destroyed by the photograph of the accused wearing the medallion three years ago, and by Mr Peppiatt’s obvious lies about seeing Mr Drake wearing it for many years. I am going to return to Mr Peppiatt’s lies in just a moment, but I do ask you to keep in the forefront of your minds the fact that this was the first of several indisputable lies he told on his oath.

  ‘So the Crown do not suggest any motive. The case now seems to rest almost exclusively on opportunity, namely, the fact that Edward Smith was the last person to see Mr Drake alive because they supposedly left a party at the same time. But it is important to remind oneself that there is actually no evidence that Smith was at this party at all, except for the evidence of Mr de Lucca and Mr Peppiatt. So, for a jury to be able properly to convict, they would have to be satisfied that Mr de Lucca and Mr Peppiatt are telling the truth and are accurate in their recollections.

  ‘This brings me to the heart of my submission. If you find Messrs de Lucca and Peppiatt to be completely unreliable and untruthful witnesses, as I suggest you should, you cannot, you should not, commit Edward Smith to stand trial on their evidence. Allow me to list the points where they were self-evidently lying to you on oath.’

  Again Charles ticks off the points on his fingers, careful to watch Worlock’s pen as the stipendiary magistrate takes a verbatim note. Charles also notes with satisfaction that both of the lay magistrates are also now writing down what he is saying.

  ‘One: Mr Peppiatt lied about Mr Drake owning that medallion and wearing it for several years. Why, you may ask yourself? Because he wanted to create a false motive for Edward Smith to have killed Mr Drake. Two: they both lied about not knowing their host. Both men have worked for the Krays. They may say that such work was carried out in the past — in fact, I suggest they’re almost certainly active members of the Krays’ gang — but it doesn’t matter. They both know what Ronald Kray looks like and they both lied about not recognising him that night. Three: they lied about not recognising anyone at the party with the exception of Edward Smith. How could Mr de Lucca not know the identities of any of the men who invited him; the men who travelled with him in the car; the men who were at the party when he arrived? How could Mr Peppiatt not remember th
e identity of a single person at the party? This collective failure of memory defies belief. Four: there was a worrying similarity about some of the answers they gave. I made the point during the evidence: “I had a lot to drink”, trotted out whenever a difficult question had to be avoided. I invite you to the conclusion that there was obvious coaching and collusion between them.

  ‘Finally, I invite you to stand back from the specific witnesses and look at the picture the Crown attempts to paint for you. No one has said the words out loud, but isn’t it obvious that this was a party for homosexual men to indulge their sexual tastes? How else does one explain an all-male party, where men dance with each other and watch pornographic films until the wee small hours? And whatever views one may hold concerning such men or such parties, homosexual acts are still against the law. Why is this relevant? Because every man at that party who engaged in such practices would be committing an offence and would face imprisonment. Those two men —’ Charles points dramatically to them at the back of the court — ‘stepped into the witness box with the best motive imaginable to lie about who was there and what they were doing: to protect themselves and their accomplices from prosecution. That’s the obvious motive, is it not? Of course there may be many others; for example, they might wish to conceal from you the ongoing feud between the Krays and the Sicilians — Sicilians whose preferred method of murder is the garrotte — which, only a day earlier, led to the death of Mr Mancuso. They might want to conceal the fact that it was Maurice Drake who was alleged to have stabbed Mr Mancuso, thus giving rise to an entirely different motive and murderer.’

  Charles is on very thin ice here, as the evidence hasn’t established clearly either an ongoing feud or the timing of Mancuso’s death. His oblique inference that Mo might have been killed as part of that feud takes him way out on a limb and he expects censure from the bench, but he sees with satisfaction that Worlock and the female member of the bench look at de Lucca and Peppiatt dispassionately.

  Charles drops his voice. ‘How easy is it in those circumstances to point the finger at somebody else; somebody with no connection to the underworld; somebody who happened, very conveniently, to be sharing the flat of the murder victim; somebody young, inexperienced and unable to defend himself?

  ‘However, in the end Mr de Lucca and Mr Peppiatt’s motive for lying to you is unimportant. If you find they were lying to you, I submit you should not allow this prosecution to go any further because, without them, the Crown’s case is nothing more than conjecture. And conjecture is not evidence upon which a reasonable jury, properly directed, could find anyone guilty of anything.’

  Charles sits. There’s a foul taste in his mouth, the taste of intellectual dishonesty. So he reminds himself that this is the nature of his job; that he’s just a mouthpiece, a spokesman for someone else; his job is to put the best possible gloss on the case — in this instance the case of a vulnerable innocent who’s been shat on by almost every adult he’s ever known.

  Twenty minutes later Peter Bateman also sits, having made his address to the magistrates. He did his best to overcome the problems of his damaged witnesses, but Charles remains optimistic; the absence of eye contact between his former pupil and the members of the bench, and the flat tone of resignation in Bateman’s voice, suggest that the magistrates are unhappy with the Crown’s case.

  Worlock leads the lay members of the bench out of court and into their retiring room. Fifteen minutes later they return and Worlock announces that they are dismissing the case on the present evidence.

  ‘Perhaps I should remind everyone in court,’ he adds, ‘that our decision on the evidence presented to us today does not prevent the Crown from gathering more evidence and trying again. The rule against double jeopardy does not apply where an accused is discharged in committal proceedings. Mr Holborne?’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Were your client here I would discharge him from police custody and inform him that he is free to depart. I see, however, that he is still not present. Does he remain in hospital?’

