by Jana Petken
As the courtroom once again filled with the raised voices of the public, Bats knew it was time to test Joseph’s control. He drank some water from a glass on his table and took a deep breath. This would probably be one of the biggest gambles of his career, but his gut instincts told him that Joseph’s arrogance would somehow want to justify everything he’d done, and he’d give him every opportunity to do just that.
He stared long and hard at Joseph’s face. A nervous twitch had appeared around Joseph’s eyes and mouth, and beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. Bats took another deep breath and then released it in slow measure.
“Mr Pickens, are we to believe anything you have said here in this court, or has everything been a fabrication, like your name? You see, if you lied about your name, then aren’t we to presume that you’re lying about everything else?”
“I’m not lying about anything else,” Joseph replied lamely.
Bats smiled at him in disbelief, mocking him. “You’re a gambler; you admitted that yourself. You’re an alleged woman abuser, and we now find out that this is not the first time you have been accused of murder. My God! Where will your indiscretions and lies end, I ask you?”
“My Lord, I object! My client is not on trial for the alleged murder of his father,” Mr Burns shouted out.
“Objection sustained. The jury will disregard all relevance to Mr Pickens’ father. Be careful, Mr Bats.”
George Bats was unflustered. He had made his point, and the jury would remember it, no matter what the judge told them.
“So, Mr Pickens, what other crimes have you committed in your lust for power and greed? It’s been established that you’re not a very good gambler. You lost everything in a poker game, did you not? You lost all your money, your furniture, and your self-respect; and people have testified that you were not welcome in the village where you lived because of your cruel behaviour towards your wife! Are we now to believe you … or them?”
“Mr Bats, where is this line of questioning leading? Get to the point, please,” the judge said harshly.
“Sorry, My Lord. Of course. Mr Pickens, isn’t it strange that you told the police that you were with your wife all evening on the night of Peter Merrill’s death? Yet only yesterday, you called your wife a liar and stated in this courtroom that you had in fact left her alone for a while on that particular evening. So, I ask you now, were you with her or not, because if you were not, you could have easily had the time to murder Peter Merrill. Is that not so?”
Joseph tried to think straight, tried to understand the question. His leg ached. His head was throbbing. He wanted to lie down, collect his thoughts. He wanted to tell Bats to fuck off.
“You’re trying to trick me!” he blurted out instead. “I can’t remember everything about that night. I might have left her for a few minutes, but that’s all.”
“Not enough time for her to kill her father, then?”
“What do you mean? I don’t know … Maybe … I do know that I didn’t kill him. I had no reason to kill him. I loved him!”
“You loved him? No reason to kill him?” Mr Bats laughed in disbelief. “Mr Pickens, you had every reason to kill Peter Merrill. He wanted to give you the farm after his death. You were in debt. You wanted power and money, and he was in your way! Is this not so? Is that not motive enough?”
“No!” Joseph spat. “I told you my wife wanted the farm. I didn’t care one way or another.”
“Come now, Mr Pickens. The farm was the only thing you cared about. All the witnesses have testified that Merrill Farm has given you a grand life, made you quite an important fellow.”
“That’s not true. I worked hard on that bloody farm, and Celia, with all her fancy ways, just wanted to spend the money it made.”
“Your parents hated you, didn’t they?” Mr Bats said unexpectedly. “The people of Goudhurst have also testified that you were despised in the village, and that you were so much in debt that you had to sell most of Merrill Farm’s assets to feed your gambling habit. You beat up a Mr Jack Stubbs, the stationmaster, I believe. You hit him in full sight of at least a dozen men in the pub because he insulted you for hitting your wife!”
“It was a fight, that’s all. Anyway it wasn’t true. I never hit her. I told you she’s a liar!”
“You’re the liar, Mr Pickens. You’re a man swathed in secrets. You milked Peter Merrill and his daughter, Celia, for everything they had, didn’t you Michael?”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Why? Are you so ashamed of your real name that you can’t bear to hear it being spoken? Did you think that by changing your name you could escape your past?”
