The Benefits of Death

by Roderic Jeffries

  Tarnton rose and cross-examined. “Let’s look more closely at the telephone call you made on the eighteenth, Mr. Marsh. You got through to Kent to say that Mrs. Leithan had not arrived on the train?”

  “That’s it, only we waited until the next one was in and she weren’t on that either, and we got home before we phoned.”

  “And you claim the accused did not seem to treat the matter as being of importance?”

  “I said I couldn’t understand how he was so calm about it, not wanting to call in the police nor anyone else. He even got angry with me for suggesting it.”

  “You find that beyond your comprehension?”

  “If my wife caught a train she didn’t arrive on, I’d worry, I know that.”

  “But this does not concern either your wife, or you.” Tarnton’s voice became slightly sarcastic. “There are some people in this world, Mr. Marsh, who do not parade their feelings on their coat sleeves.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “But what?”

  “He just weren’t worried.”

  “You really can’t say that. The most you can say is that, in so far as you were able to judge — which obviously wasn’t very far — the man at the other end of the telephone line did not sound worried. But this means your evidence is valueless, doesn’t it? The accused might have been beside himself with worry and you obviously wouldn’t have known anything about it, since all that struck you was the fact that his voice remained calm?”

  “But if my wife…”

  “Is your wife missing, Mr. Marsh?”

  “Of course she isn’t.”

  “Then shall we leave the sad subject of your feelings on her disappearance until that painful event actually takes place?” Tarnton was glad to see a quick smile on the face of the man at the end of the front row in the jury box. “Mr. Marsh, you have testified that you were certain Mrs. Leithan would attend the annual general meeting of the Cuenca Club. Why are you so positive?”

  “I’ve already said as it was the decision on tri-colours. She’d done everything possible to make certain the vote went her way; and she knew that to win, all she had to do was to turn up.”

  “Would you be a little more explicit about precisely how she had done everything possible?”

  Marsh hesitated. “Spoken to people, and so on.”

  “What do you mean by ‘so on’?”

  “She gave a cocktail party.”

  “Was that all?”

  “Well…”

  “Well, what?”

  “She offered to pay the expenses of people who had to travel a distance to get to the meeting.”

  “Just their travelling expenses?”

  “There was a question of meals…”

  “Shall we call it bribery?”

  Marsh flushed. “It wasn’t bribing…” He did not finish the sentence.

  Tarnton allowed the silence to continue for several seconds. “Not quite cricket,” he finally commented sardonically.

  Marsh shifted his weight from one foot to the other and found great difficulty in knowing what to do with his hands.

  “Don’t you think, Mr. Marsh, that a woman who is normally scrupulously honest, but who in a moment of weakness departs from such standards, might suddenly regret all she had done and would determine to right the wrong? That she would make certain her scheme should not be further implemented?”

  “She didn’t think like that.”

  “You don’t really like Mrs. Leithan, do you?”

  “We was very great friends.”

  “Are you quite certain?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yet you are not friendly enough to admit that she might have had a change of heart for the better?”

  “She wanted to get her dog made up a champion,” said Marsh, with brash loudness. “There wasn’t anything in the world would have kept her away from the meeting.”

  “That is, in your opinion. The opinion of a man who found that all his unpopular spade-work had been wasted.” Tarnton sat down. Farmen, his junior, leaned forward.

  “Stubborn bastard,” said Farmen.

  “Wouldn’t you be, if you were telling the truth?”

  Judy Marsh took the oath. When she had finished, she reached up and fiddled with her hair at the back of her head. She had done everything possible to make herself smart and had committed all the faults of a woman without any natural taste.

  Alliter began his examination. “Were you expecting a visitor to your house on the 18th November?”

  “Mrs. Leithan, Evadne, was coming to stay with us. She quite often used to spend time with us.” For one brief moment, Judy Marsh’s expression showed how much she had valued those visits. “I bought a very special Dover sole for her lunch because she liked them so much.”

  “We have heard how your husband and you drove to the station to meet the train by which Mrs. Leithan was expected to arrive. What happened there?”

  “The train was late because of the fog and when it finally arrived and she wasn’t on it, we wondered if she’d missed it at Ashford and caught the next one. We waited for that as well. But she wasn’t on that either.”

  “Have you seen her since the 18th November?”

  “No.”

  “Have you heard from her in any way?”

  “Alan, my husband, rang…”

  “I’m sorry, but you must restrict your evidence to matters within your own knowledge.” Alliter sat down.

  Tarnton stood up and hitched the battered gown about his shoulders. He leaned forward slightly. “Would you not agree that Mrs. Leithan looked upon your place as a convenient boarding house, with the consequence that if she decided to change her mind about staying with you she would not feel bound to inform you of that fact?” Tarnton sat down and turned to speak to Farmen.

  For a few seconds, Judy Marsh did not appreciate the full force of the insult. Then, her face reddened and her thin lips tightened. “You’ve no right to say that,” she said shrilly. Tarnton ignored her.

