TWENTY-FIVE
EXETER—DAY ONE
Number Two Court was hushed, emphasizing the squeak from the wheelchair as Roger Goodhart edged forward to give evidence. All eyes were on him as he took the oath.
“Now, Mr Goodhart” said Mr Justice Salford, “I must ask you to address your answers to me. As you are in the well of the Court, it is doubly important that you should speak up and look up to where I am sitting because, otherwise, I may not hear you correctly.” He gave a friendly smile.
“I’m sorry, Sir. Thank you.”
“How old are you, Mr Goodhart?” asked Giles Holden.
“Forty-one, Sir.”
“And your occupation at the date of the accident?”
“The Company jargon was that I was Sales Liaison Officer (South). Call me a Travelling Salesman.”
“How many miles a year did you drive?”
“For twenty years I’ve done about forty thousand a year.”
“Have you ever been involved in a motor accident before this one?”
“No, Sir.”
“Have you been prosecuted for any motoring offence?”
“No, Sir.”
“Has your driving ability ever brought you any recognition?”
“Yes, Sir. I’ve won Company Safety Awards.”
“Do you have any recollection of your accident at all?”
“None whatsoever” came the reply.
“What’s your last recollection?”
“I can remember the previous day.”
“Thank you.
“Look at these photographs of the stretch of road where your accident occurred. Do you know this spot?”
“Yes, Sir. I know the piece of road well.”
“Have you ever at any time overtaken or attempted to overtake any vehicle on this stretch of road?”
“No, Sir. Never before this accident. And I cannot accept unless it’s proved that I overtook on the occasion of this accident.”
Holden gave the witness the slip of paper which Duncan had found in the AA Book.
“Is that your writing?”
“It is.”
“Please explain the document to his Lordship.”
“Don’t bother, Mr Goodhart, this was your route, wasn’t it?” The Judge looked down.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Accepting that the accident occurred at say 10.00 am, and looking at your itinerary, had you any reason to hurry? To literally cut corners?” enquired Giles Holden.
“No, Sir. Not at all. I was early for my first call. I always planned carefully, to make sure that I was neither late nor obliged to hurry.”
“Thank you, Mr Goodhart; stay there, would you please?”
Holden sat down, easing his wig from his forehead as he did so. He had a whispered word with Roger Tulip, the Junior Counsel retained to assist in presenting Goodhart’s case.
Hambleton Jack Q.C., rose to his feet, rocked gently for a moment and then eased his black gown across his shoulders. Every movement was heavy with self-assurance, matured over nearly thirty years of facing Judges in their every mood.
“May I say, Mr Goodhart,” he opened quietly, “how much I and those instructing me and those whom they represent sympathize with you for the grievous injuries which you have suffered?” It was a not uncommon beginning and frequently was a preface to some harsh and entirely unsympathetic questioning. Duncan crossed his legs and looked over at the face of the questioner, the snub nose emphasized in profile across the room.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s fair to say—isn’t it?-that all you can tell this Court is … ‘I’ve always been a careful driver. I’ve had an accident, but how it occurred I don’t know.’ Agreed?”
“Yes.”
“And it follows—does it not?—that you are not in a position to criticise the defendant driver, Bouchin, in any way at all.” The question slipped easily across the room.
“No. I’m afraid it doesn’t.” The witness opened his mouth to continue, but after recalling Duncan’s advice to answer only the question and not volunteer anything, closed it at once.
“Did you intend to add anything?”
“No, thank you, Sir.”
“Come now, Mr Goodhart, you’re not saying that you can criticise the way in which Monsieur Bouchin drove his lorry.”
“I’m not suggesting that I can criticise him from what I saw.”
“What did you see?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember anything about it.”
“It was a sunny morning, wasn’t it?” It was a trap thrown in to test whether Goodhart’s lapse of memory was convenient rather than real.
“I don’t remember. I can’t remember anything.” The Judge looked down at the Q.C., as if to acknowledge that it had been a good try which had failed.
“Then we are agreed” continued Jack “that you cannot, from what you saw, make any criticism of the way in which Monsieur Bouchin was driving. Have I got it right now?”
“Yes.”
