The Queen v. Karl Mullen

by Michael Gilbert

  “Certainly, my Lord. It is dimethyl sulphate of bipyridylium.”

  “Thank you,” said the judge faintly.

  “It is highly poisonous and used nowadays in many agricultural weedkillers.”

  “A dangerous substance to be on public sale.”

  “It is true, my Lord, that it is classified as dangerous in the Poisons Rules and in the Control of Pesticides Regulations. But under the Agricultural Chemicals Approval Scheme—”

  “Slowly, please. I am trying to get this down. Yes. Under that scheme?”

  “It could be sold across the counter provided that the seller knew that the purchaser was a farmer or that he needed it for his garden.”

  “You set my mind at rest. I apologise, Mr. Attorney. I interrupted you.”

  “Did you, Dr. Gadney, finally succeed in isolating any other substances?”

  “After certain elimination tests we located chlordane. In rather smaller quantities than the paraquat. It is a liquid insecticide often found in garden weedkillers.”

  “And taking these facts into account, what was your conclusion?”

  “I concluded that the most probable additive was Paradol.”

  “Which contains five per cent paraquat and three per cent chlordane?”

  “Yes.”

  De Morgan said, “Dr. Gadney, would you first be good enough to explain exactly what you mean by elimination tests?”

  “Certainly. When a liquid is subjected to chromatography the instrument produces its result in the form of a graph, running roughly level, but with distinct peaks. It is these peaks which indicate the presence of different substances. We identify them by the size of the peak and its relative position in the graph. The larger ones can be identified easily. The presence of five per cent of paraquat was unquestionable. In the case of smaller peaks what we had to do – speaking roughly – was to surmise what they might be and then to rule out possible competitors by a series of elimination tests.”

  “Thank you, doctor. Might I put what you have told us even more crudely? You had to guess what these other components might be and then prove most of your guesses wrong.”

  “If you wish to put it that way.”

  “Then suppose that there was an even smaller peak – as you call it – or a number of peaks, am I right in thinking that it would have become increasingly difficult to identify them?”

  “By now, almost impossible.”

  “So if I suggested that one of them might be parathion – a phosphorous insecticide, my Lord, often added to garden sprays – you would not regard this as impossible?”

  “No. Not impossible.”

  “So that the added liquid might – just as an example – have been Killblane which contains five per cent paraquat, three per cent chlordane and two per cent parathion?”

  “Killblane could not be ruled out. Others, too.”

  “But equally,” said the Attorney General in re-examination, “there was nothing in your tests to show that it was not Paradol?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Then I think,” said the judge, “that this would be a suitable moment to adjourn for lunch. And might I urge the jury to be very careful in crossing the streets.”

  First after lunch came Lionel Luck. He took the oath perkily, introduced himself and identified a tin of Paradol.

  “Exhibit P.1,” said Wyvil. “Not the one that was sold, but an identical one from Mr. Luck’s shop.”

  Mr. Luck said that he had recognised Mullen, from numerous photographs in the press, and had thought it his duty to report immediately to the police his purchase of a tin of Paradol garden weedkiller.

  Martin Bull, rising slowly, said, “I understand that you might well recognise the accused from pictures you had seen. These would mostly, I think, have been in connection with an alleged charge of shop-lifting, which has now been dropped.”

  “That sort of thing.”

  “My first question is why you should have sold a tin of Paradol to the accused at all. Did you know him as a gardener?”

  “Not exactly, no.”

  “Then under the Poisons Rules you should not have sold it to him.”

  “I’m afraid we shopkeepers don’t take those rules very seriously.”

  “Then I advise you to change your habits,” said the judge sharply.

  “Yes, sir. I mean, my Lord.”

  “My next point, Mr. Luck, is this. Why should the purchase have excited you? If the accused had purchased a tin of washing-powder, would you have hurried round to the police station?”

  “Of course not. But it wasn’t washing-powder, was it? It was weedkiller.”

  “And what was so suspicious about that?”

  “Well, I’d heard that he might be accused of poisoning Mr. Katanga—”

  “What!” Bull barked this out so sharply that everyone jumped. He said, “This purchase in your shop was made on Wednesday, October 31st.”

  “Well—”

  “Inspector Blanchard also told us, this morning, that so far as he knew there had been no public statement about this matter until the hearing at the Mansion House.”

  “Well,” said Luck, who had got his breath back, “someone must have come into the shop and told me.”

  “His name, please.”

  “I can’t exactly remember. And if I did happen to remember, I wouldn’t want to involve anyone else.”

  “Mr. Luck,” said the judge, “please understand this. There is no question of you involving anyone. If this person has evidence to give, he can be brought here, subpoenaed to give that evidence.”

  “I am sorry, my Lord. But I can’t remember who it was who told me. Not exactly. I have so many customers. And I’ve got no help. I’m at my wits’ end sometimes—”

  “I see,” said the judge. There was silence while he made a lengthy note. “Yes, Mr. Bull.”

