Evidence of the Accused

by Roderic Jeffries

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘You’re quite certain?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I watched Gorton pick up a thick parcel of papers and quickly search through them until he found what he wanted. He looked up. ‘Do you remember giving evidence in the lower court?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Were you asked the same question as I’ve just put to you?’

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  Gorton put the papers down on the desk. He hitched up his gown over his shoulders and for a brief moment I wondered what his wife would say if she saw the state of that tattered garment. One might be forgiven for supposing he could not afford to buy a new one. ‘It seems, Mr Waring, that either you do not have a very good memory or else you have decided to forget certain things.’

  The judge was regarding me with a stare of acid-like quality. He was noted for his detestation of witnesses who equivocated, and one legal wit had unfortunately attempted a double pun by nicknaming him the lyre-bird, the latter word being slang for a prison sentence.

  ‘Mr Waring,’ said Gorton, ‘would you please tell the court whether at any stage of your friendship with the Cheesmans and the accused you saw or heard anything which led you to believe there was any relationship between them other than the one of friendship?’

  I remained silent.

  ‘Mr Waring,’ said the judge, ‘I am a little astonished to have to remind you, a member of the Bar, of your duty as a witness on oath. You will answer counsel’s question truthfully and to the best of your knowledge.’

  He did not raise his voice. Addair never did. He told you what to do in a conversational tone of voice and you did it.

  I answered Gorton. ‘I never saw Lindy and Stuart behave towards each other in any way other than you’d expect them to.’

  ‘Mr Waring, you’re making it very difficult for everyone including yourself. Must I dot every i, cross every t … ? If you saw nothing, did you then hear anything?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It was a bit of village rumour. They said … ’

  ‘You may not tell us that, Mr Waring.’ Gorton visibly sighed. ‘Just tell us what you imagined as a result of what you heard.’

  ‘I gathered it was possible Lindy and Stuart knew each other very much better than one might have believed.’

  ‘Did you watch them to see whether there could be any truth in this suggestion?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ Gorton allowed the tone of his voice to become sarcastic. ‘You heard two of your friends were having an affair and you weren’t sufficiently interested to try to find out whether it were so?’

  ‘I had no wish to poke and pry.’

  ‘Did you never watch them when they were together in the room? Did you never hear them speak to each other and try to catch the expressions in their voices?’

  He waited for the answer.

  The judge looked up. ‘Mr Waring, let me remind you for the last time that in this court there is no place for misguided feelings or wishes.’

  ‘I did once or twice,’ I said slowly to Gorton.

  The shorthand writer said, ‘What was that?’ The judge answered him. ‘The witness said, “I did once or twice.”’

  ‘What was the result of your study of the persons concerned?’ asked Gorton.

  ‘I thought I might have caught something.’

  ‘Meaning what?’

  ‘I believed that from the way in which they behaved towards each other and spoke to each other it was very possible Stuart was having an affair with Lindy Cheesman.’

  Gorton sat down.

  I watched Union stand up. He was a gross figure of a man. Stomach that swelled out into vast proportions, a head that seemed much too small, a leaning neck, ugly shaped mouth, flabby cheeks, spectacles that magnified his bulbous eyes. He studied me as though I were something the cat had dragged out of a dust-bin. He made certain the jury understood what he thought of me. ‘Are you an ardent collector of village gossip?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t bother with it.’

  ‘Not bother! Is that what you try and make us believe even though on your recently spoken words it’s clear you avidly seek out and swallow this unwholesome fare?’

  ‘When it’s told directly to me I have little option other than to listen.’

  ‘Clearly the thought never occurs to you to cut short the speaker? You suffer no sense of disloyalty when the people whose lives you are hearing about are your friends?’

  ‘It’s very difficult to stop gossip.’

  ‘Especially when one enjoys it … Is gossip in Sonningchurch, such gossip as you have most reluctantly been forced to listen to, invariably correct?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’ll admit to having known it be wrong?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In the present instance, in so far as you knew at the time, the gossip was as likely as not to be completely false?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Since then have any facts in any way, ignoring what has been said in court, corroborated this gossip you were so eager to believe?’ Each time Union said ‘gossip’ there was a hiss to the double s.

  ‘Nothing concrete.’

  ‘Nothing concrete! What is that meant to signify?’

  ‘Only what I’ve said before. That when I saw them together I thought it was possible from things I noted that there was something going on between them.’

  Union shrugged his shoulders with a contemptuous gesture, sat down, turned round and spoke to his junior.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Waring,’ said Gorton quietly.

  I left the witness-box, walked towards the rear of the court and was directed to one of the seats reserved for witnesses after they had given evidence.

  Mark was called. He entered the courtroom and went into the witness-box. I knew he would face the hateful situation with composure because tradition and upbringing dictated he should but I was still astonished to see how firmly his emotions were under control.

  He gave his name and address and other formal evidence.

