by Peter Murphy
I allow my voice to trail away.
‘Am I in trouble with the Grey Smoothies?’ he asks.
I think carefully about my reply. ‘I’m almost sure the answer to that is no,’ I say as reassuringly as I can. ‘Neither Aubrey nor Cathy thought it was worth mentioning until I asked them, and neither had any complaint about your handling of the case – except, in Cathy’s case, about your usual pro-prosecution summing-up, which she’s not taking to the Court of Appeal, by the way.’
We share a quick laugh. He nods and stares into space for some time.
‘It’s something that happens from time to time, Charlie,’ he says, ‘not very often and never while I’ve been in court – at least before the Karsten case. I did get confused for a few minutes. But Aubrey helped me out very nicely and no harm came of it.’
‘What happened, exactly, Hubert?’ I ask.
‘It was close to the anniversary of Joan’s death,’ he replies quietly, ‘my wife, you know. Of course, she’s been gone for several years now. But every so often, I see a woman who reminds me of her, and I seem to lose concentration for a short while. I suppose I still haven’t recovered fully from her death, you see. Anyway, on the day in question, I came back into court after lunch, and there was this woman in the front row of the public gallery. I have no idea who she was, but she was wearing just the kind of jacket and scarf Joan used to wear. It threw me, Charlie. I should have gone back to chambers for a while to compose myself, I suppose, but for some reason I felt that I had to say something. The defendant was in the witness box, so I started to ask him some questions. But in my confusion, I had my notebook open at the wrong page. I was looking at my notes of the Bourne case from the previous week. That’s all it was. As soon as Aubrey said something, I realised my mistake, said a few words to the jury, and we carried on.’
‘And, apart from that…?’
‘Apart from that, I’m as right as rain.’ He smiles. ‘Perhaps I should go and see your good lady wife, Charlie. I’m sure she could point me in the right direction, offer a few suggestions.’
‘I’m sure Clara would be more than glad to talk with you,’ I reply.
He nods. ‘The thing is, Charlie – well, you know this as well as I do – marriage isn’t just about the romance and so on, is it? It’s not all about something old and something new. It’s about friendship, isn’t it, companionship, growing old together? That’s what I miss. I liked being married.’
‘And you did it very well, Hubert,’ I reply.
* * *
Thursday afternoon
I sum up this morning, giving the jury what I hope is a balanced account of the law of duress, and reminding them that they must consider the defendant’s case with the utmost seriousness, notwithstanding Aubrey’s characterisation of it as laughable. I add that the defendant’s religious belief, to the extent he has one, and the European Convention on Human Rights provide the defendant with no defence, and instruct the jury not to consider them. I send them out just after eleven.
Just after lunch, they send a note advising me that they have reached a verdict and are ready to return to court. We have a full house this afternoon: James Harhoff, Deborah Martineau, Elies van der Meer and Veronica Ho, all sitting together in an impressive show of solidarity – but mercifully, no one else claiming any relationship, marital or otherwise, to the defendant. Carol asks Findlay-Smyth, still immaculately dressed in his banker’s suit, to stand. The foreman, a woman in her forties wearing not the friendliest of looks, also stands.
‘Madam foreman,’ Carol says, ‘please answer my first question either yes or no. Has the jury reached a verdict on which they are all agreed?’
‘Yes,’ the foreman replies.
‘On the sole count of this indictment, charging Marcus Findlay-Smyth with bigamy, do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?’
‘We find the defendant guilty,’ the foreman replies emphatically.
‘You find the defendant guilty, and is that the verdict of you all?’
‘Yes, it is.’
I thank them for their service and invite them to remain in court for a few minutes longer. I know Aubrey is going to enjoy what’s coming next, and besides, in the circumstances of this case I feel the jury are entitled to know that they have almost certainly arrived at the right verdict. Cathy is looking unperturbed, and not particularly surprised. I would guess she’s personally not too unhappy with the outcome. Forgiveness for clients who lie to you doesn’t come easily. She will do her best for him on sentence, but she’s not going to lose any sleep over the conviction.
‘As your Honour knows,’ Aubrey says, taking his time, ‘although the jury as yet do not: as a result of further inquiries a second count has been added to the indictment, alleging that in February 2018 Mr Findlay-Smyth committed a further act of bigamy by going through a ceremony of marriage in Hong Kong with a woman called Veronica Ho. That marriage was bigamous because, although Mr Findlay-Smyth’s first wife, Monica, had died in 2016, as the jury heard, he had married a woman called Elies van der Meer in Amsterdam in 2017. That marriage, the Crown are happy to make clear, was perfectly legal, because Mr Findlay-Smyth was, at least as a matter of law, a single man at that time. Both Miss Ho and Miss van der Meer are in court today.
