by Peter Murphy
‘I’m sure your Honour would like us to get on with it,’ Roderick says.
‘I would,’ I confirm.
‘Yes, of course, your Honour.’
Even given Roderick’s seniority, it did sound a bit odd to have him diverge from his theme like that, almost as if he’d momentarily lost the plot. But I have to admit that my own attention wasn’t focused one hundred per cent on subject matter either. I must admit, I was somewhat diverted by the image of a nice fresh chilled garlic soup and Caesar salad. I usually look forward to Elsie and Jeanie’s ham and cheese bap, but today it’s feeling rather pedestrian. I force myself to concentrate.
‘The chilled garlic soup,’ Roderick continues, ‘was served uncontroversially at about eight o’clock. At about eight fifteen Valentina Ricci arrived with the Caesar salad and retreated in the direction of the kitchen, apparently with the intention of leaving Miss Galloway and her companion to enjoy it. On the face of it, all was well. But Miss Galloway will tell you that as Miss Ricci opened the kitchen door, she heard raised voices. The voices were male. The kitchen door closed again, but the voices were still audible. For one or two minutes she did her best to ignore them. But the voices became louder and angrier. Mrs Jennifer Snape will tell you that she also heard the voices, even though she was seated farther away from the kitchen. Eventually, Valentina Ricci emerged from the kitchen again – this time in tears. And it was just after that, members of the jury, that Miss Galloway’s evening went terribly wrong.
‘Valentina was followed in a matter of moments by her uncle, the defendant Luigi Ricci. Linda Galloway immediately noticed three things about the defendant: he appeared to be very angry; he was speaking rapidly and loudly in Italian; and he was carrying a large meat cleaver. Miss Galloway initially thought that there must have been some argument between the defendant and Valentina, but she soon realised that she herself was somehow involved. She will tell you that the defendant approached her table, meat cleaver in hand and, still speaking loudly in Italian, stood over her, pointing the meat cleaver at her Caesar salad. It seemed to Miss Galloway that he was remonstrating with her; but as she speaks no Italian she couldn’t tell what he was saying. Members of the jury, Alessandro Ricci then emerged from the kitchen, also speaking loudly in Italian, though thankfully, not carrying a weapon. Alessandro also approached Miss Galloway’s table, so that she now had both brothers towering over her, one on each side of her and slightly behind her. Miss Galloway then realised that the argument was between the two brothers. Although she doesn’t speak the language, Miss Galloway will tell you that she thought she heard several references to the phrase “Insalata Caesar”, which she recognised.
‘Members of the jury, the next thing that happened was that the defendant Luigi Ricci swung the meat cleaver violently in Miss Galloway’s direction. It connected with the right side of her chest, causing serious wounds. There is no dispute about the medical evidence in this case, and it will be read to you. That evidence will leave you in no doubt that the injury Miss Galloway suffered was very serious. She sustained damage to her collarbone, and to two very important muscles in her neck and chest. But, members of the jury, serious as the injury was, it could have been far worse. She lost a considerable amount of blood, but mercifully the meat cleaver, swung with considerable force by the defendant, narrowly missed Miss Galloway’s subclavian artery and her anterior jugular vein. Had either the artery or the vein been severed, she might well have bled to death before the ambulance arrived. Fortunately, the meat cleaver stayed away from those areas; Valentina Ricci had the presence of mind to call 999; and medical help arrived promptly. Miss Galloway was taken to Guy’s Hospital, where she underwent surgery to repair the damage to her bone and muscles, and where she stayed for almost two weeks. Fortunately, members of the jury, she has made a more or less full recovery.
‘The police were called, and took statements from everyone present. Mr Snape saw nothing of the incident because he was sitting with his back to it. Mrs Snape had a partial view, and she will tell you that she saw Luigi Ricci swing the meat cleaver in Miss Galloway’s direction. Alessandro and Valentina Ricci saw the incident in its entirety, and they will both give evidence to you: though it’s probably best if I warn you now that both of them showed considerable reluctance to cooperate with the police, and they will be at court because they’ve been served with a court order to attend, called a subpoena. If they failed to attend, the learned judge could hold them in contempt of court. The police also took a statement from Linda Galloway in hospital as soon as her doctors allowed them to do so, and of course, she will give evidence to you today.
