Judge Walden

by Peter Murphy

  ‘I see,’ Julian says, ‘the officer in the case, DS McGeorge?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Julian says. He pauses for some seconds. ‘Miss Galloway, could you describe Arthur for us?’

  ‘Describe him?’

  ‘Yes. What did he look like? How was he dressed? Let’s start with his physical appearance, shall we?’

  She thinks for a moment and shrugs. ‘His build was tall and thin. He was over six feet tall – I’m sure of that, because my brother’s over six feet and Arthur looked taller than my brother.’

  ‘What sort of age?’

  ‘Late forties, early fifties, I would say.’

  ‘Colour of hair?’

  ‘Black, but turning to grey, cut short, what in the old days they called a short back and sides, with a parting on the left side.’

  Julian smiles. ‘You’re very observant, Miss Galloway.’

  She returns the smile. ‘I trained as a hairdresser,’ she replies. ‘Hair is something I can’t help noticing.’ She pauses. ‘I’d really like to go back to it. I’m looking for a job as a stylist now.’

  ‘I hope you get one very soon,’ Julian says.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Any facial hair?’

  ‘No. He was clean shaven.’

  ‘Colour of eyes?’

  She closes hers for a moment, visualising. ‘Blue.’

  ‘Any scars, tattoos, other distinguishing marks?’

  Miss Galloway suddenly blushes. She looks up at me.

  ‘Do I have to answer that, sir?’ she asks confidentially.

  ‘Is there a reason you don’t want to?’ I ask.

  She clasps her hands together. ‘It’s just that it’s a bit embarrassing,’ she replies.

  ‘There’s no need to be embarrassed,’ I encourage her. ‘We hear all kinds of things in court every day of the week.’

  She nods. ‘’He has a dark red birthmark on the inside of his right thigh,’ she replies.

  ‘Ah, I see,’ Julian says. ‘So, your assignment with Arthur was…’

  ‘During the afternoon, yes. But then he kindly asked me out to dinner, and that’s how we ended up at the restaurant.’

  ‘Yes. How was Arthur dressed – while you were at Primavera Toscana, I mean, of course?’

  ‘He had a very smart suit, a white shirt, red tie, black shoes. He dressed very nicely, like someone who had a very good job.’

  ‘Did you give any details to DS McGeorge about Arthur’s appearance? I ask because there’s nothing in your witness statement about it. Was that something he asked you about when he came to see you at Guy’s Hospital, or at any time, for that matter?’

  ‘Yes. I told him everything – well, everything except the birthmark. I was worried that…’

  ‘Of course. I understand. Did Arthur say anything, at any time while you were with him, to give you any clue about who he was: where he lived; what he did for a living; what his hobbies or interests were? Anything at all?’

  She shook her head. ‘He’s married,’ she replies.

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘He had a mark on the ring finger of his left hand, where his wedding ring would go. He’d taken it off for me, obviously. They all do.’

  ‘Let me ask you this, Miss Galloway: did the police ever ask you to work with a sketch artist?’

  ‘Like they do on TV?’

  ‘Yes: like they do on TV.’

  She shakes her head. ‘No. Never.’ She sounds a bit disappointed.

  ‘Is there anything else you can tell us about Arthur?’

  She thinks for some time. ‘Well, the only other thing was: he was a chatty soul. Not like some of them, who just get dressed as soon as we’ve… you know… and disappear without so much as a thank you. Arthur wanted to talk.’

  ‘What sort of things did he talk about?’ Julian asks gently.

  ‘All sorts. He was asking me what I thought about this, that and the other – the trains, the NHS, all the things people complain about – and he was explaining to me who was responsible for it all, government ministers, and civil servants and what have you. And it was the way he talked about them – John this and Jane that – he knew everybody’s first name, didn’t he? He was talking about them all as if he’d just had lunch with them. Do you know what I mean?’

  ‘I do, Miss Galloway. Thank you.’

  Julian turns to me.

  ‘Your Honour, I have no more questions for Miss Galloway, but I would be grateful if she would remain at court for the time being, in case further questions arise. And I would ask that the jury retire for a few moments, so that I can mention a matter of law.’