‘Your Honour, I now ask that the new count relating to Veronica Ho be put to Mr Findlay-Smyth and that he be asked to plead to it.’
‘No objection, your Honour,’ Cathy murmurs.
Whereupon, to the visible astonishment of the jury, the count is duly put, and Marcus Findlay-Smyth duly pleads guilty to it.
I adjourn the case for three weeks for a pre-sentence report. It’s one of those rare cases where I probably don’t need one, but what I do need is time to think and I’m not going to pass sentence today. What I am going to do today is to take advice from those most qualified to give it, before the members of the Marcus Findlay-Smyth Wives Club disperse to their various corners of the banking world. One by one, Deborah, Elies and Veronica agree to step into the witness box and tell me what they know about this man, and what they think should happen to him. To my immense relief, none of them knows of any other wives, lawful or otherwise, so far unaccounted for. With any luck we may finally have the full tally.
To my surprise, I find that the Hubert Drake regimental approach to sentencing for bigamy is in the ascendancy – not one of them wants me to send Findlay-Smyth to prison. I’m sure this is largely a matter of self-interest. Although they have been grievously wronged, Findlay-Smyth’s saving grace is his financial loyalty, and indeed generosity, which they would prefer to continue to enjoy while they rebuild their lives, and in Deborah’s case, while she has a daughter to care for.
It’s persuasive stuff, and in three weeks’ time, it may well be the path I choose. But I’m not going to give Findlay-Smyth the comfort of believing that today. Instead, I tell him that he may well be facing a custodial sentence, and that I am allowing him bail pending sentence so that he can take steps to put his affairs in order. But at the same time, I do drop the hint that if, in three weeks’ time, it is reported that he has taken steps to ensure that he can continue to fulfil his financial obligations to all these ladies over the long term, that is a matter that I will consider very favourably.
I’ve been expecting Sir Jeremy Bagnall to call, but in fact he goes one better and arrives in my chambers not long after I leave court, just in time for tea.
‘This is extraordinary, Charles,’ he says after dropping two cubes of sugar into his tea and giving it a very enthusiastic stir. ‘There’s no doubt about it. It’s the same handwriting. See for yourself.’
He hands me the handwritten message sent to the Minister, together with the page from the notebook sent to him by Stella, so that I can play questioned document examiner for myself and make my own comparison. When I look at them, I see instantly that my suspicions are fully confirmed: we
don’t need an expert for this one.
I nod. ‘So it is.’
‘This was all this man McCabe’s doing, then?’
I think about that for some time.
‘The honest answer to that, Jeremy, is, “yes and no”.’
He looks up at me. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Yes, in the sense that McCabe sent you, anonymously, a second-hand report of a case he wasn’t involved in and knew nothing about. I’ve questioned two people who were actually involved – the two counsel who appeared in Bourne and Karsten – both of whom confirmed that they would have spoken to me if they’d thought it necessary, but that nothing happened that concerned them to that extent.’
‘So, McCabe made it all up?’
I pause again. ‘McCabe was guilty of a gross exaggeration, based on some tittle-tattle he got from a member of the court staff who should have known better. He passed on to you an account of the matter he hadn’t checked, and which turns out to be very wide of the mark.’
Jeremy shakes his head. ‘Totally irresponsible.’
‘Yes.’
‘Do we have any idea why he did it?’
‘I gather there’s been animosity between McCabe and Hubert for years. McCabe is in Hubert’s old chambers. Years ago, Hubert tried to stop them taking McCabe on, and even though they did, it seems that McCabe isn’t willing to let bygones be bygones.’
‘It was purely vindictive, then? Is that what you’re telling me?’
‘Apparently.’
He sits back in his chair. ‘Well, in that case…’
‘There is more,’ I add. ‘I said the answer was “yes and no”. Jeremy, I have talked to Hubert. He did experience a momentary confusion during the Karsten trial, which made him think for a minute or two that he was still in the Bourne case, which had concluded during the previous week.’ I see Jeremy ready to jump in, so I continue quickly. ‘Hubert gave me an explanation for what happened. It’s a very personal matter and one that, in my opinion as RJ, does not affect his ability to carry out his judicial duties at all. If you insist, I will tell you the details, but I would very much prefer not to.’
He finishes his tea thoughtfully, and it is some time before he replies.
‘What you’re telling me, Charles, is that you, and the two experienced counsel present at the time, believe that there is no cause for undue concern about Hubert based on this one event.’