The Q.C. looked at the papers sprawled in front of him and selected one from a tabulated bundle. “You were driving from Shaftesbury. Agreed?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You were saying that, judging by the time of the accident, there was no hurry.”
“That’s correct. I had ample time to cover the last few miles, even allowing for getting lost, breaking down and so on.”
“What do you mean by ‘and so on’?”
“Well … parking problems, cows, roadworks—that sort of thing.”
“Yes. A few moments’ delay perhaps here or there.”
“Yes …”
“Had you stopped on your journey that morning?”
“I can’t remember.” Hambleton Jack had tried the same trick again.
“Had you telephoned your Company’s offices?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, would you take it from me that I can call evidence if need be that you hadn’t telephoned your Company.”
“If you say so, then of course, I must accept it.” Duncan wondered where the stumpy figure of Hambleton Jack was leading his client.
“You had to telephone your Company every morning by 9.45 a.m.?”
“Yes. By about 9.45,” the witness answered cautiously.
“By 9.45!” The questioner snapped in retort.
“Yes. The rule was to phone by 9.45, but it wasn’t something one had to be obsessive about.”
“But you always telephoned by 9.45, didn’t you?”
“Usually.”
“Always. You never missed, did you?”
“I cannot recall ever phoning in late, but I expect there were occasions.”
“Did you know your Company kept a log of all the travellers’ phone calls to the office?”
“No. As a matter of fact, I didn’t.”
“Look at these documents, would you? They’re certified copies of your Company’s records of daily calls to the office.” He produced a large bundle of photocopied pages for the witness and a set for the Judge and a set for Giles Holden, who rose to his feet at once.
“My learned friend is perfectly entitled to produce these documents for cross-examination if he so wishes, but I do make plain that they have never been seen by the plaintiff or his advisors, and, accordingly, I am not in a position to admit the documents without formal proof at this stage.”
“That is understood,” Mr Jack replied. “If, after studying them, my learned friend wishes them to be proved, I shall be in a position to call someone from the Company’s offices tomorrow to do so.”
All the while, Goodhart had been studying the pages, amazed at the meticulous notes of the calls, recorded by the Company without his knowledge. At a glance he could see that in the column headed “time of call”, there was without exception a tick for every day, which indicated that he had phoned before 9.45 am.
In the next column was a short entry confirming either that he had left a message or had been given instructions during the course of the call.
“Have you had long enough now, Mr Goodhart?” the Judge asked solicitously.
“Thank you, M’Lud.” The Judge nodded to the Q.C. to continue.
“Mr Goodhart, do y’see, you’ve never telephoned in late?”
“So it appears.”
“You’re a planner?”
“I’ve always planned to think ahead.”
“You plan your route?”
“Yes.”
“You prepare a timetable?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t like being late for appointments?”
“That’s right.”
“In fact you’re obsessed with punctuality?”
“I think that’s too strong.”
“Come now, Mr Goodhart. Don’t be so modest when I compliment you on your timekeeping! It’s a rare quality! Would you not accept it from me?” The barrister’s voice had a silken sheen.
“I like to be on time,” Mr Goodhart replied evenly.
“You hate to be late! Isn’t that the correct way of putting it?” The sheen had gone.
“Yes. I dislike being late.”
“Hate to be late!”
“Yes, I suppose that’s right.”
“Look at the entry for the day of your accident. Do you see it? No call received from you at Headquarters that day at all.”
“I see that.”
“Your accident happened at 10 o’clock?”
“Yes.”
“In fact, Mr Goodhart, you were late not for your appointment, but for your telephone call to Headquarters?”
“It appears so. I can’t remember.”
“And I suggest that being late phoning must have been a great worry to you.”
“I doubt it.” Goodhart had given some ground.
“Not once! I repeat that. Not once, in all your years with the Company, were you ever late in phoning in. Your perfect record had been blemished. Are you really saying that you doubted whether the late telephone call worried you?”
“I can’t say now whether I was worried or not, can I?” The reply was defensive. Roger Goodhart squirmed to get his handkerchief from his pocket.
“You’re not claiming you can’t remember your character before the accident?” The snub nose, turned towards the ceiling.
“No, Sir.”
“Not alleging any personality change?” Hambleton Jack continued sarcastically.
“No, Sir.”
