FRED: That’s not exactly what I meant.
(He pours himself a drink and then sits. Thoughtful. A little sad. KEITH enters, smiling and cheerful.)
KEITH: Hallo, Uncle Fred. What’re you up to?
FRED: I’m celebrating an anniversary.
KEITH: Your birthday?
FRED: (Raising his glass.) It’s exactly two years since I last had sexual intercourse. You look unusually cheerful. Had a good day, Keith?
KEITH: Not bad. I think I’ve defused Mizz Cassandra Cresswell.
FRED: What did you do? Butter up the jury?
KEITH: Laid it on with a trowel!
FRED: Enquired tenderly about their sandwiches.
KEITH: How did you know?
FRED: I guessed.
KEITH: (Going to the drinks table.) I think they like me now.
FRED: There’s no accounting for taste… (Pause.) Just saw your old friend Roddy Boyes.
KEITH: How was he…?
FRED: Going out with Elspeth. He’ll be sorry to have missed you.
KEITH: Did you have much of a talk?
FRED: Not really.
(KEITH looks relieved. Pause.)
KEITH: You know we were at Saint Tom’s together?
FRED: I know.
KEITH: Did he tell you?
FRED: You’re not to worry your pretty little head about who told me.
KEITH: (Looks at him, indignant.) I beg your pardon?
FRED: It must’ve been pretty once. I suppose it must have been. What is it now? Hardly pretty. Prettiness has been carefully avoided. It’s…what should we say? Distinguished. Judicial. Shall we say, daunting? (Pause.) So you reckon you’ve got the jury on your side?
KEITH: I think we can work together. Yes.
FRED: Work as a team. For the prosecution. And you’re going to tell them to convict the boy?
KEITH: Not in so many words.
FRED: Oh. I know how you’ll do it. ‘It’s a matter entirely for you, members of the jury. You’re the sole judges of fact in this case. But can you really believe this man, who had the dead man’s blood on his sleeve? Can you believe he’s innocent? As I say, it’s a matter for you. But quite honestly, “Pull the other one, it’s got bells on it.”’ Repeat the defence and then yank an imaginary chain, hold your nose and flush it down the bog. (He makes this gesture.)
KEITH: I shan’t do that.
FRED: But you’ll say the rest.
KEITH: Words to that effect.
FRED: ‘Lock this boy up for life, and here’s your sandwiches.’ Words to that effect.
KEITH: It’s my duty to see that he doesn’t get away with murder.
FRED: You’d be happy to see him convicted on a confession he couldn’t read?
KEITH: The evidence that he couldn’t read comes from his family.
FRED: So you’ll tell the jury to ignore it.
KEITH: Not in so many words.
FRED: ‘Evidence from his family and friends has to be treated with great caution, wouldn’t you agree, members of the jury?’ How many words is that?
KEITH: I shall make sure…that justice is done.
FRED: (Suppressing anger, gets up.) Justice! What’s justice to you? Getting your way. Defusing an explosive girl in a wig. Making sure you get the verdict you’ve decided on…in your almighty prosecutor’s mind!
KEITH: I shall conduct the case in my own way.
FRED: The delicate insertion of the boot. A quick jab and then, ‘Guilty, my Lord.’ That’s music to your ears, isn’t it, Keith?
KEITH: There is a certain satisfaction in defeating some spurious defence…
FRED: Which is what you intend to do… In the case of Byron Johnson?
KEITH: (Looks at him in silence, then says.) You love criminals, don’t you?
FRED: No. I love people. It leads to endless difficulties.
KEITH: You love people who commit crimes.
FRED: Perhaps not hate them as much as you do, Keith.
KEITH: It’s not a question of love or hate. It’s a question of keeping the rules. What would happen if these people didn’t fear the law?
FRED: You think we’re here to scare them rigid?
KEITH: Fear’s important. Fear makes them resist their natural instincts…
FRED: Which are?
KEITH: To cheat. To lie. To steal from each other. To give way to illegal lust…
FRED: Strangely enough I’ve found a lot of kindness…. People are naturally kind, helpful like…well, take Wendy, for instance.
KEITH: Wendy’s a case in point! Wendy might have turned into a perfectly decent cook if only you’d put the fear of God into her.
