The Queen v. Karl Mullen

by Michael Gilbert

  The two new arrivals were a middle-aged woman dressed in well-cut country tweeds and a grey-haired, brown-faced man who wore gold-rimmed spectacles. They had been walking together, but were not, in fact, acquainted with each other. Both had arrived with the idea of getting into Court, had seen the hundred-yard queue still waiting, without much hope, outside the entrance to the public gallery and had walked round to the front of the Court where they had been seized by the jury bailiff and told to follow him.

  The judge regarded his captives benevolently.

  He said, “My bailiff will have explained to you that you are to join the jury. I take it you have no objection?”

  Both were looking dazed, but nodded obediently.

  “Very well, then, I have only two matters to ascertain. May I assume that you are both over the age of eighteen?” This produced a smile. “I see that I can. And you are both citizens of this country?”

  The woman said, “In my case you can certainly assume that.” Her manner of speaking underlined the status which her clothes had already announced. “I am Mrs. Gordon-Watson. I have lived all my life in this country. As also has my family before me for many hundreds of years.”

  The man had produced a card, which the judge studied. He said, “You are Dr. Venkata Rajami?”

  “That is correct, my Lord. And I am a citizen of this country. I came here twelve years ago from South Africa. I secured naturalisation six years ago.”

  “Splendid. Your medical expertise will be most useful.”

  “Not a doctor of medicine, my Lord. A doctor of philosophy of Durban University.”

  “A philosophic outlook will be equally valuable,” said the judge courteously.

  At that point he observed that the Attorney General was on his feet. He said, “With respect, my Lord, if Dr. Rajami was recently resident in South Africa, it would surely be inappropriate for him to be a member of this particular jury.”

  “Are you not overlooking an important point, Mr. Attorney? When members are added to a jury under a tales, no challenge is permitted by either side. Let this man and this woman be sworn. Very good. Now, Mr. Attorney, we are at your disposal.”

  The Attorney General, who was still red in the face, said, “I do not propose to do more than outline the case for the Crown quite briefly. My witnesses will speak for themselves. The charge, members of the jury, is that the accused did, on November 1st last year, by the deliberate administration of a noxious substance, cause the death of Jack Katanga.”

  Not bad, thought Roger. It was a speech in the modern idiom, comprehensive, but unemphatic and dispassionate. It dealt with the acquisition of weedkiller by the accused, the opportunity he had made to use it and his reason for doing so.

  “In considering this,” he said, “you must bear in mind that the accused comes from a country where small offences are often punished by custodial sentences. He may well have thought that the same applied here.”

  There was no doubt that the jury were impressed.

  “I will first show you the scene at which the events of Thursday, November 1st, took place.”

  A young policeman produced a plan of Katanga’s house and copies were handed round. Wyvil said, “I observe that the outlines of the outside walls and most of the inside walls are drawn heavily, whilst the eastern end of the wall between the sitting-room and the kitchen is more faintly indicated. Could you tell us the significance of this?”

  “As I understand it, the sitting-room was originally L-shaped. It took in not only the present space, but also the area to the north of it. When the kitchen was enlarged into a kitchen dining-room, this area was added to it and a wooden partition was put up blocking it off from the sitting-room.”

  “I hope that is clear,” said Wyvil. The jury who were studying their copies of the plan signified that it was.

  “You will find that the thinness of the dividing wall assumes some importance at a later stage in these proceedings.”

  She resumed her seat. Martin Bull indicated that he had no questions.

  Next came a plump man with a sheaf of photographs which were handed round. Wyvil said, “It might help this witness if he had a copy of the plan. He can then explain from what point these photographs were taken.”

  Two had been taken from the road in front, two from the garden at the back and four inside the house. Martin Bull was particularly interested in the two taken from the garden.

  He said, “Allow me to congratulate you. Compared with the photographs we sometimes see these are remarkably good and clear.”

  The plump man looked gratified.

  “For instance, when you took this one you were standing on the lawn, I imagine.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “The jury can see from it the patio which runs along outside the drawing-room and dining-room and the glass doors from both rooms which lead out onto it. I observe a small structure at the right-hand end. Can you tell us what that is? A coal bunker, perhaps?”

  “As a matter of fact, I looked inside. It’s a garden shed, with spades and forks and things like that.”

  “You’re a gardener yourself?”

  The witness admitted that he was.

  “Then you must have noted how well kept the garden was. We can see a lot of it from your second photograph.”

  “Yes, indeed. I always think the sign of a good garden is when the paths are nicely kept. Not that it’s too difficult, nowadays, with the weedkillers they sell.”

  The judge said, “You mean that it is no longer a question of ‘grubbing weeds from gravel paths with broken dinner knives’, as Kipling puts it, in that beautiful poem, which I learned by heart when I was a boy and have never forgotten.”

  There was a hushed moment while the Court waited to see if the judge would recite the poem to them, but he evidently considered that this would be out of place and said sharply, “Come along. Let us get on.”