  The jury duly troop off for a tea break. There’s no mystery about the matter of law Julian wants to raise. I’ve been expecting it, and judging by the several whispered conversations between Roderick and DS McGeorge during the latter part of Julian’s cross-examination, they’ve been expecting it too.

  ‘Your Honour, I’m very concerned about the effort – or perhaps I should say, lack of effort – that seems to have gone into trying to track down this man Arthur,’ Julian begins. ‘He had the best seat in the house; he must have seen exactly what happened. Potentially, he’s the best witness we could have. But he’s not here, and I can’t cross-examine him.’

  ‘The police haven’t been able to find him,’ Roderick replies urbanely, but I detect the suggestion of unease in his voice.

  ‘As far as I can see, they haven’t really tried to find him,’ Julian says. ‘DS McGeorge’s entry in the investigative record says only that he couldn’t be traced. It gives no details of what efforts, if any, were made. Miss Galloway says she gave the police quite a lot to go on. Did they talk to Maisie or Daphne, or whoever was in charge of the office? Did the agency have a phone number for Arthur? How did he pay them? In cash or by card? These were all obvious lines of inquiry, and we don’t know whether the police pursued any of them.’

  ‘Your Honour…’ Roderick begins. But I cut him off. For some reason, whether it’s the recent conversation about Hubert’s case or just the growing feeling that something’s not quite right, I think Julian deserves at least some further inquiry into what went on.

  ‘No, Mr Lofthouse. I agree with Mr Blanquette. The court needs to know more. I’m going to direct that a more senior officer take a witness statement from DS McGeorge, and that both officers give evidence tomorrow morning, and bring with them any materials the police have that might throw some light on who this man Arthur is. We will see what further steps we need to take when we’re more fully informed. But there’s no need to waste the rest of the afternoon. I’m sure you have other witnesses available.’

  ‘As your Honour pleases,’ Roderick replies, rather dispiritedly.

  I bring the jury back, and Roderick calls Ethel Snape. She doesn’t take very long. As it turns out, she has only one fact of significance to contribute. Although she was facing in the right direction to see the action, she was sitting some distance away and her view was partially blocked by Arthur. She saw the meat cleaver in the air, but can’t help about whether Luigi Ricci’s handling of it appeared to be deliberate or accidental. Once she realised what had happened she was mainly concerned with trying to help Linda Galloway, by holding towels from the kitchen against her wounds to try to slow down the bleeding until the ambulance arrived. But she did see Arthur leave the restaurant. She told us that Arthur stood up as soon as Linda Galloway collapsed to the floor. He didn’t exactly run, she said, but he was walking very quickly and almost bumped into her as she was leaving her seat to make her way to help Linda. She didn’t remember Arthur saying anything, and couldn’t remember much about his appearance, though such description as she could give was consistent with Linda Galloway’s.

  Next, Roderick calls Alessandro Ricci. I’m sure he’s not exactly
overjoyed at the prospect. Alessandro isn’t here voluntarily, a fact amply confirmed by his show of reluctance and sullen manner when Dawn invites him to enter the witness box and take the oath. But Roderick really has no choice. He could leave Julian to call him as part of the defence case, of course, but then Julian would be at a disadvantage: he wouldn’t be allowed to cross-examine him using leading questions, which, one feels, may be necessary if he’s going to get anything worthwhile out of him. It’s an issue of fairness, and Roderick is an old-school prosecutor who keeps up the tradition of being scrupulously fair to the defence even at some risk to his own case. Based on what I hear from other RJs, this tradition is on the endangered list in many courts today, and it’s always reassuring to find it alive and well at Bermondsey.

  ‘Mr Ricci, are you the brother of the defendant, Luigi Ricci?’

  The witness nods.

  ‘You have to answer audibly, Mr Ricci, so that your evidence is recorded.’

  ‘Sì, è mio fratello.’

