Rumpole of the Bailey (1978) s03e05 Episode Script

(Commentator) ' then Cashpoint, Old Ironside.
'Coming into fence number two with Atlantic Hero the leader' 'in front of Queen Titian and then Rising Damp, 'and then comes Potato Peeler, Cashpoint and Old Ironside.
'Round towards the far side of the course 'where Queen Titian takes the lead from Cashpoint and Rising Damp.
'Atlantic Hero fourth.
Coming to fence number seven, Queen Titian in front, 'Cashpoint, then Old Ironside and Atlantic Hero ' Come on, Atlantic Hero! Get a move on! Atlantic Hero! Sure the animal can hear you, Hilda? (Commentator) 'Cashpoint and Old Ironside 'Down to the last, it's Queen Titian and Atlantic Hero takes up the running! 'Tricycle's fallen, Maurice Fishbourne! They've got 150 yards to go 'and Atlantic Hero's taken it up! He's two lengths clear.
'Cashpoint and Old Ironside next.
Queen Titian's fourth.
'In the last 50 yards it's Atlantic Hero.
He's under pressure ' Atlantic Hero! 'It's Atlantic Hero from Cashpoint and Old Ironside! ' Come on, we must collect my winnings.
- Congratulations.
- What did you have on it? A quid? I'll be able to retire to Bermuda.
(Commentator) 'First, number 13 Atlantic Hero, 'ridden by the Honourable Jonathan Postern.
'Second, number eight, Cashpoint and third, number four ' I'm so sorry that Phyllida wasn't able to be with us today.
Yes, Phylli's got this long fraud up in Leeds.
- Yes.
- She's working all weekend.
She would so much have enjoyed it.
Of course, Rumpole has really no sporting interests.
I've often wondered why sporting interests have to be held in leaking wellies and cold mud.
What do you fancy for the three o'clock, Henry? Well, his clerk tells me that Mr Lorrimer's not all that fit.
He's been overworking on his Revenue cases.
Likely to fall at the first fence, is he? Harvey Waters QC.
In good condition? - Been taking his oats and all that? - Too liberally, according to his clerk.
No, the fancy is Mr E Smith on Decree Absolute.
- Oh, eh? In good form, is he? - Teetotal, his clerk informs me, - and he does press-ups in chambers.
- Quickly, Uncle Tom, I've won! Oh, really, Mrs Rumpole? I didn't know you were running.
(Announcer) 'Will the course doctor please come to the Declarations office? ' - This one is on me, you know.
- Oh, Hilda's in the chair.
- Erskine-Brown.
- Judge.
Oh, there you are, Rumpole, I haven't had you before me lately.
I suppose you don't get the serious crimes these days? I've been occupied elsewhere.
Must join my wife.
She's spending the winnings.
Been having a little flutter, have you? I don't see you as a gambling man.
Oh, a lifetime spent in Old Bailey trials gives one a taste for games of chance.
- What's that supposed to mean? - Don't you sometimes feel trying to assess the outcome of a case is like sticking a pin in the "Sporting Life" with your eyes shut? The aim of an English criminal trial is to do justice.
I don't see you can compare it to a horse race.
- Good day, Erskine-Brown.
- Good day to you, sir.
- Twyburne's our oldest judge! - Yes, I know.
Appointed so long ago they can't get rid of him.
He's one of the last survivors that sentenced people to death.
They say he used to order muffins at his club on those occasions.
Come on, sweetheart, fill this jerry up with champers! A loving cup.
Jonno, how excessively brill! What are you going to have? - There you are, Rumpole.
- One small rum, Hilda.
Is that our celebration? I thought you'd fill my wellies with champers? - Cheers! - Your very good health, Mrs Rumpole.
Oh, Mrs Rumpole.
- How are you, Erskine-Brown? - Oh, all right, I suppose, Fiona.
In uniform too? All these khaki-clad figures slogging through the mud? It reminds me of the retreat from Mons.
You were never at Mons! Rumpole was in the RAF ground staff.
Then it puts me in mind of the NAAFI at RAF Uxbridge after every night.
Well, who's for another? - Hello, Pimpsy.
- Oh, hi, Sprod.
- Disgusting to see you.
- Loathsome to see you.
- You two obviously know each other.
- My big sister, Jennifer Postern.
- This is Rumpole and Mrs Rumpole.
- How riveting! I've heard so much about you.
Pimpsy says you got her into Chambers by some miracle.
- It was one of my trickier cases, yes.
- Pimpsy says you win them all because you're the most super barrister in the whole of England.
Absolutely brill, says Pimpsy.
