The Burden of Proof

by Roderic Jeffries

  Fisher said nothing.

  “In this case, we may presume that when you discovered Mr. Stukeley had been in the police force, you determined to solve the case.”

  “I had determined that from the very beginning, sir.”

  “Yes, yes, but now you told yourself you were going to succeed, no matter what?”

  “If you’re suggesting that just because…” Fisher became silent.

  “Go on, Inspector.”

  “Nothing, sir.”

  “Were you going to add that it seemed as if I were going to accuse you of forcing through a solution of this crime, irrespective of the evidence, because the father of the deceased was a policeman?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Then why hesitate about saying so? After all, it must be fairly obvious that that is precisely and exactly what I do say.” With careful timing, Yorker allowed the volume of his voice to drop away so that people slowly realised that despite his bland tone of voice, his words had been cutting and vicious.

  Fisher stared stolidly in front of himself.

  “Mr. Yorker,” said the judge, “precisely what is your contention? Are you saying, in effect, that the witness has previously lied to this court?”

  “No, my Lord. Merely that from time to time he has tended to allow his enthusiasm to speak rather loudly.”

  “A subtle difference, Mr. Yorker, which I hope will be apparent to the jury.”

  Yorker smiled thinly and the expression suggested there was something of a bully about him. He addressed the witness again. “What did you do after you’d identified the girl?”

  “I tried to gain a knowledge of her background — who she’d known and mixed with.”

  “We’ve heard that very early on in your investigations you discovered Roger Ventnor had been friendly with the deceased until a few months prior to her death.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And rather naturally you began to suspect that it was he who gave her the pills?”

  “It was only after certain evidence — ”

  “Are you quite certain? Didn’t you start questioning the defendant very early on in your investigations?”

  “Yes, but — ”

  “Was the object of such questioning other than to discover whether he had supplied the deceased with the pills?”

  Fisher made no answer.

  “And by now you knew the girl’s father had been a policeman?”

  “I was only interested in one thing — whether Ventnor supplied the pills, sir.”

  “And you thought he had?”

  “After a while, yes, sir.”

  “The accused will tell the court later on how, in an effort to assist the police, he told them that he had met the deceased three times after March. The first of these three occasions was when he met her quite by chance as he came out of the showrooms of a firm of agricultural merchants. They spoke and then had lunch together, after which they parted. This meeting took place in May, almost exactly eight weeks before her death. My client most vigorously denies that sexual intercourse did, or even could have, taken place between them then… Have you been able to prove otherwise?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You’ve dug down and around as hard as you possibly could, yet haven’t been able to find anyone to deny or confirm the major premise you are trying to make?”

  “The witness,” said the judge in a bored tone of voice, “has given certain evidence and then stated he cannot help the court regarding other evidence. Unless you can prove otherwise, you must accept his word, Mr. Yorker.”

  “Much obliged, my Lord,” murmured Yorker sarcastically. He turned and faced the inspector once more. “It seems that you have no evidence, not one single shred of evidence, to suggest that the accused and the deceased had sexual intercourse together at some time during their meeting in May.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Doesn’t that present rather a different story from the one you gave us in your examination-in-chief when you were positively flowing over with insinuations on this point?”

  Scatt rose. “My Lord, if my learned friend is determined to try to make bricks without straw, perhaps he would make certain he doesn’t use too much mud.”

  The judge smiled thinly. “I think, Mr. Scatt, that the jury will be able to evaluate Mr. Yorker’s constructional abilities.”

  Yorker ignored both his learned friend — whom he happened to dislike personally — and the judge. “Inspector, what young men, or older men for that matter, did the deceased meet in the week before and the week after this date in May?”

  “I don’t know, sir.” Fisher’s belief in natural justice always went for a loss after he’d been cross-examined for any length of time. Nothing was allowed to bear its rightful meaning and the police were the biggest and fattest targets. Sitting ducks.

  “You don’t know?” said Yorker in amazement. “But isn’t it rather vital to know? Wouldn’t you have said that since the child was conceived in this period it is absolutely essential to know who the deceased was with?”

  “We’ve tried to discover all her companions, sir, but the only person we’ve been able to trace is the prisoner.”

  “Tell me… did you honestly try very hard?”

  “Naturally, sir.”

  “I wonder if you did when your one aim in life was to accuse someone of supplying abortifacient pills to the daughter of an ex-policeman.”

  Scatt stood up. “My Lord, surely my learned friend is not entitled to make insinuations for which he has no grounds whatsoever!”

  “Possibly not, Mr. Scatt, but perhaps he is not asking the jury to believe them.”

  Yorker was careless of the slight laughter. Juries were ruled by emotions, not facts. “Inspector, it was the accused himself who told you about his later meetings with the deceased, wasn’t it?”

  “Finally, yes, sir.”

  “Kindly give your evidence without these gratuitous and insulting insinuations.”