  “You are Dr. Alfred Moy-Williams, a licentiate of the Society of Apothecaries?”

  The way in which the Attorney General said this appeared to underline the fact that this was the minimum qualification with which a doctor was entitled to practise.

  Dr. Moy-Williams shifted uncomfortably and said, “Yes.”

  “The deceased was your patient and you were called in, when he collapsed, some time before two o’clock on November 1st. Would you tell us, in your own words, what transpired?”

  Dr. Moy-Williams did his best. He described the previous accident, the scar which it had left and the arrangement he had made for the use of the bougie.

  “And your certificate of death was—?”

  “Myocardial infarction caused by laryngeal spasms resulting from atresia of the trachea.”

  “Perhaps you would be good enough to translate that into layman’s language.”

  “Heart failure, caused by blockage of the windpipe.”

  “Thank you. And subsequently, I believe, you had occasion to revise your former certificate.”

  After a moment for thought the doctor said, “I concluded, subsequently, that it was likely that some poisonous substance had been ingested which broke open the scar in the gullet.”

  “If I do not pursue this matter now,” said the Attorney General, “it is because we shall be getting somewhat more—er—precise information from other witnesses.”

  Martin Bull said, “I have no questions for you, doctor, but considerable sympathy. We all know how easy it is to be wise after the event.”

  Dr. Moy-Williams smiled gratefully. Dr. Thorn took his place on the stand and implied that he, at least, was an old hand at the game by rattling off the oath without looking at the card.

  “You are Dr. Ian Thorn, M.A., B.M., B.Ch.?”

  “I am.”

  “Can you tell us why you were called in?”

  “The Will of the deceased stipulated cremation – therefore—”

  “Wait a moment,” said the judge. “Has the deceased’s Will been proved to us?”

  Mar
tin Bull, getting up quickly, said, “If you please. The defence will be calling the solicitor who drew up the Will, which has now been probated. I can, however, assure the Court that the opening clause did enjoin cremation.”

  The judge said, “Thank you, Mr. Bull.”

  The Attorney General whispered to his junior, “Have we seen the Will?” Wyvil shook her head. “Then we’d better do so quickly.”

  “Yes, Dr. Thorn.”

  “The regulations imposed on me two duties. To discuss the death with the deceased’s regular medical attendant and with the nurse who had attended him. It transpired that this was his wife. I accordingly discussed the matter with her.” He paused uncomfortably. He was well aware that he was not entitled to repeat what Dorothy had told him. What made it even more difficult was that it seemed uncertain whether she would herself be able to give evidence. He understood that worry and a succession of sleepless nights had brought her to a state where sedation was proving very necessary.

  The Attorney General was also aware of the difficulty. He said, “Might I suggest, doctor, that you confine yourself to saying that as a result of what she told you, you concluded that further action was necessary.”

  “That is quite correct,” said Dr. Thorn gratefully. “I contacted Dr. Summerson, of Guy’s Hospital, who was known to me, and arranged for the body to be taken to the Putney Mortuary, so that an autopsy could take place.”

  “Was this step also the result of your own observation?”

  “Yes. I had noted significant signs of blistering at the back of the mouth and tongue and in the oesophagus.”

  “Yes. Well Dr. Summerson will be able to tell us more about those. Thank you, doctor.”

  “Dr. Thorn,” said de Morgan, rising for the first time, “we all observed your embarrassment when you were dealing with your conversation with Mrs. Katanga. You appreciated, correctly if I may say so, that the rules of evidence prevented you from reporting what she said to you. That is the rule which excludes what we call hearsay evidence.”

  “Yes.”

  “It is a rule which, like a number of others, has been devised, for the protection of the accused, against third-party statements made in his absence and which he cannot check.”

  “Certainly.” It seemed to him that the former Attorney General was making heavy weather of it.

  “However, I am entitled, on behalf of the accused, to dispense with that protection if I wish. And I do so wish. Because I think that in this case it is essential that the truth and the whole truth should be brought out, no matter whom it harms or helps.”

  “What’s the old goat getting at?” muttered the Attorney General. Wyvil shook her head.

  “I therefore invite you to tell us what it was that Mrs. Katanga said that led you to invoke the help of Dr. Summerson.”

  Dr. Thorn thought about this for a moment. Then he said, “Actually it was the scarring in the mouth and throat—”

  “No, no, doctor. Let me correct you. That was your second reason for flying to Dr. Summerson. The first reason, you told us, was something Mrs. Katanga said to you.”

  Dr. Thorn looked round the Court for inspiration. Finding none, he said, “She told me that the accused had visited the house that morning and had been left alone in the sitting-room.”

  “And if she had told you that the vicar had called, and had been left alone in the sitting-room, would that have caused you to insist on an autopsy?”

  “Well—no.”

  “So what is it about the accused that his visit sent you hotfoot to Guy’s Hospital?”

  “Well – I knew that Katanga was a witness in that shoplifting case—”

  “Which has, in fact, been dismissed. You know that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what has the bookshop case to do with it?”