Daddy always came to the Bar races, but it took me weeks to persuade Rumpole to accept Claude Erskine-Brown's invitation.
Did you come on your own? No, with my boyfriend Jeremy Jowling.
He's rather dull but he is a solicitor.
He's the one doing the serious drinking.
Oh, look There's my gorgeous winner! I say, your wife, is she really the one you call "She Who Must"? No, she's the one I call Hilda! Rumpole, that's the chap who won for me on Atlantic Hero.
Oh, yes.
- Kiss for the winner, Jonno.
- Oh, yah! Ha ha! Such a nice-Iooking young man.
Do you know him? - He's my husband.
- Oh, really? - I ought to thank him personally.
- Come on, why don't we whiz over? Oh! Oh, I I say, I must just say well done.
It makes a day at the races much more thrilling when you're on a winner.
(Jonno) Were you? Can't say I saw you.
Who are these amazing old wrinklies? This is Mr and Mrs Rumpole, Jonno, and Claude Erskine-Brown.
Mr Rumpole's a tremendous legal eagle.
(Jonno) Not a galloping barrister? - Ah, hardly.
- None of your lot got placed.
Terribly bad luck.
Care for a swig? - Thank you.
- Well done! Thank you very much.
Fish-face! He's cutting us dead.
Come on, Fish, don't be weedy! - Good afternoon, Mr Fish.
- Maurice Fishbourne.
- Jennifer and Jonno's neighbour.
- Delighted to meet you.
I say, how did you manage to stick on till the last fence? Superglue? - Superglue! - He hung on to the mane.
I saw him.
- Congratulations, Jonathan.
- Oh, isn't he a lovely loser? I say, if you want to ride something in the next race, why not try a bicycle? Bicycle! (Laughter) - I'm not riding in the next race.
- Mummy taking you home to tea? I'm driving Mother home, yes, Jennifer.
Come on, Fishy, have a gulp of champers.
It's quite all right, it's only got all our germs in it.
(Laughter) Thanks.
Whoa! "Lodge for sale on gentleman's estate, in wooded country near Tester.
" - What's that you're reading? - "Country Life".
- Were there no "Daily Telegraphs"? - "Three bedrooms, two receps, - "access to good rough shooting" - I rather think - Doesn't it sound attractive? - I've got worries enough - without you taking up rough shooting.
- What did you say? I said it might be safer in Tooting.
Or round the Inner London Sessions.
In those places, one can go for a walk without risking getting a charge of grapeshot in your breeches.
Nonsense, Rumpole.
That day at the Bar races - made me realise what we're missing.
- Mud? - The countryside.
- Oh.
Now, then, if we sold our lease here We could buy a deer park and a Palladian mansion.
Daddy always used to say that what a successful barrister really needed was a place in the country.
Was he speaking from the stately semi-detached at 13 Acacia Avenue, Horsham, at the time? Can't you just see us? Sitting by a log fire, taking a glass of sherry, while the sun sinks over the home wood.
I see us with the boiler gone out, all the London trains cancelled, up to our elbows in snow and mud And in the home wood, somebody's bound to be killing something.
(Pheasant calls) (Gunshot) (Gunshot) Help! What happened? I shot him.
It was an accident.
I really would rather not, Fiona.
- I'll put your sister on to a good man.
- Sprod wants you to defend her.
Probably because you've given her an exaggerated idea of my abilities.
Is it really possible to exaggerate your abilities? No, probably not.
Why shouldn't my sister have the best possible counsel? - No.
Friends, Fiona.
- What? It's a rule at the Bar.
Never appear for friends.
You care too much.
Your judgement gets warped.
You can't see the weaknesses in your case and, of course, if you lose, they never, ever forgive you.
My sister's not your friend.
You only met her once.
- Quite honestly, you hardly know her.
- I know you, though.
All the trouble I had getting you into these Chambers, by pretty ruthless manoeuvring, if you want to know the truth, and then to have to spend my life avoiding your eye in the Clerk's Room, too afraid to pop into Pommeroys for a strengthener in case you're there, looking at me more in sorrow than anger because I lost your sister's case.
No, thank you.
Life would be quite intolerable.
- I do understand that.
But - But me no buts, Fiona.
I was only going to say, "But you aren't going to lose it, are you?" Oh! - Horace Rumpole? - Er yes.
Ah, splendid.
Why don't you bung your stuff in here, eh? - Ah, thank you.
- Nice to meet you.
Jeremy Jowling.
- How do you do? - Sponsoring in the Postern case.
- Yes.
- Jolly good.
Now, please hop in.
- Er - Oh, don't mind Agatha.
She's a soppy old dig really.
