A Case Of Murder (Kendall Book 6) (2 page)

Peterson smiled as he slowly folded the newspaper. Things were working out perfectly, in fact, with the arrest, better than he had hoped. All that was necessary now was to ensure that the charges would stick, and he was confident that would not be difficult.

The only other matter still outstanding was the recovery of the merchandise. That would be more difficult. Thirty packages, each weighing five hundred grams, with a street value in excess of fifty thousand euros each, were still missing from the last consignment. The supplier wanted them back.

Peterson wanted them back.

* * *

Chapter Two

The Old Bailey, London

Three Months Later

“Here we are, guvnor,” a voice called out, as the taxi came to a stop. “The Old Bailey.”

Tom Kendall was the first to step out, close behind was his business associate, Mollie. He moved towards the building, guide book in hand, and already open. Mollie shook her head, her worst fears were about to come true. She heaved a deep sigh, and then turned back towards the cab driver. 

“The London Central Criminal Court, commonly known as the Old Bailey, has been the capital's principal criminal court for centuries and is probably the most famous in the world,” Kendall read from the book.

“The current Old Bailey building was built in 1907 and opened by King Edward VII. The exterior is faced in Portland stone and lavishly fitted out and adorned with symbolic reminders to the public of its virtuous purpose.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Mollie, as she walked past and stopped at the entrance. “Are we going in, or what?” she asked.

* * *

Kendall, a private detective from Miami, and Mollie, weren’t just ordinary tourists visiting Britain, seeing the sites. Although the camera around his shoulder, and the guide book in hand may have suggested otherwise. This was no holiday, well not entirely. The main reason was a recent criminal case, involving a murder. Kendall was the main prosecution witness.

* * *

“On top of the dome there is a twelve foot gold leaf statue depicting a "lady of justice" holding a sword in one hand and the scales of justice in the other,” Kendall continued to read from the guide book. He looked at Mollie. “You live and learn,” he said. “I bet you never knew that did you?”

Mollie freely admitted that no she never knew that, and more to the point, she didn’t really care. “So what,” she murmured.

This was all lost on Kendall as, undeterred, he continued to read from the book. “The original Old Bailey courthouse was built in 1539 on the site previously occupied by the notorious Newgate Prison.” He paused for a moment and looked up at the imposing structure. “Imagine that,” he said, shaking his head.

Mollie tried hard but just could not imagine it. “Shouldn’t we go in?” she said, hoping that Kendall would stop playing the tourist, and put the guide book away. She looked up at the sky, and said a silent prayer.

Kendall looked at her, and reluctantly agreed. “Guess you’re right. We’ll have to continue this later,” he said as he tapped the Guide Book, closed it and placed it in his jacket pocket. “In the meantime let’s find the public gallery.”

Mollie heaved a sigh in anticipation of what was to come later. “Up there I would guess,” she suggested pointing to the sign that stated that the public gallery was up the stairs.

Kendall looked in the direction indicated. “I knew that,” he replied, and quickly mounted the stairs.

* * *

It was just over three weeks ago when Kendall, had made his first appearance in Court, as Prosecution witness in the case of The Crown Versus John Wyndham Collier.

Kendall and Mollie had been in England just over nine months previously on a vacation. A fellow passenger from America, Mr. Robert Andrews, had been found dead at his hotel a few days after arriving in England. It was alleged that he had committed suicide, the cause being an overdose of prescription drugs. Kendall, however, had thought differently and suspected that Andrews had, in fact, been murdered. He had decided to investigate, much to the annoyance of the authorities in general, and Scotland Yard in particular. As a result of Kendall’s enquiries it had been shown that Andrews had, in fact, been murdered.

John Wyndham Collier, had been the head of Travers Morgan, one of the leading financial institution in the city of London. It transpired that he had been altering the accounts, and siphoning millions into a Swiss bank account. Bob Andrews had suspicions and has a result was murdered
.
John Wyndham Collier had been charged with his murder, and eventually brought to trial.

