Desperate Acts

Chapter Fifteen

FIFTEEN

Marcus Edwards, counsellor-at-law, tried to look as if he had sat so often on this seat reserved for defense attorneys in the Court of Queen's Bench that he had become indifferent to its awful majesty. The side-galleries were packed with spectators from town and county, and the benches behind him thick with local dignitaries and fellow members of the legal profession. Robert and Francis Hincks were busy at the Legislature, but Dr. Baldwin and Clement Peachey, the firm's solicitor, were just two rows back. With a slight movement of his head to the left, Marc could see Beth smiling down upon him with a confidence he himself did not feel. Above her, in the prisoner's dock, stood Brodie Langford, his own gaze fixed upon Diana Ramsay sitting nervously beside Beth. Marc adjusted his wig for the tenth time and tried to shrug his shoulders more comfortably into the folds of his black gown. He felt much as he had six years before when he had first donned an ensign's regalia with its jangling accoutrements: a sham unworthy of the uniform. But a uniform, he knew now, was not something you wore, it was a livery of honour you grew into - or not.

At this point in his thoughts, the clerk stood up to announce the case, and all rose as Justice Gavin Powell entered and took his seat high above them all. It was only then that Marc risked a peek at his formidable adversary standing fifteen feet to his right. Kingsley Thornton, QC, was a tall and elegant gentleman of some fifty-five years, who could grin like a grandfather one moment and scowl like a beadle the next, and whose baritone rumble would not have been amiss in an opera-house. Thornton seemed to sense Marc's eye upon him, and turned his head just far enough to expose a smile with the merest hint of pity in it.

Thornton's opening statement was brief but effective. In a low but well-modulated tone that prompted the jurors to lean forward on their benches, he outlined what he claimed was a simple, straightforward case, implying that the whole business in this courtroom was so clear-cut that it was barely worth their time and attention. A foolish young man, threatened with blackmail, had decided to take the law into his own hands. He had confronted the extortionist, one Albert Duggan, as he arrived to claim his booty, argued with him, struck him on the cheek with his fist, and then, in a further rage, beat the unconscious man to death with his walking-stick. Almost all of these actions were subsequently admitted to in the defendant's own hand - in a sworn statement at the police quarters - and those he didn't mention had been observed by no fewer than four eye-witnesses. He (Kingsley Thornton) might even feel sorry for the accused, an apparently upright young bank clerk (as the defense was certain to portray him) who murdered a fellow none of them (the good gentlemen of the jury) would be pleased to associate with. But the right-to-life was sacred under British law. Even blackmailers were entitled to live. And cold-blooded killers must be hanged for depriving them of that right.

Marc swallowed hard, then stood up to his lectern and faced the jury. With his ironic smile and his final comment, Thornton had neatly undercut Marc's planned references to Brodie's exemplary life. Marc decided to omit them. It might be wiser to use his character-witnesses on Monday and build on their testimony in his closing remarks. Rather, he drew the attention of the jurors to two areas where, he said with more bravado than conviction, they would discover serious discrepancies in the Crown's evidence. First, there would be gaps and inconsistencies in the eye-witness accounts, and, second, the so-called "confession" would be seen to be the most complete and accurate account of the events of that fatal evening, an account that would in and of itself exonerate his client.

Marc sat down. The faces of the jurors remained impassive. He straightened his wig, then glanced up. Beth beamed him a smile.

***

As expected, the coroner, Dr. Angus Withers, was the first to testify. With admirable efficiency, Kingsley Thornton led him his through his evidence. He focussed on the blow to the cheek, which, Withers said, had cracked the bone and certainly would have been enough to stun the victim or render him unconscious.