There's a good girl.
Now, then, where would you like to go? - Er - Tester Arms or prison? Which is the least uncomfortable? - I would say the prison at a pinch.
- Oh? - Run you there? It's out of town.
- Thank you.
- Belt up.
- Pardon? Oh! Yes.
Well, I must say, this is all a GMBU.
(Rumpole mouths letters silently) - (Rumpole) GMBU? - Grand military balls-up.
It's years since we had a murder in the Tester Hunt, you know.
Yes.
Agatha, do sit down.
Stop kissing Mr Rumpole.
Ah.
Oh, she's fine.
It'll get all those damn blood-sports protesters going, you know? - You're a partner, are you? - Yes, Jowling Agatha, leave Mr Rumpole alone, will you? - No, no, no, she's fine, she's fine.
- Yes, it's Jowling and Leonard.
- Yes.
- It's my father's firm, quite honestly, but he doesn't like murder cases so he's handed this one to me.
Agatha, will you sit down? Stop kissing Mr Rumpole.
- Oh, she's fine.
- Well, you know what they say, - you have to start at the bottom.
- Oh! Yes.
Did you know Jonathan Postern well? No, only very briefly, I'm afraid.
People round here had tremendous time for Jonno.
- Oh, really? I'm sorry.
- What? Well, it's the last thing a defence needs in a murder case, - a well-liked corpse.
- Oh.
Well, of course you'd know all about that, wouldn't you? There was only one trouble with Jonno Postern, bad case of the MTFs.
- The er? - MTFs.
Must touch flesh.
Ah.
- Particularly the flesh of Debbie Pavier.
- Oh, yes? Oh, dear, dear, dear.
Well, that was what the row was about, wasn't it? - Was it? - Well, if it hadn't have been for that, the gendarmes might've accepted Sprod's story about an accident, - no questions asked.
- Really? (Rumpole) 'In London we hardly ever see death.
'Once or twice in a lifetime.
An old-age pensioner perhaps, 'collapsed on a cold night in the tube, or a shape under a blanket 'and a small crowd as we drive past an accident.
'In this peaceful landscape, they see it every day.
'They watch hounds tearing foxes to pieces or course hares.
'They hang up magpies and jays in the wood as a warning to others.
'I'll lay a small wager that at the end of that garden, 'there's some retired naval man tearfully putting down his dog.
'No doubt about it, death's a routine event in the country.
'Well, what's a husband, more or less, in the shooting season? ' (Jowling) Now, that would be the basis for the defence.
- It was an accident? - Yes.
- Your housekeeper, Mrs? - Mrs Hempe.
Mrs Hempe, yes.
She said you were quarrelling that afternoon.
Bit of a hangover after a serious evening.
Do you remember saying something about killing? - Isn't it the sort of thing one says? - Oh, is it? Don't you quarrel with She Who Must Be Obeyed? Happily neither of us have a shotgun.
After the quarrel, your husband went out? - He wanted a walk to cool off.
- And so did you? - Yes.
- But you took your 20-bore with you? - You know something about guns! - Why did you do that? I thought it might calm my nerves if I shot something.
Not the most tactful way of explaining your feelings to a jury.
- (Jowling) No I think we might - I meant rough shooting, a pigeon or a rabbit, or something of that sort.
Was your gun loaded when you met your husband? Of course.
I put up a pheasant.
I was about to have a shot but remembered it was after February.
Closed season for pheasants.
'But not for husbands? ' (Jennifer) I must have forgotten to put the safety catch on.
I walked on.
- Yes, go on.
- I told Jeremy.
- Tell me.
- I saw Jonno coming towards me.
- Was he still angry? - No, I don't think so.
He - He seemed perfectly calm.
- And you? I was calm enough.
I walked towards him.
It was rough, you know, brambles.
It needed clearing.
I must have tripped.
Well, that's how it happened.
I don't suppose you happen to have a small cigar? - No, I - Ah, I've left them in your car.
Oh, Lord, I suppose Agatha is guarding them with her fangs bared.
- Oh, I'll whiz out and get them.
- Oh, thank you.
Back in a jiff.
He's one of your lot, isn't he? Jeremy? We know his father, of course.
Of course.
I'm not one of your lot, Mrs Postern.
Unlike Jeremy, I don't drive round the country with a weapon and a hound of the Baskervilles in the back of my car.
I'm not familiar with your language, which seem designed with the express purpose of saying absolutely nothing.
I have descended among you like a creature from outer space.
You may talk to me as to a complete stranger.
- What do you want me to say? - Anything you think I should know.
I've told you, it was an accident.
So, I walk I stumble back.