  “Nothing, really, I suppose.”

  “Then might I suggest that your suspicions were aroused because the accused was a South African?”

  “Certainly not. I have no prejudice against South Africans.”

  “I expect you will tell us that many of your best friends are South Africans,” said de Morgan and resumed his seat before Dr. Thorn could say anything.

  The judge looked at the clock and at the usher, who intoned, “Be upstanding.”

  On his way home from Court that evening Dr. Moy-Williams called at the Homestead. He found Dorothy on the sofa with an untouched cup of tea beside her.

  He said, “Judging from the way things are going, you will be called by the Crown to give evidence some time tomorrow. Probably not until the afternoon. I understand they are going to deal with the doctors first. Now – the one essential thing is for you to get a proper night’s rest. I have brought you some pills. They are only obtainable on prescription and I should warn you that they are more powerful than the ones you have been using. You must stick exactly to the prescribed dose.”

  Dorothy smiled faintly. She said, “Aren’t you forgetting, doctor, that I was once a nurse? I understand what pills will and won’t do.”

  The papers next morning were muted. They were marking time. The Sentinel said that the interest of the defence seemed to be concentrated, for some inexplicable reason, on the garden. The Times, which had christened the proceedings ‘The Battle of the Attorney Generals’, said, ‘We have had suggestions of prejudice against South Africa, but we must wait for some real indication of the line the defence proposes to take.’

  They were not kept waiting long.

  24

  Inspector Blanchard of the Putney subdivision of the Metropolitan Police opened the proceedings on the following morning. He explained the very detailed search which he had made of the Homestead, its dustbins and its garden, and a later search which his men had made of the surrounding land. Searches which had not discovered anything significant.

  Martin Bull said, “I imagine that your earlier search included the garden shed of which we have been told.”

  “Certainly. I searched it most carefully.”

  “What, exactly, were you looking for on that occasion?”

  The Inspector was ready for this. He said, “One of my sergeants, who had come to us from Hammersmith, happened to remember the previous accident—”

  “The one Dr. Moy-Williams has told us about when disinfectant was mistaken for whisky.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you were looking for disinfectant?”

  “I was looking for any dangerous substance that might have been left lying about.”

  “But not, specifically, for weedkiller.”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Tell me, Inspector, when did you first hear that weedkiller was suspected?”

  Blanchard thought about this. He said, “I knew of it, or certainly guessed it, when I was ordered to institute a search for a certain type of tin or container.”

  “But that knowledge was personal to you. And, no doubt, confidential.”

  “Certainly. In fact I would say that there had been no public statement of any sort about weedkiller until the proceedings at the Mansion House.”

  “Thank you, Inspector. That was my impression, too.”

  Dr. Summerson, who followed, did not occupy the Court for long. He explained that he had carried out an autopsy, which confirmed Dr. Thorn’s observations, that he had made sections of the oesophagus, larynx, trachea and stomach and had decided that these, with the glass jar and bougie, should be despatched at once to the Home Office Laboratory. In fact, he took them up himself that evening by car.

  De Morgan said, “I should be rash, indeed, doctor, to ask any questions of a man of your national – indeed international – reputation. One small point only. When you took the jar and bougie to Aldermaston you were, I imagine, very careful how you packed them?”

  “As careful as I could be.”

  “I had in mind that you would not have wished to obliterate any fingerprints which might be on them.”

  “I considered it safer to make an immediate te
st for prints in my own laboratory.”

  “Of course. Much better. And you discovered—?”

  “There were several examples of the same print on the handle of the bougie. And one, very clear example of that print on the jar.”

  The Attorney General said, “I can, if you wish, my Lord, now call the fingerprint expert from Scotland Yard to confirm that both sets of prints came from the deceased.”

  “The defence concedes the point,” said de Morgan.

  “To be quite accurate,” said Summerson, “the prints on the handle of the bougie could hardly be described as a set. There were a number of superimposed impressions. On the jar, on the other hand, there was this one set. The thumb in front and the fingers behind.”

  “Thank you,” said the judge. “It is always well to be precise about fingerprints.”

  “Then I will now call Dr. Gadney.”

  “My name,” said the black-haired man with the build of a rugby forward, “is William Gadney. I am, and have been for the last eight years, in charge of the Government Laboratory at Aldermaston. On the evening of Friday, November 2nd, certain articles were handed to me by Dr. Summerson . . .”

  He explained, using a minimum of technical language, the tests he had made. He said, “I should add that it was fortunate indeed that the authorities moved so speedily, since the liquid which I was testing had already started to become colloidal.”

  Everyone tried to look as though they grasped the significance of this. Dr. Gadney said, “I mean, of course, that as it absorbed the globules of the olive oil in which it had been mixed, it became increasingly difficult to isolate the smaller components. There was, however, no doubt that one of them was paraquat.”

  The judge said, “We have heard a great deal about paraquat. Could you tell us what it is?”