25

THURSDAY 17th AUGUST

FOUR DAYS BEFORE THE DAY OF EXECUTION

DAVID ROSE STOOD AGAINST the wall outside his cell. Gaol governor John McEwen took a few moments to run a narrow eye over his prisoner. A turnkey stood by with Archdeacon Crawford.

‘You’ve been very disruptive, prisoner Rose,’ McEwen said, his voice soft, his manner unruffled. ‘Making all your demands. Well, you wanted to see the governor, so here I am.’

A lengthy look was exchanged between McEwen and his charge, each knowing that of course it was the governor of the colony Rose had meant, and each knowing that this was a demand that wouldn’t be met.

‘I want more food,’ Rose said. ‘And I want brandy. Or wine.’

McEwen wore a wry grin at the temerity.

‘I’m not indifferent to your circumstances, prisoner Rose. Nor am I heartless. I will grant you additional food, on the condition that you conduct yourself with good behaviour. There will be no grog. In the few days you have remaining, I suggest you turn your mind to preparing to meet your maker. Any further disruption from you will not be tolerated. Good day to you.’

EIGHT O’CLOCK TO OTTO didn’t seem too early in the morning to arrive unannounced at the London Portrait Gallery. As it happened, given the warmth of Tom Chuck’s reception, he might have turned up before daybreak and been just as welcome. The man was positively effervescent at Otto’s appearance, and all the more so coming hard upon the news yesterday of Rose’s execution date.

‘He has been so troubled,’ Adeline confided when her husband stepped out of the sitting room to hang the ‘closed’ sign in the front window. ‘He saw that poor woman, lying there horribly mutilated, but when he saw that wretched man brought in, he felt not angry, only desperately sorry for him. He had hoped the trial would prove the arrest correct, that the monster had been caught —’

Otto was nodding. ‘Now he’s sure that David Rose is an innocent man — or, at least, a man who has not had justice.’

‘Yes. Yes, this is why he is so glad you’ve come. He trusts you, Mr Berliner. He knows you understand the ways of the law.’

Otto nodded, sagely. ‘He’s a very compassionate man, your husband, but he must know that he is not responsible for the shortcomings and inadequacies of others.’

‘But he does have such doubt about his own judgement. He asks, surely the jury and the judge and the police can’t all be wrong? Surely, they must know better than he?’

‘The short answer, Mrs Chuck, is yes, they can be wrong; so, yes, Tom may well know better. I tell you with no false modesty, Mrs Chuck, that I am often right when my colleagues are wrong.’

Adeline looked at him in a way that had him wondering whether he might have sounded a little too self-assured. Quickly, he added, ‘In seeking justice for Mrs Stuart, many have been blind to injustice to Mr Rose. Not Tom, which is to his eternal credit.’

Tom was in the doorway. ‘I’m not so wise, Otto. Besides, there is no small degree of public opinion, expressed in the street as much as in the press, that Rose should not have been found guilty on purely circumstantial evidence. That, at the very least, he should not hang.’ He came in and sat. Adeline smiled, touched her husband’s shoulder, and left the men alone.

Otto waited for Tom to speak. He took a few moments, not sure where to start, then opted for an expression of misgiving.

‘I am indebted to you coming all this way, Otto. I confess to wondering whether my letter had reached you, and then when I learned that you were still in New Zealand, I — and then yesterday, hearing the execution day — well, I thought all hope was lost. Still, you’re here now! But surely we don’t have enough time?’

‘We have the time we have, Tom. By my reckoning, four days and one hour.’

‘I only hope my belief about the wrongness of the verdict is based on sound reasoning —’

‘Tom, I have no doubt of it. I have doubts about the police, and about Pearson Thompson. I’ve worked with these people; I know the way they think. Oftentimes, they don’t think at all. What you have told me is not inconsistent with my experience. And as you said just now to your wife, you — we — are not alone in our concerns.’ He grasped Tom’s forearm and gave it a quick shake. ‘Now, tell me what you know.’

Tom was cheered by Otto’s vote of confidence in him. He opened a notebook.

