Walden of Bermondsey

by Peter Murphy

  ‘What was the information, Hubert?’ I ask.

  ‘The information? Oh, yes. Well, he tells Sugden that the transaction was consummated at the Garrick Club. I couldn’t believe my ears. “Did you say the Garrick?” I asked. “Yes, your Honour,” he says, bold as brass. I was horrified. “What were you doing at the Garrick Club?” I ask him myself. He turns to me, looking a bit surprised. “I am a member, your Honour,” he replies. “What?” I say. “You can’t be a member of my Club. You’re an undischarged bankrupt!” Counsel are trying to interrupt, of course, but I was furious. I rose immediately and telephoned the Secretary of the Club, and do you know what he told me?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ I reply.

  ‘The bounder wasn’t a member at all. Never had been. It was a complete lie. What do you think of that?’

  ‘Shocking.’

  Hubert returns to his pasta puttanesca.

  ‘Hubert, how does that relate to the problem I have?’ I ask.

  He looks up again.

  ‘What? Oh, yes. Well, I told counsel what I had found out, of course.’

  ‘So you saw both counsel in chambers?’

  ‘Good God, no. In open court. The man had told the jury a lie in open court which reflected very badly on the Garrick, and I saw to it that it was corrected in open court. I took judicial notice that he wasn’t a member and told the jury that was the end of it. Well, I couldn’t drag the Secretary away from his work just to give evidence about it when it was such an obvious lie, could I? It would have been a complete waste of his time.’

  * * *

  Wednesday afternoon

  I am still mulling it all over, two minutes before I am due back in court. But it seems I am to get a reprieve. Carol comes in to tell me that counsel are going to request an adjournment until tomorrow morning. I am not sure whether having more time to think about it is going to help, but at least it gives me an excuse for not doing anything just yet. I go into court to hear what they have to say.

  ‘Your Honour,’ Cathy begins. ‘I have received some information during the lunch hour which may be highly relevant to the case. I have not had the opportunity to look into it in any detail, but it may well be that in due course I will be asking your Honour to allow Father Stringer to be recalled for further questions to be put in cross-examination. My learned friend has been kind enough to make some inquiries, and it seems that Father Stringer would not be available until tomorrow morning, but could attend then.’

  For some reason I cannot immediately define, I feel taken aback. The shadow of a suspicion crosses my mind. I must have been sitting staring vacantly at Cathy for some time, because she has to get my attention again.

  ‘Your Honour?’

  ‘Yes. Yes,’ I reply. I am really not sure how to continue. ‘Well, of course, if it should be necessary… but, well, perhaps you could tell me what the information is?’

  ‘Your Honour, I would prefer not to say anything about it in open court, certainly until I have had the chance to look into it in more depth.’

  Roderick rises to his feet.

  ‘If I may, your Honour, my learned friend has been good enough to tell me in outline what is involved, and on behalf of the prosecution, I agree that it is a matter which should be inquired into further. I also agree that, depending on the result of those further inquiries, it may be right to recall Father Stringer.’

  I have no choice. Cathy is entitled to the chance to look into whatever it is. I will have to be patient until tomorrow.

  * * *

  Wednesday evening

  This evening, I come very close to asking the Reverend Mrs Walden a direct question. Over dinner – ironically a cheese omelette and chips, a dish to be known in future in the Walden household as an Omelette à la Stringer – I tell her about the surprising developments in the case of Tony Devonald. She listens attentively, but does not seem quite as surprised as I would have expected. Part of me thinks that perhaps this is not coming as news to her. Another part of me dismisses that idea as absurd and tells me to get a grip. But still, it seems to me that she is acting rather suspiciously, being quite evasive.

  ‘I’m sure defence counsel must have gone down the same road we did,’ she says as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. ‘The only surprise is that no one thought to do it before now.’

  She then changes the subject, rather abruptly, to my way of thinking. But I can’t quite bring myself to say anything. After all, I am still not sure what awaits me on the morrow.

  * * *

  Thursday morning

  Jeanie is in a much better mood this morning. Her husband made a rather more successful investment in a race at Chester yesterday afternoon, she tells me, and the rent is safe for another month. George is up in arms over the Chancellor’s latest economic proposals, which he sees as the latest instalment of the personal vendetta being carried out against him by the Government. But all in all it is a cheerful enough stroll to court, with an exceptionally good latte to look forward to. Naturally, by now, I am very curious indeed to see what is going to happen in court.

  As it is Thursday, Stella is getting anxious about the list for tomorrow, and the list for next week, both of which are apparently fraught with the potential for disaster.

  ‘I’ve got that appeal against conviction from the Magistrates Court,’ she complains. ‘It’s down for between two and three hours, and I’ve got two magistrates lined up. But I need a judge to preside, and I don’t know who I’ve got.’

  ‘Which appeal is that?’

  ‘Bushell. That chap who was convicted of driving without due care and attention and claims he was suffering from automatic something or other.’

  ‘Automatism?’ I suggest.

