Monday 4 October 1971
It was a dark, raw Monday morning. Ben and Jess were glad to escape the biting wind and cold misty drizzle that had hounded them during the walk from Ben’s chambers at Two Wessex Buildings to the Central Criminal Court: up Middle Temple Lane, along Fleet Street, crossing over briefly into Farringdon Road before darting into Seacole Lane, and finally turning into Old Bailey just a few yards from the court; time enough to get thoroughly chilled.
Having robed, they had a warming cup of coffee in the bar mess. It was 9 o’clock. Their case was listed in court two at 10.30.
‘Why don’t you find Barratt, and take him down to the cells to see if Henry’s here?’ Ben suggested. ‘I’ll look for Andrew and find out whether he will take a plea.’
Jess nodded and they separated just outside the mess. Ben made his way to the office occupied by Prosecuting Counsel to the Crown at the Central Criminal Court, generally referred to as Treasury Counsel. It was a hive of frenzied activity. In addition to the case of Henry Lang, the office had a substantial fraud and a second murder case starting that morning, and it seemed that no one had time to breathe. He found Andrew Pilkington tying his bands while giving instructions to a young, grey-suited assistant. His discarded tie and collar lay on the desk beside him, and his wig and gown were tangled up in an unceremonious heap nearby.
‘Come on in, Ben,’ he called out cheerfully, trying to extricate a thumb from the knot he had just tied in the bands. ‘There’s some coffee on the side. I can’t say how warm it is. Take a seat.’
‘Thanks, I’ve had some,’ Ben replied, ‘and I don’t want to keep you. I know you’re trying to get ready for court. I just wondered if you had any good news for me to pass on to Henry Lang.’
Andrew seated himself on the desk and released his grip on the bands.
‘I’m sorry, Ben. I spoke to DI Webb, and I ran it by the Deputy Director. Webb was happy to leave it up to me. But the Deputy Director asked for my opinion, and I had to tell him I couldn’t recommend taking the plea. We have no details of the evidence we can expect the defendant to give. We can’t form any view about whether it’s a genuine case of provocation, much less whether it satisfies the reasonableness test. And there’s the knife he brought from home to the meeting with Wendy Cameron. At the moment this looks like a case of premeditated murder to me.’
Ben nodded.
‘Understood. Is there anything else we need to talk about?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Andrew reached behind him and plunged his hand into a morass of papers. ‘Oh, I can give you this. It’s the scale plan of the scene in Dombey Street. For some reason they only finished it late Friday afternoon. There’s a copy of the maker’s witness statement attached. Let me know if you have any problems with it.’
Ben scanned the plan quickly. ‘It looks fine to me,’ he replied.
‘Good. I think I will call Wendy Cameron first, so that I can get her away today. You won’t need to keep her until tomorrow, will you?’
‘I’m sure I won’t,’ Ben replied. ‘Any word from the judge?’
Andrew laughed.
‘No cries for help yet. I have been half expecting an invitation into chambers for a quick consultation. Perhaps he’s having a good read of Archbold. We shall see.’
‘I hope he asks us if he’s all at sea,’ Ben said. ‘Provocation is not the easiest thing to sum up to a jury.’
‘We’ll put him right if we have to,’ Andrew grinned.
Henry Lang was dressed in his grey suit and red tie, the same suit and tie in which he had appeared in front of Mr Justice Wesley in the family court. He had shaved, and his hair was tidily combed back, but his face was grey and he looked ill-at-ease. Ben delivered the bad news as gently as he could.
‘To be honest, Henry,’ he said, ‘it’s what I’d expected. The prosecutor has no idea of what you’re going to say. You had the knife. The prosecution are bound to think you planned it. We have to face that.’
‘I don’t know how I’m going to get through this,’ Henry said.
‘You will,’ Barratt reassured him.
Jess reached out her hand and touched his arm.
‘Keep thinking about Marianne and Stephanie,’ she replied. ‘If we can get manslaughter, there’s every chance you will be back in their lives while they’re still young enough for you to make a real difference. You need to be strong and think of them.’
Henry nodded. ‘I’ll try,’ he said. ‘It’s just the thought of that day being brought up time and time again.’
‘Keep thinking of the children,’ Jess urged.
‘What does our ideal jury look like?’ Ben asked, as they made their way to court.
‘Men who’ve been screwed over by their wives in divorce cases,’ Barratt replied.
‘Very helpful, Barratt,’ Jess grinned. ‘I would say older women and younger men, as long as they look old enough to have been around the circuit once or twice. No bank managers, military types, or women anywhere near Susan’s age.’
‘Keep a notebook between us and scribble an X for anyone you think I should challenge.’
‘All right, but I have a feeling you’ll be there before me.’
‘Not necessarily’, Ben replied. ‘I need you to use your intuition, and don’t hold back.’
‘Good morning, Mr Schroeder. It’s nice to see you back again.’
The speaker was a tall, elegant man wearing a dark suit, a starched white shirt and a red tie. His black gown bore the insignia of the Corporation of the City of London. He held the door of court two open for them as they approached.
‘Geoffrey, sir. I was your usher in the Welsh case last year.’
‘Of course, Geoffrey,’ Ben smiled. ‘This is Miss Jess Farrar.’
‘Good morning, Miss Farrar.’ He leaned in towards Ben confidentially. ‘Mr Schroeder, I’m probably not supposed to, but I would like to say how pleased I was to read about what happened in the Court of Appeal. I thought that Mrs Hughes – well, Mrs Finch I should call her, shouldn’t I? – was a very nice lady, and to be honest I’m surprised the jury ever convicted her. I think it was a very close call. How is she doing, sir?’
‘Thank you, Geoffrey. She’s doing very well, and she has her son back with her – thanks to Miss Farrar.’
‘I’m delighted to hear it, sir.’ He nodded respectfully. ‘Miss Farrar.’
‘Are you ushering for us today?’ Ben smiled.
‘Indeed I am, sir.’
An hour later the trial was ready to begin. After challenges, there were eight men, only two seemingly over forty, and four women, the youngest seemingly in her late thirties, the others into their fifties. Each juror in turn took an oath to faithfully try the defendant and give a true verdict according to the evidence.
‘What do you think?’ Jess whispered, as the judge was giving the jury an introduction to the criminal trial process with the air of one who had been doing it for years.
‘It’s your typical Old Bailey jury,’ Barratt replied. ‘Some good, some bad.’
‘We couldn’t have done much better,’ Ben added.
‘I’m not sure about juror ten,’ Jess said. ‘There’s something about her I don’t like.’
‘Well, you’ll just have to turn her around then, won’t you?’ Barratt said.