FRED: And speaking personally… I haven’t found it particularly difficult to go to more or less straight….
KEITH: Of course not! You’re comfortable. Well fed. Nicely housed and in a warm judge’s lodging. It’s not hard to be honest on a full stomach.
FRED: Good, Keith. Very good. You’re coming on! You recognise crime is the result of poverty.
KEITH: It’s not our business to ask what it’s the result of…. Insufficient weaning…unhappy childhood…quarrels with stepfather… Being dropped on the head when young. We’ve had it all, haven’t we, in a long, whining, endless mitigation? We’re here to make them all understand…as night follows day, crime leads to punishment. You broke the mould, Fred. When you let off your young rapist.
FRED: He wasn’t a rapist. It wasn’t even a crime.
KEITH: You mean incest isn’t a crime? Sex with an underage girl isn’t a crime? If you live in a world where nothing’s a crime, what’s the point of being a decent, honest, law abiding citizen?
FRED: (Interrupting.) I suppose what you did was a crime. Technically speaking. When were you at old Saint Tom’s? Mid-sixties, was it?
KEITH: I have no idea what you mean…
FRED: In those days there was still some arcane and superstitious provision of our great criminal law. ‘Gross indecency.’ The one that potted Oscar Wilde. Wasn’t it still lurking in the shadows somewhere, when you were at old Saint Tom’s? I seem to remember defending two men who’d been found in an attitude of unusual friendliness under Waterloo Bridge. And the old Recorder of London, when he sent them away for two years, said, very seriously, ‘You two men have been found guilty of a terrible crime. A ghastly crime! An act which has been cursed down the centuries. Which makes strong women vomit and men faint!’ he said. ‘And what makes it so much worse, you chose to do it under one of the most beautiful bridges in London!’ Then he added, ‘You two men should pull yourselves together!’ Don’t you worry, Keith. The law’s changed. They can’t get you now. That must be something of a relief. All the same, it’ll make a cracking good story.
(Pause.)
KEITH: What do you mean…exactly?
FRED: Not for general audiences, of course. To small and select gatherings, of consenting QCs. A few judges after dinner in the Benchers’ smoking room. Over lunch with dear old Tredgold from the Lord Chancellor’s office. Keith Craxton’s great love affair with a dubious accountant. I suppose it’ll go down in the files, together with my unfortunate dalliance with the quality of mercy. ‘No longer top quality judge material.’
(KEITH gets up, goes to the drinks table, pours himself another whisky.)
KEITH: I could say… I don’t know what you’re talking about.
FRED: But you won’t, will you, Keith? You won’t try to get away with any spurious defence…
(Pause. KEITH goes back to his seat.)
KEITH: He told you…?
FRED: Don’t worry! I’ve shut him up, put the fear of the law on him. The only chap who’s likely to pass on the glorious news is…
KEITH: You?
FRED: Exactly. (Pause.) It’s funny when you think of it.
KEITH: Funny…?
FRED: We three, sitting down to Wendy’s cassoulet, and
I was the only one who hadn’t been rogered by Roddy Boyes. Doesn’t that strike you as com
ic?
KEITH: No.
FRED: It should be good for a laugh. In the Bar Mess… (Pause. KEITH looks at him and finally says.)
KEITH: What do you want?
FRED: A fair trial, for that boy…
KEITH: What do you mean…a fair trial?
FRED: Oh, Keith. My dear old sport. Have you forgotten? Withdraw the boot. Don’t drop heavy hints to the jury.
Let them decide about the family’s evidence for themselves. Put the defence as clearly as the prosecution. Don’t cheat him on his life. That’s all.
KEITH: This is an entirely criminal conversation.
FRED: There’s a bit of a criminal in all of us.
KEITH: It’s blackmail!
FRED: More or less.
KEITH: Perverting the course of justice!
FRED: Let’s say…perverting the course of injustice.
(Pause.)
KEITH: It won’t work, Fred.
FRED: I think it’s working beautifully.
KEITH: It won’t work because you haven’t got the guts for it.
FRED: What do you mean?
KEITH: However I sum up in Johnson… You’re never going to spread that story about me.
FRED: Why not?
