Judge Walden

by Peter Murphy

  He sighs ‘Oh, I don’t know, Charlie. I think it was just how bloody casual the prosecution were about it. It was like they were saying to me, “We’re going to get this defendant by fair means or foul, and save money at the same time, and there’s nothing a superannuated old git like you can do to stop us.” Well, I’d finally had enough. I just wasn’t going to have it. And you know as well as I do how much the Minister is going to do about it – bugger all, as usual. So I thought I’d fire a warning shot across their bow.’

  ‘Well, you certainly did that,’ I say. ‘But you are going to promise us all that you won’t do it again, aren’t you?’

  He gets up to leave. ‘I’m a whistle-blower, Charlie. They mess around with me at their peril. You’ll see.’

  Watching Hubert as he departs, I can’t honestly say I share his confidence on that score. Looking around, I see that for the most part the sandwiches are lying almost untouched on their plates. I should be hungry, but I seem to have lost my appetite. I’m not even sure an Insalata Caesar would help. Besides, I’m due back in court in five minutes.

  * * *

  Tuesday afternoon

  Roderick has asked for the jury to remain out of court again.

  ‘Good news, your Honour,’ he begins brightly. ‘Arthur has been found and is currently being interviewed by DS McGeorge. I’m not sure yet exactly what he has to say, but at least we are moving in the right direction.’

  ‘Are we satisfied that we have his real name?’ I ask.

  Roderick hesitates. ‘I’m not ready to go into that in open court yet, your Honour. There may be, shall we say, complications about it. In any case, DS McGeorge is fairly sure that he won’t be ready to produce Arthur until tomorrow morning. May I suggest that we continue with Valentina Ricci’s evidence? It may be that she is as far as we’re able to go today, but once Arthur has given evidence I’ll be able to close my case, so we are making good progress overall.’

  We bring the jury back and Valentina makes her way to the witness box without so much as a glance towards the dock. Luigi Ricci stares at her impassively.

  ‘Miss Ricci,’ Roderick says, ‘when we interrupted your evidence you had told us about the argument you heard between your father and your uncle. I now want to ask you about what happened after that. I think we agreed that your uncle Luigi, the defendant, was standing to Miss Galloway’s right and slightly behind her, and your father to her left?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your uncle was still holding the meat cleaver in his right hand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what happened?’

  ‘My uncle hit out with the meat cleaver and accidentally struck Miss Galloway on her shoulder. She fell to the floor. She was bleeding heavily. I called the ambulance.’

  Roderick looks down for a moment or two, and exhales audibly: two reluctant witnesses, and two suggestions that the whole thing was no more than an accident. Once more, Roderick has to consider whether to try to salvage the situation. But left unattended, so to speak, Valentina seizes the opportunity to ram her point home before he can try.

  ‘He didn’t intend to hit her. Why should he? He had no quarrel with her. It was Arthur he was trying to impress.’

  It’s too late now. The cat is out of the bag. In fairness, this was a determined cat and there was never any way to keep it in. Besides, this is coming as no surprise to the jury, I’m sure. They’ve had plenty of time to work it out for themselves.

  ‘What do you mean, “impress” him?’ Roderick asks.

  ‘Arthur was there to warn my father what would happen if he and his friends didn’t get their money. My uncle actually thought that he could put the frighteners on Arthur. He wanted to let him know that there were two big men for them to worry about, not just one, and they were armed with meat cleavers. It was a really stupid idea, obviously. But then, even more stupidly, he thought he’d demonstrate on Miss Galloway. He didn’t know she was an escort, did he? He thought she was Arthur’s girlfriend.’

  ‘Demonstrate on her?’

  ‘He was going to bury the meat cleaver in the table right in front of her. They were using the argument about the salad as cover, because they knew that Arthur spoke a bit of Italian. My uncle realised she would be scared, but he hoped Arthur would think twice about whatever he had in mind if he thought they were ready to come after his girlfriend. But his hand slipped, and he hit Miss Galloway instead of the table.’