It's possible, I suppose, but it's much more likely I would have blown your feet off.
(Jowling) "Never, never let your gun, pointed be at anyone.
"That it should unloaded be, matters not the least to me.
" - Come again? - You don't know that? No, we must have learnt different nursery rhymes.
Jennifer would have known it though, wouldn't she? She'd learned her guns at her nanny's knee.
Rather, yes! Her father was a terrific shot, you know.
- Oh? - Yes, runs in the family.
- What are you looking at? - Oh, the scene of the crime, - the locus in quo.
- What do you do now? Crawl around collecting bits of cigarette ash in an envelope? Not exactly.
This locus in quo looks exactly like any other bit of the English countryside to me.
Where does this lead to? More Postern country? - Fishbourne country, actually.
- Who? Maurice Fishbourne.
Dreadful weed with a good deal of money.
Gets ragged for trying to ride at point-to-points.
Invariably hits the deck.
- "Fish-face"? - Ah, of course, you met him.
- A friend of the Posterns.
- What? They can't stand him.
- Really? - No one can, actually.
He's not exactly PLU.
"People like us"? (Jowling) He puts up all those poncey notice boards all over his land.
- Gets his cash from laxatives.
- Oh! - "Fishbournes keep you regular.
" - I rely on the old medicinal claret.
(Pheasant calls) - Hello, someone in pain? - Oh, no, not at all.
That is a cry of pure randiness.
Look, I'll show you.
It's a calling bird.
A caged cock pheasant.
A calling pheasant in a cage puts all heaven in a rage.
Yes.
Well, anyway, the old devil that lives here keeps it to entice all the Postern lady pheasants into the garden, you see.
When they get there he just knocks them off from the front window.
Cunning, isn't it? "The wanton boy that kills the fly "Shall earn the spider's enmity.
" Didn't Jonathan Postern know he was being robbed? Yes.
I suppose he just let it go on.
Old Jonno was a bit of an innocent in spite of everything.
He couldn't have got Figgis out.
Protected tenant.
- Did you say Figgis? - Mmm.
I bet he's in there.
- Do you want to talk to him? - Talk to a prosecution witness? Oh, dear me, no, no, no! Definitely NSOB.
- NSOB? - "Not sporting, old bean.
" Pathology Department.
Professor Ackerman, please.
Thank you.
Old sweetheart! I hoped to catch you before you vanished into the morgue.
Oh, how did you know it was me? Yes, fine thank you.
Ah, yes, I'm afraid I could do with some help.
No, it's not blood this time.
Gunshot wounds.
No, not a hand gun, a shotgun.
Come in Oh, yes indeed, yes.
Oh, I know the book very well, but I don't see how I can lay hands on a copy of it down here now.
Well, that would be splendid if you'd post me one.
Thank you.
I have to cross-examine the local pathologist Yes.
Well, thank you again.
Happy dissecting! Yes.
Bye.
- Morning.
I've got the car outside.
- Mmm.
Is Agatha in it? - Oh, rather! - I think I'll walk.
- I see you've been working on it? - Most of the night.
Seen that? Dr Overton's post-mortem report, in considerable detail.
Yes.
I glanced at it.
- He seems very sure of himself.
- Oh? Rather too sure of himself for an experienced pathologist.
- What do you know about him? - Never heard of him.
Oh? Gravely usually does all the stiffs for the Home Office.
- Gravely.
- Yes What are our chances? Ah, as a sporting type you want to know the odds, do you? Any better than evens? It's not an easy case but she's a woman.
She may have been mistreated by her husband.
- Oh.
- All we need is a sympathetic judge.
We've drawn a bod called Mr Justice Twyburne.
What do you think? I think the odds have just lengthened considerably.
Oh, what's he what's he like, then? - Do you remember Martin Muschamp? - Muschamp? No.
Ah, no, he'd be a bit before your time.
He went out with an armed gang.
He was tried for killing a policeman and a couple of years later, another lad confessed and Muschamp was cleared by a Home Office enquiry.
- Well, that's all right, then.
- Oh, yes, lovely for everyone.
Except Muschamp.
Twyburne had summed up dead against him and he'd been hanged by the neck.
Oh, don't look so worried, we don't do that sort of thing any more.
the Crown must prove that, at the end of the day, we feel you can be left in no possible doubt.
That is all I have to say in opening this sad case, members of the Jury.
And now, with the assistance of my learned friend, Mr Gavin Pinker, I hope to fairly put the evidence before you.
You're causing me a great deal of pain, Mr Harmsway.
- I'm sorry, My Lord? - Please don't split them.