  ‘Mr Cheesman,’ said Gorton, ‘we must now move on to the Saturday on which your wife died. I trust you will bear with me in this painful task and I, on my part, will endeavour to be as brief as possible. Is it right that at your invitation the accused came over to your house for a shoot?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘When did you leave the house?’

  ‘Immediately after lunch. Lindy … ’ There was a short break as he spoke the name, ‘ … had given us an early meal and we went out at about ten to two. I took one of my dogs but left the other behind because she had had puppies which had only recently been weaned.’

  ‘Did the accused have a dog?’

  ‘He brought his bitch, Blaze, along.’

  ‘Please continue, Mr Cheesman.’

  ‘We crossed the field to the wood. In actual fact, Settle Wood is composed of two woods that join together at the north end. We’ve found that much the best way of shooting them when there are two people is for one to beat with a dog and for the other to stand in the centre of where the two woods join. Although it takes the one beating a long time to cover the ground, most of the game goes forward and crosses the standing gun.’

  ‘And for the first half of the afternoon you were the standing gun?’

  ‘That is so.’

  ‘What happened after you’d taken up position?’

  ‘I heard some shooting forward … ’

  ‘Would that be, so far as you could tell, from the wood the accused was beating?’

  ‘It was certainly from there.’

  ‘How soon after you took up position was this?’

  ‘I couldn’t be more accurate than to say quite soon.’

  ‘And after this shooting?’

  ‘There was a long period of silence.’

  ‘Did any game come over you?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Would you normally have expected game to com
e over you during this time?’

  ‘That’s an impossible question to answer. I’ve known days when it streamed over, other days when it seemed the place was empty.’

  ‘After you’d changed over and you did the beating in the second arm of the wood, did you see much game: did you shoot any birds?’

  ‘Two brace.’

  ‘So although it might appear the southerly neck was empty the northerly one certainly wasn’t?’

  Mark Cheesman was silent.

  ‘While you were standing did you at any time look out across the field towards your house?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Had you done so would you have been able to see anyone walking to the house?’

  ‘No. Where I was the neck was about fifty feet across and I was in the centre so that there were trees between me and the fields.’

  ‘When did you next see the accused?’

  ‘When he came up to me having finished beating through.’

  ‘What was the time?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Would you say it was after three o’clock?’

  ‘It was certainly after, but I don’t know by how much.’

  ‘You’ve said no game came over you. Did you see any other form of wild life?’

  ‘I saw nothing but a distant pigeon.’

  I watched the jury as the examination continued. There was complete variety among the nine men and three women with regard to size, shape, and general appearance: yet each had to a large extent a similar expression. I tried to analyse that expression. Was it worry, endeavour, bewilderment, fear, determination? A movement to my right caught my attention and I half turned. Pope was leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his chin on his hands. There was no doubting what his expression indicated.

  The examination-in-chief finished. Union cross-examined.

  ‘Mr Cheesman, I fear we must momentarily return to the most distressing factor in this case. Did you, at any period of your married life, have any cause whatsoever to suspect that your wife was anything more than ordinarily friendly with the accused?’ Union took out a handkerchief and blew his nose with a fruity sound. He was impatient to move on to the meatier part of his cross-examination. When there was no immediate answer to his question, he said: ‘I’m sorry, Mr Cheesman, but I must have a reply. In your examination-in-chief you said you had never suspected any improper relationship between your wife and the accused, Mr Stuart Tetley. Would you care to affirm that at no time did any single incident take place which caused you one second’s misgiving on the matter?’

  Mark answered. ‘No,’ he said and his voice was harsh, ‘I shouldn’t.’

  CHAPTER XI

  ‘I think, Mr Cheesman,’ said Union ponderously, ‘you have misunderstood my question. I asked you whether you believed in the possibility of an improper relationship between your wife and the accused?’

  ‘I understood you the first time.’

  The judge leaned back into his red leather-backed chair. ‘Mr Cheesman, are you quite clear in your mind as to what you’re saying?’

  ‘Yes, my Lord.’

  ‘You wish to state that before the death of your wife you knew she and the accused were on a closer relationship than you, as her husband, could be expected to approve of?’

  ‘That is so, my Lord.’

  The judge wrote rapidly in his note-book. The press members showed unusual animation. The jury were uncertain as to how this piece of evidence fitted in with what had gone before and they plainly looked for guidance. I noticed Pope had moved until he was sitting upright: he looked vicious in a stoaty way.

  Union was conferring with his solicitor. He leaned forward and over, so that his stomach rested on the desk. There was something immensely comical about the sight, as though he were balancing himself on a captive balloon. After a short while he jerked himself upright, turned, spoke to his junior. The latter hastily turned back pages in his note-book as he searched for his notes on evidence previously taken.

  Mr Justice Addair waited patiently until it was obvious Union had finished consulting with Spenser, then he said: ‘With the approval of both sides, Mr Union, I shall put certain questions to the witness.’

  Union half bowed. ‘With great respect, my Lord, I think that would be by far the best course.’

  Gorton agreed.

