"Mortimer, John - Rumpole on Trial" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mortimer John)

You can understand that?' 'You mustn't ask me questions,' I told him firmly.

'But I never got to know her well. No,' Matheson conceded.

'Just help me about something. Did she start a shop, a boutique I suppose you'd call it, for the sale of model dresses?' 69 'Yes, she did. I think it did rather well.' 'Do you remember what the shop was called?' 'It was called Dreams of Youth, as far as I can remember.' Mr Justice Oliphant grew restless. 'Mr Rumpole, what on earth have dreams of youth got to do with the case?' 'I'm not quite sure, my Lord. Perhaps they're just things we all like to have occasionally.' This was greeted by a stir of laughter from the Jury, who seemed easily amused, and his Lordship rebuked them.

'Members of the Jury. If we want a good laugh, we can all tune into the television set tonight. I believe they're giving us Coronation Street. We all thoroughly enjoy that, don't we?

Shall we say ten-thirty tomorrow and then use your common sense and take this case seriously. In spite of Mr Rumpole's performance.' 'Or yours, your Lordship' was what I might have said.

Ten-thirty the next morning brought a surprise which, if I have to be honest, I had been, as I thought long and hard about the case, half expecting. My opponent announced that he was going to call Elizabeth Casterini as a witness for the Prosecution.

I went through the protests expected of me. I told him that I had been quite prepared to agree her statements, but Hilary Peek said that the Jury might like to see her in person and, as usual, Oilie agreed with the Prosecution. When she entered the witness-box the Jury can't have been disappointed. She looked as beautiful as ever and was dressed, I thought, as though for a concert, in a loose-fitting, patterned dress which again gave her the appearance of having stepped out of some medieval legend. As a concession to the time of day she was wearing boots and her hair was tied back in a way which left her pale forehead exposed. When she entered the witness-box " she smiled at her husband in the dock, and he smiled back, confident, I'm sure, that she had come there to help him. But if that was her purpose the evidence she gave was, in fact, no help at all.

She stuck, in the main, to the facts in her statements. She 70 identified the revolver as looking like the one her husband kept in a drawer in their flat. But she told the Jury, as she had told me, that her husband seemed terribly jealous of her and Tom Randall for no earthly reason. That frightened her considerably because, of course, he had the gun. This was an answer Oilie Oliphant repeated and wrote down with considerable relish.

So I rose to talk to Elizabeth, not over a lunch table but across a crowded courtroom. And now my purpose wasn't to establish our friendship but to destroy her credibility. I spoke to her quietly, with tenderness. I had decided this was the best technique and I also found it extremely easy to do.

'When you were at college did you own a boutique called Dreams of Youth?' 'Yes, I did.' 'Mr Rumpole,' Oilie intruded into the conversation, 'are we going back to these dreams of yours?' 'Don't worry, my Lord. They may lead us to wake up to the truth.' And then I turned to the witness. 'You did well out of the shop, didn't you?' 'Yes. I sold it when I left college and invested the profits.' Elizabeth sounded unexpectedly businesslike.

'And have lived quite comfortably ever since?' 'With our fees for playing. Yes.' 'Let me just remind you of what the dead man's last message to your husband was. Here's the police note of it: i WANT TO DISCUSS OUR LIVES SINCE DREAMS OF YOUTH.

Was he referring to your shop?' 'I... I don't think so.' She had hesitated for the first time.

'Let us suppose he was. When you were at college, a musicians' agent was tried for dealing in hard drugs. Some of your fellow students were said to be involved.' 'You know that, don't you?' She gave me a secret smile and I had to tell her, 'I may do, but the Jury don't. You attended the trial, didn't you?' 'Yes. A friend of mine was in the dock. You got him off.

Brilliantly.' 7i 'We'll take that for granted!' I got another easy stir of laughter for this and a growling 'Mr Rumpole!' from the Judge, so I went on quickly. 'During the course of the trial there were a number of references to people meeting at the Dreams of Youth boutique.' 'I can't remember all the details.' Elizabeth now looked beautifully vague.

'But you were never charged?' 'You know I wasn't.' She was still smiling. 'There was nothing I could have been charged with.' 'My Lord, if Mr Rumpole is suggesting the witness has committed some offence, she should be warned.' Hilary Peek arose in all his glory. The Judge, somewhat miffed, said, 'Thank you, Mr Peek. I do know my business,' and with exaggerated courtesy to Elizabeth, 'Mrs Casterini. I have to warn you that you needn't answer any question that might incriminate you.' 'I'm quite prepared to answer all Mr Rumpole's questions, my Lord.' And then the witness turned to me as though she trusted me entirely.

'Thank you.' And I went on. 'One of the students gave evidence for the prosecution, and he wasn't charged either. He looked a bit different then, perhaps. He had a beard and another name: Tom Cogswill. I've got a photograph of him here printed in the News of the World at the time. Who is that a picture of?' She looked at the cutting the usher handed up to her and agreed, 'Tom Cogswill. So far as I can remember.' 'Later to become Tom Randall, beardless and a member of your trio. The murdered man.' Her 'yes' to this was almost inaudible.

'He gave evidence for the Prosecution in the Hoffman trial?' I asked her.

'Yes, he did.' 'And gave no evidence implicating you in this musical drug ring?' 'Mr Rumpole, are those all the questions you have on this ancient trial?' Oilie put his oar in again. 'It seems miles away from the issue in this case.' 72 "c* 'For the moment, my Lord.' And then I looked at Elizabeth.

'Mrs Casterini. Your husband will say he was never jealous of you and Tom Cogswill, otherwise known as Randall.' 'You know he was, don't you, Mr Rumpole?' She smiled as though tolerant of my sudden forgetfulness.

'No. I don't.' I still did my best to sound like a kindly confidant. 'And the Jury don't know. We only know what you've told us. And perhaps we don't know whether to believe you. Let's assume for a moment that this wasn't a quarrel between two men over a beautiful woman. Now what other explanation is there for Tom Randall getting shot?' 'I have no idea. Suppose you tell me, Mr Rumpole?' Even at that point we still sounded like friends.

'Indeed I will. After a few more questions.' I picked up the bundle of bank statements we had from the Prosecution. 'Did you ever pay money to Tom Randall?' 'Money? No, I don't think so.' She was still calm and smiling.

'Just try and help us, Mrs Casterini. When the trio was formed, didn't you tell your husband you'd given Tom some of your plentiful store of money so he could turn down other work and concentrate on playing with you?' 'I said I'd helped Tom out. Yes.' Now she was hesitating.

'And did you go on paying him money from time to time?' 'What are you looking at?' She made the mistake of asking me the question.

'The dead man's bank accounts. He got a regular payment in from a certain source. Was that source you?' 'Perhaps. Sometimes. Is that what it says?' The answer to that question was no, so I ignored it and asked another, 'Was he blackmailing you, Mrs Casterini?' 'Blackmailing? Whatever for?' 'Threatening to tell your husband, and then the police, all he knew about your part in the Hoffman drug ring if you didn't go on paying?' 'No. No, of course not.' She turned her smile on the Jury, but now, I noticed, they didn't smile back.

'You remember what Mr Matheson heard Tom Randall say 73 to you one day by the lift?, 'I'll have to tell him. Before everyone else knows.' Did that mean he was going to tell your husband that your nice little lump of capital came from drugs?' 'No!' Her denial was too loud, too vehement.