A Matter for the Jury

by Peter Murphy

  Then he had the problem of Cottage’s alibi. His conversation with Cottage that afternoon was fresh in his mind. Cottage did not want to give evidence, and he did not want his sister to give evidence. That much was obvious. But was it a simple and understandable nervousness? Or was it something more worrying? Martin had the proofs of evidence of Billy and Eve, carefully put together by Barratt Davis after more than one long meeting with each. The alibi stood up on paper. Barratt was an excellent solicitor with a good eye for detail, and the proofs of evidence read well. But the proofs of evidence would not go before the jury. Billy and Eve had to go into the witness box, give evidence, and subject themselves to Andrew Pilkington’s cross-examination. Martin doubted that the orderly story set out in Barratt’s proofs of evidence would stand up to that. The alibi was technically adequate, but desperately short on detail. Nothing about how Billy had got home, or what he had done on arriving home, except for having a drink and going to bed. Eve could say only that he was at home in bed when she awoke at around 7 o’clock the following morning – nothing about the time of his arrival home, how he looked, how he behaved. She had been in bed since early evening. It was the kind of cross-examination he would love to conduct. He would be disappointed if he left a single brick standing. Andrew Pilkington was Treasury Counsel. He would do it just as well. The chances were that the alibi would unravel, taking with it the last vestige of hope for a ‘not guilty’ verdict.

  Yet, strangely, after today, Martin could not help feeling that his prospects had improved a little. He took a deep drink. How exactly had the world changed? He was pleased with the way he had holed the prosecution case today. If, by some miracle, he could repeat that result with Jennifer, the case might be holed below the waterline. He smiled as the phrase went through his mind, thinking how apt it was to a case which had begun on the water. Case sinking. Case sunk without trace. Martin Hardcastle, pirate, strikes again and hoists the Jolly Roger to the top of the mast. He poured more whisky. What if he could get to that point? What if he could in fact dispense with the probably disastrous alibi evidence? What if the prosecution case did not call for a response?

  He was entering murky waters now – another apt phrase, another smile. God, he was on form tonight. Ideas were flowing. A bigger picture of the case was forming in his mind. Then a distraction. Memories of other cases in which he had done damage to the prosecution case, sufficient to mean that no response was called for from the defence. What a luxury that was! How often had it happened that Martin spent days chipping away at the prosecution case, using every skill at his command, winning the admiration of judge and counsel alike, only for all the good work to be utterly undone by thirty minutes of cross-examination of the defendant? Many such cases came to mind. God, practice at the Bar would be so easy if it were not for clients. It was almost unbearably frustrating to lose a case because the client lacked the basic intelligence to get his story straight and stick to it. The prosecutor’s cross-examination was usually like shooting fish in a barrel. There was no real doubt in Martin’s mind that such would be the case with Billy Cottage. He could picture Billy treating the court to a rendition of the Lincolnshire Poacher. The picture made him laugh aloud. He had not met Eve. Barratt described her as quiet. That could mean many things, almost all of them unhelpful. Billy Cottage and Barratt Davis no doubt saw the alibi evidence as the main hope of salvation. Increasingly, Martin was seeing it as the resource of last resort.

  He was getting tired. He should make some notes for his cross of Jennifer Doyce. He drained his glass. One more, to keep himself awake. Then another distraction. The young waitress who had served him at breakfast. She had worn a short black dress and a frilly white apron, with black stockings and shoes with a bit of a heel. Perhaps she would be willing. Perhaps John could arrange something. She would be all right for a night. Not that he could actually contemplate it. Far too much of a risk But there was no harm in thinking it. With all the stress he subjected himself to, he deserved some release. In London, sometimes, he had found ways and means late at night. But here in the country, it was not realistic. So the procession of former partners through his mind began again. He tried to force his mind to focus on his cross-examination of Jennifer Doyce, but he was aroused now, and could not ignore it. Eventually he gave in, undressed, and got into bed, switching off all the lights except for the bedside lamp on the far side of the narrow bed.

  He dozed off for some time in the aftermath and, when he awoke, his pocket watch told him that it was almost 1 o’clock. He made his way to the bathroom, washed his face and body with warm water, and put on his dressing gown. He had failed to make any notes for his cross-examination of Jennifer Doyce. Switching on the lamp on his table, he gazed at the heading in his notebook. What was it he had been thinking about? He must set his alarm clock for the morning. He would do that as soon as he had made a few notes. There was really nothing to the cross and chain, when it came right down to it. After what she had been through, how could anyone expect her to know the Lincolnshire Poacher from Beethoven’s Fifth? And if she wavered on the Lincolnshire Poacher, he would be satisfied. All he needed was some rest. But after the sexual rush and his unplanned nap he felt disconcertingly awake. He would drink another glass of whisky to help him drift off. During that glass, the problem of the gold cross and chain returned. He had had a good thought about that, an insight, earlier. What was it? He finished the glass and poured another. Something to do with…? Yes, of course. Would she really have worn the gift her grandmother had given her when she was confirmed when she intended to lose her virginity to Frank Gilliam? How to put that to her without causing offence? He dozed off again. When he awoke it was 3.30. He had made no notes, but it all seemed clear. He really must take himself to bed. But not just yet, not for a few more minutes. He still needed to reward himself for what he had done today. When he finally fell on to the bed, it was almost 5.15.