  ‘È vero,’ I hear, coming quietly from the dock.

  ‘So that the jury will understand,’ Roderick adds, ‘the money Arthur wanted was money he or others had loaned your father so that he could finance his gambling: is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did Arthur do after Miss Galloway had been stabbed?’ Roderick asks.

  ‘He left, very quickly.’

  ‘Did you see him again that evening?’

  ‘No: and I haven’t seen him since.’ She smiles thinly. ‘And no one has torched the restaurant. Stupid as it all was, maybe my uncle’s plan actually worked.’

  I turn towards the dock, and see the defendant smile in return. And suddenly, the mood of the trial has changed. Roderick may have to downgrade his expectations to a reckless wounding without intent. True, the story that has emerged isn’t the same story the defendant gave the police when he was interviewed under caution; but Julian’s not going to have any problem explaining to the jury why Luigi Ricci wasn’t entirely forthcoming with the carabinieri at that stage, against the backdrop of what looks like a brush with organised crime. Ruefully, Roderick passes Valentina to Julian for cross-examination. But Julian is far too experienced to pick away at something he couldn’t really improve on, and he cheerfully declines.

  ‘Miss Ricci,’ I say, ‘I’m sure everyone would agree with me that it was very nice of you to visit Miss Galloway in hospital.’

  ‘I had to apologise to her,’ she replies. ‘The poor girl hadn’t done anything to deserve that, had she? She was an innocent bystander. Unfortunately, she got mixed up in our family business without knowing it. It was the least I could do,’

  We adjourn for the day to allow DS McGeorge to complete whatever inquiries he’s making.

  * * *

  Tuesday evening

  Arriving home I find the Reverend Mrs Walden in the kitchen, standing proudly beside two bowls of salad.

  ‘My curiosity was aroused,’ she says.

  ‘Oh? Curiosity about what?’

  ‘The big eggs versus mayonnaise controversy, of course,’ she replies. ‘I thought it was really odd that we weren’t sure of the difference last night, and I wondered what would happen if I tried to make it myself. So this afternoon I went online and found a couple of recipes for Insalata Caesar, and then I paid a visit to that Italian Deli on London Bridge Road and got a few supplies in. This is a taste test. I used eggs in one bowl and mayonnaise in the other; otherwise they’re identical. I would have done it tableside during dinner, as one should, but that would give the game away, wouldn’t it? So we have a surprise starter, and the lucky winner gets a glass of this.’

  She reaches across her work surface to where she has a bottle of Amaretto cunningly concealed behind her blender.

  ‘That’s not fair,’ I protest. ‘You already know which is which.’

  She shakes her head. ‘I’ve forgotten,’ she replies unconvincingly. ‘They look exactly alike.’

  We take the taste test, and this time, there’s no doubt about it: we both identify the eggs and mayonnaise immediately and without hesitation.

  ‘Perhaps there’s something about the way they do it in restaurant kitchens,’ she suggests, pouring us both a glass of Amaretto, ‘some hidden secret.’

  ‘Perhaps there is,’ I reply. ‘Apparently there are a lot of secrets hidden away in restaurant kitchens – Italian ones, particularly.’


  * * *

  Wednesday morning

  It’s becoming a regular ritual. Once again Roderick wants to address me without the jury, and this morning he has sitting behind him, not only DS McGeorge, but an obviously senior uniformed officer I don’t remember seeing before, but who somehow looks familiar. Roderick seems troubled, and Julian, who usually has a cheerful smile to bestow on everyone, is also wearing a grave expression.

  ‘Your Honour, I have two applications to make this morning,’ Roderick begins slowly, ‘both of which my learned friend opposes. By way of introduction, I can tell your Honour that DS McGeorge has completed his interview of the man we’re calling Arthur, and he has taken a statement from him. Arthur is at court, and the prosecution intend to call him as a witness. But before we do, I am instructed to make these applications dealing with the manner in which he should give evidence. If I may elaborate, your Honour?’

  ‘Yes, I think you should,’ I reply.