‘Members of the jury, the defendant was arrested and interviewed under caution at the police station. You will hear that interview read to you. In essence, the defendant told the police that the wounding of Miss Galloway was an accident. Because of an argument with his brother Alessandro about the dish that had been served to Miss Galloway, he intended, he said, to cause a scene and to knock her plate off the table and on to the floor with the meat cleaver; but he lost his grip on the cleaver and it hit Miss Galloway’s chest accidentally. In the defence statement provided by Mr Ricci’s solicitors, he repeats this account of the events, and suggests that because it was all an accident, he has not committed any offence. He adds that even if he is guilty of an offence, he had no intent to cause her any harm, and so if he is convicted of anything at all he should be convicted only of the lesser offence of unlawful wounding, without any intent, under section 20 of the Act. Members of the jury, the learned judge will explain to you that, as a matter of law, both of those alternatives are open to you. But we anticipate that, once you have heard the evidence, you will have no doubt that what occurred at Primavera Toscana that night was a very serious wounding, carried out deliberately by the defendant with intent to cause Linda Galloway really serious physical injury.’
After a few closing remarks about the burden and standard of proof Roderick concludes his opening, and we’re ready for Linda Galloway. The lure of a nice chilled soup or fresh Caesar salad has receded somewhat in my mind, because one or two things are bothering me. For one, it seems strange that Roderick and Julian haven’t had a chat about this case and talked about whether a plea to the lesser offence under section 20 might not be a realistic solution. The idea that this was all pure accident, with no element of recklessness – which would be enough for a conviction in this kind of case – seems far-fetched. But equally, in the absence of evidence that Luigi Ricci had a sudden brush with madness, so does the idea that he would take a meat cleaver to a customer in his restaurant just because she ordered the Insalata Caesar. The difference in the maximum sentence as between section 18 and section 20 is life imprisonment versus five years; and given the severity of the injuries, my first reaction as a sentencer is that I’m going to be reaching for the higher end of the scale in either case. Julian is far too experienced not to have made all this clear to his client, but I haven’t heard even a whisper of a possible compromise. Perhaps they did explore it, but for some reason Julian couldn’t talk his client into offering a plea.
The second thing bothering me is the absence from Roderick’s opening of any information about Miss Galloway’s ‘male companion’. Whatever became of him, one wonders?
Linda Galloway is thin and slightly built. She’s wearing a light blue long-sleeved dress with a white scarf around her neck – to hide the scars she’s still carrying, I suspect. Understandably, she doesn’t look comfortable. I recall from the file that she’s twenty-six, but she looks younger. Roderick will treat her gently, I’m sure, and she looks as though she needs some gentle treatment. After taking the oath she gives him her name and describes herself as currently unemployed.
‘Miss Galloway, on the occasion the jury are concerned with, did you go for dinner at the Primavera Toscana restaurant in Queen Elizabeth Street?’
‘Yes.’
‘As a matter of interest, had you
been to Primavera Toscana before?’
‘No. It was my first time. And my last.’
‘Yes, quite. At about what time did you arrive at the restaurant?’
‘We arrived just after seven o’clock, some time between seven and ten past.’
‘Were you seated immediately?’
‘Yes. The place was empty, apart from one other couple who arrived almost the same time as us.’
‘Do you now know that the other couple were a Mr and Mrs Snape?’
‘Yes. They sat nearer to the door. We were right at the other end of the restaurant, closer to the toilets and the door to the kitchen.’
‘Yes. Thank you. Now, Miss Galloway, you’ve been using the word “we”. Were you with someone else on that evening?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who were you with?’
‘I don’t know.’