“I …”
“Mr Pickens, you can’t forget who you are, because no matter what name you go under, you’ll always be rotten, always be a failure. No change of name is going to erase that fact! Isn’t that right, Michael?”
Mr Bats stopped talking when he saw that Joseph was having great difficulty controlling his temper. His eyes flashed dangerously, and his hands gripped the bar of the witness box so tightly that his knuckles were white. Come on, Joseph Dobbs, Mr Bats silently urged. Spill the beans; let it all come out. Show us your famous temper.
“Am I right? Answer the question!”
Joseph shrugged nervously. “So maybe I was wrong to use a false name, but that doesn’t mean I’m a murderer. I deserved Merrill Farm!” he shouted to the crowded room. “And that’s what they couldn’t accept in the village. They were all jealous of me, the whole lot of them. They were jealous of what I’d achieved!”
Bats laughed loudly and moved closer. “You didn’t deserve the farm, and you achieved nothing! Oh, you were clever in the beginning; there’s no denying that. You managed to reel in the biggest fish of your life, but you just couldn’t hide what you really are: a murdering, lying abuser of defenceless women.”
“My Lord, I object!” Mr Burns screamed now.
“Overruled,” the judge replied.
Bats continued. “Do you want to know why you were found out, Mr Pickens? Why you couldn’t sustain your lies?”
Joseph nodded, seeming hypnotised by Mr Bats’ accusations.
“Because Celia Merrill and her father’s farm were too good for you! She was high class, and Merrill Farm was admired and respected. I know you tried your best, but how could someone like you rise to that challenge? How could you keep the lies about yourself from crumbling? Just look at you. You’re nothing! You’re a lying, cheating, arrogant impostor who stole an identity from a dead man in some cemetery. You’re dirt! That’s why you’re so angry – because you know it’s the truth. That’s why you killed Peter Merrill. You knew that eventually he would find out exactly who and what you are! And he’d have thrown you out, just like your mother and father did, because you’re the scum of the earth.”
Mr Burns jumped up from his seat, horrified that his client was being slaughtered.
“Objection! Counsel is baiting the witness! Argumentative! My Lord, you must stop this,” he pleaded.
Joseph looked dazedly around him and stupidly smiled at the jury and the audience in the public gallery. His head was spinning with the lawyer’s words. He wasn’t dirt! He was Joseph Dobbs! he kept shouting inside his head. He was a clever and respected card player, and he owned Merrill Farm. He was the envy of everyone! He couldn’t let this bastard get away with it. He wouldn’t listen to his insults any longer or put up with the condescending stares from a fickle jury who’d been on his side only the day before.
He stood alone against the world, just as he always had. Nobody could possibly understand the hardships he’d had to endure all his life. It wasn’t fair, any of this. He’d make sure they knew all about his suffering. He wasn’t guilty; his parents were the ones who had started all of this.
“What do you know?” he shouted, showing his contempt for the first time. “What gives any of you the right to judge me? You don’t know me! You don’t know what I’ve had to put up with. Well, let me tell t
he lot of you. I’ve had to put up with bloody Bible pushers all my life! I had a father who beat me with a belt if I didn’t say his stupid prayers, not to mention a mother who never stopped touching me! She’s the abuser, not me. They didn’t understand me. They didn’t care about what I wanted. They made my life a living hell!