  Fisher clenched his fists to try to prevent his making a reply.

  “And it was he who told you that the real father was an artist?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Prestry has a circle of artists, hasn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is it a large circle?”

  “Depends what you call large, sir.”

  “Let’s find out. What is the exact number of artists living in Prestry?”

  “I can’t answer, sir.”

  “Why not?”

  “We don’t know the exact number.”

  Yorker looked around the courtroom in wide amazement and his eyebrows almost seemed to be flapping. “But if you don’t know that number, how can you possibly be certain you’ve interviewed each and every one of the artists in the course of your investigations?”

  “We’ve done our very best, sir.”

  “Your best? This is a serious charge — we can’t be content with no more than your best. We have to be certain.”

  “The witness, Mr. Yorker,” said the judge, “has said in his evidence-in-chief that he and his subordinates made the most extensive inquiries they could, that they questioned every artist they could find, and that despite all these efforts they found no trace of any artist who was friendly with the deceased. The witness has at no time claimed that he has beyond all shadow of doubt interrogated every artist in Prestry.”

  “Quite so, my Lord, but I want the jury fully to appreciate the difference.”

  “The difference between the witness’s statements and your allegations?”

  “The difference, my Lord, between interrogating everyone and only those people you have interrogated. My client has said that the father of the unborn child was an artist. The inspector’s evidence is that he has not been able to find such an artist, it is not that such an artist cannot and does not exist.”

  “The question must eventually be one for the jury, Mr. Yorker, and it will be they who decide what weight they will attach
to the inspector’s evidence.”

  “Very well, my Lord… Inspector, my client states that the last time he saw the deceased was on Friday, July the sixth. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If that were so, the evidence would be much less strong against him than if, in fact, the meeting had been on the seventh — the last day the deceased was seen alive?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “If you feel incapable of appreciating that obvious fact, perhaps you’d let me assure you that it is so… What steps did you take to test my client’s statement?”

  “The manager of the cinema was questioned, sir.”

  “And his evidence is to the effect that the date was the seventh?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is there any corroboration of his evidence?”

  “I don’t think so, sir.”

  “Very well. Let us turn to that bottle of aspirins… May I have it, please?”

  The usher crossed to the table in front of the clerk and searched among the exhibits. He found the empty bottle and gave it to Yorker. Yorker held it up in the air and examined it with open dislike. “A very ordinary bottle?”

  “I believe so, sir.”

  “Yet the experts claim to have traced it through from the factory where it was made, to the factory where it was filled, to one particular chemist?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you, of your own knowledge, know why it is certain beyond all doubt that this particular bottle was bought from the chemist shop on the outskirts of Prestry?”

  “No, sir.”

  Yorker turned around and leaned over to speak to Pattern. “How are we, Jeremy?”

  “Don’t forget the doctor.”

  “My God, no… Is that bloke over there reading an evening paper?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Go over and see what won the two-thirty at Epsom. I had a fiver on Bourne Reveller.” Yorker stood up and turned around. He stuck his thumbs in the lower pockets of his coat and spread out his fingers. “Inspector, how did you discover the whereabouts of Doctor Franch?”

  “Normal investigations, sir.”

  “Perhaps you’ll explain that rather ambiguous phrase more fully?”

  “I was told that the use of ergometrine maleate suggested medical knowledge. I therefore gave orders for the accused’s doctor to be questioned, and any doctors he knew socially or any doctors he might have known from being at school with them, to see if he had approached any of them for such pills.”

  “Everyone was quite certain by this time, then, that Mr. Ventnor was the only possible suspect?” Yorker stared at the jury.

  “We carefully investigated all suspects, sir.”

  “Were there any others?” Yorker turned around sharply and rapped out the question.

  “No, sir.”

  “Then kindly don’t mislead the jury.”

  “I doubt they’re being misled — by the witness,” muttered Scatt loudly.

  “Eventually, Inspector, the name of Doctor Franch came to your notice?” said Yorker.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And he was questioned, but not by you?”

  “That’s so, sir.”

  “Inspector, the accused on his own admission went to Doctor Franch and asked him how to cause an abortion. The doctor very rightly refused to answer this and instead gave a strong warning that it was exceedingly dangerous to use any form of abortifacient… Don’t you think that after such a stern warning as this, the accused would, as he will state he did, forget his rather stupid attempt to help the deceased and would tell her just that?”

  “I can’t say, sir.”

  “You haven’t much time for the accused, have you, Inspector?”

  Chapter 15

  A succession of policemen were called to the stand and they gave their evidence. Each step of the investigations was carefully detailed so that the defence could have no room in which to manoeuvre.

  A number of artists were called. Their evidence was monotonously similar. No one knew or had heard that Margaret had been friendly with an artist.

  Elizabeth Wheeldon was called.

