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

'Morgan,' he said, 'you have been convicted out of your own mouth and by your own words. Every minute this trial has lasted has made me surer and surer of your guilt.' Pinhead replied by calling the Judge a 'stupid wanker'. Whether or not the allegation was true, it had no effect on the result and he was taken down to enter the forgotten world of those who receive life sentences.

After court that day I found myself standing behind the learned Judge in a Ludgate Circus bus queue. He noticed, with apparent satisfaction, the fact that I was reading the Evening Standard. 'I expect you saw my face plastered all over the front page,' Guthrie said modestly. 'When one sentences a sensational murderer one does rather tend to hit the headlines.' He clearly felt that he should stop enjoying the publicity as he went on in grave, judicial tones, 'Morgan was a most serious case.' 81 'And you did it extraordinarily skilfully, if I may say so.' 'My dear old Rumpole. One is grateful for tributes from one of your age, and experience of course.' 'I mean, you managed to persuade the old darlings on the Jury to pot Pinhead without any real evidence to go on.' 'What do you mean, Rumpole?' 'No blood on his clothing. No evidence that the knife was his. No witness saw him anywhere near where P. C. Yeomans was found. My darling old Lordship, anyone can get a conviction on evidence. It takes a legal genius to secure one without it.' 'But Rumpole', Guthrie played his ace of trumps, 'the accused, Morgan, had made a confession. A full and frank admission of his guilt. And he signed it!' 'Knew how to write, did he? I wasn't too sure he could read.' The learned Judge was so intent on proving his case again that his bus had come and gone. As he watched it drive away, he naturally blamed me. 'I'll be late and Marigold's got people coming.' He stepped out into the road, waving desperately at a taxi. 'I shouldn't have stood here chattering to you, Rumpole. I must be a complete idiot.' I don't think he heard when I asked his retreating back, 'Is that a confession that we can accept as the truth, my Lord?' In fact Pinhead Morgan was not altogether forgotten; the questions I had asked Guthrie at the bus stop began to be taken up by others interested in detecting and denouncing miscarriages of justice. There was an article in the Guardian, and a dramatized reconstruction on television in which Pinhead was played by an extremely intelligent young actor who gave a moving performance as a subnormal youth. The Bishop of Worsfield, the Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster and the Chairman of the Arts Council called on Mr Timothy Bunting, the Home Secretary, to express their deep concern. 'And then the campaign to reopen Pinhead's case was given a final boost by a machine known as the Electro-Static Detective Apparatus, or E.S.D.A. for short. Its findings were made the 82 -t* more impressive as it was operated in investigations carried out by the Old Bill in person.

Chief Superintendent Belmont was the officer in charge of the section which included the Buttercup Meadows Estate.

When the campaign suggesting that Pinhead had not received altogether satisfactory treatment at the hands of the law had gathered momentum, Belmont summoned Detective Inspector Farraday and Detective Sergeant Chesney Lane to a demonstration.

Belmont had found, he said, a pile of blank confession sheets in Detective Superintendent Gannon's office. When submitted to the E.S.D.A. machine this cunning device found indentations of Gannon's handwriting on the top twelve pages. The document he had been writing was that which was put before the Jury as page two of Pinhead's alleged confession.

Now this page two was the only page which recorded his admission of guilt, as it contained such telling phrases as 'I came tooled up'; 'I'm sorry I cut the copper. I was all excited, what with the car racing and that'; 'I'm sorry for what I did.

It's a relief now I've told you'.

Detective Superintendent Gannon said in court that he had written both pages of the confession in the interview room, in Pinhead's presence and at his dictation. Furthermore, he said that he had written it on pages which he had laid flat down on the table in front of him, with no page or paper underneath.

The E.S.D.A. machine told a different story: that of page two being written by Gannon on a pile of blank sheets in his office. The clear inference was that the original page two didn't provide clear evidence against Pinhead, so Gannon had written out an alternative and incriminating page and substituted it later.

When this demonstration, apparently so clear and convincing, was over. Detective Inspector Farraday had to admit that he couldn't exactly remember what Pinhead had said at the time, but he had always assumed that it was as it appeared in the confession statement. Moreover, Mr Gannon had taken away the written pages after the accused had signed them and the two officers had no opportunity of checking their accuracy.

