Anne Perry: Execution Dock

There was a discreet knock on the door. It was the usher to tell him that it was time.

The trial began with all the ceremony the Old Bailey commanded. Lord Justice Sullivan was presiding, a man in his late fifties with a handsome nose and very slightly receding chin. His shock of dark hair was hidden beneath his heavy, full-bottomed wig, but his bristling brows accentuated the somewhat tense expression of his face. He conducted the opening procedures with dispatch. A jury was sworn, the charges were read, and Richard Tremayne, Q.C., began the case for Her Majesty against Jericho Phillips.

Tremayne was a little older than Rathbone, a man with a curious face, full of humor and imagination. He would have appeared much more at home in a poet's loose-sleeved shirt and extravagant cravat. Rathbone in fact had seen him wear exactly that, one evening at a party in his large house whose lawn backed on to the Thames. They had been playing croquet, and losing an inordinate number of balls. The late sun was setting, falling in reds and peaches on the water, bees were buzzing lazily in the lilies, and nobody knew or cared who won.

And yet despite this lack of competition, Rathbone knew that Tremayne both loved and understood the law. Rathbone was not sure at all whether he was a fortunate choice, or an unfortunate one as his opponent.

The first witness he called was Walters of the Thames River Police, a solid man with a mild manner and buttons that had such a high polish they shone in the light. He climbed the steep, curving steps to the witness box and was sworn in.

In the dock, higher up opposite the judge's bench, and sideways to the jury, Jericho Phillips sat between two blank-faced guards. He looked very sober, almost as if he might be frightened. Was that to impress the jury, or did he really believe Rathbone would fail? Rathbone hoped it was the latter, because then Phillips would maintain his appearance without the chance of it slipping and betraying him.

Rathbone listened to see what the river policeman would say. It would be foolish for him to question any of the facts; that was not the tactic he proposed to use. Now all he needed to do was take note.

Tremayne was intelligent, charming, born to privilege, and perhaps a little lazy. He was due for an unpleasant surprise.

“The message came to us at the Wapping Station,” Walters was saying. “Lightermen'd found a body, an’ they reckoned as we should go and look at it.”

“Is that usual, Mr. Walters?” Tremayne asked. “I presume there are tragically many bodies found in the river.”

“Yes, sir, there are. But this one weren't an accident. Poor beggar'd ‘ad ‘is throat cut from ear to ear,” Walters replied grimly. He did not look up at Phillips, but it was obvious from the rigidity of his shoulders and the way he stared fixedly at Tremayne that he had been told not to.

Tremayne was very careful. “Could that have happened accidentally?” he asked.

Walters's impatience sounded in his voice. “‘Ardly, sir. Apart from ‘is throat cut, an’ ‘e were only a boy, there were burn marks on ‘is arms, like from cigars. They called us because they thought ‘e'd been murdered.”

“How do you know that, Mr. Walters?”

Rathbone smiled to himself. Tremayne was nervous, even though he believed his case to be unassailable, or he would not be so pedantic. He was expecting Rathbone to attack at every opportunity. It would be pointless to object to this as hearsay. It would make Rathbone look desperate, because the answer was obvious.

Lord Justice Sullivan's lips curved in a very slight smile also. It seemed he read both of them and understood. For the first time since they began, there was a flash of interest in his eyes. He sensed a duel of equals, not the execution he had expected.

“I know it ‘cause they said so when they asked us to come,” Walters replied stolidly.

“Thank you. Who is the ‘us’ you refer to? I mean, who from the River Police did go?”

“Mr. Durban an’ me, sir.”

“Mr. Durban being your commanding officer, the head of the River Police at Wapping?”

“Yes, sir.”

Rathbone considered asking why Durban was not testifying, although of course he knew, but most of the jury would not.

Lord Justice Sullivan beat him to it. He leaned forward, his expression mild and curious. “Mr. Tremayne, are we to hear from this Commander Durban?”

“No, my lord,” Tremayne said grimly. “I regret to say that Mr. Durban died at the very end of last year, giving his life to save others. That is the reason we have called Mr. Walters.”

“I see. Please proceed,” Sullivan directed.

“Thank you, my lord. Mr. Walters, will you please tell the court where you went in answer to the summons, and what you found there?”

“Yes, sir.” Walters squared his shoulders. “We went down the Limehouse Reach, about level with Cuckold's Point, an’ there was a lighterman, a ferryman, and a couple o’ barges all anchored an’ waiting. One o’ the barges'd caught up the body of a boy, maybe twelve or thirteen years old. The lighterman'd seen it and raised the cry. O’ course you can't stop a barge, still less a string of ‘em, all of a sudden, like. So they'd gone a good ‘undred yards or so before they threw out an anchor an’ got to look at what they ‘ad.” His voice sank even lower, and he was unable to keep the emotion out of it. “Poor kid was in an ‘ell of a mess. Throat cut right across, from one ear to the other, an’ been dragged an’ bashed around so it were a wonder ‘is ‘ead ‘adn't come off altogether. ‘E were caught in some ropes, otherwise, of course, he'd ‘ave gone out with the tide, an’ we'd never ‘ave found him before the sea an’ the fish ‘ad ‘im down to bone.”

On his high seat Sullivan winced and closed his eyes. Rathbone wondered if any of the jurors had seen that small gesture of revulsion or noticed that Sullivan was more than usually pale.

“Yes, I see.” Tremayne gave the tragedy of it full importance by waiting to make sure the court had time to dwell on it also. “What did you do as a result of this discovery?”

“We asked ‘em to tell us exactly what ‘appened, where they were when they reckoned the barge'd run onto the body, ‘ow far they'd dragged it without realizing…”

Sullivan frowned, looking sharply at Tremayne.

Tremayne saw it. “Mr. Walters, if they did not know the body was there, how could they have estimated how far they had dragged it?”

Rathbone hid a smile not because he was unamused by the irony of the arguments, and Tremayne's exactness, but because if he were seen to display any lack of horror or pity now it would work against him later.

“Because o’ the last time someone would ‘ave ‘ad to ‘ave seen it if it were there, sir,” Walters said grimly “If someone passed astern o’ you, they'd ‘ave seen.”

Tremayne nodded. “Precisely so. And how far had that been?”

“Around Horseferry Stairs. Passed a ferry going in, pretty close. Must ‘ave run afoul o’ the poor little begger some time after that.”

“Did you know who he was, this dead child?”

Walters winced, his face suddenly transformed by anger and pity. “No, sir, not then. There's thousands o’ children on the river, one way or the other.”

“Did you work on the case after that, Mr. Walters?”

“No, sir. It was mostly Mr. Durban hisself, and Mr. Orme.”

“Thank you. Please remain there, in case my learned friend, Sir Oliver, wishes to ask you anything.” Tremayne walked back across the open space of the floor and gestured an invitation to Rathbone.

Rathbone rose to his feet, thanked him, and walked calmly into the center of the court. Then he looked up at the witness stand to where Walters was waiting, his face heavy and apprehensive.