Judge Walden

by Peter Murphy

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘Then I heard the kitchen door open again. I turned round in my chair and I saw this man coming out of the kitchen.’

  ‘Yes. So you were sitting with your back towards the kitchen, and Arthur was sitting facing the kitchen, is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You turned and saw a man leaving the kitchen: is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Miss Galloway, I don’t think there’s any dispute…?’

  ‘None at all, your Honour,’ Julian says quickly.

  ‘I’m obliged. Miss Galloway, do you see the man who came out of the kitchen in court today?’

  She looks across to the dock. ‘Yes. He’s the man over there with the officer.’

  ‘The defendant Luigi Ricci?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank you. What, if anything, did you notice about Mr Ricci as he came out of the kitchen?’

  ‘He was shouting in Italian. I didn’t know who he was shouting at, but he was very loud. He was obviously very angry. And he was holding what looked to me like a meat cleaver, or a very large knife, at least.’

  ‘Yes. With the usher’s assistance…’

  Dawn picks up an exhibit wrapped in seriously thick plastic, and after showing it to Roderick and Julian in turn, takes it to the witness box. Miss Galloway takes it from her briefly, nods, and quickly returns it.

  ‘Yes,’ she replies briefly.

  ‘Thank you,’ Roderick replies. ‘Exhibit one, please, your Honour. If you would, please, usher…’

  Dawn makes her way to the jury box. She stands in front of the box holding Exhibit one in front of her for long enough to allow them all to take a good look. I see some tight lips in the jury box by the time she leaves them to make her way over to the clerk’s table, where Carol takes the exhibit from her and hands it up to me. It’s difficult to see anything very clearly through the plastic covering, but it’s obvious that the blade has several large patches of reddish-brown staining. Linda Galloway is not an expert, so she’s not allowed to tell us what the stains are, even though she has a close association with them; but there’s no one in court who doesn’t know that it’s her blood on the blade.

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘Mr Ricci walked over to where I was sitting and stood behind my right shoulder. He just stood there.’

  ‘Was he doing anything else apart from standing there?’

  ‘He was continuing to shout in Italian, and he was still holding the meat cleaver.’

  ‘Do you happen to remember which hand he used to hold the cleaver?’

  ‘His right hand.’

  ‘What, if anything, did you do?’

  ‘I didn’t do anything. I froze, with my fork in my hand. I was absolutely petrified.’

  ‘What, if anything, was Arthur doing?’

  ‘Nothing. He was obviously just as much in shock as I was. His mouth was wide open and he was holding his fork halfway to his mouth. At least, he was the last time I saw him.’

  ‘Did anyone else appear?’

  ‘Yes. A few seconds after Mr Ricci started standing behind me, I heard another man’s voice, also shouting in Italian, coming from behind me. I didn’t dare turn around, but this man came and stood behind my left shoulder, still shouting.’

  ‘Were you able to see this man?’

  ‘Very briefly. I was so scared, I didn’t want to move. But…’

  ‘There’s no dispute, your Honour,’ Julian says again.

  ‘I’m obliged to my learned friend. Miss Galloway, do you now know that this second man was the defendant’s brother, Alessandro Ricci?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What were the two men doing when they were both standing behind you?’

  ‘Well, they were arguing with each other. I realised then that they weren’t shouting at the waitress, or me. They were shouting at each other.’

  ‘Again, do you have any sense of what the argument was about?’

  ‘I think it was something to do with the Caesar salad.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Well, it was partly what Arthur had said. But also, Mr Luigi Ricci kept pointing at my salad with the meat cleaver, and I heard both of them say “Insalata Caesar” several times.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘I was about to ask Arthur if we could leave, but just as I was opening my mouth to speak, out of the corner of my eye I saw Mr Luigi Ricci pull his arm back – his right arm – and swing it my direction. I remember screaming, and then…’

  ‘Take your time,’ Roderick says.

  Dawn walks over to the witness box with a glass of water and a box of tissues. Linda has been composed up to now, but understandably, the experience of her close brush with death is not an easy one to re-live. Gratefully she takes a long draught of water, and blows her nose.

  ‘And then it all went black,’ she adds quietly. ‘All I remember after that is lying on the floor, bleeding, feeling the warmth of the blood, going in and out of consciousness, people screaming all around me, and then the ambulance coming.’

  ‘When the ambulance came to take you to hospital, where was Arthur?’

  ‘I don’t know. He must have left some time after I was stabbed, but I didn’t see him leave, and I haven’t seen him since.’

  Roderick consults his notes. ‘Miss Galloway, the jury will hear the medical evidence, so I don’t need to take you through it all. Taking it shortly, were you taken to Guy’s Hospital, did you undergo surgery to repair serious damage to your collarbone and to the muscles in your chest, and were you in hospital for almost two weeks?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘With the usher’s assistance, would you kindly look at this bundle of photographs, seven in all…?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell the jury what they are, please?’

  ‘These are photographs of the scarring on my shoulder and chest. The first three were taken when I was first admitted to hospital, the second three after my surgery, and then there’s one taken by my sister yesterday.’