“And as for Celia Merrill, she’s nothing but a snivelling slut who nagged me from the first day we were wed till the day she walked out on me! She’s no angel either, you know. How would you feel if you had to put up with people looking down their noses at you all the time? Saying I wasn’t good enough for her! Of course I bloody was! She was lucky I wanted her, and as for her bitter, twisted old spinster of an aunt, she tricked me into believing that she liked me. She even gave me money and then sent in the bailiffs to rob me of my possessions. Yes, that’s her, sitting there all prim and proper like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Ask her where she got her money. She’s a whore, I’ll bet, just like her niece! Well, I deserved the farm because of what I had to put up with. Peter Merrill was too busy licking the arse of his daughter and fucking a woman in the village to see what she was doing to me. Celia tortured me. I worked hard on that farm and never got any thanks, and that bitch would have turned her father against me, just like she turned everyone against me with her lies!”
“You’re the liar!” Mr Bats shouted back.
“You shut your fucking mouth! I am not a liar! I just couldn’t take any more! She was driving me crazy. I had no peace from the woman. I couldn’t think, couldn’t live my bloody life without her telling me what I should do, how I should think! I didn’t want to kill Peter. It was a mistake. She drove me to it! She was going to make him take the farm from me! Don’t you understand …?”
Bats said nothing, and for once an eerie silence reigned as the shocked court waited expectantly for someone to speak. Joseph began to cry and sway like a drunken man in the witness box. He was alone again. No one else existed. No one cared about his feelings.
“Why are you judging me? It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault … It wasn’t my fault.”
The judge had been as surprised as anyone to hear Joseph’s admission of guilt; he had never heard anything like it in all his years on the bench. He had thought about interrupting Bats on numerous occasions, but he knew exactly what Bats was trying to achieve, and secretly, he knew he would have done the same thing had he been in the same situation. He immediately adjourned for the rest of the morning. Publicly, he would not condone Bats’ methods, but they had been successful in achieving a swift end to the case, and he had to admit that this trial was beginning to leave a bitter taste in his mouth.
He sat in his chambers drinking a hot cup of tea and ordered his clerk to call in the lawyers. The jury had been sent away, and of course they would have to come back with a verdict of guilty. With a bit of luck, he thought looking at his watch, it’ll be all over by dinner time.
Marie and Mr Ayres took lunch at Claridge’s. They’d both been stunned into silence and played with their unwanted food. Marie couldn’t quite believe what had happened, and images of Joseph’s outburst were emblazoned in her memory, making her relive the whole bizarre episode.
“Marie … Marie?” Simon said loudly, interrupting her thoughts.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Simon. I was just picturing Joseph, or Michael, I should say. I’ll never forget the look on his face. I’m shocked, shocked to my very core. I mean, what if he had killed Celia too? We didn’t know that he was not who he said he was, and I’m sure he did kill his father as well as Peter! Oh God, this is all too awful.”
“Hush, Marie. It’s all over. Joseph is going to hang, and Celia will be free of him. It’s time for you and me to get on with our lives.”
“Simon, his mother … that poor woman … It will never be over for her. What sort of life has she to look forward to? Can you imagine the pain and suffering she must have endured at his hands? It doesn’t bear thinking about. Did you know about her?”
“Yes,” Simon told her, nodding his head slowly. “She approached Bats two days ago and told him everything. He in turn told the defence.”
“But I don’t understand. Joseph looked as surprised as everyone else.”
“Yes, and that’s because the defence lawyer decided to tell him after he’d finished with his testimony. He didn’t want Joseph to crack under the pressure of knowing that his mother was going to appear after him. She was due to testify today, you see, but Bats very shrewdly moved her testimony forward. Not very ethical, of course, but then, he never is. We had a weak judge nearing his retirement. Bats knew he’d let it pass, so he sprung it, exactly what I would have done.”
“So what happens now?” Marie asked him.
“Now we wait for the judge to sentence him. Joseph will hang, no doubt about it.”
“I’ve been thinking, Now that we know Joseph is going to hang, I think it would be a good idea to halt the divorce proceedings.”
“Why?” Simon asked, taken aback by the idea. “The divorce will secure Celia’s freedom. It’s being processed now and will be finalised within weeks. I even got Justice Thompson, my old friend, to rush it through. Anyway, the marriage might not even be legal. I have to discuss it with him.”