  Georgina Yerby was called. She told the court that her dog and Mrs. Leithan’s had each gained two challenge certificates and that between herself and Mrs. Leithan there had existed an intense and bitter rivalry; so bitter on the part of Mrs. Leithan that she had resorted to bribing. Georgina Yerby gave it as her considered opinion that nothing but death would ever have stopped Evadne Leithan’s attending the annual general meeting of the Cuenca Club to force the vote. Perhaps, she suggested tartly, it was no more than a just Providence that had kept her away.

  Tarnton, who disliked doggy women, cross-examined her as severely as possible. He was the first to admit he gained no ground whatsoever.

  The judge watched Tarnton sit down and then, when there was no re-examination, called an adjournment.

  *

  In the afternoon, the prosecution called a number of witnesses who had been friends of Evadne Leithan and who had frequently corresponded with her, had visited her, or had received her in their homes. Without exception, their evidence was that after the 18th November of the previous year, they had not heard from her or seen her.

  The bank manager was called.

  “Yes,” he said, in his prim and precise voice that so exactly matched his prim and precise black coat and striped trousers, “Mrs. Leithan banked with us. She had two…”

  “Is there any significance in the continued use of the past tense?” demanded Tarnton loudly, without bothering to stand up.

  The manager looked startled.

  “Mr. Tarnton,” said the judge, “are you objecting?”

  Tarnton slowly stood up. “I was wondering, my Lord, whether there is any special significance in the witness’s repeated use of the past tense?”

  “Is there?” the judge asked the manager.

  “I…well…” The manager cleared his throat twice and straightened his already straight tie.

  “The question as to whether Mrs. Leithan is alive or dead is one for the jury to decide, my Lord, not this witness.”<
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  “Quite so, Mr. Tarnton,” replied the judge evenly. “And you contend that by the use of the past tense, this witness is prejudging the issue?”

  Tarnton, who knew Mr. Justice Cator well enough to foresee what was to come, tried to find some way round the vulnerable position in which he had placed himself.

  The judge, a man who suffered no defending counsel to dictate the course of a trial, said: “But surely, Mr. Tarnton, if the witness uses the present tense that will be — by your reasoning — equally a declaration that he believes Mrs. Leithan to be alive, which event will also be prejudging the case, will it not? May I hear what neutral alternative you suggest?”

  Tarnton bowed briefly and sat down.

  The bank manager continued his evidence. “She had…has…” He looked at the bench.

  “Use whichever tense you prefer,” said the judge, with a sweet reasonableness that was plainly aimed at counsel. “I think we shall understand.”

  “She had two accounts. On the 18th November, there was a credit of seven hundred and thirty-five pounds, five shillings and fourpence, in her number one account, and nine hundred pounds and sixpence in her number two account.”

  “Was any considerable sum withdrawn prior to that date?”

  “No, sir. In the previous fortnight, the total amount was just over forty-three pounds from number one account.”

  “Was this sum taken out in cash?”

  “There were five cheques of which only one cheque, for fifteen pounds, was in cash.”

  “Will you now take a period of two months prior to the 18th November. Were there any large sums of cash withdrawn?”

  “There was twenty pounds on the 3rd October. The total for the two months was just under fifty pounds.”

  “Did Mrs. Leithan regularly draw cash?”

  “If by regular, sir, you mean the same amount on the same day of each week, the answer is no. But I have checked the records and in the past year there were only three consecutive weeks in which she drew nothing and I know she was on holiday then.”

  “Will you tell the court how much has been withdrawn from these two accounts since the 18th November?”

  “Nothing, sir.”

  “Not a penny?”

  “No.”

  “Are you aware of any capital that Mrs. Leithan possessed outside of the two accounts we have been discussing?”

  “From time to time, sir, she has come to me and asked my advice on investing small sums. Her share certificates and certificates of other investments, such as premium bonds and savings certificates, were lodged with the bank.”

  “At the request of the police, was the safe deposit box opened in which these certificates were stored and is this the list of the contents you drew up?” Alliter handed both the original and a copy to the court.

  “It is,” said the manager, as he accepted the single sheet of paper and quickly glanced at it.

  “Can you say whether or not Mrs. Leithan had any capital other than is represented here?”

  “I cannot answer that.”

  “Will you please give the court your considered professional opinion as to whether you believe it likely that Mrs. Leithan possessed large sums of money you know nothing about?”

  There was a loud, but incomprehensible muttering from Tarnton, that drew the attention of the jury: he shrugged his shoulders and managed to look as if the vindictive behaviour of the prosecution was almost more than even he could bear.

  “I think it unlikely,” replied the manager.

  “Do you know if any of Mrs. Leithan’s capital was encashed either just before, or at any time after, the 18th November?”

  “She had no access to her safe deposit box after the 5th September. Our records show that.”

  Alliter sat down.

  Tarnton stood up. “Would you call yourself Mrs. Leithan’s confidant?”

  The manager pursed his lips. “No.”

  “She doesn’t consult you on her every move?”

  “Of course not.”

  “If she decides to invest some of her money where she wishes, she doesn’t have to come to you for permission?”