- Don't split what, My Lord? - Your infinitives.
This is a distressing case in all conscience.
Do we have to add to the disagreeable nature of the proceedings the sound of you tormenting the English language? - You hope to put the evidence fairly? - Yes, My Lord.
Why don't you start? My learned friend Mr Pinker will call the first witness.
- I'll call Mrs Marian Hempe.
- (Usher) Call Mrs Marian Hempe.
- (Harmsway) Charming! - Don't worry, old darling! (Mrs Hempe) "I swear by Almighty God" He's quite impartial, he'll be just as beastly to me when my turn comes.
Mrs Hempe, how long have you worked for the Posterns? Ten years now for Master Jonathan.
And his father before him.
On the afternoon that Jonathan Postern died, did you hear anything going on between him and his wife? - Yes.
They were quarrelling.
- Could you hear any words? - I heard two words.
- What were they? "Kill you".
I heard that said.
Loud.
By her.
Then I saw Mr Postern go out.
- He walked towards the woods.
- What happened then? Mrs Postern stayed indoors.
Then she went out.
- How long did she stay out? - Don't really know.
Ten minutes, quarter of an hour perhaps.
Then she came back and got it.
- Got what? - Her shotgun.
- Did you see her get the gun? - No.
But I saw her go out again with it under her arm.
She went back towards the woods again.
What happened next? Just tell the jury.
(Mrs Hempe) I heard a shot.
From the wood.
From the direction in which they had both gone? - Yes.
- Thank you, Mrs Hempe.
- You heard one shot? - No, I heard others.
- Oh, you heard others.
When? - After Mr Postern went out.
Yes, but after Mrs Postern went out for the second time, with her shotgun, - how many shots did you hear? - Just one.
- You're quite sure of that? - It was enough, wasn't it? Yes, perhaps.
Now, these words you heard her say, "kill you", you've sworn that they're the only words you heard Mrs Postern say? - That's right.
- She couldn't have said "I'll kill you"? - No.
- She might have been warning her husband that someone else might kill him? I suppose so.
But she was the only one there, wasn't she? Exactly! Are you suggesting someone else might have shot him, Mr Rumpole? Just exploring the possibilities, My Lord.
(Harmsway) Mr Figgis, when you first saw Mrs Postern, what was she doing? She were holding a shotgun, standing about ten feet off him.
You took the gun away from her and broke it open? - I did, yes.
- How many cartridges had been fired? - Just one.
- And the spent cartridge was ejected? - Yes.
- And did you then go with her to her house where she telephoned the police? I did, yes.
And was her gun in your possession until the police arrived? - Oh, yes.
- Thank you, Mr Figgis.
Mr Figgis, when you first saw Mrs Postern, what exactly did she say? She said, "I shot him.
It were an accident.
" Oh? She said, " I shot him.
It was an accident.
" Well, might she not have said, er, "I shot him"? Is there a dispute as to what the accused said? No dispute as to what was said, My Lord, but I am very interested in discovering where the emphasis was put? You may be interested in that, Mr Rumpole.
It remains to be seen whether the point interests the Jury.
I think the point may be of considerable importance, My Lord.
The words are there.
How they were said seems of unimportant insignificance.
Might it not be better to say "of insignificance", My Lord? What? "Unimportant insignificance" might be a bit of a tautology, might it not? Something of a torment to the English language.
Ask your question, Mr Rumpole.
- (Softly) Thanks.
- Don't mention it.
Well, Mr Figgis, what exactly did Mrs Postern say? She said," I shot him.
It were an accident.
" "I shot him.
" I wonder why she said it like that? There was no one else about at the time who might have shot him? - Not as far as I could see.
- Not as far as you could see.
Mr Figgis, do you keep a calling pheasant? - I don't know what you mean.
- I think you do.
A cock pheasant in a cage whose cries attract lady pheasants to your garden where you conveniently dispatch them from a downstairs window.
You must have had pheasant for breakfast, dinner and tea.
(Giggling) Well I might have done a bit of that.
Mr Rumpole, this witness is not on trial for poaching.
Has this evidence the slightest relevance to the case? No doubt the jury will let us know that, My Lord, in the fullness of time.
What had you been doing that afternoon? - I I was in my cottage.
- And doing a bit of shooting as usual? - I might have been, yes.
- And your garden is what, some 10, 15 yards from the scene of the alleged crime? Mr Rumpole, may I remind you that your client has admitted shooting her husband with a shotgun, and shotgun wounds and pellets were found in her husband's body? Your Lordship may remind me, but I assure Your Lordship, I had not forgotten it.
Thank you, Mr Figgis.
- Thank you, Mr Figgis.