  “I suggested, Mr. Luck, that you hurried round to the police station. You did not contradict me. Of course, as an old enthusiast for anti-apartheid activity, you had every reason to get Mullen into trouble, had you not?”

  “Who says I’m keen on – what did you call it – anti-apartheid activity? I don’t take any interest in things like that. None at all.”

  “Then why did you rush out of your shop, leaving it unattended, and join the gang who were mobbing Mullen?”

  “I didn’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about—I can’t remember—”

  “Of course you remember. It happened within fifty yards of your shop.”

  “Oh, that time. Yes. Now you mention it, I do recall the incident.”

  “I didn’t ask whether you recalled it. I asked why you joined in.”

  As Bull spoke he seemed to be examining a number of photographs. Luck watched him nervously for a moment. Then said, “I might have come down to the end of Pipe Street to see what was going on.”

  “Further than that, surely. Didn’t you cross Cheapside and push into the crowd in Axe Lane?”

  “I—well—no. I don’t think I did anything like that.”

  “I have here, my Lord, certain photographs: Exhibits M.l-4. We shall be calling the photographer in due course. But in view of the answer given by this witness I think you should see them now. Two of them were taken, as you will see, on the occasion of the riot. Two were taken at a later date, from a point opposite Mr. Luck’s shop.”

  The judge studied the photographs, looked at the witness and then back at the photographs again. He said, “I take it you are aware, Mr. Luck, that telling a lie, when you are on oath, constitutes the crime of perjury and can be visited by severe penalties. Let me, therefore, put to you once again the question you have already been asked. Did you thrust yourself into the crowd that was harassing the accused?”

  “I may have done, my Lord. I am so confused these days with worries about my business that my memory lets me down.”

  The judge looked at Bull, who said, “We must, I suppose, accept that very qualified explanation.”

/>   The judge made a further note in a silence that had become embarrassing.

  “No further questions,” said the Attorney General. He seemed as keen to get Mr. Luck out of the box as Mr. Luck was to leave it. He said, “My witnesses have been dealing, so far, with the questions of opportunity and means. We now have to consider motive. As my Lord will instruct you, it is not strictly necessary, in a charge of murder, to prove motive. But where motive clearly exists, it is our duty to bring it to your attention.”

  De Morgan had been studying the witness list. He said to Bull, “Harold Ratter, Mavis Widdicombe – she’ll be the girl from the limited editions department – and Sebastian Lucius Snow – presumably the manager. We’re not disputing what took place in the bookshop, so we can leave the first two alone, but you could heckle Snow. If it does nothing else, it’ll strengthen the idea that we’re relying on prejudice – which may take their eyes off the ball.”

  Accordingly, the stout detective and the nervous Miss Widdicombe came and departed unquestioned. To Mr. Snow, when he had given his evidence, Martin Bull said, “I imagine that you have experienced a good many cases of shop-lifting in your well-known shop?”

  “Alas, yes. In the ten years that I have been in charge, no fewer than twenty-nine such cases.”

  “Then you must have devised what one might call a standard procedure for dealing with them?”

  “Indeed, yes. If the delinquent is very young I can usually frighten him enough to make it unlikely that he will try it again. If he is a more hardened character I obtain his name and address and warn him that he will receive a summons.”

  “But in this case, although you had incontrovertible evidence of his identity, you had the accused marched off to the police station. In what way was this accused different from the other twenty-eight?”

  Mr. Snow took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and said, “He was a South African policeman. I considered that the experience would be good for him.”

  “A useful experience of British impartiality?” suggested the judge.

  Mr. Snow looked baffled, but managed to say ‘yes’ before turning round for further questions. But Bull had sat down.

  Whilst this was going on Anna and Dorothy Katanga had appeared at the door leading into the Court from the witness room. Before the Attorney General could speak de Morgan rose and said, “I understand from the list I have been given that Miss Macheli—” he nodded at the girl—”will be giving evidence next. Might I therefore ask that Mrs. Katanga, who will be following her, leaves the Court?”

  “Yes,” said the judge.

  Dorothy was led out and Anna entered the witness-box looking, thought Roger, exactly like a small girl who had been taken to a party by her mother and deserted.

  “Your name,” said the Attorney General, “appears in these proceedings as Anna Macheli. It is, in fact, Anna Masai, is it not?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I am not taking the point against you. We all understand that you have, for many years, regarded yourself as the adopted daughter of Professor Macheli.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And when you first came over here, the Professor – this was in connection with his residence permit – showed you as his daughter?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “A small irregularity which certain officials of the South African government unearthed and which they threatened to report, unless you were willing to help them. In particular, they used you to ferret out all possible details of Jack Katanga’s life. Including the earlier accident – it happened before your time, of course – and the use of the bougie.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you. I wanted the jury to understand that.”

  They understood it, all right, thought Roger. And they didn’t like it much.

  “Might we return then to what I will call the fatal Thursday? The accused telephoned your house. You remember? Yes. What I want to be quite clear about is what you said to him.”

  “I told him that Mr. and Mrs. Katanga were out and wouldn’t be back until around midday.”