  “No.”

  “You admit she might not have always sought your advice and might have invested her money without your ever knowing anything about it?”

  “Obviously, that’s possible. But as I said before, I don’t think it’s likely since she always came and saw me first.”

  “You are then, determined, even against your own admissions, to proclaim your own indispensableness?” Tarnton sat down.

  Witnesses gave evidence that none of the stocks, shares, and securities, known to belong to Evadne Leithan had been cashed within two months prior to the 18th of November, or since that date.

  Mallory took the stand.

  “I am a partner in the firm of Enty, Mallory, and Cobalt. We have handled the affairs of the Leithan family since there was a family reconciliation.” Mallory, grey-haired and with heavily-lined face, spoke pedantically. “In acting for Mr. Leithan, we have had occasion to examine the will of his father, Reginald Leithan. This will was, in many respects, an unusual one, but expert advice holds it to be legally enforceable. The provisions are complicated, but their essence is as follows: the capital is left on trust to Charles Leithan, the testator’s only child, and in the event of his marriage the income is to be divided jointly between his wife and himself. On the death of either party, the money is to vest absolutely in the survivor and his or her children, and if the parties are divorced the money is to vest absolutely in the innocent party.”

  Alliter looked up from his brief. “Thank you, Mr. Mallory. I wonder, now, if we can run through the terms of this will again to show the jury their practical effect? Charles Leithan received all the income from the trust fund until he married?”

  “That is correct.”

  “And once married, he and his wife shared the income equally?”

  “Yes.”

  “There is a provision which says that if one party divorces the other, the trust fund comes to an end and the capital goes to the innocent party. Very broadly speaking, that means that should either of them commit adultery, for example, and be found out and divorced, he or she will lose all claim to the trust money?”

  “Yes.”

  “If one party dies, the capital goes to the other party?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is the capital at the present moment?”

  “Almost two hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”

  There was a quick murmur of sound from the public.

  There was no cross-examination.

  Sarah Pochard went into the witness-box. Her figure was emphasised by a very tight sweater, her face was heavily and badly made-up with the mouth a deep gash of violent red. She gave her name and address.

  “I was behind the hedge and I heard ’em talking,” she said.

  “Heard whom?” asked Alliter.

  “Him and her, of course.”

  “There is no ‘of course’ in this courtroom,” said Mr. Justice Cator, in a voice straight from the Arctic.

  She gulped heavily as she glanced nervously at the bench.

  “Whom did you hear?” repeated Alliter.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Leithan. They were rowing.” She looked again at the judge. He continued to write in his note-book.

  “Do you know about what?”

  “It was on account of him having a bit of goods. She said as she was going to divorce him…”

  Tarnton objected at the same moment as the judge said: “We can’t have that, Mr. Alliter.”

  “Quite so, my Lord.” Alliter addressed the witness. “You may not tell us what you heard Mrs. Leithan say.”

  She fiddled with the fringe of her sweater — it clashed with the colours in her skirt.

  “You told us they were having a row.”

  “Not much they weren’t.”

  “What part did the prisoner take in this?”

  She hesitated. “I
don’t know what you mean.”

  “Was he angry? Furious?”

  “Him?” She looked scornfully at Leithan. “He was tryin’ to excuse himself. Said even if he had gone and seen her in the afternoon, meaning his…”

  Alliter hastily interrupted. “Unless you know whom the prisoner saw, you must not tell us.”

  “He said he’d seen her, but they was only talking books. Made me laugh loud, that did. Then he said she couldn’t divorce him because she hadn’t no proof that him and the other was carryin’ on.”

  “Was anything else said?”

  “I can’t remember nothing more.”

  Alliter consulted his proof and then bent over and spoke to his instructing solicitor. After that, he sat down.

  Tarnton stood up. He stared at Sarah Pochard for some time and made certain that his expressive face was clearly visible to the jury. “Is eavesdropping one of your more frequently utilised accomplishments?”

  “I weren’t doing nothing of the sort.”

  “Not? Then were Mr. and Mrs. Leithan aware of your presence?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “I suggest that as you were behind the trees and as it’s inconceivable that Mr. and Mrs. Leithan would have discussed anything of this nature in front of you, they were completely unaware of your presence. In fact, you know this perfectly well. So shall we give the rightful name to your occupation? Eavesdropping.” Tarnton looked at the jury. He had the very useful faculty of telling them what he thought without speaking, so that nothing appeared in the records.

  “I weren’t. And no one can’t say I was.”

  “How long were you behind the trees?”

  “How would I know?”

  “About how long?”

  “It wasn’t more’n five minutes.”

  “Five whole minutes? Plenty of time in which to leave unobtrusively, had you wanted to?”

  “Well, I…”

  As the witness remained silent, Alliter stood up. “If it will assist my learned friend in any way, the prosecution is not contending that this witness is a second Chevalier sans peur et sans reproche. But perhaps my learned friend would rather deal at length with the question of the morality of what he presumes to call eavesdropping, rather than with the words spoken by the prisoner?”