  ‘Thank you. Exhibit two, please, your Honour. There are copies for your Honour and the jury…’

  Roderick waits patiently for us all to look at the photographs.

  ‘Miss Galloway, what have you been told by your doctors about your scars?’

  ‘I’ve been told that they will fade to some extent over time, but not entirely. I will have some reminder there for the rest of my life. I could try plastic surgery when I’ve recovered more, but there’s no guarantee of how much difference it would make.’

  Roderick pauses for effect. ‘Were you also told of what consequences you might have suffered if the meat cleaver had landed, or penetrated, a millimetre or two in any direction from where it did?’

  She needs the water and another tissue before answering that one.

  ‘I was told that it could easily have destroyed my breast; or it could have severed a major artery or vein in my neck or chest, in which case I would probably have bled to death before the ambulance got to me.’

  ‘I have nothing further, Miss Galloway,’ Roderick concludes. ‘Thank you.’

  I glance up at the clock: almost one o’clock. I announce that we are adjourned. And so to lunch, an oasis of calm in a desert of chaos.

  Despite my earlier concerns, the evidence about the stabbing has taken the edge off my craving for a Caesar salad, and Jeanie and Elsie’s ham and cheese bap has regained its attraction.

  ‘Are you doing the wounding at that nice Italian place?’ Marjorie asks.

  ‘I am indeed.’

  ‘How is it going? It’s such a shame. I really liked that place, what’s it called, Primavera something?’

  ‘Primavera Toscana. Yes, we’ve made a start. We’ve done the compla
inant in chief. Julian Blanquette is defending, so I’m sure we’ve got something interesting to look forward to this afternoon. But, to be honest, I wouldn’t give much for Signor Ricci’s chances.’

  ‘So we’re looking for another Italian place for our nights out, are we?’ Legless suggests regretfully.

  ‘It would probably be wise,’ I agree.

  ‘Couldn’t you get Ricci up from the cells to rustle up a spot of lunch for us?’ Hubert asks. ‘At least we could have something edible for a couple of days.’ His dish of the day is billed as a chicken and mushroom risotto, and judging by its appearance I’m sure anything from the Ricci kitchen would be a distinct improvement.

  ‘Sorry, Hubert, I’d love to, but Julian might have something to say about it.’

  ‘Offer him three months off his sentence for every day he cooks for us,’ Hubert suggests. ‘Julian wouldn’t have anything to say then, would he?’

  ‘Roderick Lofthouse might,’ I reply. ‘By the way, Hubert, I haven’t had the chance to say this, but well done on that case you threw out on Friday.’

  ‘Yes,’ Legless joins in, ‘absolutely right.’

  ‘It’s something we all need to start doing more,’ Marjorie adds.

  Hubert holds up his hands as if to protest, but he’s not fooling anyone – he’s obviously pleased with the accolade. ‘They didn’t leave me much choice, Charlie,’ he replies modestly. ‘Two thousand pages of technical data, and not a word of it disclosed to the defence, not a single word. It was all to do with the movement of mobile phones, signals bouncing off towers, that kind of thing. All Greek to me, needless to say, but counsel seemed to agree that it was important. What else could I do?’

  ‘And the prosecution told you that they decided not to disclose it because defence counsel would have been paid too much for reading so many pages?’ Marjorie asks. ‘Is that really true?’

  ‘It is, Marjorie. I couldn’t believe my ears. What’s it got to do with the CPS how much defence counsel get paid for reading the evidence?’

  ‘Unbelievable,’ Legless says. ‘I hope you gave them a bloody good bollocking.’

  ‘I certainly did. I gave a proper judgment, the kind of judgment you give in those civil cases of yours, Marjorie – even cited a couple of cases I found in Archbold – and I ordered a copy to be sent to the Director of Public Prosecutions personally.’

  ‘Absolutely right, Hubert,’ Legless says. ‘Very well done. This non-disclosure business is turning into an epidemic.’

  ‘You just can’t trust them any more, can you?’ Hubert replies. ‘Absolute bloody disgrace. Whole bloody system’s going down the drain, if you ask me. We have a former Director who’s a member of the Garrick. You should hear what he has to say about it after a couple of stiff gins.’

  Suddenly, for no reason I can account for, I’m getting this nagging feeling that there’s something amiss; and after some reflection I realise it’s got something to do with the mysterious Arthur, and Julian’s suggestion that I may have to follow Hubert’s example by withdrawing the case from the jury. I awake from the reverie to find my three colleagues looking at me curiously. Apparently, my reflection has taken me away from lunch for a few seconds.

  ‘Everything all right, Charlie?’ Marjorie asks.

  ‘Oh yes, I’m fine,’ I reply quickly. ‘Hubert, do you think you could find those cases in Archbold again for me, the ones you used in your judgment?’

  ‘Of course, Charlie, be glad to. I’ll write you a note and get my usher to drop it off in your chambers. What have you got?’