  A glance at his expression tells me that Roderick has already had enough of Alessandro Ricci. It would have been made abundantly clear to Alessandro that he could have an interpreter if he wanted one, so there is no excuse for not understanding what is said to him – or for pretending not to. Roderick’s patience, you can tell, is already wearing thin.

  ‘Mr Ricci, I’m aware that you speak excellent English, so please reply in English rather than Italian.’

  Alessandro answers this without recourse to language at all, with a casual shrug. I decide on a gentle intervention before things get out of hand.

  ‘Mr Ricci, please remember that you are in a court of law, and you have taken an oath to tell the truth,’ I remind him. ‘If you fail to do so, I have power to hold you in contempt of court, which may mean that you end up in prison.’

  ‘Non capsico. Is not so good, my English.’

  ‘You haven’t asked for an interpreter, Mr Ricci, and I see that you managed to make a witness statement in English. Do your best, please.’

  He looks up at me with a suggestion of defiance. ‘What I can say?’

  ‘You can answer the questions Mr Lofthouse puts to you,’ I reply. He maintains his stare for a few moments, but the defiance gradually begins to ebb away.

  ‘He is my brother. What else you want to know?’ he asks. I gesture to Roderick to continue.

  ‘I’m much obliged, your Honour. Mr Ricci, do you and your brother Luigi jointly own and operate the Primavera Toscana restaurant in Queen Elizabeth Street?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For how long has your restaurant been open?’

  The shrug again. ‘Two, two and a half years.’

  ‘Before that, did you have a restaurant together in Siena, in Italy?’

  ‘Yes, it’s true.’

  ‘Thank you. Now, on the evening the jury are concerned with, were you and your brother Luigi both working at Primavera Toscana?’

  ‘Yes, we were working.’

  ‘How do you work together? Do you both cook?’

  ‘We are both the chefs. Luigi has his – come se dice? – his dishes of signature and I have mine; but we are both the chefs, and we can both prepare any dish on our menu.’

  ‘Yes. And was your daughter Valentina working that evening as a waitress?’

  ‘Yes. She is student, but she helps us in restaurant. She is good girl.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure she is. We’ve heard that at about seven o’clock that evening, the restaurant was quiet, but that in the next few minutes two couples arrived: is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The two couples were Mr and Mrs Snape, who were seated near the door; and Linda Galloway and the man we’re calling Arthur, who were seated nearer to the kitchen: is that correct?’

  ‘Yes, it’s true.’

  ‘After Miss Galloway and Arthur had had one or two pre-dinner drinks, did they place an order for food?’

  ‘Yes. Valentina take their order.’

  ‘What dishes did they order?’

  ‘They both order the chilled garlic soup and the chicken Insalata Caesar. It is from our special summer menu – is very good for the warm weather, and, for London, very reasonable. Is very expensive city.’ The jury have a quick chuckle.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure. Mr Ricci, who prepared these dishes for Miss Galloway and Arthur? You or your brother?’

  ‘I prepare these dishes. Luigi, he prepare Ossobuco for the other table…’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘For which he need meat cleaver. Is not possible prepare Ossobuco without meat cleaver.’

  ‘Yes, well we’ll come to the meat cleaver in a moment, Mr Ricci. But in the course of your preparing the dishes for Miss Galloway and Arthur, did you have any discussion with your brother?’

  Silence for some time.

  ‘Mr Ricci…?’

  ‘We have difference of opinion, professional difference of opinion,’ he replies eventually, with obvious reluctance. ‘Is nothing new. We have this difference many times before.’

  ‘Would you explain to the jury, please, what this difference of opinion was about?’

  ‘Mio fratello… my brother, he does not like the way I prepare the Insalata Caesar.’

  ‘For what reason?’ I’m sure there’s a part of Roderick – his always reliable professional judgment – that is regretting asking this question as soon as the words have left his mouth: with this witness, it’s an open invitation to give the jury a lecture on the Italian culinary arts. But it’s a lecture we’re apparently destined to hear at some point in this trial, and we might as well get it over with. The witness throws both arms high in the air in apparent exasperation.

