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

'Not my rules. The rules of evidence. Have they gone out of fashion among radical barristers?' rotten apples must be plucked out of the police barrel and destroyed. The last words of the Lord Justice, overheard by a passing member, were, 'That's settled then. And, by the way, Guthrie. I would advise you to give up dancing. You're probably far too old for it.' In spite of this grave warning Guthrie no doubt felt cheered by this conversation and the trust the powers that be were putting in him. However, his happiness was not long-lasting.

When people talk about doing things in the 'interests of justice', I have found it usually means that the act they are about to perform will be extremely unpleasant. Hilda felt that it 'would be fair' to Marigold to tell her about the ill-fated bop and the admissions of guilt attested to by the earwigger Harringay.

As I have said. Marigold, Lady Featherstone, is a handsome and stylish woman, much given to shopping in Harrods, who has very little time for the weakness of the male sex in general and her husband in particular. Hilda told me how Marigold had passed judgment on the Judge. 'Look, you're not the greatest catch in the world, Guthrie,' she told him, 'and little Miss Whatsit is perfectly welcome to you, as far as I'm concerned. But why couldn't you keep quiet about it? How do you think I felt, having Hilda Rumpole being sorry for me in the Silver Grill? Let's face it, you've got absolutely no judgement, Guthrie. That must come as something of a drawback in your profession.' I also gather from Hilda that the Judge asked if his wife intended to leave or forgive him. To this Marigold replied, 'I'm not going to do either. Leaving would make things far too easy for you. I'm going to stay here and not forgive you.

Now, run along and try that bent copper and please, Guthrie, do try not to make another cock-up.' So it was not an entirely happy Mr Justice Featherstone who took his place on the Bench as the trial of Detective Superintendent Gannon started at the Old Bailey.

Miles Crudgington, Q.c., was a tall, willowy fellow with a carefully cultivated classless accent. He specialized in civil 102 rights cases, those involving free speech, the liberty of the subject and miscarriages of justice. As a general rule he would not have been called on to appear for the Crown, but prosecuting the police was no doubt a worthy occupation for a radical lawyer. So there was the learned Miles leading for the Queen in her suit against my unfortunate Detective Superintendent.

Fairly early in the proceedings my opponent was calling D.I.

Farraday, a square-shouldered, square-headed officer, who answered all questions in a voice like machine-gun fire and whose face it would be hard to imagine lit up with a smile.

'So, Superintendent Gannon was the only one writing down what Morgan was saying?' 'He was.' 'Without the help of that so-called written confession, could you remember exactly what Morgan said?' 'Not exactly.' 'Thinking back to that time, are you absolutely sure he said, "I'm sorry I cut the copper"? Are you sure he said that?' There was a silence and then the witness's answer came rattling out, 'No, sir. I'm not sure he said that at all.' 'So', Miles Crudgington drew the ponderous deduction, 'it appears that Detective Superintendent Gannon was writing down words that Morgan didn't say, completely ignoring that young man's human rights. Is that the situation?' 'Perhaps I could remind my learned friend', I clambered to my feet, 'that Detective Superintendents have human rights also. And one is that hostile witnesses shouldn't be asked leading questions.' 'Mr Crudgington was just drawing the obvious conclusion.' Guthrie came to the aid of the Prosecution.

'And ignoring all other possibilities. As is the way with those who talk about human rights for a carefully selected minority.' 'My Lord, I'm quite prepared to play the game by Mr Rumpole's somewhat outdated rules.' Crudgington tried to earn Brownie points.

'Not my rules. The rules of evidence. Have they gone out of fashion among radical barristers?' 'Perhaps you should rephrase your question, Mr Crudgington.' 'No, my Lord. I'm content to leave the matter to the Jury.' And the great defender of the oppressed, no doubt having forgotten what his question was, sat down, not apparently discouraged by what I thought was a particularly shrewd attack.

'Detective Inspector Farraday, you gave evidence at the trial of Pinhead Morgan?' I said, as I rose to cross-examine.

'I did, yes.' 'At the time you had no doubt that Pinhead had said what's written in the confession?' 'I couldn't recall exactly what he said but had no reason to doubt what Mr Gannon had written.' The answer came out like automatic fire.

'And you have now?' 'Since Chief Superintendent Belmont showed us the test.

He proved page two had been written later.' 'Was Mr Gannon asked to attend that demonstration?' I tried to sound as though it were a matter of casual importance.

'Not so far as I know.' 'Were you and your Sergeant being asked to gang up on Mr Gannon?' 'My Lord', the radical Q.C. rose in his wrath, 'that's an outrageous suggestion. Chief Superintendent Belmont hasn't had a chance of answering that very serious accusation.' 'You mean. Chief Superintendent Belmont has human rights, even though he's a policeman?' I asked politely.