‘Exactly,’ I reply.
He nods decisively. ‘Yes, very well, Charles. I’m satisfied with that, as long as you agree to keep me informed if there should be any change of circumstances.’
‘Of course. Thank you, Jeremy.’
He smiles. ‘Did he by any chance tell you how old he claims to be?”
‘Oh, dear,’ I reply. ‘In all the excitement I completely forgot to ask. I will, of course…’
‘Well… when there’s a good moment to bring it up. I leave that to your discretion, of course.’
He gets to his feet.
‘Well, thanks for the tea. I think I should ask Stephen Gulivant, as senior Presiding Judge, to see this man McCabe personally and give him a bloody good bollocking, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I do,’ I agree immediately.
‘Stephen can tell him that we will be watching him from now on, and if he wants to continue as a recorder, he’s going to have to demonstrate better judgment in future. That ought to do it, I think.’
‘I’m sure it will.’
‘Is there anything else I should do?’
‘I would be grateful,’ I say, ‘if you didn’t send him to Bermondsey again. Quite apart from the animosity towards Hubert, to be honest, the court staff weren’t unduly impressed with him.’
‘Consider it done, Charles,’ he replies, offering his hand. ‘He can go and sit at Snaresbrook or somewhere, and we’ll see how they like him up there.’
I take his hand. ‘Much obliged, Jeremy.’
* * *
Thursday evening
I quietly ask the Reverend Mrs Walden whether, in the unlikely, but not impossible event of Hubert asking her advice, she would be happy to see him. As I expected, she agrees immediately. I open a bottle of Sainsbury’s Founder’s Reserve Chianti and, as she mixes the tomato salad to accompany our fettuccini with scallops, I regale her in what I hope is a light-hearted vein with the dénouement of the strange case of Marcus Findlay-Smyth. She listens in silence, although she raises her eyebrows more than once, particularly when Elies and Veronica enter the fray.
‘So, what would St Paul have made of it all?’ I ask. ‘I imagine he would have disapproved, wouldn’t he? Though if the whole idea is that it’s better to marry than to burn, perhaps logically he should approve of a man increasing his odds of success in that department.’
She points a finger to indicate her wine glass, which emptied abruptly somewhere around the entrance of Elies and Veronica, and I refill it.
‘The church had a teaching about only having one wife from quite early times,’ she replies, ‘though like everything else in the early church, there were probably any number of deviations from the standard practice.’
‘You mean, like the Mormons?’
‘Yes, I suppose so. But at least the Mormons had a rational basis for practising polygamy. A lot of the early pagan converts probably had polygamy in their cultural tradition, and didn’t think much beyond that. Paul’s take on it might have been not so much a moral one, but to make sure everyone understood that Christians were different from pagans, and they had to be seen to be different. Limiting yourself to one wife was part of that.’
We sit down to enjoy our pasta.
‘So’, she says with a smile, ‘having listened to what you said about your case, a thought occurred to me.’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Yes. If you’re you still thinking about importing a younger, prettier model to join the harem, and putting her in the missionaries’ room, you’d better make sure she has a good job. I’m not sure our finances stretch as far as Mr Findlay-Smyth’s, and I’d hate you to be in a position where you can’t afford us both.’
I put down my fork and take her hand.
‘I like being married, Clara,’ I reply. ‘To you.’
About the author
© Chris Murphy
Peter Murphy graduated from Cambridge University and spent a career in the law, as an advocate, teacher and judge. He has worked both in England and the United States, and served for several years as counsel at the Yugoslavian War Crimes Tribunal in The Hague. He has written eight other books: two political thrillers about the US presidency, Removal and Test of Resolve; six historical/legal thrillers featuring Ben Schroeder, A Higher Duty, A Matter for the Jury, And is There Honey Still for Tea?, The Heirs of Owain Glyndwr, Calling Down the Storm and One Law for the Rest of Us; and three titles in the Walden of Bermondsey series featuring Judge Charlie Walden. Peter Murphy lives in Cambridgeshire.
petermurphyauthor.co.uk
Also by Peter Murphy
The American Novels
Removal
Test of Resolve
The Ben Schroeder Series
A Higher Duty
A Matter for the Jury
And is there Honey still for Tea?
The Heirs of Owain Glyndwr
Calling down the Storm
One Law for the Rest of Us
The Walden Series
Walden of Bermondsey
Judge Walden: Back in Session
Judge Walden: Call the Nest Case
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Copyright
First published 2019
by No Exit Press
an imprint of
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