I glance in Julian’s direction just in time to see him give the jury the knowing smile and the raised eyebrows. He shouldn’t, really, but I can’t say I blame him. It would be hard to resist. From the defence point of view, this is about to get interesting.
‘Your Honour, I wonder whether the jury might retire for a few moments?’ Roderick asks.
It’s a sensible suggestion. We’re obviously about to enter uncharted waters. Julian doesn’t seem in the least surprised, and it seems that both counsel know something I don’t. Clearly, I need to find out what it is. I suggest to the jury that a cup of coffee might be welcome, adding – in the hope of deflecting the disappointment they must feel about being excluded from court at such an intriguing moment – a silly quip about a cappuccino or espresso being in order. It’s silly because Bermondsey Crown Court isn’t Primavera Toscana, and the jury won’t find a cappuccino or espresso they would consider drinking anywhere in the building.
‘Your Honour,’ Roderick resumes once they’ve reluctantly left court, ‘Miss Galloway genuinely doesn’t know the identity of the man she was with. She knew him by the name of Arthur… I don’t know whether your Honour sees where I’m going with this?’
‘I’m afraid I haven’t got the faintest idea, Mr Lofthouse,’ I admit.
‘At that time, your Honour, Miss Galloway was employed by an escort agency.’
‘Ah, I see.’ I think about it for a moment or two. ‘But even escort agencies must keep some records,’ I protest. ‘Surely the police have checked. And why didn’t they speak to him on the night?’
‘In reply to your Honour’s second question, the police weren’t able to question the man Arthur on the night, because he left the restaurant as soon as Miss Galloway was wounded.’
‘What? He just walked out?’
‘Yes, your Honour: he walked out and never returned. And in response to your Honour’s first question, he paid the agency, such as it is – it’s no more than one woman and a dog, really – in cash. They probably don’t hold much in the way of records about any of their clients, but they had absolutely nothing on this man.’
I shake my head. ‘I didn’t see a word about this in the file.’
‘It’s in the unused material, your Honour. My learned friend has it, but there would have been no need for your Honour to trouble himself with it before trial. The officer in the case, DS McGeorge, who sits behind me, noted the matter in the record of the investigation, of course, and the CPS disclosed the record to the defence.’
By ‘unused material’ Roderick means material the prosecution doesn’t intend to rely on as part of its own case, but is obliged to alert the defence to in case it may help them. Sadly, it’s not unknown for the prosecution to bury information it doesn’t much care for somewhere in the unused material, in the hope that the defence won’t dig too deep. Julian, however, is one of those who is not adverse to a spot of digging.
‘That’s quite correct, your Honour,’ he acknowledges at once. ‘They did disclose it. Nonetheless, it is a matter of some concern that it’s not mentioned in any of the witness statements.’
‘It is,’ I agree. ‘What are you asking me to do, Mr Lofthouse?’
‘Your Honour, as there is no immediate prospect of finding this man Arthur, I submit that it is unnecessary to bring up Miss Galloway’s previous sexual history in front of the jury. She no longer works for the agency. If my learned friend has no objection, Miss Galloway should be allowed to tell the jury simply that her companion left the restaurant, without any reference to her work or his identity.’
‘I can’t agree to that,’ Julian replies, surely to no one’s surprise. ‘Whoever this man is, he may have valuable evidence to give, and in his absence I would submit that the defendant can’t have a fair trial. Depending on what Miss Galloway has to say, I may even have to submit that your Honour should withdraw this case from the jury.’
‘Your Honour…’
‘And in any case, your Honour,’ Julian adds, ‘there’s no point, is there? The jury are bound to work it out for themselves. There aren’t all that many reasons why a young woman would go out to dinner with a man she doesn’t know from Adam – or from Arthur, in this case.’
‘That makes no difference,’ Roderick objects. But I’ve already heard enough.