- No further questions.
Very well.
Members of the Jury, this may be a convenient moment for you to take some refreshment.
- Be back at ten past two, please.
- (Usher) Be upstanding.
- Are you coming down to see Sprod? - No, I don't think so, Fiona.
Not until she decides to tell me what happened.
- A message from the learned judge.
- I'm under arrest! On the contrary, sir, you're invited to lunch in the lodgings.
- This case is full of surprises.
- The car's outside.
- We travel in robes, of course.
- Yes, of course.
Lead me to the judicial Rolls.
So, there you are at last, Rumpole.
"He sat beside me in the cinema," said the girl in the indecency case, "and put his hand up my skirt.
" "Very well," said the old Recorder, eyeing the clock at lunchtime, "I suggest we leave it there until five past two.
" (Polite laughter) No more argument about grammar this afternoon, eh, Rumpole? - Possibly not.
- Still, you stood up to me pretty well.
That's what we need in our job, determination to stick to an argument.
- Even when it's a wrong one? - Mistakes can usually be put right.
Oh, surely not always, My Lord.
You're thinking of the young fellow who went out on the robbery.
- Case where they shot a policeman.
- Martin Muschamp, yes.
Muschamp.
There was nothing else I could have done about that.
I summed up the evidence.
It was pretty damning, of course, and left the matter to the jury.
All this argument about the death penalty, but we managed to take it in our stride, did our duty.
We didn't enjoy it, of course.
A lot of rubbish talked about judges eating muffins after the death sentence.
You couldn't get muffins at the Army & Navy Club.
All you could do was sum up and leave the matter to the jury.
Nothing else I could have done, was there? 'What does he want? I do believe he wants to be forgiven.
'Who am I to forgive him? ' - I don't know.
- If you'll excuse us, Judge, Mr Pinker and I have points to consider before the afternoon.
- By all means.
- Thank you, My Lord.
- Are you a gardener, Rumpole? - I'm afraid not.
I'm a rose man myself.
Of course, I've found it difficult to do all the pruning since my wife died.
'He wants me to feel sorry for him.
' - Come and look at this.
- Yes.
That's the garden.
The Mrs Sam McGredys are flowering well.
Very nice.
Those are two of my grandchildren.
I've got six now altogether.
That's the budding showjumper.
Yes.
I think I summed up Muschamp quite fairly.
Didn't you tell the jury they might well not believe a word of his evidence? That was my personal opinion, but they were free to come to their own conclusions, wouldn't you agree? 'What does he want from me? What crumb of comfort? ' It's your view of the case, Inspector, is it not, that after the most thorough enquiry by the police that Mrs Postern fired one shot at her husband, and only one? That is absolutely clear, My Lord.
"Absolutely clear.
" Thank you, Inspector.
(Jiggles coins and sighs) Look, I'm Doctor Overton.
The pathologist! I'm an extremely busy man.
Am I to be kept waiting all afternoon? Don't worry, we've got the message.
They're ready for you now.
Doctor Overton, have you investigated previous cases of death by gunshot wounds? - I think one.
- Only one.
I see.
Have you given evidence before in a murder trial? No, not actually.
- Congratulations on your debut.
- Thank you.
How was it that you were called upon to conduct the post mortem? Is not the Home Office pathologist for the Tester area, er the highly experienced and very aptly named Doctor Gravely? Doctor Gravely was at a conference.
I was called in at short notice.
- Ah, and saw your big chance.
- His big chance of what, Mr Rumpole? Perhaps of ingratiating yourself with the local police by agreeing with their conclusions? - I did agree with their conclusions, yes.
- And with their view that the body had received the impact of one, and only one, shotgun wound? - That was my conclusion.
- From which we might infer that it was the shot from Mrs Postern's gun which caused his death, - either deliberately or by accident? - Yes.
A shotgun wound consists, does it not, of a large central wound - surrounded by scattered shot? - That's true.
And the further away the shot is fired, the larger the area of scatter - and the smaller the central wound? - I agree.
I'm glad.
Would you look at photograph number three, please? You have drawn a circle around the hole that you consider fatal, near the centre of the chest in the Jury's photograph.
I see that, yes.
And that is where you consider the fatal shot entered? - I'm sure of it.
- Absolutely certain? I have no doubts whatever on the subject, Mr Rumpole.
How pleasant it must be to be so sure of yourself.
There is another, smaller wound just above it, is there not? - Would you care to borrow my glass? - I can see perfectly well.
(Judge) Is that the darker spot? Show us where you're looking, Doctor.
- Here, My Lord.
- Oh, yes.