  “Miss Wheeldon,” said Scatt quietly, “I shall be as brief as possible so as not to prolong this unfortunate occasion for you… Were you engaged to Roger Ventnor?”

  “I am engaged to him,” she replied. She said it loudly and forcefully and she stared at the jury with an expression on her face that begged them to understand what that meant.

  “Before your official engagement, did you have a period when you were unofficially engaged?”

  “Yes. From March.”

  “Were you then, or at any subsequent time, aware of the friendship between the accused and the deceased?”

  She looked away from the jury and when she spoke her voice was strained. “Yes. But I knew it had come to an end.”

  No one blamed her for lying: they just felt angry with the accused that she should have been brought into a position where she had to lie.

  “Miss Wheeldon, do you possess a fortune in your own right?”

  Yorker came to his feet as quickly as he could. “My Lord, it’s quite irrelevant whether this witness is in possession of a fortune or is an undischarged bankrupt!”

  Scatt leaned back and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “My Lord, I suggest that it is relevant, and if the reason is not immediately apparent to my learned friend, I suggest it will become so later on.”

  “With respect,” snapped Yorker, “that is the most egregiously illogical answer I have ever heard, my Lord. My learned friend is admitting that he can claim no relevancy to the res gestae at the moment, but that at some future time, when the jury’s minds have possibly been affected by evidence given purely to sway them, he may be able — on looking backward — to show there was some vague hint of relevancy.”

  The judge stared at Yorker. “I think I understand your point. However, I hold that the witness may answer the question.”

  “My Lord — ”

  “Any further argument, Mr. Yorker, should, if the case goes against you, be addressed to the court of criminal appeal.”

  Yorker sat down.

  Scatt addressed the witness. “Are you wealthy in your own right?”

  “Yes,” said Elizabeth, in a voice so low none of the public at the back of the courtroom heard what she said.

  “And did the accused know this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.”

  Yorker asked one question. “Just suppose your fiancé had been the father of this child and he told you this, or you learned of it from another source. Would such knowledge have induced you to break off the engagement?”

  “Never.”

  She left the witness box and stumbled as she did so. Those close enough could see the tears in her eyes.

  “Mr Weir,” said Scatt.

  Weir was small and dapper.

  “Are you the manager of the accused’s bank?”

  “I am'”

  “What is the state of his account at the moment?”

  “My Lord,” said Yorker, as he stood up, “this is another attempt to introduce evidence that is purely of a scandalous nature.”

  “Really?” replied the judge. “Why so?”

  Because the judge was against him, Yorker had been dropped into a hole. The evidence could only be of an adverse character if the account was in the red. Yorker sat down.

  The manager gave the evidence. “Mr. Ventnor’s number one account now stands at an overdraft of one thousand six hundred and forty-one pounds. His number two account has a credit of two pounds fifteen shillings and four-pence.”

  There was some stifled and inane laughter.

  A manager of the building society testified to the mortgages outstanding on Reton Park Hall and the land. The court was left in little doubt that the estate had needed the money Elizabeth Wheeldon would have brought into the marriage.

  “Miss Fiona Prentic
e,” said Scatt.

  The name was called outside the court and there was a pause. Coughing broke out among the public, the shorthand waiter massaged the fingers of his right hand, the clerk took off his wig and scratched the top of his bald head.

  “Is your witness not here?” asked the judge.

  Before Scatt could answer, Fiona Prentice — the blonde from Steeley and Brights — hurried into the courtroom. She had dressed for effect and uplift and Ritter thought how pleasant his date with her, after the present case was out of the way, was going to be.

  She waggled her bottom into the witness box and took the oath, stared at Roger Ventnor with blatant interest.

  In answer to what she did for a living, she replied, “I do the Scandinavians.”

  Ritter thought of an answer to that one.

  Several questions were put to her which she answered.

  “From your own knowledge and your own observations, Miss Prentice, was there ever any reason for your believing that the friendship between the prisoner and the deceased came to an end in March?”

  “There wasn’t. As I said — ”

  “Have you ever seen the deceased in the company of a male other than the prisoner?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Would you have expected to have seen her out with someone else had she, in fact, been going out with someone else?”

  “Yes, I would because we saw a lot of each other and she often said to me — ”

  “And you’re quite certain nothing ever took place that could, or should, have led you to suppose that the friendship between them came to an end?”

  “If only you’d let me tell you what she said to me — ”

  “We are not allowed to hear that, Miss Prentice.”

  Scatt sat down. Yorker stood up and stared at the blonde with dislike. “Did you once at the office have such a row with the deceased that you tried to attack her and were only dissuaded from so doing by the other people present?”

  “It wasn’t really like that at all.”

  “It wasn’t? Then you didn’t call her the biggest bitch in the world and tell her you were going to claw some sense into her?”

  The witness was almost speechless with rage, but she calmed down sufficiently to shout, “Who told you that?”