  ‘Yes, that’s the one. He’s calling a neurological specialist, who can only come tomorrow before leaving to start a year at Harvard. So we’ve got to get it on.’

  ‘I think Judge Jenkins and Judge Drake are both likely to get their juries out today,’ I reply as soothingly as I can. ‘I’ll ask them at lunch. I wouldn’t worry about it.’

  I pause.

  ‘Don’t tell anyone, but I think there’s even a chance I may be free myself.’

  She raises her eyebrows.

  ‘I thought Devonald had at least another couple of days to go.’

  ‘Something’s come up. We may have a witness recalled this morning, and if we do, it may be that the prosecution case will take something of a hit. I’ll make sure Carol lets you know.’

  ‘That would be great, Judge.’ Stella almost manages a smile. ‘In that case, you can do the appeal, and I can give you Raven next week.’

  ‘What’s that about?’

  ‘Sexual assault. Groping a sixteen-year-old on the tube during the rush hour.’

  I close my eyes.

  ‘Nothing is certain yet, Stella, of course,’ I reply. ‘I may be quite wrong. Devonald may still have a day or two to go.’

  ‘I’ll come and see you just before two o’clock,’ she says.

  As I enter court, I see Father Osbert Stringer sitting in the back row next to DS Major. It may be my imagination, but it seems to me that the Detective Sergeant is keeping something of a close eye on him. As soon as the jury has been brought in, Cathy is on her feet.

  ‘Your Honour,’ she begins, ‘thank you for the time you have given us. I‘m pleased to say that it has been used productively. Further information has come to light which I anticipate may be highly relevant to the questions the jury have to decide, and I now ask that Father Stringer be recalled to answer further questions in cross-examination.’

  ‘By all means.’

  Father Stringer proceeds slowly from his seat at the back of the court to the witness box, with what looks to me like a dead- man-walking attitude.

  ‘You are still under oath, Father,’ I say as neutrally as I ca
n, before nodding to Cathy.

  ‘Thank you, your Honour. Father Stringer, you told the jury on Tuesday that you had been in the ministry for some thirty years, is that right?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘And you have been vicar of St Giles, Tottenham, for the past four years?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Before coming to St Giles, you spent a good many years working abroad, did you not?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘You were featured in an article in the Church Times about priests who had worked in a number of different countries?’

  ‘Yes. The Anglican Communion is a world-wide church, and there are some, such as myself, who feel called to serve different parts of the Anglican family.’

  Cathy nods.

  ‘I don’t intend to ask you about all the churches you have served in, Father, but there are one or two the jury might find to be of interest. For example, some eight years ago, you were ministering in Canada, were you not?’

  ‘I was in Canada for more than five years.’

  ‘During which time you were priest in charge of the church of St Anthony of Padua in a suburb of Toronto called East York, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Father Stringer, please tell the jury what happened to the church of St Anthony of Padua?’

  ‘What happened to it?’

  ‘Yes, what happened to it. In other words, if I were to travel to East York tomorrow, would I be able to see the church of St Anthony of Padua for myself?’

  Father Stringer seems a bit reluctant to answer.

  ‘I believe it has been rebuilt,’ he replies quietly, ‘though not on its former scale, of course.’

  ‘Rebuilt?’ Cathy says, feigning surprise, with a quick look in the direction of the jury. ‘Why was it necessary to rebuild it?’

  The witness looks down.

  ‘There was a fire.’

  ‘Indeed. In fact, the church burned to the ground, did it not?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I glance over at the jury. They are sitting up and taking notes now.

  ‘And was this while you were priest in charge?’

  ‘Sadly, yes.’

  ‘Sadly, yes. Father Stringer, what was the cause of the fire?’

  ‘The police determined that it was a case of arson.’

  ‘Indeed? Did they discover who was responsible?’

  ‘They arrested a young man. I believe the court later made a hospital order in his case. I am not sure whether he was ever tried.’

  ‘Was the young man in question known to you?’

  ‘Yes. He was a member of the congregation. But he was seriously disturbed. Very seriously disturbed indeed.’

  ‘Did this seriously disturbed young man use an accelerant to set the fire?’

  ‘As I recall, yes.’

  ‘He used white spirit, didn’t he?’ she asks. ‘In a metal can?’

  ‘He may well have done… it was some years ago. I don’t remember all the details.’

  ‘Well, let’s see how well you do if I go back a little farther in time. Before Canada, you spent a number of years in South Africa?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Were you one of the ministers at the Church of St Peter and St Paul in Bloemfontein?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This, of course, is even longer ago, but by any chance, do you happen to remember anything happening to that church?’

  ‘There was a fire.’

  This time, there is an audible gasp from the jury. Roderick is studying some papers, probably in preparation for his next case. He appears to have lost interest in this one.

  ‘Yes. To take matters shortly, Father, the Church of St Peter and St Paul also burned to the ground, and once again, a young man of your congregation was charged with the offence of arson.’