  42

  24 June

  When the repeated knocks on the door and the sound of Jess Farrar’s anxious voice eventually broke into his uneasy sleep, Martin Hardcastle looked at his alarm clock and saw that the time was almost 10.15. He suddenly felt very cold. He pushed himself up off the bed and into a standing position at the second attempt and tried to speak. No words came. He cleared his throat roughly and tried again.

  ‘Just a minute.’ The words were painful to speak, raspy, barely audible.

  He began to walk towards the door, but abruptly diverted to the bathroom, where he threw up violently into the toilet. After wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his dressing gown, he sat down on the floor as the reality of what had happened swept over him. He closed his eyes. No. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t fair. All he had done was to stay up and plan his cross-examination of Jennifer Doyce. He was always so careful. He didn’t deserve this. Not in a capital murder case. Not on the day when such an important witness was to be called. How could he have allowed this to happen? Summoning all his strength he hauled himself to his feet and made his way to the door.

  ‘Jess, I’m sorry. I was taken ill during the night. Food poisoning, I think. I overslept. I will be with you in a couple of minutes.’

  But there was no reply. Jess was no longer there. And in any case, Martin Hardcastle would not be with anyone in a couple of minutes. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he had to rush back to the bathroom, and by that time he was quite aware of his situation. He knew from experience that he was not going to recover before the next day. This was another day when he would not appear at court. The last such day, of course, the last time ever. He would never do it again. But today, he was going to have to deal with it.

  * * *

  ‘I can’t get any reply,’ Jess reported, the frustration in her voice obvious. ‘He’s either dead or out for the count. Either way, we may have to get the hotel staff to open the door.’

  Ben and Barratt had been ready to leave for court for almost an hour. Marti
n Hardcastle should have been with them long before. But calls to his room had gone unanswered, and eventually Barratt had dispatched Jess to his room with instructions to wake him. They were standing in the small foyer of the George, near the door, getting in the way of other guests and pacing impatiently.

  ‘All right,’ Barratt replied. ‘I’ll handle it. Ben, why don’t you and Jess go on ahead? You might want to sound the judge out about sitting late, and let Jess have a word with Cottage so that he doesn’t think we have abandoned him.’

  Ben nodded.

  ‘Yes, all right, but for God’s sake get a message to us as soon as you know what’s going on. It’s already twenty past. If I ask for a late start, the judge is going to ask why, and for how long.’

  But Barratt was already half way up the stairs.

  ‘Jess, come straight back and find me once you have seen Cottage, and I will give you an update to pass on to Ben. I will either be in Martin’s room or down in the foyer.’

  Throwing on his wig as he fought his way past a group of spectators into the courtroom, Ben managed to scramble into counsel’s row just as Mr Justice Lancaster entered court. Jess had had a matter of a couple of minutes in which to try, unsuccessfully, to reassure Billy Cottage that he was still legally represented, after which she took off running to the George. Now Billy Cottage was in the dock, the jury was seated, Andrew Pilkington was looking at him inquiringly from his right, and Ben was facing a High Court judge in a capital murder case without a leader. For several seconds, no one spoke. Then Ben rose cautiously to his feet.

  ‘My Lord, I’m sure your Lordship has noticed that my learned friend Mr Hardcastle is not yet here.’

  ‘I had noticed that, Mr Schroeder,’ the judge replied, not unpleasantly. ‘No doubt you are about to explain why.’

  Ben swallowed hard.

  ‘My Lord, I regret that I am not in a position to do so at this precise moment. He did not come down from his room this morning, and those instructing me are trying to ascertain why. It may be that he is unwell though, as I say, I cannot confirm that. In the circumstances, may I ask your Lordship to rise for a few minutes so that I can find out one way or the other, and make any further application I may have to make to your Lordship?’

  Andrew Pilkington stood.

  ‘I rise simply to remind your Lordship that we have an extremely vulnerable witness here today, who is being kept waiting.’

  ‘Yes, I am obliged to my learned friend,’ Ben said pointedly. ‘That is why I invited your Lordship to rise for a short time so that I can take instructions and inform the court about what is happening. I am quite sure that Mr Hardcastle does not wish to keep Miss Doyce waiting, any more than I do, or my learned friend does.’

