Bernard Knight - According To The Evidence

Deflated, Austin Harrap-Johnson mumbled something and attracted the notice of the judge, who glared at him over his half-moon spectacles.

‘Doctor, please speak up! The jury need to hear what you have to say.’

Chastised, the doctor flushed and repeated what he had muttered. ‘I said that I was playing safe, my lord, given that I had only seen the lady on one previous visit.’

Prideaux gave something suspiciously like a snort as he came to his last question. ‘Come along, doctor! I put it to you that if Miss Sheila Lupin had not made the initial accusation to you that her sister had been poisoned, you would have been happy to issue a certificate – instead of dashing off to the coroner with this hearsay claim?’

As the flustered locum made a final half-hearted denial, Prideaux barked, ‘No further questions, my lord,’ and sat down with a flourish that suggested that the whole issue must now surely be settled.

The prosecuting barrister declined an invitation to re-examine, and Mr Justice Templeman released the witness from further involvement. Harrap-Johnson descended from the box and walked out, covered in less glory that he had expected. Moira’s initial feelings had changed to sympathy as he looked embarrassed and deflated.

‘That went better for us, didn’t it?’ she whispered to Mrs Armitage, who nodded then looked at her wristwatch. ‘I expect we’ll just about get the next witness in before lunch. That lot up there are keen on their food at the judge’s lodgings.’

She nodded at the five august personages sitting up on the high bench – Moira irreverently thought that they looked like the characters in a Punch and Judy show, dressed in their colourful outfits.

This time, no witness was called from outside the court, but when Lewis Gordon called his name an elderly man, who was sitting at the end of the second bench furthest from Richard Pryor, rose to his feet and went towards the witness box. Moira knew from her reading of all the papers that had come to Garth House that he must be the local coroner’s pathologist. He was a thin, dried-up man of at least seventy years of age, his dark suit hanging on him, his shirt collar too large for his leathery neck.

After taking the oath, he said in a faintly foreign accent that he was Dr Rupert Stein and that he was a semi-retired doctor, now living in Stratford-upon-Avon. Moira decided that he must be a pre-war immigrant from somewhere in Central Europe.

Rupert Stein haltingly explained that he had retired from his hospital post as a pathologist seven years earlier, but still did post-mortems for several coroners in the Cotswold region. One of these post-mortems was on Mrs Mary Parker, though his tone suggested that he now wished he had kept well clear of such a controversial case.

‘On the day following the death, you performed an examination at the request of the local coroner. Did you know the full circumstances of the death before you began?’

‘Only in the broadest terms. I had wondered why the death of a sufferer from advanced cancer, under medical care for many months, should have been reported to the coroner.’

The old doctor’s voice was as dry as his appearance, but he seemed perfectly alert and competent as he dealt with the questions.

‘And what were these “broadest terms”, doctor?’

Dr Stein frowned and looked uncomfortable for the first time.

‘The coroner’s officer told me that a close relative had made an allegation that the deceased may have been given an injection of potassium chloride shortly before death. On hearing this, I considered declining to proceed with my examination, as I am not experienced in forensic procedures, but as the medical history seemed so strongly in favour of the cancer as the cause of death, I decided to carry on. I felt that any doubt could be resolved later.’

Junior counsel then led the pathologist through his post-mortem report, detailing all the relevant findings. These amounted to a catalogue of the effects of the malignant tumour in the abdomen, which had spread widely to many of the major organs and to the bones.

‘Was there any additional condition that may have precipitated sudden death, doctor? Such as haemorrhage or thrombosis?’

Rupert Stein shook his head. ‘No, I found nothing of that nature.’

‘Was there anything that could have substantiated this allegation of an injection of potassium chloride?’

Again the pathologist answered in the negative, but added a caveat. ‘Of course, I would not expect any signs of that. Potassium chloride stops the heart; there are no visible manifestations.’

‘There was a fresh injection mark on the arm, was there not?’

‘Yes, but she was being given frequent intravenous morphine,’ countered the doctor. ‘There were injection marks on both arms, of varying ages.’

The prosecution barrister did his best to bring the questioning to an advantageous conclusion.

‘So the situation is this, is it not? You found no sudden pathological event that could have caused sudden death and you had no evidence to exclude potassium poisoning?’

The old pathologist looked steadily down at the advocate. ‘That’s true, but equally I had no evidence to confirm or even suspect potassium toxicity, especially in the presence of very advanced cancer.’

The barrister sat down and Nathan Prideaux rose to his feet at the judge’s invitation.

‘Dr Stein, you have really already answered all the questions I had for you, but just to summarize: this was an examination that was rather sprung on you, was it not?’

‘Looking back, I suppose I should have told the coroner that I would have preferred him to have sought a forensic opinion. But at the time the attitude of the coroner’s officer was that this allegation was not to be taken all that seriously. It was the day following the death and I understand that investigations had not got very far by that time.’

Prideaux nodded understandingly.

‘You took no blood samples for analysis to check for potassium?’

‘It would have been pointless. Potassium is a natural constituent of the body and leaks out rapidly from the cells into the blood after death.’

‘Then, doctor, the situation surely is this – you did a post-mortem on a lady with very advanced cancer and found no objective evidence whatsoever that this was not the sole cause of death. Do you agree?’

When the pathologist accepted this, the defence QC had one last question.

‘You may not be a forensic pathologist, but you have been an experienced hospital consultant for many years and must have seen many cases of advanced cancer. Given the medical history of this lady and in the light of your own findings, have you any reason to think that the cancer could not have killed her?’

When the doctor gave a firm ‘No’ as his answer, Prideaux gathered his gown about him and sat down with a confident thump.

Behind him, Richard Pryor, who so far had not had occasion to tear up any paper for notes, could almost hear the rumble of stomachs on the judge’s bench. Sure enough, Mr Justice Templeman began gathering up his pens and notebooks as he declared a recess for luncheon. After warning the jury that they must not speak to anyone about the case, he announced resumption at two o’clock and the whole court dutifully stood as he led his colourful procession out of the court.

Much as Moira liked Doris and appreciated her whispered explanations, she was eager to talk to Richard to hear how he thought the case was going. In spite of the life-and-death seriousness of the matter, she was as partisan over the case as if she was rooting for Wales in a rugby international.

As soon as the court broke up, she waited for him to have a quick word with the defence lawyers until he caught up with her at the door of the court.