“Let me be blunt. You were late reporting into your Company for the first time ever. You must have been worried sick about not phoning in. Obsessed by it.”
“I don’t agree.” Duncan felt uncomfortable, but the Judge’s face was inscrutable.
“I suggest, furthermore,” continued the questioner, “that you would have been looking out for a telephone box.”
“Yes.”
“And that although you were normally a careful, blameless driver, you were so worried, distracted, and dismayed at your failure to telephone the Company on time, that in the heat of the moment, you overtook a black van on a blind bend.”
“I doubt whether the Company regarded the precise time of the call as that important. I certainly didn’t know, then, that the Company regarded it as important.”
“Mr Goodhart! Forget the Company! Think only of yourself! It was important to you!”
“Yes.”
“So important that it would have been at the forefront of your mind.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“I suggest that being late for your phone call, led you to overtake at a highly dangerous place?”
“So it appears, but I can’t say so myself.”
Giles Holden rose to his feet: “M’Lud, this isn’t evidence. The witness is being pushed into wild speculations.”
“I agree,” said the Judge. “But do go on, Mr Jack, if you wish. But you won’t see me write very much down.”
“Isn’t this right, Mr Goodhart” continued Mr Jack, unabashed. “You created a crisis and then failed to react, because of lack of concentration?”
“I doubt it,” said Roger Goodhart positively.
“Thank you. No further questions.” Despite the protest at the end, Hambleton Jack had done well. Secure in the knowledge that Pierre Bouchin’s evidence was uncontradicted, he had neatly concentrated his efforts on destroying the evidence of Goodhart’s careful driving record.
It wasn’t his job to prove that Goodhart was to blame, for the burden of proof rested firmly on the plaintiff. Nevertheless, the cross-examination had made it easier for the Judge to understand why an apparently careful driver had driven in a suicidal manner.
Alistair Duncan wished that he hadn’t looked along the Bench for he was rewarded with a self-satisfied smirk from Jeremy Myers. Duncan smiled back with a shake of the head as if to say that Myers had got it all wrong.
“Any re-examination, Mr Holden?” asked the Judge.
“Just one matter, M’Lud,” Giles Holden replied.
“Yes?”
“You gave evidence that you had a blameless, accident-free driving record?”
“Yes.”
“Was that record important to you?”
“Yes.”
“Obsessively so?”
“Probably. I was certainly very proud of it.”
“Assume for some reason you were late for an appointment—perhaps an unusually long diversion—would that have bothered you?”
“Yes.”
“Can you ever recall being late for appointments?”
“It happened once or twice.”
“Did you on those occasions ever take chances to make up on time?”
“No.”
“Which would be more important to you? Your outstanding safety record or your desire for punctuality?”
“Safety, of course.”
“Would you jeopardize, on any occasion, your driving record by literally cutting corners?”
“No.”
“Thank you, Mr Goodhart. M’Lud, my next witness is my expert engineer. It may be convenient to your Lordship, if I merely call him now to put in his report and then leave it to my learned friend to cross-examine after lunch.”
“Yes, I agree with you, Mr Holden.”
With a nimble step, the tiny engineer with an elf-like face, which seemed smaller behind a formidable gingery-tinted beard, entered the witness box. He took the oath with breezy familiarity. His report was put before the Judge.
“Some light reading for me over the adjournment,” commented Sir Godrey. “Two o’clock then?” he enquired, as he rose from the high-back chair and disappeared into his robing room.
Charlie Wilkinson and Mrs Goodhart eased the wheelchair out of the Court Room while the two huddles of lawyers gathered to review the state of the poll. Charlie Wilkinson was there deliberately, so that Bouchin would remember his journey from Plymouth to Basingstoke but would not know who saw what or when.
“It’s not of the essence,” said Giles Holden as he flung his wig on the table and twisted his thumbs in his waistcoat pocket, “but I rather think that you must see if there’s anything I can use in cross-examination against whoever is called from the Company. I’m blowed if I am going to agree that those Records are accurate. Get something on it for me, can you, Alistair?”
All Counsel enjoy meting out this type of eleventh-hour instruction. Solicitors are expected to work miracles. Duncan said so before catching up with his client and Alice Goodhart as they headed for lunch.
“How did it go then?” asked Goodhart.