* * *

The final submissions had been made, and now the verdict was awaited. Kendall and Mollie watched as the twelve jury members walked silently back into the Courtroom, and re-took their seats. The foreman handed a small piece of neatly folded paper to the Court Usher, who, without a word, simply handed it to the Judge.

The Judge looked at the piece of paper, and then looked directly at the Jury. “Members of the Jury have you reached your verdict?” he asked.

Nervously the Jury Foreman stood, and looked impassively at the Judge. He then looked at the accused momentarily, and then returned his gaze to the Judge. “We have your Honour,” he said.

“And is it the verdict of you all?”

The foreman heaved a sigh, and glanced at his fellow jurors. He then looked back at the Judge. “It is your Honour,” he replied.

“And how say you,” the Judge asked. “Is the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty?”

“Guilty, your Honour!”

“Guilty.”

The sound resonated around Courtroom number four like a shot fired from a cannon, echoing loudly from the oak panelling on the walls.

“Guilty!”

There was a gasp from somewhere in the public gallery. From somewhere else came the sound of a muffled cheer.

“Silence in Court,” Judge Broughton instructed forcibly, looking up at the gallery. He shook his head.
This was a Court of Law
,
not a side show at a fun fair.
He sighed and took a deep breath.
Certainly he knew that there should be transparency in the Court, Justice should not only be done, but it should also be seen to be done, but he had always hated the notion of the public gallery. He always had visions of the spectators at public hangings, or the lynch mob of old, baying for blood. The towns-people throwing the rope up on to the hanging tree; the old women sitting in the front row, knitting as Madame Guillotine did her work.

Worst still he hated being on display, as though he was some kind of an exhibit. Where every move he made was visible, every word that he spoke recorded, and analysed over and over again. People were just waiting for him to say the wrong thing, to make a mistake. To come to the wrong conclusion. To make the wrong judgement. Then they would jump on him, mercilessly. It was almost as though he was on trial as well as the accused. It was a feeling that he did not like.

He continued to stare up at the public gallery to be absolutely certain that any display or outpouring of sentiment was at an end and that there would be no more outbursts.

What did they know about Justice anyway? There wasn’t one among them who hadn’t digressed in one way or another. Who among them had not paid their correct fare on the train on at least one occasion? Who among them had made use of company equipment without the permission of their boss?  Or perhaps one or more had not declared all that they should have, on their tax return. And how many had simply helped themselves to a towel, or an ashtray, from the hotel they were staying at. Or maybe had exaggerated their expense claim ever so slightly.

It could be said that Lord Justice Ralph Broughton had a fairly low regard for the general public. He shook his head, and heaved a sigh.
Justice, they probably couldn’t even spell the word.
He
shook his head once again. He was being a little unfair maybe, but in essence he knew that he was right. How could they possibly understand the intricacies of the legal system?  It had taken him the better part of fifty years to accumulate his knowledge.

No, the Courts could manage perfectly well without the influence of the public, or the jury come to that. He sighed once more, but sadly that was how it was with the present system, he really had no choice did he?  A jury was, for reasons unknown, deemed essential. Twelve good and true men, or women, he hastily added. To be judged by your peers was a cornerstone of British Justice.

He turned his gaze from the gallery, and looked back at the jury. “You have returned a verdict of Guilty.”

“We have your Honour,” replied the foreman of the jury.

There was another gasp from the gallery. The Judge looked up and glared. Silence returned.

The judge took a deep breath, and slowly looked around the Court room. He turned towards the jury and thanked them for doing their duty. “You are hereby excused.”

The jury members stood up awkwardly, not sure what to do now that it was all over. There had been six weeks of listening to evidence. In fact, it had been almost seven weeks. There had been seemingly endless talk about fingerprints, or the lack of them. There had been constant references to prescription drugs, and bottle caps. Forensic evidence of every kind had been presented. Medical evidence had been discussed from every angle. One expert after the other took the stand, each contradicting the one before.