  ‘A man called Arthur who disappears a bit too easily for my liking,’ I reply.

  * * *

  Monday afternoon

  ‘Miss Galloway,’ Julian begins, ‘you’d never been to Primavera Toscana before that evening: is that correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’d never met my client, Luigi Ricci, before?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You hadn’t met his brother, Alessandro Ricci, before either, had you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Had you met Alessandro’s daughter Valentina?’

  ‘No, not before that night.’

  ‘For that matter, had you met any member of the Ricci family?’

  ‘Not as far as I know, no.’

  ‘You came into the restaurant on that evening, you had a couple of drinks, and you ordered dinner, is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You didn’t misbehave in any way, cause a disturbance, anything like that, did you?’

  ‘No, certainly not.’

  ‘No. Miss Galloway, can you think of any reason why Luigi Ricci would want to attack you with a meat cleaver?’

  ‘No. I couldn’t think of any reason then, and I can’t now.’

  ‘It doesn’t make any sense, does it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You were sitting with your back to the kitchen, weren’t you?’

  ‘That’s right, yes.’

  ‘Thank you. Let me move on to the time when both brothers had emerged from the kitchen. You told the jury that Luigi was standing to your right, and slightly behind you, and Alessandro was to your left and slightly behind you: is that correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you weren’t able to see Luigi directly, full on?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You had more of a peripheral view of him, would that be fair?’

  ‘Yes, it would.’

  ‘Is it also fair to say that this all happened very quickly?

  ‘Very quickly.’

  ‘You had these two men shouting at each other in Italian; you couldn’t understand what they were saying, except for “Insalata Caesar”: is that right?’

  ‘Yes,’

  ‘And then, all of a sudden, using your peripheral vision, you see the meat cleaver moving towards you: yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the next thing you know, you’re on the ground, bleeding heavily: is that a fair summary of what happened?’

  ‘That’s exactly what happened.’

  ‘Is it fair to say, Miss Galloway, that you can’t say what may have been going through Luigi’s mind at the moment when the meat cleaver moved towards you and struck you?’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘You’re not a mind reader, are you, Miss Galloway? I don’t mean to be disrespectful. I’m just suggesting that you have no way of knowing what he was thinking at the time.’

  She nods, a little reluctantly. ‘No. That’s true.’

  ‘You can’t help the jury to decide whether what Luigi did was intentional, or whether it may have been an accident: can you?’

  ‘I suppose not, if you put it like that.’

  Julian pauses for a moment to consult his notes, and resumes unhurriedly.

  ‘Arthur, on the other hand, was facing you, just a few feet away, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So he had a perfect view of what happened, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But unfortunately, as you’ve told us, he left the restaurant when you suffered your injury, or just afterwards?’

  ‘As I said before, I didn’t see him leave, but he wasn’t there when the ambulance arrived.’

  ‘And you haven’t seen him since?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘Miss Galloway, as His Honour has said, we’re not concerned with what you did for a living at that time: it’s no one’s business but yours, and it’s got nothing to do with the case.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘But I do want to explore with you whether you have any information about Arthur. First of all, what was the procedure when the office had a client for you?’

  ‘They would text me the details, the name he was using, where and when we were suppos
ed to meet, and so on.’

  ‘Well, you say “and so on”. Would “and so on” include a phone number for the client, in case you needed to contact him – to cancel, to suggest a different time or place, to say you were running late: things like that?’

  ‘No. If I had any problem, I was to call into the office. If there was a change of plan on his end they would call or text me. But no, I wouldn’t have the client’s number.’

  ‘But the office would?’

  ‘As far as I know they would, yes.’

  ‘That would make sense, wouldn’t it? You have to be careful, don’t you? You never know who you might be dealing with.’

  ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘Yes. And one reason for having a phone number for the client is to make sure you have some idea of who you’re dealing with, for safety reasons, if nothing else?’

  ‘That’s what I always assumed, yes.’

  ‘You don’t need to say the name of the lady at the office, Miss Galloway. But I’m going to ask the usher to provide you with a pen and a piece of paper, and I’m going to ask you to write down her name and the office phone number.’

  Dawn takes these items from the clerk’s desk and makes her way to the jury box.

  ‘I don’t mind saying their names,’ Miss Galloway replies as she takes them from Dawn. ‘It was Maisie from Monday to Thursday, and Daphne over the weekend. But I would prefer to write the number down, in the circumstances.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Julian says, examining the number the witness has given him. ‘Miss Galloway, after the incident, after you’d recovered and been released from hospital, did you ever talk to Maisie or Daphne, to ask her whether she had any information about Arthur?’

  ‘I didn’t ask her myself, no. I left the agency after what happened with Arthur, and I never went back. It got too dangerous for me. This wasn’t the first time I’d had a dodgy one, if you know what I mean. Enough was enough. I was finished with them. But I gave the number to the police when they interviewed me in the hospital and took my statement.’

  ‘Do you remember the name of the officer you gave it to?’

  She points across the courtroom. ‘It was the officer sitting behind the prosecution barrister.’