‘I’ve written down the main points where I think the evidence was poor, or at least where I couldn’t follow the argument.’

‘Good.’

‘And I did make notes several times where I thought Pearson Thompson was derelict, or plain incomprehensible. But I may have read him wrongly, or, for that matter, the evidence as well, so —’

‘That’s all right. I’ve read numerous trial reports in the press. Just tell me what you have.’

‘Very well. I can say, without doubt, that no one item of evidence proves David Rose murdered Mrs Stuart. The judge even said as much himself. But he said that because there were so many such pieces of evidence —’

‘It pointed to his guilt?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve heard that argument before, and to my mind it is deeply flawed. Many times it’s been said in court, and out, that it behoves the accused to rebut such circumstantial evidence, and if he doesn’t, or can’t, the evidence is lent further weight, or worse, that it is an admission of guilt. It’s preposterous! All sorts of wild accusations can be thrown about and … Anyway, do please continue. What about the pipe?’

‘Yes, the pipe. Detective Walker was the only one to see it that night —’

‘Yet, he left it there on the meat safe for a week — assuming, of course, that it was there in the first place to be left.’

‘That’s what Pearson Thompson implied, that Walker placed it there, but when Smyth said that that would be an admission that it was Rose’s pipe, Thompson withdrew. In any case, Rose swore it wasn’t his pipe, just as he did at his committal in February. But against him, several witnesses said they were certain they saw him smoking it.’

‘And the jury believed the witnesses.’

‘And so, too, the judge. So they believe Rose was lying, because they would never believe there was a terrible conspiracy.’

‘Of course, Tom, it really doesn’t matter whether or not the pipe was Rose’s.’

‘It doesn’t?’

‘Not at all. Let us say, for the moment, it was Rose’s pipe, and it was there on the safe, just as Walker said it was. Does this mean it was David Rose who put it there?’

‘No, I suppose not. But George Stuart said he didn’t see it when he went to work.’

‘Yes, and like everyone else, except Walker, he just missed it.’

‘You’re right. Judge Barry said if you were looking for a knife, you might not notice a pipe.’

‘Or it really wasn’t there when he went to work. That was at four o’clock, or just before. What if Margaret Stuart herself found the pipe that very afternoon, and she put it on the safe, thinking her husband might like it, or that it had been dropped by a friend of his, or even that it was his?’

‘Yes. Yes, that is possible. So why didn’t Thompson —?’

‘Because he’s old and careless. He might not even believe, for all his huffing and puffing in the paper, that Rose is innocent. You might even argue that even if it was David Rose who put the pipe on the safe, that doesn’t prove it was he who killed Mrs Stuart.’

‘It’s the conclusion of the court.’

‘Yes, a court that believes David Rose, having walked six miles in the dark, came down the chimney, puffing away on his pipe, and his first thought was to place it on the meat safe before going into the bedroom to cut the lady’s throat. He just forgot to retrieve his pipe on the way out.’

‘A pipe Rose said he wouldn’t give up for a sovereign, if you believe Hathaway.’

‘What else do you have?’

Tom turned the page.

‘Um … the Cheesbrough dog. The prisoner enquired whether it was a good watch-dog, and the prosecution contended this meant that he wanted to be sure that when he returned late at night, after killing Mrs Stuart, the dog wouldn’t wake the household.’

‘Of course.’

‘Trooper Brady said that Rose could easily have walked into Daylesford from Cheesbrough’s farm in the time available, and without being seen.’

‘Even though Brady walked the route in daylight.’

‘Pearson Thompson made nothing of that!’

‘Tell me about the shirt.’

‘The judge didn’t think it was as important as the pipe. But you know, if it was Rose’s shirt, and he’d hidden it to hide evidence, as the prosecution charged, there was scarcely any blood on it — and maybe not even human blood. And there was no soot or whitewash from the chimney. Thompson did make mention of this, but in the end the shirt wasn’t important, and neither were the hairs.’

Tom scanned further along his notes.

‘Witnesses said Mrs Stuart was frightened of David Rose.’

‘That wouldn’t have helped.’