It's about two o'clock from the pencil circle, members of the Jury.
- What did you take that to be? - I took that to be part of the scatter.
Could it not be the central wound from another shot fired from further away? - I suppose that's a possibility.
- Indeed? It wasn't a minute ago! - Just a possibility.
- So, when you told us you were absolutely certain that there had been only one shot, you gave an opinion which was not entirely reliable.
I see no reason to suppose there was more than one.
- But it is a possibility? - Yes.
And what would turn that possibility into a probability? If there was some strong additional evidence.
- Of which you say there is none? - Not as far as I know.
That is something for the jury to consider, the extent of your knowing.
How many pellets are there in a 20-gauge shotgun cartridge? I would say about an ounce of shot.
I didn't ask how much it weighed, I asked how many pellets there were.
Um, how how - How many pellets? - Are you hard of hearing? - No, not in the least.
- Would you answer my question? Yes, well, I I think I think I I I'd have to look that one up.
"Look it up"? You didn't think to look it up before you came here to give "expert" evidence against a woman of unblemished character on a charge of murder? Let us see if you remember this without having to look it up, when you conducted the post mortem you found a large number of shot in the body? - A very large number indeed.
- Very large, I'm obliged to you.
- Did you count them? - May I look at my notes? Look at what you like, except the Inspector in charge.
- He's not able to help you now.
- Mr Rumpole! Oh, Your Lordship objected to that observation? I withdraw it.
How many pellets were found in the deceased's body, Doctor? 478, My Lord.
There may have been some you missed? Some that missed their target? - There may well have been.
- For your information, and to save you the trouble of looking it up, the average contents of a 20-gauge cartridge is between 250 to 270 pellets.
- Well, I must accept that, of course.
- So, does not the presence of almost double the number of pellets in the body suggest to you that there must have been a second shot? - It might do so.
- Might it not? If Mrs Postern fired only one shot, as three independent witnesses have testified, might not a second person have fired the other? Surely that is a conclusion for the Jury, Mr Rumpole? It is a submission of mine, My Lord, that I consider that to be the only conclusion.
- Thank you, Doctor.
Before you go - Yes? If you intend to continue in your present work, I recommend Professor Ackerman's Gunshot Wounds in Forensic Medicine.
A handy little volume, and quite an easy read for the beginner.
(Harmsway) No further questions, My Lord.
Very well.
I think we'll break off there.
10:30 tomorrow morning, members of the Jury.
(Usher) Be upstanding.
All you having anything to do with the Queen's Justices for the City of Tester may depart hence and give attendance here tomorrow at 10:30 of the clock in the forenoon.
God save the Queen and My Lords, the Queen's Justices.
- Rumpole! - Ah, Fiona.
Your cross-examination may have been first-class entertainment Yes, I haven't enjoyed myself so much since I got old Ackerman himself to change his mind about a bloodstain.
Where does it get my sister? Oh, just possibly off.
Sprod says it was an accident.
Are you suggesting there were two? - No.
Only one accident.
- What are you getting at? Your sister is not too keen on the truth coming out in this case, is she? Why don't you come down and ask her? No, not tonight, Fiona.
Tonight I'm dining at the Tester Arms.
'I'm expecting company.
' - Mr Rumpole.
- Mr Fishbourne.
Sit down, why don't you? Did you have a good dinner? I had what is called the Tester Arms set meal.
Pâté maison in the form of liver ice cream.
A steak, cut from the nether end of some elderly animal and lightly singed under an X-ray machine, and a cheese board aptly named.
The cheddar had the flavour and consistency of damp sawdust.
And the whole sumptuous repast topped off with an ice-cold claret which made Pommeroys' plonk taste like Chateau Lafitte.
What have you got to tell me? - You can't get her off, can you? - You tell me.
I mean, I don't see how you can.
She said she did it.
Did she tell you that? - No.
She won't see me.
- Oh, indeed? But you know why Jonno Postern would've wanted to see you, though? It wouldn't have been to criticise your riding ability, would it? No, it wasn't for that.
What she actually said was, "I shot him.
It was an accident.
" Who else did she think might have shot him, do you suppose? Who else do you think could have shot him, Mr Fishbourne? - It couldn't possibly have been me.
- Oh, indeed? Why not? I wasn't here.
I'd gone to London, quite unexpectedly.
I had a call from our lawyers and I went up just after lunch.
Any number of people saw me.
Our first bit of luck in this case.
That is a splendid example of what we call in the trade a cast-iron alibi.
He couldn't have done it.
He was in London, so you can stop shielding him.
Yes, I remembered seeing your face when he fell at the last.
You were very upset.