“Much according to plan! I doubt the suggestion that you were speeding to get to the telephone will carry much weight, but I want to clear it if I can. It’s possible you hadn’t telephoned in?”
“Possible, but unlikely. The switchboard was open from nine and I would normally look for a call-box from then on. Normally, I telephoned from a call-box at Sherborne, just after nine.”
“Who made these documents, do you think?”
“Sandra Carter. Must be. She takes the calls and gives out the latest instructions for men on the road. Funny, isn’t it? I’d no idea the Company kept such detailed records.”
“Ring the Company for me and find out who’s coming, can you? I don’t want to telephone. People get so funny about lawyers, but I expect the Company’s embarrassed about helping the other side and you’ll find that they will talk freely to you.”
They entered a shabby pub with a ‘Food’ sign hanging on the crumbling brickwork.
The pub lunch was a sullen affair. Mrs Goodhart said nothing. She sat facing the man she had married and the man who had spurned her advances. She could think of nothing to say to either of them. On a pretext, Duncan left them to it, as soon as he had finished his scotch egg.
Sharp at 2.00 p.m., the Judge entered. Hambleton Jack rose to cross-examine the engineer.
“As I read your report, you make no suggestion that the car had any mechanical defect. Is that right?”
“Yes. There was no fault in it which I could find.”
“And equally, you had no criticism of the maintenance of the French lorry?”
“That’s right. Nothing relevant to the accident anyway.”
“There was nothing wrong with the loading of the lorry?”
“I have no evidence to suggest otherwise.”
“It wasn’t overloaded, was it?”
“Not on the records of the load carried.” It was a clever, cautious answer by an experienced witness.
“There was no sign of the load shifting?”
“No.”
“And you accept in your report, on page two, that the plaintiff was overtaking at a blind bend, contrary to white-line markings and two large arrows on the road surface.”
“Not quite. I pointed out that there is no evidence other than that the plaintiff was on the wrong side of the road when he braked, and that impact occurred on the wrong side of the road. I pointed out that this could be consistent with the defendant’s statement that the plaintiff was overtaking a black van. As to the black van, there is only the evidence of Monsieur Bouchin about that and he has yet to be cross-questioned.”
“Yes. And I suppose for the purposes of your report, the presence or absence of the black van is irrelevant?”
“Virtually so.”
“Because your report is interested not in the driving of the plaintiff, but in that of the defendant?”
“Yes. Once one accepts, as I think one must, that the Ford was on the wrong side of the road, then the question is what could the lorry driver do to avoid an accident? To put it at its highest; need the accident have occurred, even with the Ford driver in the wrong?”
“And your answer is that an accident could have been avoided.”
“Yes.”
“You rely on page six of your report, do you, where you conclude that if the driver of the French lorry had braked and/or swerved to the left, there might have been no collision at all, or a much lesser one?”
“Yes. Looking at the vehicles I was satisfied that this was a low-speed collision. That may sound absurd when one looks at the photos of the wrecked vehicles, but a lorry like the Volvo, with a full trailer, would cause significant damage at a very low speed impact—even at, say, five miles an hour.”
“So what do you say the speed of the two vehicles was at impact?”
“I would say that the combined speeds were little more than 15 miles an hour.”
“But, come now, surely not! Look at photograph two in the bundle. There is very little left of the car at all, is there?”
“I agree, but, of course, it was partially squashed under the front of the lorry and forced down into the road surface. If the lorry had been doing 40 or 50, the car would have been flung out of the path of the lorry. I am satisfied that the car had probably slowed down to walking pace and perhaps virtually stopped. The lorry made up the difference in the combined impact speeds. I would say the lorry must have been doing 10 or 12 miles an hour.”
“Are you saying that the driver of the lorry was proceeding at only 10 to 12 miles an hour on this road?”
“No. I think the speed round the bend was rather more, but still not fast. The defendant had told the police that he didn’t know the road. He would err on the side of caution. I believe he saw the crisis, but failed to think quickly enough. Because of this he started to brake too late and so had to brake gently, to avoid losing control in a violent emergency stop. Had he braked at the earliest opportunity, he could have stopped in time. Alternatively, he could have eased his cab to the left, giving sufficient room for the Ford to squeeze past if the Ford were indeed overtaking a van. It is obvious that the lorry driver gave not an inch of room to the plaintiff to get out of his difficulty.”
“You make no criticism then of the speed of the lorry?”
“Only when the crisis arose. He left no skid-mark. An alert driver, travelling at a low speed of, say, 25 miles per hour could have avoided the accident. Look, the vehicles barely moved after impact! With the size of the two vehicles, one must conclude that the lorry wasn’t speeding and if the driver had braked at once, the two vehicles would have simply finished eyeball to eyeball.”
“I cannot accept a word you say.” Hambleton Jack flourished his right arm dismissively. “I want to consider the feet and inches of your argument. Look at the scale plan, please.”
Alistair Duncan listening to the exchanges knew that the engineer would stick his ground as well as any. Whilst gazing at the photographs of the wrecked vehicles a thought flashed across his mind. He slipped out of the Court, and went to a telephone. After a brief conversation with McKay, he put the phone down, and then a few minutes later he rang again. “What’s the answer then?”
“I think you’re on to something,” commented the Articled Clerk.
“Right. Come down straight away and meet me at the Hotel at 5.00 p.m. If I’m right I might even buy you dinner! See you later.”
Duncan heard the tail end of the cross-examination. Roger Tulip gave him a look signifying that the engineer had been put through the hoop. He gave Duncan a scribbled note. “He conceded that with three vehicles abreast the possibility of avoiding a collision by Bouchin swerving was slim. Also commented that he couldn’t rule out loss of control of lorry if braking had started while tractor and trailer were angled to each other on the bend.”
Re-examination by Holden retrieved some lost ground and as Mr Justice Salford asked no questions, the engineer was soon back in his seat.
P.C. Meakin’s evidence dealt with efforts made to trace the black van. He proved the Plan, and there was no cross-examination.
With the clock showing 3.35, Holden called Wallace Wood to the box.
Heads turned as the giant of a man manoeuvred awkwardly between the seats. His new suit was altogether too small for him and a seam somewhere had threatened to burst with every step.
Hambleton Jack studied him. No one on the defence side knew what he was going to say. The oath was taken in a broad Geordie accent with the Testament hidden in the hairy fist.
“In the course of your job as a lorry driver have you ever travelled on the Continent?” enquired Holden.
“Why aye!” And then, after a pause and almost incongruously, “Sir.”
“By which route did you travel?”
“Usually the Plymouth-Roscoff Ferry. Every Monday out—every Thursday back; that is until I started on short trips around Yorkshire and the like.”
“When did you last use the Roscoff Ferry?”
“Aboot December twelvemonth.”
“Did you ever see Pierre Bouchin?”
“Yes.”
“Do you see him today?”
“Why aye! That’s him over there.” He smiled and pointed to the defendant who was too confused to return the smile. Duncan preferred to watch the witness’s chins which bounced distractingly whenever he moved.
“Where have you seen the defendant previously?”
“Every Thursday night for months. We got to know each other slightly.”
“Were you friends?”
“Friendly like, rather than friends. He stuck to his French mates, I stuck with mine.”
“Did you observe him on the boat?”
“I saw him on the boat, Sir.”
“How did he pass the crossing?”
“Eating, drinking and cards.”
“How long is the crossing then?”
“Aboot eight or nine hours on board. Sometimes less.”
“Is that a night crossing?”
“Yes. On board about 9.30/10.00 pm. The boat sailed at 11.00 or thereaboots. Docking was at 7.00 next morning.”
“Did the defendant sleep on board?”
“Not so far as I am aware.”
“Did he drive after docking?”
“Why aye man! Sorry, Sir!” he quickly apologised and drew a twinkle from the Judge.
“I’m sure no one objects, Mr Wood,” commented Mr Justice Salford, “so long as you show respect. It’s refreshing having a Geordie accent around here. Listening to you takes me back to the Newcastle Assizes down by the Tyne.”
“Why aye, Your Worship! It’s a canny place there!” replied the driver, beaming towards the Judge, his chest bursting with pride at being on terms with him.
“Now, Mr Wood,” continued the Q.C., “did you sleep on the boat yourself?”
