Brian Freemantle: The Mary Celeste

Flood decided that he had succeeded in the task he had set himself. It had been a devilish scheme, as he’d told Sir James that first day. And, to be completely truthful with himself, he had failed to confirm the reason for it. But he’d pointed to the motive clearly enough. The attempt to get Deveau from the court had been proof, had any more been needed, that the crew of the Dei Gratia were involved in the disappearance of Captain Briggs and his family. Now the departure of Captain Winchester showed where the guilt lay.

He knew that the Board of Trade in London had already accepted his version of events and passed on to Washington the British government’s belief in mutiny and murder. Doubtless they would alert Washington to the owner’s flight, so that the authorities would be waiting when he arrived in New York.

The Gibraltar Chronicle and Commercial Intelligencer had announced the conclusion of the enquiry and the crowd around the door was greater than it had been on the first day.

Flood had become a celebrity through the hearing. To a degree, he had anticipated the interest that would be shown in British and American newspapers, but had never expected it to extend to the European journals. He had kept a file, containing every mention of the enquiry and the theories that had been advanced; in nearly every report, his name had been prominently mentioned. As he had hoped, the two American newspapers which had conducted personal interviews had accompanied their articles with photographs of him in his official robes.

When his carriage arrived, he recognised four of the journalists who had covered the progress of the enquiry and nodded to them.

‘Available for comment afterwards, Mr Attorney-General?’

Flood had not seen who shouted the remark. He looked back to them, nodding again.

‘Perhaps,’ he said. It would be wrong for him to appear to be courting the public interest.

Baumgartner was waiting just outside the robing room and walked forward to meet the bustling Attorney-General.

‘Sir James is anxious to see you before the hearing.’

‘I’ll robe,’ said Flood.

‘He said it was urgent… that you should come immediately,’ said the registrar, stopping him.

Shrugging, Flood put his briefcase in the room and then walked behind the court official to the judge’s chambers. There was none of the usual cordiality as he entered. Cochrane was at his desk, the ledger into which he had made his notes throughout the hearing open before him.

Flood went to his accustomed chair, without waiting for the judge’s invitation.

‘I’ve received the decision of the constabulary,’ announced Cochrane.

Flood smiled expectantly. The decision would make a very dramatic end to the enquiry; the newspaper coverage would be greater than ever. He would make a statement to the journalists. The decision would vindicate his beliefs, as they well knew.

‘They have decided that there is insufficient evidence to mount a prosecution,’ said the judge.

‘What!’

Flood half-rose out of his chair, his face open with outrage.

‘Insufficient evidence,’ repeated the judge. ‘There’s agreement from every side that cause for suspicion is overwhelming. But the lack of positive evidence to link either Captain Winchester or the Dei Gratia crew directly with an attributable crime, even a premeditated motive, makes it too dangerous to mount a prosecution.’

‘ I would have prosecuted,’ said Flood, still unable to keep the incredulity from his voice.

‘I’m aware you would… so are the authorities.’

‘Then I should surely be allowed to proceed, in a criminal court.’

‘Not if the police here are unprepared to make a case. And counsel’s advice is that if we arraigned any one of the people who have appeared before us at the enquiry, then their defence lawyers would destroy any case we were able to bring.’

‘But what about the flight of Captain Winchester?’

‘It proves — ’

‘Guilt,’ insisted Flood. ‘What other reason would he have had for fleeing, unless he were frightened of what was to be uncovered?’

‘It would make a very strong piece of circumstantial evidence, if only there were something positive to link the man with crime… insurance fraud, for instance. Just one thing — that’s all we need.’

The full extent of what he was being told registered with Flood. He rose, walking to the window overlooking the bay. The disbelief numbed him.

‘It means that a crime has been committed… and that we are probably letting the guilty men escape justice.’

‘I’ve made that point,’ said Cochrane.

‘Is a full report being made to London?’

‘Of course.’

‘They could overrule the decision here.’

‘The final decision came from London, because I protested against its being made locally.’

‘ London say no proceedings?’

‘Yes.’

‘But they’ve accepted my view, of murder and mutiny. Alerted the American government, even.’

‘I know. And for good purpose. If there were mutiny and somewhere one of the crew is located, then we’ve got our positive proof. We’re not closing the door to prosecution by deciding against moving now.’

But he’d wanted it pursued now, while everyone except Winchester was in the colony and easily apprehended. He’d wanted to be involved.

‘What chance will there be of bringing all these people together in six months’ time I’ he demanded, exasperated. ‘They’ll have disappeared to God knows where.’

‘I’m not unaware of the difficulties,’ said Cochrane, irritated at the apparent blame the Attorney-General was attaching to him for the decision.

‘It’s unbelievable,’ said Flood, making angry patting gestures against the window sill. ‘Utterly unbelievable.’

He turned into the room again:

‘The Mary Celeste crew were German, with families. I’m going to communicate the whole affair to the Prussian authorities and ask them to be on the look-out for anyone answering the descriptions we can provide. There’ll be a time when they will want to come out of hiding and return home…’

‘It could do no harm,’ said the judge doubtfully.

Flood returned to his chair, sitting forward upon it and looking directly at the other man.

‘I regard this as a personal failure,’ he said.

‘There’s no reason why you should,’ said Cochrane immediately. ‘I know of no one else who would have worked as hard as you have.’

‘I’m convinced I’m right,’ said the Attorney-General, unwilling even now to concede that the affair was going to end without any action. ‘There are too many inconsistencies in the story for it to go unchallenged.’

‘I know the doubts, as well as you,’ said Cochrane sadly.

‘Then what are we to do?’

‘There’s little we can do,’ said the judge. ‘I intend making my feelings as dear as possible.’

There was a hesitant sound at the door and Baumgartner appeared. Cochrane rose, dismissively, and the Attorney-General hurried back to his robing room. He felt robbed, as defiled as he would have been had he returned home to find his house forcibly entered and the objects he had accumulated over a lifetime stolen for ever. It was a preposterous decision not to institute proceedings. And even more preposterous that there was no one to whom he could appeal against it.

He stumped into court, ignoring the formal greetings of acknowledgment from the lawyers who were already assembled. Sprague sat slightly apart and gave no awareness of the Attorney-General’s entry. In the first row of seats behind the lawyers the captain and first mate of the Dei Gratia sat side by side.

Cochrane entered almost immediately and like Flood ignored the customary greetings from the assembled lawyers: