John Mortimer - Rumpole On Trial Page 9

  'Thank you, Hilda. Thank you very much. You were never a faery's child, were you? That's one thing to be said in your favour, old darling.' 78 "

  The most surprising thing about miscarriages of justice is that they should surprise everyone so much. If justice emerged as the result of an immaculate conception and miraculous birth, perfection might reasonably be expected.

  If judicial decisions were arrived at by some puzzled girl playing the keys of a computer I suppose they might be more reliable, although computers appear to become hysterical and absent-minded at times. The machinery of the law has to be operated by fallible human beings, some of whom, such as Mr Injustice Graves, Mr Justice 'Oilie' Oliphant, Soapy Sam Ballard, Q.c., you will have met in these pages, and you can decide whether they might, on certain rare occasions, of course, fall into error. Juries, I believe, do their best, but have to contend with the soporific effects of many summings-up and the speeches of the learned friends.

  The Old Bill, I am afraid, has been known to be only too anxious to achieve a quick result and hasn't always worried too much about injustice. And what of Rumpole? I suppose my job has been to prevent the huge, sometimes ill-directed legal machine totally flattening my client, so perhaps my concern has been less with legal principles than with ways of escape. For all these reasons it's dangerous to expect any trial to produce a result fit to be engraved on tablets of stone and stand unchallenged for all time. It is always as well to remember the conduct of that somewhat accidentprone old darling Mr Justice Guthrie Featherstone in the 'Pinhead' Morgan trial.

  The Buttercup Meadows Estate (its rural title must have been bestowed on it as some sort of ironic joke by the 79 town planners) occupies a desolate area to the south-east of London. Its lifts are dangerous to enter, many of its windows are broken, its concrete walkways and balconies are cracked and its walls are smeared with graffiti and worse.

  There is also little employment for the young men of the area, so they turn their hands to the exciting work of stealing cars, racing them at high speed round the estate and finally crashing them or setting them alight. These sporting events are usually accompanied by fights, knifings and the throwing of petrol bombs. Those elderly citizens of Buttercup Meadows who haven't resigned themselves to sleepless nights often telephone the police, who, with commendable courage, often arrive.

  On one such night, when Buttercup Meadows was resounding with screaming tyres and lit with flaming Volvos and BMWs (the local youths only nicked vehicles in the upper range of the market), P. C. Yeomans, a courageous and undoubtedly straight young officer with a wife and two children, arrived on the scene to keep the peace. He left his car with a fellow copper but turned alone down a passage between two buildings, perhaps because he saw a fight or other incident taking place. There, in the shadows, he was stabbed in the throat and died almost immediately.

  Tinhead' Morgan was so unkindly called by his contemporaries because, although past twenty, he had the mental age of a child. He seemed to have come to the car racing purely as a spectator. As other officers discovered P. C. Yeomans's fallen body, Pinhead was caught running some way from the scene of the crime. He was arrested and taken into custody. The officer in charge of the case was Detective Superintendent Gannon, an apparently dependable and avuncular man, who was nearing retirement age. He was assisted in his work by Detective Inspector Farraday and Detective Sergeant Chesney Lane. Pinhead was kept in custody for < three days, after applications to the magistrates. For the first two he was uncooperative and used, as an officer later testified, foul and abusive language to his interrogators. On the third day he told Detective Inspector Farraday that he was prepared to make a statement about his 'involvement'. This fact was reported to Detective Superintendent Gannon, who later wrote out a full confession, he said at Pinhead's dictation, which the young man signed.

  So Pinhead was charged with murder. This clearly came as a most satisfactory outcome to the Detective Superintendent, who'd had the miserable task of waking Betty Yeomans up in the middle of the night and telling her that her husband had been murdered. All he could offer her were a few words of praise for the dead man and the promise that his killer would be convicted. With Pinhead's confession signed, it seemed that Detective Superintendent Gannon could keep his word.

  The case came on before that master of indecision, Mr Justice Guthrie Featherstone. Guthrie, as regular readers of these chronicles will remember, had once been a middle-of-the-road M.P., a fairly middle-of-the-road Q.C. and the Head of our Chambers at 3 Equity Court before he was elevated (presumably they were on the lookout for middle-ofthe-road judges that season). On the Bench Guthrie found it hard not to open his mouth without putting his foot in it, but the words he used when sentencing Pinhead to life imprisonment, with a recommendation that he serve at least twenty-five years, must have appeared perfectly safe at the time.

  '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.

  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 Lo
rd. 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.