  ‘And he was convicted,’ Stringer protests.

  ‘Yes, indeed he was,’ Cathy replies quietly. ‘And I am sure you are hoping that Tony Devonald will follow in his footsteps.’

  ‘I have no idea what you mean,’ the witness splutters.

  ‘You know exactly what I mean,’ Cathy says.

  She pauses for some time. Until now, she has been pressing full speed ahead. The pause is abrupt. At first I think it is solely for effect, but as it goes on, I am not so sure. Every eye in the courtroom is fixed on her. I am not going to rush her.

  ‘Before I go on, Father Stringer, I want to give you the opportunity to correct the evidence you gave on Tuesday. I ask you to admit to this jury that you phoned Tony Devonald and asked him to come to the church shortly before eight o’clock on the evening of the fire at St Giles; and that the fire was already blazing when Tony arrived. If you make that admission, I will conclude my cross-examination.’

  ‘That is completely untrue,’ Stringer replies. He is almost shouting.

  Cathy nods.

  ‘All right. Father, I am sorry I have to raise this, but you leave me no choice. I believe your parents, sadly, are both dead. Is that right?’

  Now I sit up and take notice, as well as the jury. This is something new. Of course. I should have known there would be more. So far, Cathy has been following the path the Reverend Mrs Walden uncovered in about fifteen minutes. Since then, she would have had every pupil in her chambers pulling an all-nighter. If there was more to find, of course they would have found it.

  Father Stringer has turned a whiter shade of pale, as they say. He turns to me in desperation.

  ‘Is this really relevant, your Honour?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I reply. ‘Please answer the question and we shall see.’

  ‘My parents both died when I was very young,’ he replies.

  ‘Yes. They died on the same occasion, didn’t they?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In a fire at the family home?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You were the only child?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you were not inside the house when the fire started, were you?’

  ‘No. I was playing in the shed in the garden.’

  ‘Where your father kept his tools and various materials used in home decoration?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Including white spirit?’

  ‘That was a complete misunderstanding.’ He is almost shouting again.

  ‘The police found you with it, didn’t they? There was evidence of white spirit on your clothes.’

  ‘I was nowhere near the house. I was in the shed.’

  ‘By the time the police and the fire brigade arrived, yes, I’m sure you were.’

  ‘I was not prosecuted.’

  ‘No,’ Cathy agrees. ‘You were too young. You were only nine, weren’t you?’

  There is no reply. She does not press for one.

  ‘Lastly, Father Stringer, I would like you to look at something.’

  Cathy gestures towards DS Major, who is sitting behind Roderick. The Sergeant hands her a small clear plastic evidence bag with an exhibit label attached. She proffers it to Dawn, who takes it from her and cheerfully sets out for the witness box.

  ‘What is this, Miss Writtle?’ I ask.

  ‘Your Honour, DS Major told the jury yesterday, quite correctly, that no forensic evidence in the form of fingerprints and so on was found in the phone box in Vicarage Road. But the officer who went to search did remove a number of items found there, and she inventoried them. Her inventory is in the unused materials. It occurred to me yesterday to have a look at one item, described as a small black button. DS Major helpfully found it for me.’

  Stringer is staring through the plastic like a stricken man.

  ‘Father Stringer, I am showing you the small black button found in the phone box. The jury will see in a moment or two that it is a quite unusual
button, covered with black cloth, with no button holes showing on top. I am going to ask you whether you recognise it, but before I do, I think it only fair to tell you that I was able to have the button examined yesterday by a gentleman who works for J Wippell and Co, and who is prepared to give evidence, if necessary. So that the jury will understand, Father, J Wippell and Co is an old-established firm which supplies clerical garments to clergymen of the Church of England. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Now, can you tell the jury what kind of button that is?’

  ‘It is the kind of button used on cassocks,’ he replies, barely audibly.

  ‘The cassock being the garment that you are wearing in court today?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is it yours?’

  ‘No. I have no reason to think it is. There are no buttons missing from my cassock.’

  ‘I’m sure that is true. But then, you have had plenty of time to replace it, haven’t you?’

  Roderick can’t even be bothered to object. I give Cathy a look, pro forma.

  ‘Sorry, your Honour. So, we must assume, must we, that it is simply a coincidence that this button was found in the phone box in Vicarage Road not long after someone phoned Tony Devonald from that very box and asked him to come to the church?’

  ‘The button doesn’t prove that I was there.’

  ‘No,’ Cathy replies, ‘it doesn’t. But I think it is enough for my purposes. I have no further questions, your Honour.’

  She pauses only for a moment.

  ‘Your Honour, I believe that my learned friend Mr Lofthouse is now about to close his case once more. If so, there is a matter of law I wish to mention in the absence of the jury.’

  I look across the court at Roderick who climbs wearily to his feet.

  ‘Your Honour, I do now formally close my case again. To save time, I do not resist the application my learned friend is about to make. I ask only that your Honour not release Father Stringer. I understand that DS Major would like a word with him.’