  “Midday. Not eleven thirty or midday?”

  “No, sir. Midday.”

  “So when the accused arrived, you had to show him into the drawing-room and leave him there. Now we have been told that the partition between the kitchen and the drawing-room is very thin. Was it thin enough for you to hear the accused if he moved about?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “For instance, you would, I suppose, have heard if—”

  De Morgan was starting to get up, but it was the judge who intervened.

  “I don’t think you should put words into the witness’s mouth.”

  Anna said, suddenly and loudly, “I wasn’t listening all that much. I was getting lunch.”

  “Very well,” said the Attorney General sourly. “Tell us what happened next.”

  “Mr. Katanga came back. He must have seen the car outside because he went straight to the drawing-room. Then Mrs. Katanga came back. She was in the kitchen with me. We could hear them arguing next door. They were almost shouting.”

  “Then you can tell us what the accused said.”

  “He was saying that Mr. Katanga’s mother and his sisters had been arrested and unless Mr. Katanga changed what he was going to say, about the bookshop, they’d be questioned. The way he said it, it sounded like – tortured.”

  The Attorney General waited for nearly half a minute, making a pretence of examining his brief. He was well aware of the effect the last answer had made on the jury.

  “And what did Mr. Katanga say?”

  “He said, ‘Do what you like and be damned with you.’ And I could hear the scrape of his chair as he got up, so I guessed the interview was over and went to open the front door. They came out and went down the path, stopping to argue, and then Mr. Mullen got into his car and drove off and Mr. Katanga came back.”

  “That’s very clear. Thank you.”

  “Miss Macheli,” said de Morgan, speaking so quietly that the witness had to lean forward to hear him. “You were two years in that house at Putney, helping the Katangas. I believe that Mrs. Katanga was often out in the morning, shopping, in the West End, whilst Mr. Katanga stayed behind to get on with his literary work. Is that right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So that you were alone in the house with him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “On some such occasions, did he try to take advantage of you?”

  Anna stared at him, her eyes wide open. Then she said, “I don’t understand you.”

  De Morgan, speaking now quite sharply, said, “I will put it in any way you like. Did he try to seduce you?”

  The gallery was starting to murmur. They didn’t like this line of questioning. The judge sat like a graven image.

  Anna, at last, said, “No—no.” She had something else she wanted to say. It came almost in a whisper. “He was a gentleman.”

  “Very well,” said de Morgan. “We’ll leave it there. Tell me, have you ever seen this before?”

  He had in his hand the tin of Paradol.

  “No,” said Anna. “I’m sure I haven’t seen anything like that.” She was so relieved at the change of topic that she spoke easily and clearly.

  Good technique, thought Roger. First upset her, then ask her an innocent-seeming question.

  “Or like this?” He had produced a squat black plastic bottle. “I shall be identifying this shortly, my Lord. It is a garden weedkiller, called Killblane.”

  “Yes, I think so. I’m not quite sure. I think I’ve seen something like that. In the tool shed.”

  “The shed we have been told was at the end of the patio?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you. This will be S.B.1, my Lord.”

  Wyvil was looking at the witness list which the defence had produced. S.B. must be the mysterious Sophie Burnett.

  “Almost finished, Miss Macheli. Just one thing more. You stood at the door and watched
the two men going down the path, stopping to argue and then going on and the accused driving off and Mr. Katanga coming back. How long did all this take – roughly?”

  “Well, it might have been five minutes – or a little more.”

  “Thank you.”

  It was nearly four o’clock when Dorothy followed Anna onto the witness stand. The dusk of a January evening had been closing in on the Court and now the additional lights came on.

  “Mrs. Katanga,” said the Attorney General, “I will trouble you as little as possible.”

  Roger was staring at Dorothy, fascinated and horrified. He thought he had never seen such a frightening change in a woman. In the weeks since he had observed her at the inquest she seemed to have aged ten years. Her eyes were haunted and the deep pits under them seemed to tighten the whole face against the bones of the skull.

  “First a question about the visit which the accused paid you on that Thursday. When had you told your girl that you would be back?”

  “Around midday.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Yes. I always liked to get back from the shops about midday. That gave me time to see about the lunch.”

  “I quite follow. When you did get back and were with Anna in the kitchen, did you overhear what passed between your husband and the accused?”

  “You mean the threat he made about my mother-in-law and her children? Yes. I heard that. And I heard my husband refuse to withdraw his evidence.”

  “We have been told about that. But I am glad of your confirmation. There are a few further points of timing in which you can help us. Your husband had finished seeing off the accused by when?”

  “It would have been about a quarter to one when he came back into the house.”

  “And he refused to join you at lunch – when would that have been?”

  “Perhaps half an hour later. Or a bit more.”

  “And the first indication of trouble – choking and so on—?”

  “About a quarter of an hour after that.”

  “Your husband had, I believe, recently taken to using the bougie every day?”

  “Yes. Every day at around one o’clock.”

  “That’s very clear. Thank you. I have no further questions.”