KEITH: Because you couldn’t bear to. Your bleeding heart would get in the way. The quality of your mercy would just about paralyse you. You haven’t got the guts to punish. So… You couldn’t bear to punish me.
FRED: Are you sure?
KEITH: Of course I’m sure. You couldn’t even pot a boy for raping his sister.
FRED: It wasn’t rape. Not even…a serious crime.
KEITH: Not a serious crime? Just a bit of a joke. Nothing’s serious to you, is it? The world’s not a serious place.
The Law Courts are a delightful tea party, where you
can make old jokes and be nice to people. So you’d
find some excuse for me. A comfortable cushion of mitigating circumstances. ‘Poor old Keith. He may go out of his way to pot the customers in the dock, but perhaps he can’t help it. It’s all down to his genes, or inadequate breast feeding. So I won’t punish him after all. I’ll let him off with a joke.’
FRED: Don’t count on it. I warn you. Don’t count on it for a moment. I can be a bit of a bitch at times.
(HUBERT comes in.)
HUBERT: Are you two Lordships coming in to dinner?
FRED: Of course. We’ve had a hard day judging people.
(FRED takes KEITH’s arm.)
Come along, old sport. There are worse things in the world than Wendy’s cooking.
(They go. HUBERT is tidying up the glasses as ELSPETH enters, dressed to go out to dinner with RODDY.)
ELSPETH: I meant to tell you, Hubert. I’ll be out for dinner.
HUBERT: Can’t say I blame you. Where’re you going?
ELSPETH: Some Thai place. It’s been recommended…
HUBERT: He seems nice enough. That young man of yours.
ELSPETH: (Appalled.) Nice? Did you say nice…? (As she goes.) I’ll have to work on him…
(Light change as HUBERT follows her out.)
(Light comes up on the court. KEITH is in the middle of his summing up.)
KEITH: Members of the jury. You may think that in the particular area of this town where Winston kept on his flat, he may have had many enemies. Quarrels and vendettas may have broken out, about drug dealing
or who knows what other doubtful transactions. Did someone, someone we know nothing about, come into the room, apparently unlocked, and stab him to death? Young Byron certainly called on him, and was stained with Winston’s blood. You must seriously consider the possibility that that occurred when he knelt down to see what injuries Winston had received. You may not feel that it’s a conclusive evidence of guilt. You may also feel some doubt about the interview with the police. Apparently it took place in the car, and Miss Cresswell has suggested that was because no recording could be made and there is, indeed, no corroboration of Byron’s alleged confession. It was certainly not read out to him. You have heard a good deal of evidence from his family and friends to the effect that Byron was, and is, to all intents and purposes, illiterate. The evidence of… (Searches through his papers.) Breadwell. You remember the schoolmaster? He told us he thought Byron Johnson couldn’t have read part of the statement, at least. You may find his evidence hesitant and contradictory. To convict in this case, you must be sure of guilt. In all the circumstances, can you be certain, can you be sure, that this young boy murdered an older man, his mother’s lover? It’s a matter for you, of course, members of the jury. But I join with Miss Cresswell in asking you to remember this. If you have a doubt, young Byron Johnson is entitled to the benefit of the doubt. Please retire now. Take your time…and I will see that the jury bailiff provides you with suitable refreshment.
(KEITH smiles. DAWLISH, who has been listening in amazement, now whispers audibly.)
DAWLISH: Bloody hell!
(Light fades upstage.)
(Downstage CASSANDRA appears with SWIVER. She is carrying her wig. They’re on their way down to the cells.)
CASSANDRA: This is always the worst part.
SWIVER: Waiting for the jury?
CASSANDRA: Visiting the client in the cells, while you’re waiting for a verdict. I never quite know what to say.
SWIVER: ‘See you again in about fourteen years,’ I suppose you could say.
CASSANDRA: (Smiling.) ‘Win a few, lose a few.’
SWIVER: Although… We’re still in with a chance. Quite honestly.
CASSANDRA: (Hardly daring to hope.) Do you really think so?
SWIVER: I never expected to live so long as to hear Mr Justice Keith Craxton sum up for an acquittal!
(They exit.)
(Light on the lodgings. FRED is sorting out papers and putting them into his briefcase. ELSPETH is mixing vodka, Galliano and orange juice in a cocktail shaker.)