I thought you were his wife.
Afterwards you were laughing at him with the others, so I knew you were hiding something.
Jonno found out, did he? It's such a mess.
- What shall I do? - (Rumpole) Why not tell the truth? Sometimes people win cases doing that.
Look, they can't keep Sorry.
Look, they they can't keep the judge waiting any longer.
Well, what do you say? Shall we give it a try? The truth "the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
" (Rumpole) Mrs Postern, on the afternoon that your husband died, you quarrelled.
- What was the quarrel about? - About Maurice Fishbourne.
- He is your next-door neighbour? - Yes.
Yes.
What did you tell your husband? I told Jonathan that I loved Maurice and that if he would divorce me, we hoped to marry.
I had been unhappy with my husband for a long time.
- Had he been violent? - Yes.
Quite often.
So that on the afternoon that you quarrelled? He said that he'd go over and see Maurice and tell him never to see me again.
He threatened to beat Maurice up.
I knew Maurice could have a violent temper and that he hated my husband.
I I think I said if he went that Maurice might kill him.
(Rumpole) Ah, Maurice might kill him.
Had Maurice told you that he might kill your husband? When he heard how he treated me, yes.
Yes.
And you had taken those threats seriously? I knew Maurice was a very determined man, that he has a strong will.
Yes.
Let us come to the moment when your husband left the house.
He said he'd gone out to cool off.
After a while I thought he'd gone to Maurice's, so I decided to follow him.
I got as far as the track by Figgis' cottage and I saw Jonathan.
Well, the Yes, go on! Well, there was blood.
I saw that he was dead.
- Yes.
- I thought that Maurice had done it.
It was just by his wood.
And? I knew that Maurice couldn't get away with it and he'd be convicted of murder.
I did not know at that time that he was up in London.
- I suppose I I was in a sort of panic.
- Yes, of course.
So, what did you decide to do? I decided to pretend that I'd shot Jonathan by mistake in an accident.
I went back to the house and got my shotgun, and when I got back to the wood, I put in one cartridge and I fired.
- One shot only? - Yes, only one.
Into your husband's dead body? Yes.
Listen, Rumpole, as you are in Tester, surely you could spare a few minutes - and go and have a look at the place? - I simply haven't got the time.
Well, you must make time.
(Hilda) 'It's not much to ask.
' Members of the Jury, contrary to the views of some people, the British criminal trial cannot be compared in any way to a horse race.
You do not get at the result by closing your eyes and sticking a pin into a list of runners.
If you believe that for whatever reason, Mrs Postern shot at her husband with the intention of killing him or doing him serious injury, then you must convict her.
But, if you think that the account she gave you might be true I say, might be true, then she is entitled to be acquitted.
There is some support for her story, is there not, in the medical evidence? 'I do wonder, have we got Martin Muschamp to thank 'for the unexpected fairness of the summing up? ' so that you have to consider the possibility that Mr Postern met his death on that woodland track by an accident caused by the man Figgis shooting from his cottage window.
And that Mrs Postern, coming on the body, assumed her lover had been responsible and took extraordinary steps to cover up what she thought had been a crime.
Er, this is not a court of morals, members of the Jury neither is it a racecourse.
What we are concerned with is certainty and the truth.
(Radio) 'Once again the pound has fallen in the European markets.
'At Tester Crown Court, the jury have returned a verdict 'of not guilty on Mrs Jennifer Postern, 'who was charged with the murder of her husband, 'the Hon Jonathan Postern.
' (Rumpole turns radio off) Well, I suppose you think you've done something clever.
No, I think I've done something absolutely "brill"! I don't suppose you were "brill" enough to look at that delightful property? Jennifer Postern.
A remarkable woman.
She went to the most extraordinary lengths to shield the man she loved.
- Fiona's sister? - Yes.
Not very much like Fiona, is she? Rather more beautiful, wouldn't you say? Much more like that other gorgeous creature down there, Agatha.
We'll be seeing quite a lot of them when we fix up this gentleman's lodge arrangement you talk about.
- They promised me shooting lessons.
- Shooting lessons? You? Yes.
There'll be lots of time.
You'll be kept busy bottling fruit and drying herbs, that sort of thing.
- Bottling fruit? - And drying herbs.
Herbs.
You know, Rumpole, I've been thinking.
This flat in the Gloucester Road is very convenient for us.
- Oh, yes, but, er - We can have days out in the country.
- I suppose that's true but - No.
No, no, no.
- But didn't your daddy always say? - No, Rumpole.
For your sake, I think I've decided against Tester.
Ah, well, Hilda, it's your decision.
S-W-M-B-O!