“Aye! A quick meal—self-service like—a night cap and then I’d go to sleep out the crossing till breakfast. The defendant used to have a meal and a drink or two with his cronies.”
“But how do you know if you were asleep?”
“He told me.”
“In French?” enquired the Q.C., tongue in cheek, but knowing the answer full well.
“Why aye!” replied the Geordie. “I could understand him. Least he didna’ understand my English. Mind, he’s not alone in that!” A laugh went round the room. “We spoke, like, in passing, and he told me that he and his mates didna’ bother aboot sleep on the boat. They preferred to play cards and sleep over at the destination in England. Whether he slept or not on the boat, it still counted as rest periods for the purposes of the Regulations.”
“Could you have misunderstood him?”
“No, Sir.”
“Was this on just one trip?”
“No, Sir. I would say every trip. He allus sat at the same table with his mates. Bottle of Pernod or the like. Cards. In the morning, I’d find him still sitting at the same table.”
“Have you ever seen him up and about in the middle of the night?”
“Aye! I remember one night I couldna’ sleep. I got up aboot three or four. I walked roond the boat. He was awake. Playin’ cards like I told you. It was later that I spoke to him and he told me that they allus played cards all night.”
“Has it ever occurred to you, on any occasion, that Pierre Bouchin was drunk?”
“No Sir; not in the sense of singin’ the Blaydon Races and fallin’ aboot, but he and his mates allus seemed pretty happy.”
“How long have you been driving lorries, Mr Wood?”
“Fifteen years.”
“Is it tiring work?”
“Not so much physically now wi’ these modern lorries—power-steerin’, more comfort, more beef in the engine and better gears, but you still need your wits aboot you all the time with an artic.”
“Have you any views about a driver of an artic staying up all night drinking and then driving in the morning?”
“Chancey; very chancey.”
“Thank you, Mr Wood. I expect that Mr Jack has some questions to ask of you.”
The other Q.C., anxious not to appear flustered at what he had heard, rose to cross-examine. A flicker of a smile was always present on his face and this moment was no exception. He showed no concern. Nevertheless, he had been taken completely by surprise. He had to build from nothing.
Bouchin watched the scene around him, understanding barely a word of what was going on, blissfully unaware that a crucial part of the case against him had developed. He gazed at the folds in the back of the Q.C.’s gown and waited.
“How old are you, Mr Wood?”
“Thirty-six.”
“Are you married?”
“Yes I am.”
“Do you have children?”
“Yes. Three, seven and nine, Sir.”
“You’ve had broken sleep some nights, particularly when the two elder ones were small?”
“Why aye! We had trouble with the second one especially, Sir.”
“And I expect that, like most of us, you’ve had to just get on with the job, whether you felt up to it or not, after a bad night’s sleep?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Driving a lorry?”
“Yes.”
“Your lorry is similar to the defendant’s?”
“Aye!”
“And I expect that you drove just as well as usual on those occasions?”
“I think so, Sir.”
“You would agree, wouldn’t you, that a few hours’ sleep here or there to a grown man makes little difference to his capabilities?”
“Depends.”
“On what, Mr Wood?”
“On the person; whether it’s just a few hours. Whether it’s a lot of hours. Once or twice a week. All the time. What the job is and so on.”
“Let me be more specific; it would make no difference to a lorry driver to miss an occasional night’s sleep.”
“Mebbe, but I still think it’s stupid to drive without enjoying a good night’s sleep. It’s even worse if there’s drinking as well.”
“I’ll deal with the drinking in a moment. You had a cabin?”
“Yes.”
“If it were a rough crossing, perhaps you didn’t sleep very well?”
“Not always.”
“Yet you were still happy to drive in the morning?”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes, not slept at all?”
“On one occasion I can remember, yes.”
“Yet you drove your lorry in the morning?”
“Yes.”
“How far?”
“Wolverhampton.”
“Not much difference between that and driving to Basingstoke, is it?”
“Aboot the same, Sir.”
“You said that the defendant drank on the boat?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not suggesting that he drank to excess, are you?”
“There was a bottle of Pernod consumed overnight as well as drinks at the meal.”
“You can’t say that from what you saw.” Mr Jack stated positively.
“Well, the bottle was full at night and empty in the morning. Unless, of course, they gave it to the ship’s cat.” The Judge smiled discreetly into his hand.