‘This has nothing to do with Miss Galloway’s sexual history,’ I rule. ‘But the jury must be given a truthful explanation for this man Arthur not being called to give evidence. They must be told why Miss Galloway was with Arthur, and that the police have been unable to trace Arthur, whoever he may be. No one is going to go into her sexual history. I’m sure the jury won’t be bothered about it one way or the other, but of course I will direct them about it, just to make sure.’
No one seems unduly distressed by this, and I call for the jury to be brought back to court.
‘Miss Galloway,’ Roderick resumes, ‘you told the jury that you didn’t know the identity of the man you were with. Would you please explain to them why?’
‘I was working for an escort agency,’ she explains in a matter-of-fact way. ‘The clients never use their real names, and in his case he paid cash, so we would have no idea. He told me his name was Arthur, so that’s the name I used. If he’d told me his name was Merlin, I would have called him Merlin. That’s all I know about him.’ She looks up at me. ‘I don’t work for the agency any more, your Honour.’
I turn to the jury. ‘Members of the jury, Miss Galloway’s previous occupation has nothing to do with the case you’re trying. You’ve only heard about it to explain something that otherwise might seem strange to you, that she was having dinner with a man whose name she didn’t know. You mustn’t be prejudiced against Miss Galloway in any way because she worked for an escort agency in the past. I’m sure you understand.’
Of course they do. They’re all nodding. They’re a young London jury, and they aren’t turning a hair over Linda Galloway’s work history.
‘Once you were seated, I take it that you and Arthur looked at the menu and placed your orders?’
‘Yes. Well, we had a couple of Proseccos first while we were reading the menu, and then we ordered.’
‘All right. What did you order?’
‘We both ordered the same thing. Arthur suggested it. He obviously knew his way around an Italian menu better than I did, and he spoke some Italian.’
I see Julian look up and make a note to himself.
‘What makes you think that?’ Roderick enquires.
‘He spoke Italian to the waitress, and she gave him an Italian menu. She gave me the English one.’
‘What did Arthur suggest you should have?’
‘The chilled garlic soup and a chicken Caesar salad. It was a warm evening, and it sounded very nice. He also ordered some white wine and water.’
‘It may be that my learned friend will ask you about the vintage,’ Roderick says, with a grin towards the jury, ‘but I’m not going to.’ Julian is smiling sportingly. ‘Did the
first course arrive as ordered?’
‘Yes, and it was very nice. They gave us some good bread to go with it, too.’
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ Roderick says. ‘What about the second course?’
‘The salad was very nice too,’ she replies, ‘but I never got the chance to taste more than a few mouthfuls.’
‘That’s a shame,’ Roderick says. ‘What happened?’
‘Well, just as we were getting started, the waitress had opened the kitchen door, and I could hear two men arguing in Italian. They were getting very loud.’
‘You don’t speak Italian, I gather, so did you have any idea what they were talking about?’
‘I didn’t’ she replies, ‘but Arthur did, and he was having a right old laugh about it. He told me…’
‘Just pause there, Miss Galloway,’ Roderick interrupts, ‘in case there’s an objection.’
There certainly could be – any answer she gives would be blatant hearsay, and Julian isn’t going to miss that – but apparently it doesn’t concern him; he shakes his head quickly.
‘I’m obliged to my learned friend. What did Arthur tell you?’
‘He told me they were arguing about the recipe for the Caesar salad dressing.’
The jury have another good snigger. Julian joins in discreetly.
‘The recipe?’ Roderick asks, trying to join in the humour himself, but he’s a couple of beats off the pace.
‘That’s what he said. He didn’t get the details of it, but one of the men thought the other one had done it all wrong.’
‘I see. What happened next?’
‘We tried to ignore it and continue with our own conversation, but it was getting louder and louder, even after the kitchen door was closed. And then, a minute or two later, the waitress ran back out of the kitchen. She was crying. She seemed very upset.’
‘The waitress being the young woman you now know to be Valentina Ricci?’
‘Yes. She was lovely. She came to see me in hospital after my operation. God only knows what they’d said to her, but she was crying her eyes out.’