And so it was, witness after witness. There were details as to motive, opportunity, and method. And then there came the Summation by the Prosecution, then it was the turn of the Defence. Finally the Judge had his say. The Jury were to consider the evidence alone. Rumours and hearsay were to be disregarded, and points of conjecture, or assumption, were to be ignored. It was the facts, and the facts alone, that would decide the outcome.

* * *

  The jury had deliberated their verdict for fourteen hours and twenty-three minutes. Not that there had been any doubts about what the verdict would be. Oh no, there had been no doubt at all. The delay was merely out of some strange feeling that they shouldn’t rush into a decision of this kind. Some deep seated sense of decency; what was considered to be fair and reasonable.

Somehow it seemed expected for them to take their time, and not act in haste. To be seen to be doing the right thing, the just and honourable thing. After all, it was a serious charge wasn’t it. It was the most serious of all charges. It was Murder no less. They had to be 100% sure. In fact they had to be 110% sure. There was no room for any doubt, however small. Beyond a reasonable doubt, that was the key phrase. That’s what the Judge had said. If there was any reasonable doubt the accused was to be found not guilty.

A unanimous decision had been called for, and the foreman was determined that a unanimous decision was what the judge was going to get. All twelve jury members had to agree.

Of course the delay wasn’t to the liking of every jury member. Two of them could see no reason for taking their time.
He was guilty so let’s just get on with it
, they said.

“Sitting here won’t change my opinion,” said one. “Time is money, and the longer I sit here the more I’m losing.”

“I’ve more important things to do than to spend my time here,” said another.

The foreman looked at the others and asked for their views. Some had thought that they were sure, but well it was an important decision after all, perhaps it shouldn’t be rushed. Perhaps it should be discussed.

“What’s to discuss,” asked Jury member number five. “He’s guilty, end of story. So let’s just get on with it.”

“I still think we should discuss it,” said Jury member number eight. “We have to be absolutely sure remember.”

“Well I’m absolutely sure, right now,” said Jury member number four. “One hundred percent sure.”

“So am I,” retorted Jury member number three. “The evidence from that private detective clinched it for me.”

“That’s right,” agreed Jury member number seven. “We should have heard his evidence first. This would have been over weeks ago. We didn’t need all of that other stuff.”

The foreman was hesitant. This was the first really important task that he had ever been given in all of his forty-six years. He needed to be sure that he carried out his duty in the proper manner, the responsible manner. And to his way of thinking coming back with a verdict in ten minutes flat was not the proper manner. “Do you have no doubts?” he asked. “No doubts at all.”

Jury member number four shook his head. “No doubts, none at all.”

“None whatsoever?” asked the foreman.

“I just said I’ve no doubts didn’t I?” Jury member number four replied. “What more do you want? A signed statement from me.”

“I’m with you,” said jury member number five. “I have absolutely no doubts either. He’s guilty, end of, nothing more to say.”

The foreman heaved a sigh. This wasn’t going well. He needed to exert some kind of authority. After all he had been given the task. “Well I still think we need to discuss it, that’s all,” he said trying to sound in charge. He looked around at the other members hoping for support.

It came with Jury member number nine who, up until that point had been rather quiet. “It won’t hurt to discuss it,” he said. “I certainly would not want to be responsible for finding an innocent man guilty.”

“Innocent did you say?” yelled jury member number four. “He’s as guilty as the nose on your face, and you know it.”

Jury member number nine shook his head. “You’re not listening,” he said in a slow, deliberate, voice. “I never said that he was innocent. I merely suggested that we must be absolutely certain of his guilt.” He paused for a few moments. “There’s a difference you understand.”

Jury member number four shook his head. “Go ahead, discuss it. Do as you please,” he said. “Discuss it all you want. Let me know when you’ve finished.” He took a newspaper from his pocket and started to read it.