“Come now, Mr Wood; there’s no room for flippancy. You’re suggesting that Monsieur Bouchin drank too much. This must be investigated—very carefully. You cannot say that this defendant drank too much Pernod, can you?”
“I suspect that he did.”
“Mr Wood, this is a Court of Law, suspicion means nothing. You didn’t see him drink a lot of Pernod?”
“No.”
“It could have been his companions who drank the entire bottle between them.”
“Possible, but I don’t think so.”
“You cannot give evidence to the contrary from what you have seen, can you?”
“No.”
“He was never drunk, was he?”
“No.”
“You had friends on the boat yourself?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Did you sometimes tell stories to each other, laugh, give the appearance to others that you were enjoying yourselves?”
“I expect so.”
“Very well; why not the defendant and his friends?”
“Why aye!”
“So far I’ve been speaking generally. Can you remember the night before this accident and that particular crossing?”
“Not specifically, no.”
“So you can’t say whether or not Monsieur Bouchin went to bed that night?”
“I don’t think he did.”
“Thinking is an admirable pastime, Mr Wood, but it butters no parsnips in a Court of Law. You can’t say he didn’t go to bed, can you?”
“No.”
“You can’t say he drank any alcohol on that particular night.”
“I can’t remember that crossing as opposed to any other.”
“Thank you, Mr Wood.” The Q.C. sat down, well pleased with his efforts, feeling that he had done enough to destroy the worst of the dangers of Wood’s evidence.
It was Giles Holden’s turn once again. “Would it be fair to say that as far as you’re concerned one boat crossing was the same as the next?”
“Generally speaking, yes.”
“Can you recall any crossing where the defendant wasn’t sitting at a table with a bottle of Pernod?”
“Not after the first two or three crossings. He may have done then, but when the new Ferry started we were all strangers. New faces, new situations. But once the regulars became apparent, you got to know their habits.”
“Suppose that after months of crossing weekly on a Thursday night, Pierre Bouchin was on board and he went to bed after the meal. Would you have noticed that?”
“Sir! It would have been like a solitary Sunderland supporter at St James’s Park.”
“Very obvious?”
“Why aye!”
Giles Holden looked at the clock. “A convenient moment perhaps M’Lud?” Although he wasn’t saying so he had decided to call no further evidence.
“Mr Holden,” probed the Judge “you rightly described this case as difficult. If I may be permitted to think aloud, perhaps I might enquire whether you will be calling any evidence regarding the black van, or can I eliminate that vehicle from my mind and concentrate solely on the question of how much blame, if any, rests on Monsieur Bouchin?
“Without in any way pre-judging the matter; on what I have heard, so far, it seems hard to escape the fact that your client was on the wrong side of the road. You will understand, of course, that in thinking aloud, I am trying to make sure that I apply my mind to the correct issues—even at this stage.”
“Your Lordship has, with his usual foresight, grasped the nettle. In the absence of any evidence to the contrary, the case which I am presenting is that the plaintiff was on the wrong side of the road and that on the balance of probabilities an alert lorry driver would have avoided this accident. I shall be calling no evidence to suggest that there was a black van at the scene of the accident. Of course I do not speak for my learned friends.” He looked across to Hambleton Jack, thinking he might say something, but he didn’t. He sat very tight indeed.
“In short then, Mr Holden, your case is that the plaintiff’s negligence in being in the wrong place at the wrong moment was spent?”
“M’Lud, I couldn’t have put it any better.”
“Thank you, Mr Holden. Until ten-fifteen tomorrow then.”
McKay arrived at the Hotel just after five. Duncan was too involved to have time for courtesies.
“Got the documents?” he asked.
“Here they are.” A sheaf of variously coloured papers was handed over. The two men sat down.
“That’s the one I want. You’ve done well!” exclaimed the solicitor, flourishing a pink docket. “That makes up a bit for Cardiff.” He gave a rueful smile which made him look more boyish than ever. “What’s more, luckily for you, I avoided Proster. If I had got landed with Proster here you would have been condemned to a life-time of Conveyancing.” McKay looked relieved that he had done something right at last. “Let’s have dinner tonight, shall we?” McKay nodded his acceptance.