‘And Sarah Spinks said she saw a man near Stuart’s around eleven on that night, but she wouldn’t swear that it was Rose. It was too dark.’ He looked up. ‘But this was good enough for the prosecution, and the jury.’

He flicked through the last few pages of his notebook, and his face suddenly lit up. ‘Goodness me, Michael Wolf. He was working with Rose at Coates’ farm. He said Rose told him his razor had cut a person’s throat.’ Tom looked at Otto. ‘Now, why would Rose say such a thing to a stranger? Anyway, Doolittle said the murder weapon was a knife, and Smyth agreed with him! So why even call Wolf?’

‘Not for the detail, Tom, but for the story.’

‘Oh, and then Judge Barry said …’ Tom searched again, for the words he’d copied verbatim, ‘… here we are, he said it was strange that, if Rose were innocent and knew of the murder, why he didn’t tell Dr Coates as soon as he arrived there, as — this is what Barry actually said — “bearers of startling news were usually well received out in the country”.’ Tom twisted his face. ‘Is that right?’

‘Well, every time I’m in the country and in want of hospitality, I make sure I have some startling news to tell. Don’t you?’

Tom looked at Otto. The detective had not impressed him as the kind of man who made jokes. Perhaps it was because Otto had always seemed so conscientious. Whatever it was, there could not have been a better lifter of spirits.

Tom continued, his confidence in Otto all the greater.

‘Earlier, Smyth had said that it was remarkable that Rose was able to give such minute particulars of the crime to Wolf on the Saturday, before any news had reached Coates’ farm.’

‘So, he said too little to Coates, and too much to Wolf.’

‘Judge Barry said Rose may have told Wolf all he did to ease his conscience. I think, Otto, that if I’d just murdered a woman in her bed, I might keep quiet about it.’

‘Maybe you would, Tom, but you’re no murderer.’

‘No, but if I were ever charged, I would not want Pearson Thompson to defend me. Otto, there were so many, many questions he should have asked. So many witnesses, and none of them rebutted. He didn’t even put Rose in the dock so he could explain how he came to know about the murder. There was not the slightest attempt to establish an alibi. Which makes me wonder whether there was one. And where were the witnesses for Rose?’

‘Pearson Thompson should have retired long ago.’

‘It really is too bad, Otto, this whole business. What’s to be done? Can evidence be found to prove Rose is not guilty? Or guilty even? I could be reconciled to that if the evidence showed it to be so.’ He fixed a look on Otto. ‘Do you think Rose is innocent? Or is it a case of the right man being convicted on insufficient evidence?’

‘Tom, if I had murdered Margaret Stuart, I would have left the district within the hour, not loitered outside to be seen by Mrs Spinks. I certainly wouldn’t walk back through Daylesford a day and a half later on my way to find work on the other side of town. And how determined, how enraged, would I have to be, to walk six miles into town, in the dark, to brutally murder a woman I did not know, who had done me no wrong? But like you, Tom, I’m not a murderer. David Rose is a strange man — a man I would not care to know, a man I would not like. He’s a convict, a loner, transported from his home at sixteen years of age. Who knows what demons he has in his head? You ask me if I think he is innocent. I think the question is, does the evidence prove that he is guilty, and I say no, it does not. At the very best, it shows that David Rose could have killed Mrs Stuart, and, sadly for Mr Rose, that was enough for the police, the jury, the judge, most of the press, and much of the general public.’

‘So —?’

Otto held up a hand. ‘If evidence couldn’t be found after all this time, with so many men investigating, that Rose killed Mrs Stuart, then I say there is no such evidence to find. And I say that, knowing full well the local police force’s ineptitude.’

‘So we prove the evidence wrong?’

Otto was shaking his head. ‘Prove it wasn’t possible to walk to Daylesford from Glenlyon in the dark in under two hours, that burying a shirt doesn’t mean a man is a killer, that making enquiries about a dog doesn’t mean one is planning a murder? You see what I mean, Tom. Such evidence of this circumstantial kind can’t be disproved.’

‘What do we do, then?’

‘Find the killer, of course!’