  ‘Luigi, he think there is only one way to prepare the Insalata Caesar. It must be prepared at the tableside. The oil and garlic you must mix before: this must be ready. Also the croutons. But everything else must be made on trolley at tableside. To the oil and garlic you must add the anchovies, the yokes of two eggs. You must stir to make it – come se dice? – more creamy. Then you must stir in the Parmesan cheese, the lemon juice. You must add the salt and Worcester sauce to season. The customer must see all this at tableside. And never, never, the mayonnaise. Never: capisce?’

  ‘Sì, capisco,’ retorts a loud voice from the dock. ‘At last you learn. In my restaurant, never the mayonnaise. Never.’

  ‘That will do, Mr Ricci,’ I say. ‘Don’t interrupt, please. You will have your chance later.’

  ‘We may well hear from your brother about this later in the trial,’ Roderick continues, no doubt presciently, ‘but tell the jury, please: in what way do you use the mayonnaise? How does it differ from your brother’s method?’

  ‘I use instead of the eggs,’ Alessandro explains.

  ‘Sacrilegio!’ I hear from the dock.

  ‘Mr Ricci, why do you think your brother is so opposed to that?’ Roderick asks quickly before I can warn the defendant again.

  Another shrug. ‘Because he make Insalata Caesar with eggs, and our father before us make Insalata Caesar with eggs, and his father before him, and his father before him make Insalata Caesar with eggs, and so on until you come to Romulus and Remus who are making Insalata Caesar with eggs for lunch while they are building Rome. With Luigi, there is no change, no – how to say? – innovazione. Even, he does not allow me to make my insalata at tableside. I must make in kitchen. Never must the customer see the mayonnaise in Primavera Toscana.’

  ‘Yes. In a few words if you can, Mr Ricci, why do you think your recipe is better? Why do you use mayonnaise instead of eggs?’

  ‘Please to understand,’ the witness replies quietly, ‘that I am not the first to do this. Many chefs follow this recipe. Why? Is simple: it is more creamy, better to taste for the customers in this country, because they like the sweet things. Perhaps in Italia, the eggs are better.
But in this country, not so much. It is for the customers: that is all. So, tell me: why I cannot use my own recipe?’

  ‘Non! Mai!’ the defendant thunders again.

  ‘I won’t warn you again, Mr Ricci,’ I say, trying to sound more threatening this time. ‘If you interrupt again, I will have you removed from court.’ Julian turns towards the dock, and adds his own warning with a vigorous shake of the head.

  ‘It might help if we could move on to the events of the evening, Mr Lofthouse,’ I suggest.

  ‘Certainly, your Honour. Mr Ricci, do I take it that, despite your brother’s views, you used mayonnaise, and not eggs, in the salad you prepared for Miss Galloway and Arthur?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Why I should not?’

  ‘We’ve moved past that, Mr Ricci,’ Roderick replies hurriedly. ‘Please concentrate on my questions. Is that what you did?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘And was it served to them?’

  ‘Yes, Valentina serve them.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘Luigi see that I am using the mayonnaise, and he is angry. But you understand, is not first time this happen – we have this argument many times. He start to shout at me, and I shout back to him.’

  ‘Were you both shouting in Italian?’

  ‘Yes, of course. It is our language. In what language we should shout?’

  ‘Was Valentina present when this argument took place?’

  He nods. ‘She comes back to kitchen while we are shouting. But this upsets her – she is sensitive girl, nice girl, not like us. She doesn’t like when her father and her uncle are shouting. She starts to cry and she goes out of kitchen, back into restaurant.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  He hesitates. ‘Luigi, he make the Ossobuco. He has the meat cleaver in his hand. But then, he runs suddenly from kitchen out into restaurant, and still, all the time, he is shouting.’

  ‘Did you follow him?’

  ‘Yes, I follow.’

  ‘What did you see when you got out into the restaurant?’

  ‘I see my brother standing by Miss Galloway, still with the meat cleaver, and still shouting. Everyone in restaurant is looking at him. He is like crazy man. I don’t know what he is doing. He is out of control.’