  ‘I understand so, sir.’

  ‘Very well. On that assumption I have prepared an order which your Instructing Solicitor will shortly be able to collect from the court office. He can take it to the hospital to secure the boy’s release. I assume there are officers detaining him?’

  ‘I believe so,’ replies Charles.

  ‘Thank you, and you Mr Bateman, for your assistance to the court. We shall rise.’

  Max leans forward as the magistrates file out. ‘Well done, Charles. That was superb.’

  ‘Thank you. But it’s a bit premature for celebration. We’ve got to get Teddy out, and hidden,’ says Charles quietly. ‘Let’s go and see the mother.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Liselotte Whitehouse, formerly Liselotte Behr, is a thin, anxious woman with straggly light brown hair, a pale complexion and washed-out blue eyes. She sits alone in the room used by probation officers when they are required at court, clutching a large handbag to her chest. She stands as soon as the door opens.

  ‘Mrs Whitehouse,’ starts Max, ‘I’m sorry we’ve kept you stuck in here for so long, but you’ll understand in a moment why it was necessary. Firstly, may I introduce you to Mr Holborne, Teddy’s barrister?’

  She places her hand inside Charles’s when he offers his, without actually exerting any grip on Charles’s fist at all.

  ‘Mr Holborne has just managed to have the charges against Teddy thrown out.’ Her pale eyes move from one lawyer to the other blankly. ‘Do you understand me?’ asks Max.

  The woman nods slightly. ‘Yes, I think so.’ She speaks with a German accent.

  ‘So he will be free to go,’ explains Max.

  She nods again. At first she seems unnaturally still, but then Charles looks at her hands and sees that they are trembling slightly and her breathing is shallow and fast. She reminds Charles of a bottle of lemonade shaken hard, on the verge of exploding. He pulls up a chair opposite the one she was occupying and, taking her hand, sits down, pulling her after him so that they are seated facing each other. Charles leans his elbows on his knees so that he is at the same height as the little woman.

  ‘Mrs Whitehouse,’ says Charles, ‘I think we should make our way to the hospital as soon as possible.’

  The woman doesn’t move. Her eyes sink to her shoes. ‘I can’t go,’ she says.

  ‘Why on earth not?’ asks Max sharply from above Charles’s shoulders.

  ‘I think he won’t want to see me.’

  ‘Because he … ran away?’ asks Charles. She nods. ‘But you want to see him, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, yes, very much!’ she says, her voice fervent.

  ‘Then I think we should see him, right away. Whatever happens we have to decide where he’s going to go now, even if that’s not Bedworth. I think he’s still in danger.’

  ‘Danger?’

  ‘Teddy got mixed up with some very dangerous men. Please,’ insists Charles, standing, ‘come with us now and I’ll explain more in the taxi.’

  There is a knock on the door and one of the court clerks enters, holding out a document bearing the red court seal. Max thanks her and takes the document.

  ‘I’ll go outside and check the way is clear,’ says Charles. ‘Stay here for a minute.’

  Charles slips outside and walks around the marble staircase. The area is deserted, as is the upstairs balcony. He goes to the main door and looks outside. Tooley Street is as busy as he would have expected, with vehicles and pedestrians bustling about their usual business, but there is no one stationary on the pavement; no men wait in doorways or anywhere else with a view of the court. He hails a taxi, asks the driver to wait and returns to the office.

  ‘It looks clear,’ he says. ‘I have a cab waiting. Will you come with us, Mrs Whitehouse?’

  ‘Yes, I will come.’

  The three of them make their way to the pavement. Only after the taxi has moved off does Charles lean forward and give the cabbie
the destination. Then he turns once more to Mrs Whitehouse. Her hands are still trembling and her foot taps incessantly.

  ‘I’m so sorry you’re having to go through this, especially in a taxicab, with so little time. But I have to tell you Mrs Whitehouse —’ Charles and Max share a glance before Charles plunges on — ‘we know why Teddy ran away from home.’

  She shakes her head quickly, as if throwing off some unwanted knowledge. ‘You can’t possibly … I don’t know why he left home … how could you? What did he tell you?’

  ‘He didn’t tell us anything. But he’s been having treatment with a child psychiatrist and he told her. He has refused to give anyone his real name, so frightened is he that someone would make him return home. So we understand completely why he might refuse to go back to Bedworth. That’s why we have to come up with some other arrangement for him, and we have to do it very quickly.’

  Charles leans forward again, trying to engage her watery eyes, but she stares unseeing out of the cab window at the passing buildings.

  ‘Teddy’s in danger,’ explains Charles urgently. ‘Not like the danger he was in at home but more serious, more immediate danger. He’s got involved with some very violent men and he is in possession of a secret for which they’d kill, if they could find him.’

  ‘What can I do?’ she demands hopelessly, still staring out of the window. Red blotches appear on her cheeks and forehead. Her face is a picture of competing fear and misery. Charles recognises a mother caught between two people she loves, terrified of one and unable to help the other. Plump tears emerge from each watery eye and start to track down her cheeks. She wipes them away with the back of a hand.

  ‘We need to find somewhere he can go, away from London, preferably,’ says Charles. ‘I don’t think it’s forever, but definitely for a few weeks or months until this blows over. Now, I need to ask you a very difficult question. Are you listening to me, Mrs Whitehouse?’ She drags her eyes back inside the cab. ‘Would you be prepared to go away with Teddy? Just you and Teddy, starting again somewhere new? If we could find somewhere safe, for just the two of you?’