He seemed prepared to agree that a new and altered page two must have been written later. Detective Sergeant Chesney Lane was rather more puzzled by the demonstration, but his questions were met by Chief Superintendent Belmont saying, 'There's something that stinks to high heaven about this case of Morgan. And I'll make it my business to find out exactly what it is.' This and his subsequent actions led to high praise of Chief Superintendent Belmont in all the 'caring' newspapers as being a refreshingly honest officer who made no attempt to hide the rotten apples in his force.

There is only one other matter about this distressing scene which should be recorded. The original confession had, of course, been lodged in the court. When Belmont was conducting the demonstration he showed the two officers a photostat of page two written out in Gannon's handwriting. D. S. Chesney Lane was asked to return this document, among others, to the filing officer. Before he did so, he felt the back of the photostat. After doing so he failed, in one important respect, to carry out his orders.

For a while Guthrie dwelt in happy ignorance of this final attack on his conduct in the Buttercup Meadows case.

One day, however, when he had called in at the Sheridan Club to celebrate a case that settled early with a delightful lunch among his friends and admirers, he was told by the porter that Lord Justice Parsloe, a senior judge of the Court of Appeal, was in the bar and wanted a word with him.

So Guthrie mounted the stairs alight with hope that his service to the state was about to be recognized by some promotion.

I have done my best to reconstruct the conversation which in fact took place from my knowledge of the characters involved and with considerable help from a member of the Sheridan named Toby Harringay, an appalling old gossip who plays bridge with Hilda and who earwigged a great deal of the conversation. It seems that Guthrie had just ordered himself his usual modest gin and tonic at the bar when Lord Parsloe, a small, rubicund, deceptively cheerful-looking man, came up with 'Hallo there, Guthrie. Drowning your sorrows?' 'Simon. Why? Should I have sorrows?' Guthrie was puzzled.

'Bit of a hard time for you, I'm afraid. My heart goes out to you, old fellow.' And he looked at the Judge of first instance as though he were suffering from some threatening disease.

'Keeping well, are you?' 'Apart from the usual ailments of a Trial Judge,' Guthrie replied.

'I know. Piles and sleeping sickness.' The Lord Justice still sounded sympathetic.

'And I'm looking forward to joining you Lord Justices in the peace and comfort of the Court of Appeal.' Guthrie was ever hopeful.

'Well, perhaps some day. Who knows? These things do get forgotten in time.' 'Things? Simon...' Panic stirred, as it so often did, in Guthrie's breast. 'What things are you talking about?' 'Well, let's say, things like Pinhead Morgan.' 'I sent him down with a recommendation of twenty-five years.' And the Judge sounded proud of the fact.

'I know you did, Guthrie. How many has he done now? I suppose the question we have to decide is, has he done enough?' 'Enough? For stabbing a police officer?' 'Ah, but can we be sure he did that?' 'I know there's been a bit of agitation by copper-hating Lefties, Simon. Professional do-gooders, members of the Howard League for Penal Reform. You're not going to take any notice of their nonsense, are you?' 'Tim Bunting referred the matter to us. I'm not sure the Home Secretary's a copper-hating Leftie, as you call it so elegantly. Look, let's go over there, where it's not quite so public.' So Guthrie followed the Lord Justice to a couple of crumbling leather chairs in a corner of the bar, out of earshot of the gossiping Toby Harringay, and it was in that corner that the Judge realized the full seriousness of his plight as Parsloe said, with chilling gentleness, 'Guthrie, I know you'll be very brave about this. It may not be entirely nonsense. It may be just one more of these cases where the Trial Judge ends up with egg on his face, and God knows there's been enough egg lately to keep the entire Howard League for Penal Reform in omelettes for the rest of their natural lives.' 'But it was an open and shut case, Simon.' By now the Judge was sounding plaintive.

'Reopened and not yet shut, unfortunately. Oh, my dear old fellow. If only you hadn't said, "Every minute this trial has lasted has made me surer and surer of your guilt."' 'Did I say that?' Guthrie's memory was mercifully short.

'Oh, yes. Nailed your colours to the mast, didn't you?

Silence is golden, old fellow, particularly when passing possibly dubious life sentences.' 'Possibly dubious! You mean you've made up your minds?' 'Not at all. I have no idea what conclusion I and my brother Lords Justices may come to. We might find the conviction is still safe, I just thought I should warn you. Keep your head down, Guthrie. The flak may be coming over.' And after this dire warning Mr Justice Guthrie Featherstone had very little appetite for his lunch.