"Mortimer, John Clifford - Rumpole 01f - Rumpole and the Heavy Brigade" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mortimer John)

'Handle it? Of course I can handle it. As I always say, murder is nothing more than common assault, with unfortunate consequences.' 'We'll arrange it for you to see the doctor.' Nooks was businesslike.

'I'm perfectly well, thank you.' 'Doctor Lewis Bleen,' said Leslie, and Nooks explained patiently,' The well-known psychiatrist. On the subject of Mr . Peter Delgardo's mental capacity.' 'Poor Petey. He's never been right, Mr Rumpole. We've always had to look after him,' Leslie explained his responsibilities, as head of the family.

'You could call him Peter Pan,' Basil made an unexpected literary reference. 'The little boy that never grew up.' I doubted the accuracy of this analogy.' I don't know whether Peter Pan was actually responsible for many stabbings down Stepney High Street.' 'But that's it, Mr Rumpole!' Leslie shook his head sadly.

'Peter's not responsible, you see. Not poor old Petey. No more responsible than a child/ Doctor Lewis Bleen, Diploma of Psychological Medicine from the University of Edinburgh, Head-Shrinker Extraordinande, Resident Guru of 'What's Bugging You' answers to listeners' problems, had one of those accents which remind you of the tinkle of cups and the thud of dropped scones in Edinburgh tea-rooms. He sat and sucked his pipe in the interview room at Brixton and looked in a motherly fashion at the youngest of the Delgardos who was slumped in front of us, staring moodily at nothing in particular.

'Remember me, do you?' 'Doctor B ... Bleen.' Petey had his brothers' features, but the sharpness of their eyes was blurred in his, his big hands were folded in his lap and he wore a perpetual puzzled frown. He also spoke with a stammer. His answer hadn't pleased the good doctor, who tried again.

'Do you know the time, Petey?' 'N... N ... No.' 'Disorientated ... as to time!' Better pleased, the doctor made a note.

'That might just be because he's not wearing a watch,' I was unkind enough to suggest.

The doctor ignored me. 'Where are you, Peter?' 'Inthen... n ...' 'Nick?' I suggested.

'Hospital wing.' Peter confirmed my suggestion.

'Orientated as to place!' was my diagnosis. Doctor Bleen gave me a sour look, as though I'd just spat out the shortcake.

'Possibly.' He turned back to our patient. 'When we last met, Peter, you told me you couldn't remember how MacBride got stabbed.' 'N...NO.' "There appears to be a complete blotting out of all the facts,' the doctor announced with quiet satisfaction.

'Mightn't it be worth asking him whether he was there when Tosher got stabbed?' I was bold enough to ask, at which Nooks chipped in.

'Mr Rumpole. As a solictor of some little experience, may I interject here?' 'If you have to.' I sighed and fished for a small cigar.

'Doctor Bleen will correct me if I'm wrong but, as I understand he's prepared to give evidence that at the relevant moment' So far I have no idea when the relevant moment was.' I lit the cigar. Nooks carried on regardless.

'Mr Delgardo's mind was so affected that he didn't know the nature and quality of his act, nor did he know that what he was doing was wrong.' 'You mean he thought he was giving Tosher a warm handshake, and welcome to the Rent Collectors' Union?' 'That's not exactly how I suggest we put it to the learned judge.' Nooks smiled at me as though at a wayward child.

'Then how do you suggest we tell it to the old sweetheart?' ' Guilty but insane, Mr Rumpole. We rather anticipated your advice would be that, guilty but insane in law.' 'And have you anticipated what the prosecution might say?' 'Peter has been examined by a Doctor Stotter from the Home Office. I don't think you'll find him unhelpful,' said Doctor Bleen. 'Charles Stotter and I play golf together. We've had a word about this case."

'Rum things you get up to playing golf. It always struck me as a good game to avoid.' I turned and drew Peter Delgardo into the conversation. 'Well, Peter. You'll want to be getting back to the telly.' Peter stood up. I was surprised by his height and his apparent strength, a big pale man in an old dressing gown and pyjamas.

'Just one question before you go. Did you stab Tosher MacBride?' The doctor smiled at me tolerantly. 'Oh I don't think the answer to that will be particularly reliable.' 'Even the question may strike you as unreliable, doctor. All the same, I'm asking it.' I moved closer to Peter. 'Because if you did, Peter, we can call the good shrink here, and Doctor Stotter fresh from the golf course, and they'll let you off lightly! You'll go to Broadmoor at Her Majesty's Pleasure, and of course Her Majesty will be thinking of you constantly. You'll get a lot more telly, and some exciting basket-weaving, and a handful of pills every night to keep you quiet, Petey, and if you're very good they might let you weed the doctors' garden or play cricket against the second eleven of male warders ... but I can't offer you these delights until I know. Did you stab Tosher?' 'I think my patient's tired.' I turned on the trick cyclist at last, and said, 'He's not your patient at the moment. He's my client.' 'Doctor Bleen has joined us at great personal inconvenience.' Nooks was distressed.

'Then I wouldn't dream of detaining him a moment longer.' At which point Doctor Lewis Bleen D.P.M. (Edinburgh) left in what might mildly be described as a huff. When he'd been seen off the premises by a helpful trusty, I repeated my question.

'Did you do it, Peter?' 'I c ... c ... c..." The answer, whatever it was, was a long time in coming.

Nooks supplied a word. 'Killed him?' but Peter shook his head.

' Couldn't of. He was already c ... cut. When I saw him, like.' 'You see, I can't let you get sent to hospital unless you did it,' I explained as though to a child. 'If you didn't, well... just have to fight the case.' 'I wants you to f... f... fight it. I'm not going into any nut house.' Peter Delgardo's instructions were perfectly clear.

' And if we fight we might very well lose. You understand that ?' 'My b ... b ... brothers have told me ... You're hot stuff, they told me ... Tip top lawyer.' Once again I was puzzled by the height of my reputation with the Delgardos. But I wasn't going to argue. 'Tip top? Really? Well, let's say I've got to know a trick or two, over the years ... a few wrinkles ... Sit down, Peter.' Peter sat down slowly, and I sat opposite him, ignoring the restive Nooks and his articled clerk.

'Now, hadn't you better tell me exactly what happened, the night Tosher MacBride got stabbed?' I was working overtime a few days later when my door opened and in walked no less a person than Guthrie Featherstone, Q.c., M.P., our Head of Chambers. My relations with Featherstone, ever since he pipped me at the post for the position of Head, have always been somewhat uneasy, and were not exactly improved when I seized command of the ship when he was leading me in the matter of the 'Dartford Post Office Robbery'. We have little enough in common. Featherstone, as Henry pointed out, wears a nice bowler and a black velvet collar on his overcoat; his nails are well manicured, his voice is carefully controlled, as are his politics. He gets on very well with judges and solicitors and not so well with the criminal clientele. He has never been less than polite to me, even at my most mutinous moments, and now he smiled with considerable bonhomie.

'Rumpole! You're a late bird!' 'Just trying to feather my nest. With a rather juicy little murder.' Featherstone dropped into my tattered leather armchand, reserved for clients, and carefully examined his well-polished black brogues.