FRED: Cocktails?
ELSPETH: Something different. To cheer us up.
FRED: I was going to ask you. How was the Thai restaurant?
ELSPETH: Lonely.
FRED: What?
ELSPETH: Extremely lonely.
FRED: I’m sorry.
ELSPETH: I sat there in solitary splendour. Closely watched by a plastic elephant and the gilded model of a temple dancer. I breathed in the spicy and exotic smell of West Yorkshire. At any moment I expected him to come in breathless with apologies, run his finger through his hair in a boyish manner and order Moo Par, Prik Kapon – stir-fried pork with the royal orchid mixed starter.
FRED: And when he came?
ELSPETH: He didn’t come. I rang him at home. I rang his office. Roddy Boyes has vanished. Into thin air.
(Pause.)
FRED: He would have gone… sooner or later.
ELSPETH: I know.
FRED: You shouldn’t miss him.
ELSPETH: It’s not just him. I sat there, in the Thai restaurant, and I saw it. The gulf between Judges and the judged. We took it on ourselves to judge other people and we became strangers to them. I tried to shout out to him – across the great divide. To tell him that I didn’t want anyone respectable and boring. I wanted an impossible charmer… But he couldn’t believe me and ran away. Leaving me… with nothing very much at all…
FRED: There’s a lot left for you.
ELSPETH: How much exactly?
FRED: A lot. To be thankful for.
ELSPETH: What?
FRED: (With great affection.) You and I together. Drinking whisky, playing backgammon, trying not to be depressed by Keith. Doing our best to solve other people’s problems. Not a bad way of life, Elspeth.
ELSPETH: A Judge’s way.
FRED: Not too bad, under the circumstance.
(She smiles at him.)
ELSPETH: No. Not too bad. (Pause. And then with regret.) Perhaps it was seeing us all together that did it. I should never have asked him to dinner.
FRED: Oh, don’t say that… I think that evening
was a resounding success.
ELSPETH: (Incredulous.) You mean you enjoyed it?
FRED: Enormously! And Keith’s never been quite the same since…
(Pause.)
ELSPETH: Do you think Keith’s ill?
FRED: Keith’s never ill. There’s no known disease that dares attack him.
ELSPETH: While I waited I read the evening paper. It looked as though Keith’s summing up in the murder was extremely favourable to the defence.
FRED: Odd, isn’t it? I saw that too.
ELSPETH: Didn’t it surprise you?
FRED: In a way. Although we had been having a little talk – about the presumption of innocence.
ELSPETH: That couldn’t have had the slightest effect on him.
FRED: No, of course not. You’re absolutely right.
(Pause. ELSPETH looks at him, then takes his drink to him.)
ELSPETH: Uncle Fred. Have you been up to something?
FRED: What a suspicious mind you have. I’m entirely innocent. Until proven guilty.
(ELSPETH comes and sits beside him, smiles at him, puts a hand on his knee.)
ELSPETH: Drink up. You need it. Otherwise a long journey with Keith would be like an operation without an anaesthetic.
(They raise their glasses. They drink to each other, smiling together.)
(Downstage in a pool of light, BYRON enters, reading a newspaper. He shouts at someone offstage.)
BYRON: I’m in it! I’m in the Advertiser…! ‘Restaurant owner’s son acquitted of murder. Byron Johnson
(seventeen) of Bammy’s Restaurant, Lansbury Road, was found not guilty by the unanimous verdict of the jury. Mr Justice Craxton discharged Byron when they returned after an hour’s retirement. Last night, Byron was back serving the customers. At Bammy’s… The Friday Night Special Black Crabs Baked!’ It weren’t’!
(Laughs.) It was Squab Pie, wasn’t it…? The old Advertiser got it wrong again!
(Light fades quickly on BYRON and, at the same time, goes up on FRED and KEITH in topcoats, carrying cases. KEITH looks up to check train times.)
FRED: So. Miss Cresswell won her case.
KEITH: She wouldn’t have. If I hadn’t summed up moderately in her favour.
FRED: Moderately?
KEITH: If I hadn’t…well, done my best for her. Would you ever have told that story?
(Long pause. FRED looks at him.)
FRED: You think I wouldn’t because I’m allergic to punishment?
Naked Justice Page 6