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

On the last day of Pinhead Morgan's appeal there was a demonstration of sorts outside the main entrance to the Law Courts by a number of M.P.s, prison reformers, television crews and Pinhead's family and friends. Some bore placards with such legends as free pinhead morgan, liars in blue, DON'T LEAVE JUSTICE TO THE JUDGES, PINHEAD'S INNOCENT and the law's an ass. When Detective Superintendent Gannon and his Detective Inspector arrived they were roundly booed by the contingent from the Buttercup Meadows Estate.

' That morning Guthrie was sitting as a judge down the Old Bailey, at the other end of Fleet Street. As he was being robed by his ancient clerk, Wilfred, he expressed considerable concern at the possible result in the Court of Appeal. 'My learned Judge,' Wilfred told me later, 'was all of a dither. To be honest I never saw anything like it in anyone who has risen to the Bench.' 'Are they giving judgment this morning? Are we sure of that, Wilfred?' Guthrie asked, as though the Jury were out and he was on trial.

'So I understand, my Lord, from Lord Justice Parsloe's clerk, Gladys,' Wilfred told him.

'It's a troublesome business, I'm afraid, Wilfred. An extremely troublesome business.' 'Pity they got rid of the rope, my Lord. Those were my very words to Gladys.' Wilfred's view of the law was as antiquated as himself.

'I was perfectly entitled to say what I did say. We had water-tight evidence.' Guthrie argued his case.

'And if that young man had been strung up, with all due respect, he'd never have come popping up in the Court of Appeal, causing us all this trouble and anxiety.' 'The point is, I've got to know the result just as soon as possible. Now, you come into my court at...? What time, do you think?' 'Twelve-thirty, sir. It should be all over by then, according to Gladys. And Gladys is very reliable. That's the Lord Justice's clerk, my Lord. And we have become firm friends over the years.' 'Oh, do stop going on about Gladys, and hanging too, come to that.' Guthrie wasn't in the best of tempers. 'Just concentrate on coming in and giving me a signal. Let's say, thumbs up if Pinhead goes back to prison and we're in the clear?' 'Otherwise thumbs down, if I may make a suggestion?' 'I'm afraid, Wilfred', and here his Lordship sank into a deep gloom, 'there may be a terrible miscarriage of justice.' But the miscarriage of justice, according to the Court of Appeal, was due in almost equal parts to the Detective Superintendent and Guthrie Featherstone. What follows is an extract from the judgment of the Court of Appeal, Lord 87 Justice Parsloe presiding. 'The officer in charge of the case,' he said, 'must bear the heavy responsibility of obtaining this worthless confession. We, as judges of the Court of Appeal, can only apologize to the public and to Mr Morgan, the unfortunate victim of this miscarriage, for the somewhat unwise remarks of the learned Trial Judge, who was reckless enough to say, and I quote, "Every minute this trial has lasted has made me surer and surer of your guilt."' Down the road Guthrie was listening, with very little attention, to a legal argument from Claude Erskine-Brown, when the door of the court swung open and there stood Wilfred with his thumb, like that of a merciless Roman emperor, pointed towards the ground.

So Pinhead was released, to the cheers of his supporters, and the Detective Superintendent had to pay another call on Betty Yeomans to comfort her once again. I had an opportunity of meeting Mrs Yeomans later, and I found her to be a young woman of considerable spirit. I know how the conversation went, with Betty leading off on the apparently absurd result that no one had been guilty of her husband's murder. 'So Pinhead never stabbed Ted,' she said. 'Never cut him. So who did then? Would they mind telling me that?' 'I'm sorry, Betty. I know it's hard.' Gannon was as distressed as the widow.

'Or did Ted just pull out a knife and do himself? Was it all a mistake like that trial of Pinhead? Is that what they're telling us?' 'I don't know, Betty.' And Gannon told her, 'They seem to have lost interest in what Pinhead did. It's what I did, what the Judge did, where we went wrong. That's all their Lordships is concerned about.' 'Someone killed Ted, that's all I know. Someone's got to suffer!' 'The most likely person to suffer is going to be me.' Gannon , looked grimly into his future.

'Not you, Roy. Not after all you've done for us. I'm not ? going to let that happen!' Betty Yeomans gave him her promise.

If the Detective Superintendent thought he was the most likely person to suffer by the change in Pinhead's fortunes he had, at least, Mr Justice Featherstone as a companion in misfortune. Of course the two never met until... But that time was still in the future. On the night of the Appeal Judgment Guthrie was alone; his wife, the handsome but sometimes ruthless Marigold, was away on a visit to her sister in Coventry. Guthrie hoped that they would be too busy exchanging family news to watch the television, but he knew that she would learn of the public rebuke in due course, and she was unlikely to comfort him and bind up his wounds. He dined alone at the Sheridan Club; no one he knew was in that night, and those he didn't know took pains, he imagined, to ignore him.

After dinner he sat alone in the bar, drinking port and, when that occupation began to pall, he drank brandy. He was still doing this when the bar had emptied and Denver, the barman, was cleaning up and looking forward to going home to bed. Guthrie, however, seemed to be a fixture, unburdening his soul in words that Denver quite failed to keep to himself.

'Justice!' the Judge said bitterly. 'I've had no justice whatsoever.' 'I'm sorry about that, sir, truly sorry.' The Sheridan barman had a kindly heart.