  The judge put his pencil down close to, and exactly parallel with, his note-book. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped the corner of his mouth, replaced the handkerchief. ‘For how long, Mr Cheesman, had you been aware of a relationship between the accused and your wife?’

  ‘Something over six months.’

  ‘Had you any idea as to the exact nature of it?’

  ‘No, my Lord. Sometimes I feared the worst, most times I had enough trust in Lindy to know she would have told me had things gone too far.’

  ‘Did you discuss the matter with the accused?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you discuss the matter with your wife?’

  ‘No, my Lord.’

  ‘You took no steps whatsoever to try to bring to an end the situation?’

  ‘I took steps.’

  ‘What were they?’

  ‘I decided to speak to her one afternoon and have a showdown on the matter. I never succeeded.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because Lindy fell through the banisters and was killed.’

  The noise of people talking excitedly rose in volume and the loud cries for silence went unheeded. Counsel were consulting with their solicitors, the members of the press were all attention.

  ‘Mr Gorton,’ said the judge slowly, ‘it would seem in the unusual circumstances that with the agreement of Mr Union it will be best if you conduct a further examination of this witness. That will then leave Mr Union with a chance to cross-examine.’

  Gorton stood up, ran his hand round the back of his neck. He looked at his note-book, then at the witness. ‘Will you please tell the court, Mr Cheesman, what happened on the day your wife died?’

  Mark was still calm, still spoke quietly. Perhaps the only sign of an inner tension was the way in which he gripped the edge of the witness-box with his right hand. ‘I had known for some time that my wife and Stuart were more than mere friends and I was often half mad with worry as I tried to guess at the stage at which their relationship had reached. On that Saturday, Stuart came over for lunch and from the way they behaved to each other I … I knew my last chance was to do something at once. The moment I decided this, every minute of waiting was an hour in which failure came so much nearer. I remember I was mentally cursing Stuart because he didn’t suddenly fall ill and have to go home. He didn’t, of course. We left the house immediately after lunch and I thought up a dozen excuses to break away and couldn’t use one because I saw them all as ridiculous and transparent. We reached the wood and agreed that for the first beat I should be the standing gun.

  ‘As I waited for Stuart to bring the wood down towards me I knew I had to do something at once, right then and there, or feel that the marriage had broken up because I hadn’t the guts to do anything about it. On the spur of the moment I decided to return to the house and talk to Lindy, beg her to break off the whole thing. I left the wood and Apples, my bitch, came with me. We reached the house and I heard Lindy upstairs. I went up and as I stepped on to the landing she came out of our bedroom. She asked me what was wrong and because I was in such a mental mix-up I didn’t stop to be tactful but blurted out something about it being time she and Stuart packed in behaving like idiots … It annoyed her terribly. She shouted she’d do as she wanted and I could go hang. She yelled at me to leave the house. I began to reason with her and suddenly she rushed at me and tried to push me back down the stairs … We slipped and she fell against the banisters with me on top of her. She fell — unfortunately I managed to save myself … I ran downstairs to see if there were any hope and Apples, whom I’d left outside, pushed open the outside hall door and came ov
er. When I saw how terribly injured Lindy’s head was I knew there could be no hope.’

  There was a long silence. Gorton broke it. ‘What happened then, Mr Cheesman?’

  ‘I panicked. I knew what people could so easily think and I decided that as she was dead and nothing could be done for her I’d carry on. When Lindy was found it would be assumed she had met with a terrible accident … I returned to the woods and waited where I’d been before. When Stuart reached me he asked me why I hadn’t been shooting. I replied I hadn’t seen any birds and that the poachers must have taken everything.’

  ‘Why did you not tell this to the police?’

  ‘I’ve just explained — I thought the case would be treated as one of accident.’

  ‘I meant, Mr Cheesman, after the accused was taken into custody?’

  Mark hesitated, tried twice to answer, twice found it too difficult to speak. He removed his hands from the edge of the box and placed them carefully to his side. ‘It was because I was a coward. Stuart was to be tried for the murder and as I knew he had nothing to do with Lindy’s death I believed he could not be found guilty no matter what. I … I forced myself to forget that he was in custody and that it should have been I who was there. I told myself it was the least he should suffer because of what he’d done to Lindy.’

  ‘What has made you speak now?’

  ‘I realised that in view of the way the evidence was going it was more than possible Stuart could be convicted of causing a death with which he had nothing to do. I went on to realise something more: if I had been a coward to date, I could be one no longer.’ Mr Justice Addair spoke to Mark Cheesman. ‘When you were struggling with your wife at the head of the stairs, did you scratch her neck?’

  ‘My right thumb-nail split her skin.’

  ‘When the police examined, the day after the death, your hands and in particular your nails, they found no trace of blood on them. If your thumb-nail did indeed cause the wound I have little doubt but that the police would have expected to find some trace of blood on it.’

  ‘For once I’d been slack about cutting my nails and they’d grown rather long. On Saturday night I cut them and I noticed a bloodstain on the nail which I was very careful to cut out. Afterwards I washed my hands again and again.’