  Ben thought he caught a look exchanged between Mr Justice Lancaster and Andrew Pilkington. For some time the judge seemed to stare into space.

  ‘I will rise for fifteen minutes,’ he announced. ‘At the end of that time, Mr Schroeder, I expect to be told precisely what the situation is.’

  Ben nodded. ‘I am much obliged, my Lord.’

  As soon as the judge had risen, he ran from the courtroom. There was no one in the foyer. He left the building and ran towards the George.

  * * *

  Barratt Davis stood, leaning against the door of the bathroom in Martin Hardcastle’s room, while Martin sat on the floor beside the toilet. The vomiting had become more spasmodic now, but Martin still looked deathly pale and he had a severe headache. It had taken Barratt several minutes of banging on the door to induce Martin to open it. When he eventually stepped into the room and sized up the situation, he asked Jess to find Ben and tell him that they would need an adjournment, at least until 2 o’clock, rather than a late start.

  ‘It was that bloody steak and kidney pie,’ Martin complained, making every effort to sound suitably outraged. ‘I thought it didn’t taste quite right. I shouldn’t have eaten it, but I was starving and I was working on my notes for the cross of Doyce. I convinced myself it would be all right. I’m going to make a complaint, and I may sue them in the county court. That will bloody teach them to do this to a Silk.’

  Barratt left the door and walked slowly to the table by the window, where he noted an empty whisky bottle, an empty wine bottle, and a blue barrister’s notebook open at a page which bore a heading suggesting notes for the cross-examination of Jennifer Doyce – but with no notes below it. He turned and walked back to the bathroom.

  ‘We can talk about that later, Martin,’ he said. ‘At the moment I have Ben asking the judge for a late start, and I don’t know how that is going. So I need to go over to court. I need to know whether you will be able to come to court today, and if so, how long you will need. Can you tell me that?’

  Martin looked up miserably and contemplated getting dressed for court. The thought of a tight stiff collar brought his nausea flowing back.

  ‘Possibly 2 o’clock,’ he replied, after some time. ‘But I would prefer the whole day. The judge should be understanding about it. He knows how important it is to have the leader present in a case like this. Tell Schroeder to hammer that home to the judge. I am sure it will be all right.’

  Barratt made for the door.

  ‘Please call down and leave a message at the desk before lunch,’ he said. ‘I am sure the judge will want to be updated.’

  He met Ben and Jess in the lobby. Ben had just arrived.

  ‘The judge has given me fifteen minutes,’ he said, ‘which is just about up. What can I tell him?’

  Barratt bit his lip. ‘He says it’s a case of food poisoning,’ he said. ‘He is blaming it on the steak and kidney pie. He says possibly 2 o’clock, but he would prefer tomorrow.’

  Ben swore under his breath.

  ‘What do you think, Barratt?’ he asked. ‘Is it food poisoning?’

  ‘If you think of whisky as food, then yes.’ Barratt replied. He paused. ‘All right, I suppose I should give him the benefit of the doubt. In any case, I assume we will give the judge the official version as related to me by Martin himself.’

  Jess was shaking her head.

  ‘There was nothing wrong with the steak and kidney pie,’ she muttered, ‘apart from it being a bit tasteless. We all had it.’

  ‘There is no time to worry about that now,’ Ben said. ‘We can hold an inquest later. Let’s get back to court and tell the judge he has to keep Jennifer Doyce waiting for a day because Martin had a bad helping of steak and kidney pie.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s going to like that,’ Barratt replied.

  * * *

  ‘My Lord, I am very grateful for the time you have given me,’ Ben began.

  The judge did not react.

  ‘I can now tell your Lordship that Mr Hardcastle is unwell, quite ill. I am instructed that he may have eaten something for dinner yesterday evening which has brought on a bout of food poisoning. I understand that he may be well enough to attend court this afternoon, but those instructing me doubt that he would be well enough to conduct an important part of this very serious case by then. In the circumstances, I am reluctantly compelled to seek an adjournment until tomorrow morning.’

  Andrew Pilkington leapt to his feet.

  ‘Oh, really, my Lord…’

  Mr Justice Lancaster cut him off with a wave of his hand.

  ‘I need not trouble you, Mr Pilkington. Mr Schroeder, it is unfortunate that Mr Hardcastle is unwell, of course. But it is of the highest importance that the jury should hear Miss Doyce’s evidence today, and that she should not have to come back tomorrow. We will proceed with the evidence, and if Mr Hardcastle recovers sufficiently to join us, then so much the better. But Mr Cottage has two counsel, and one of the reasons for that is so that, if one of them has to be absent for some sufficient reason, the other can continue without loss of time to the court.’