“It is legal as far as Celia’s concerned. And she must never find out that her marriage may have been illegal! That would kill her and make her son a bastard; is that what you want? Simon, she married in a church under the eyes of God. She signed her name on the marriage certificate. It will always be legal in her eyes and in the eyes of the Church. So at the time of Joseph’s death, I want Celia to be Joseph’s wife, not a woman who has already divorced him or a woman who had a child by him out of wedlock because of some legal technicalities. There will be no investigation or proceedings to annul this marriage, and as her aunt, I have the final say in this matter.”
Marie crossed the room to the bay window, lost in thought and highly agitated. She looked down on the street below and then lifted her glass and gulped down her brandy in a most unladylike fashion. She had thought about this matter only now, but she knew in her heart that Celia wouldn’t want to be branded as a divorced woman, especially whilst living in Spain, a very Catholic country. A widow was much more acceptable to society, and she had great plans for Celia now. She was still young, not even twenty, and she would have no end of opportunities to remarry, but not so many if she was a divorced woman with that stigma attached to her.
Marie Osborne “If you really feel this way, I’ll do as you ask, but I will approach Justice Thompson only after Joseph dies,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “We shouldn’t jump the gun here.”
She sat beside him on the sofa. “Thank you, Simon. I’m very grateful to you for all you’ve done, but I would like you to stop the divorce as soon as Joseph has been sentenced. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. I want to be able to go to Spain when this is all over and tell Celia that she is a widow. Remember she doesn’t know anything about divorce proceedings, You said yourself you put so many documents in front of her the morning she left England, she didn’t know what she was signing and she will never know, not from my lips....I just thank God she was so nervous at the time, she never stopped to read a word on any of the papers. Now had she? Well that would have been a disaster.. Anyway, your friend the judge might finalise it any day now. You can’t guarantee that it will take months or even weeks. Can you?”
“No, but—”
“No buts, Simon. Please do as I ask. Do it now.”
Chapter 27
Joseph rocked back and forth on the hard, narrow bench in his tiny cell. His eyes stared unseeing at the sky, just visible through the small stone window covered with bars. His body trembled with cold and fear as he tried desperately to remember where he’d gone wrong, where he had lost control of the game. If it hadn’t been for his mother, he thought, he would have walked away a free man. He cursed her for not dying in the fire. This was the end. He knew he was going to
die unless he could find a way out.
He had thought all during the night, until he thought his brain would explode, and the only thing he had come up with was a plan to tell his lawyer that Celia had driven him insane. They didn’t kill mad people, did they? They put them in asylums. That wasn’t so bad, was it? He’d probably find some retard to play poker with. He could teach the idiot. He was too young to die. He didn’t deserve to die. They wouldn’t hang him; he was only twenty-two years old. He had his whole life ahead of him, for fuck’s sake!
The verdict was an obvious one, and the jury needed no time to debate it. The judge had already reminded them in his closing statement that Joseph had admitted to the murder, and they were all agreed that the accused was as guilty as a man could ever be. But it had to be read out nonetheless, and at three o’clock they returned to their seats and waited patiently for the judge to arrive.
Joseph held his head in a low, shifty position, looking around him in search of a friendly face. The judge took his seat and called for order. The courtroom grew still.
“Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict on which you are all agreed?” he said in a sombre voice.
The jury foreman stood, coughed, and then looked briefly at Joseph before answering.
“Yes, My Lord, we have.”
“On the charge of wilful murder, how do you find the defendant: guilty or not guilty?”
“On the charge of wilful murder, we the jury find the defendant, Joseph Dobbs, guilty.”
The voices in the bulging courtroom grew louder, but Joseph couldn’t quite take it all in. He was guilty; it had been confirmed. The bastards hadn’t felt sorry for him – no one did – but it couldn’t really be happening, could it? He wasn’t really going to die, was he? He looked at the judge.