  ‘Your Honour, my first application is that Arthur should give evidence as an anonymous witness, without revealing his true name to the court, except privately to your Honour, of course. My second application is for special measures, to enable Arthur to give evidence behind a screen, so that your Honour, counsel and the jury can see him, but he is not visible to the public or the press.’

  All manner of speculative thoughts flit through my mind. The first is that Arthur must be an undercover police officer, or even an officer of the security services. That seems just possible, given the threats made against the Ricci family, but it doesn’t seem awfully convincing. More likely, perhaps, he’s a villain acting as a police informant. Either way, they wouldn’t want to compromise Arthur by revealing his identity, and the court would normally do whatever it could to protect him. But if that’s the case, why is Julian opposing it? I ask him.

  ‘Your Honour,’ Julian replies, ‘first, I haven’t been given any notice of these applications until just now and I haven’t been given any reason why they are necessary. I’m entirely in the dark, as is your Honour. A witness may only give evidence anonymously if it’s necessary, if it is consistent with a fair trial, and if it is in the interests of justice for him to give evidence because his evidence is important and he wouldn’t give evidence otherwise. I’ve heard nothing to suggest that any of those conditions is present. As for the screen, I’m not necessarily opposed to that, but your Honour is bound to inquire why the quality of Arthur’s evidence might be affected if a screen is not allowed. Again, I’ve been told nothing about why that is a concern.’

  I nod. ‘I think you will have to give the court some explanation, Mr Lofthouse,’ I say. ‘Mr Blanquette is quite right. I can’t make the kind of orders you’re asking for without some basis for them.’

  Roderick sighs. ‘In that case, your Honour, I will have to ask your Honour to close the court to the public and press for the time being. In due course, much of what I’m about to say may have to be repeated in open court, but I’m instructed to do my best to keep certain matters confidential.’

  ‘Very well,’ I agree. ‘I will ask members of the public and the press to leave court for the time being. I will reopen the court as soon as possible.’

  Dawn cheerfully ushers out the few members of the public who have been observing the proceedings, though they include one or two representatives of the press, whose presence, needless to say, is now guaranteed as soon as the court is open again.

  ‘I’m all ears, Mr Lofthouse,’ I say. ‘What on earth is this all about, some matter of national security?’

  Roderick closes his eyes and shakes his head. He looks tired.

  ‘Something far less exalted, your Honour, I’m afraid. I regret to say that important information relevant to this case has until now been withheld, from the court and from the defence. It was withheld from me too, until I was provided with Arthur’s real name yesterday. I have brought my learned friend Mr Blanquette up to date this morning, and I must now do the same for your Honour.’

  Visions of Hubert, Sir Jeremy Bagnall, and the Daily Telegraph flash through my mind.

  ‘Are you saying that there has been a failure of disclosure, Mr Lofthouse?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying, your Honour, and for the record, I wish to state that I told those instructing me this morning that I could not allow myself to be associated with it, and unless disclosure was properly made, I would be professionally obliged to withdraw from the case.’

  He pauses for effect, but it’s a dramatic enough statement in its own right, not to mention exactly what I would expect of Roderick.

  ‘They have persuaded me that I can properly ask the court for anonymity and special measures, but I have made it clear that I must put the court fully in the picture. Frankly, your Honour, I have told them that if they fail to do so, I will not resist my learned friend’s application that your Honour should withdraw the case from the jury. They have agreed that we should proceed on that basis. Your Honour, I have with me Assistant Commissioner of Police Leonard Smith, who can deal with the matters in question. May I call him?’

  Now I recognise him. He’s on television all the time, answering for the Metropolitan Police on a whole range of topics.

  ‘Mr Blanquette,’ I say, ‘do you have any observations before I decide what to do?’

  ‘Your Honour,’ he replies. He seems to have recovered his good humour now. ‘I accept what my learned friend says without reservation, of course, and I’m waiting agog to hear all these fascinating secrets, as I’m sure your Honour is.’

  I nod. ‘Come forward, please, Mr Smith,’ I say.