'He has a right to answer these charges, so I shall be calling him as a witness, my Lord.' This was excellent news as I was anxious to cross-examine the top man, so I looked worried and only reluctantly agreed to Belmont being added to the list of prosecution witnesses.

When that was settled I turned back to the D.I. with, 'Just one other matter. Pinhead had refused to talk during his first three days in custody?' 'Yes.' 'Then you saw him, without Superintendent Gannon being there?' 'Detective Sergeant Lane was present on that occasion.' 'I know he was.' And then I put the questions I owed to Mr Bernard's industry, 'Did you tell him that unless he made a confession you'd hand him over to Ted Yeomans's mates and they'd do him over in a way he wasn't likely to forget.' There was another unusual pause, but finally the answer shot out as loudly as ever, 'No, I didn't tell him that.' 'But by a remarkable coincidence the next day he talked at length to the Superintendent, and did so the minute Mr Gannon arrived at the station.' 'Yes. But I don't think it was exactly the statement that's been produced in court.' 'Not exactly the statement produced in court.' Guthrie noted down the answer carefully and then said, 'Have you any more questions, Mr Rumpole?' 'Not at the moment, my Lord.' 'Then I shall rise for a few minutes,' the Judge told us all.

'Public business, my Lord?' I asked, because that was the excuse given for all his Lordship's absences, whether caused by the need to visit the Gents, place a bet or, on one famous occasion, to help organize industrial action by the Judiciary.* On this occasion he said, 'No, Mr Rumpole. It's an entirely private matter,' and he went off to telephone his wife and appeal to her, once more, to forgive him.

The hard-hearted Marigold later told Hilda what her answer was. 'I'm sorry, Guthrie. You've lost your appeal.' She then put down the telephone.

The operator of the E.S.D.A. machine gave evidence as to the results of the test and now the man I had been waiting for, Chief Superintendent Belmont, stood in the witness-box and answered Miles Crudgington's questions more in sorrow than in anger. He said he had always regarded Roy Gannon as a competent and honest officer until the E.S.D.A. test proved otherwise. He had arranged the test because of questions that were being asked about Morgan's competence to make a confession.

He had hoped that the result would exonerate his force and was deeply disappointed when it did not do so. There was no question of 'ganging up' on Mr Gannon, but he wanted to test the recollection of the other officers without any prompting from their superior. He would be pleased to stay in the box and answer any questions Mr Rumpole might care to ask.

'You took a pile of blank confession forms out of Superintendent Gannon's office for the purpose of your test.

Did you do that surreptitiously?' 'I don't think he knew about it. He was on holiday.' 'And was he on holiday when you demonstrated what you assumed to be his guilt to Inspector Farraday and Sergeant Chesney Lane?' 'I don't think so.' 'But you didn't tell him what you were doing behind his back?' 'At that stage I didn't trust Mr Gannon altogether.' The deadly answer was given with a smile to the Judge, who nodded back his total understanding of the position. I pressed on, undiscouraged, 'So what did you do?' 'I made a report about the information I'd obtained. That was communicated to the Director of Public Prosecutions and then to Mr Morgan's solicitors.' 'So he was set free by the Court of Appeal?' 'Yes.' 'And Superintendent Gannon's left to face the music?' 'If he orchestrated it, yes.' 'You had another officer, didn't you, convicted for perverting the course of justice? Superintendent Pertwee?' 'You do get the occasional rotten apple, Mr Rumpole.' 'Your particular barrel seems to be unusually full of rotten apples, doesn't it, Chief Superintendent? May I suggest where the corruption starts?' 'Where?' 'At the top. With you.' The Chief Superintendent didn't seem in the least startled.

He went on smiling politely and said, 'That's a very interesting suggestion.' 'Mr Rumpole, I'm sure you understand you're taking a great risk in making these accusations against the Chief Superintendent.' Guthrie was affecting deep concern, as though trying to save the mad old Rumpole from committing forensic suicide.

'A risk? Oh, we all have to live dangerously from time to time, don't we, my Lord?' And I continued my attack on the charming Belmont. 'I don't know what you were up to exactly,' I told him. 'I don't suppose many of the C.I.D. officers knew either, but Superintendent Pertwee rumbled you. So he had to be persecuted, accused of associating with criminals, and then have a false charge of planting dope trumped up against him.' Tertwee was convicted after a trial by jury.' Belmont's voice was only a little harsher, only slightly less reasonable.