'No one to represent me, Denver. No chance to put my case.

Engaged in another court, as it so happened, while the Court of Appeal rubbished me. Rubbished me, Denver! "The Trial Judge was reckless enough to say..." Reckless, Denver! You tell me, quite honestly, would you say that I was reckless?' 'No, Sir Guthrie. But you are my last gentleman, sir.' 'Your last gentleman! That's probably it. Too much of a gentleman to answer back. Not so many of us about nowadays, are there?' 'I was just about to pack up.' Denver had polished the last glass and was about to hang up his white jacket.

'Is that what you're advising me to do, Denver?' Guthrie looked more stricken than ever. 'Jack it in, hang up the scarlet dressing-gown, take to golf?' 89 'A very good-night to you. Sir Guthrie,' was the barman's firm reply.

So Guthrie came down the steps of the Sheridan Club unsteadily, not quite drunk but still not as sober as a judge, and in the street he bumped into someone who appeared to be leading a group of revellers and whom he recognized, after protests and apologies, as Henry, who had been his clerk when he was Head of our Chambers. 'Out on the town, are you?' And Guthrie, looking round at the clerk's friends, added, 'I say, are you all in the law? Please accept my profound sympathy.' 'Not exactly. Sir Guthrie,' Henry told him. 'Not all of us is in the law. What you see here is the cream of the Bexley heath Thespians up in town for our annual outing.' 'And piss-up,' added a male thespian who was carrying a theatre programme.

'That was not the purpose of the evening. Sir Guthrie.' Henry maintained his dignity. 'The purpose of the evening was to witness Miss Diana Rigg performing in the living theatre.' 'I'd like to play opposite her, I honestly would,' the thespian with the programme said longingly.

'Hedda Gabled Not many laughs in it, was there?' This came from Dot Clapton, who, as you will remember, was also a member of the acting group.

'Never any of those. Not in that Henry Gibson,' said another star of Bexleyheath, and Dot explained, 'So we was all off to Blokes for a bit of a bop.' 'A bit of a bop, eh?' Guthrie seemed overcome by sadness.

'There was a time when I could indulge myself in a bit of a bop. Before the pressures of life in the law became too much for me. Where is this Blokes you go to?' 'Leicester Square, just round the corner.' And Dot extended an invitation. 'Feel like a rave-up, do you?' 'Speaking for all the assembled thespians here. Sir Guthrie,' Henry told him, 'we should be honoured if you would join us, just for a drink.' 'That's very kind of you but....' he no doubt became aware of Dot's considerable attractions, 'that would be quite impossible.' Like other judicial decisions, this one was almost immediately reversed and Guthrie found himself, a quarter of an hour and a couple of rum and Cokes later, standing under flashing lights and moving vaguely in time to some very loud music in what he fondly imagined to be an offhandedly seductive manner, while Dot danced expertly and appealingly around him. And even then, according to Dot's subsequent account, he was still bemoaning his lot.

'What was I meant to do, quite honestly? Go down the cells, keep a fatherly eye on Pinhead Morgan, make sure the Old Bill didn't fit him up, see he had tea and biscuits and a clever solicitor? I can't do that, you know. I simply haven't got the time. If the Judges are going to carry on, we've got to trust the police, Debby.' 'Dotty.' 'What did you call me?' 'My name's Dot, Dotty. Not Deb, Debby.' 'I'm sorry. It seems I'm always making mistakes.' 'Don't you worry, Judge. You're an excellent mover.' The next morning, when I came into Chambers, Dot had just received a large bunch of flowers and Erskine-Brown, with his usual nose for a scandal, was reading out the inscription on the card which accompanied the tribute: from A JUDICIAL ADMIRER. THANKS FOR THE BOP.

'I don't read your correspondence, Mr Erskine-Brown,' Dot was entitled to say. 'So I'd be glad if you kept your eyes off mine.' 'Only taking a friendly interest, Dot. Is it serious? When's the engagement?' 'I've seen enough of married men, Mr Erskine-Brown, not to want one of my own, thank you very much.' At which point Henry, who had been engaged on the telephone, said, 'We've been waiting for you to come in, Mr Rumpole. You've got a police officer up in your room, sir.' "There you are, Rumpole.' Erskine-Brown was clearly delighted. 'They fingered your collar at last!' I did, I must confess, go through a moment of extreme unease. Was it something to do with my income tax?

When I got up to my room the client's armchair was occupied by a large, comfortable, grey-haired man who looked, as I have said, less like a bent copper than everyone's favourite uncle. Also there was the indispensable Mr Bernard, who effected the introduction. 'I told Superintendent Gannon he couldn't have a better brief, Mr Rumpole. Not one with your talent for acquittals. He saw my point, didn't you, Roy?' 'Acquittals! That's what's caused all this mess, the way you lawyers let Pinhead out laughing.' His words were bitter but his voice was low and reasonable, one of the mildest-mannered men, I thought, who ever faked a confession.

'You blame the lawyers for that?' I added, in fairness to our much-abused profession, that it wasn't a lawyer who rewrote the dubious page two.

Gannon didn't answer me directly but said, 'I gave Betty Yeomans my solemn oath I'd get her a conviction. That's what's kept Betty going, my promise to her. Someone had to pay for Ted Yeomans's life.' 'Even someone who hadn't killed him?' I asked.