  He’s a tall, grey-haired man, his pristine uniform sporting several police medals, and he takes the oath in a quiet, precise voice.

  ‘Assistant Commissioner,’ Roderick says, ‘please tell his Honour what you know about this man Arthur, and about the way in which the evidence has been dealt with.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Your Honour, police were aware of Arthur’s true identity on the day following the incident at Primavera Toscana. They became aware as a result of the 999 call he made from the phone box in Tower Bridge Road. Because Arthur had refused to give his name, and given the seriousness of the offence, an officer seized the CCTV footage later the same day. But once Arthur’s identity became known, the word came down from on high that no information about the 999 call or his identity was to become public.’

  ‘From on high?’ I ask. ‘What on earth do you mean by that?’

  ‘I don’t know, your Honour,’ he replies. ‘I myself was only made aware of these events yesterday afternoon. But I can tell your Honour this: that decision was taken at a higher level, a level above the police, and in particular DS McGeorge knew nothing about it. As far as he was concerned, the CCTV footage and the second 999 call were new information, and he certainly wasn’t involved in any decision not to disclose them.’

  ‘A level above the police?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes, your Honour.’

  ‘Continue, please,’ Roderick says.

  ‘Arthur’s name,’ the Assistant Commissioner continues, ‘is Sidney Rockwell.’

  I put my pen down, close my eyes and nod silently for some time. The witness has given us the same name as Valentina Ricci. When she gave it, I dismissed it as a coincidence, but now that it’s been confirmed I finally understand what is going on, as, I’m sure, does Roderick.

  ‘Mr Rockwell is known to police,’ Mr Smith is saying. ‘I have copies of his antecedents. He has three previous convictions, one for robbery, and two for assault occasioning actual bodily harm. We have reason to believe, your Honour, that he was involved in making threats to Mr Alessandro Ricci and his family in order to recover monies his associates had loaned to Mr Ricci to enable to him to cover his gambling debts. We further have reason to believe that his presence at the Primavera Toscana restaurant on the evening in question was directly related to those th
reats.’

  ‘Did DS McGeorge interview Mr Rockwell,’ Roderick asks, ‘and did he make a witness statement dealing with the matters relevant to this case?’

  ‘He did, sir: although with respect to any possible criminal conduct on his part, on the advice of his solicitor he refused to answer the questions put to him.’

  ‘I take it that, at some point, he will be further interviewed – under caution – about his possible involvement in such offences?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I understand that DS McGeorge intends to do so as soon as this court has finished with him.’

  I can’t let it rest there.

  ‘Is it your understanding, Assistant Commissioner,’ I ask, ‘that the reason why someone on a higher level was anxious to keep all this a secret has less to do with Mr Rockwell’s rather mundane criminal record than with his family tree?’

  ‘That is my understanding, your Honour, yes.’

  ‘I see,’ I say. ‘Thank you, Mr Smith. Mr Lofthouse, I am against you on the two applications you have made. Mr Rockwell will give evidence under his own name, and in full view of the public.’

  ‘Yes, your Honour,’ Roderick replies quietly. ‘May I have a few moments to take instructions?’

  ‘Certainly, Mr Lofthouse.’

  I adjourn for half an hour, at the end of which Roderick advises me that he is not obliged to withdraw from the case, and that he proposes to call Sidney Rockwell to give evidence. I’m glad to hear it. If it had been otherwise, I would have withdrawn the case from the jury, which would have been the only way to guarantee no miscarriage of justice for Luigi Ricci, but would also have guaranteed a distressing failure of justice for Linda Galloway.

  Sidney Rockwell bears little resemblance to the image of the suave man-about-town described by Linda Galloway. He is wearing a cheap grey jacket and blue jeans, and looks as though he hasn’t shaved for several days. Predictably, he refuses to answer any questions about any criminal conduct on his part. There’s nothing I can do about that – he has the right not to incriminate himself, and his solicitor has apparently done a very thorough job of explaining that right to him. So Roderick glosses over all that and asks him how Linda Galloway came to be wounded.