Felix Francis - Guilty Not Guilty

‘Pa called me,’ I said, taking a sip.

‘Oh.’ Douglas’s hand stopped abruptly as he raised his glass towards his lips. ‘How did that go?’

‘Pretty well,’ I said. ‘In fact, much better than I expected. He asked me to go home so he could help.’

‘Blimey!’ Douglas exclaimed. ‘But I bet he’s more concerned about you tarnishing the family name than your personal welfare.’

‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘But, strangely, he really did seem to care. I was quite moved. He mentioned Ma for a start. Said she’d be pleased to see me.’

‘He must be getting soft in his old age.’ Douglas laughed loudly.

‘I think I’ll go tomorrow, but just for a couple of nights. I need to be back by Wednesday as the police have informed me that Amelia’s inquest will be opening in Oxford that afternoon.’

‘But that will be just a formality at this stage,’ Douglas said. ‘The coroner will simply open the inquest, and then adjourn it.’

‘Yeah, but I think I should be there as her next of kin. Don’t you?’

‘Maybe,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I don’t want you to get too upset by what you might hear.’

‘Like what?’ I said.

‘Preliminary results of the cause of death. Method of identification. Stuff like that. I’ve acted in several Coroners’ Courts. Usually after industrial accidents where a firm is worried about being tried for corporate manslaughter. It always seems to me that the deceased is rather dehumanised, just a “thing” rather than a person. It can be quite upsetting for the relatives.’

‘Everything is quite upsetting at the moment,’ I said, hanging my head. ‘I don’t really know where I am or what I should do. I’m only going home to see Ma and Pa because I can’t think of anything else to do. I don’t want to be in the house in Hanwell on my own, that’s for sure, even if the police do let me back in. And I can’t go on staying here for ever.’

‘Why not?’ Douglas said. ‘You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, meaning it. ‘But I think I’ll go to Wales. My life seems a bit lost at the moment, as if I were starring in a horror biopic without a screenplay, and no director. I feel I should be doing something but I have absolutely nothing to do. At least up there, I’ll be put to work on some project or other and I’ll feel useful.’

Our mother always had her pet projects on the go, to somehow improve the castle in her eyes. Such as tree planting or path laying, converting outhouses into craft workshops or organising local workers into chain gangs to confront the never-ending scourge of ivy before it could attack the ancient stonework.

I would simply get swept up by her enthusiasm and maybe, just maybe, the physical labour, even for a day or two, would enable me to forget briefly the agony that existed in my heart.

‘As you like,’ Douglas said. ‘But if I were you, I’d skip the inquest and stay longer at home. It will do you good.’

‘Won’t it look bad if I’m not present?’

‘I wouldn’t worry about that,’ Douglas said. ‘The way the press have been hounding you, it’s probably best to avoid them, and you can bet they’ll be there in force.’

I still didn’t like it. The media would accuse me of hiding, and not caring.

‘I’d go on your behalf,’ Douglas said, ‘but I’m busy with this trial at the Bailey. The judge is currently doing his summing-up and the whole thing should be through by the middle of the week, but one never knows how much time the jury will take. In my experience, juries are always a bit of a lottery. But here’s hoping this one makes the right decision.’

He lifted his glass.

‘Guilty, you mean.’

‘In this case, yes,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s a gay lovers’ tiff and the defendant is as guilty as hell.’

‘How can you be so sure?’ I asked.

‘His DNA was all over the murder scene for a start.’

‘So?’ I asked. ‘My DNA will be all over Amelia’s murder scene too. I live there. It doesn’t mean I killed her.’

‘Hmm. Good point,’ Douglas said. ‘But the defendant in this case maintains that he had an argument with his neighbour and killed him by mistake while defending himself with a fish-filleting knife. What complete nonsense. No one carries a knife like that unless they have the intention of using it. And he also claims that he’d never been in the victim’s flat before and that his DNA found all over the victim’s bed was planted there by the police.’

‘Are you sure it wasn’t?’

He looked at me strangely. ‘You don’t seem to have a very high regard for the Old Bill.’

‘Would you in my place?’ I replied. ‘They seem to take Joe Bradbury’s word for it that I killed Amelia without investigating him at all.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘Don’t I?’ I said. ‘I’ve just received another of his diatribes by email. In it he continually mocks me as being the only suspect. Then he accuses me of being abusive and aggressive towards his mother on the telephone in spite of the fact that I wasn’t, and that it was she that called in the first place to abuse me. He also maintains that I’m a bully when it’s really he who’s done all the bullying. I’m totally fed up with him. Amelia and I were advised by Simon Bassett never to respond to Joe’s lies, but he’s sorely testing my patience at the moment. So it hasn’t been a great day, to say nothing of those damn newspaper headlines. They really hurt.’

‘Why did you look at them?’ Douglas asked.

‘It’s a bit difficult not to when you have them delivered and they were lying open on the doormat.’

‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘But they’re only delivered on Sundays, mind. You’ll be spared tomorrow.’

‘Surely by tomorrow they will have found something else to write about.’

‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ Douglas said. ‘Felicity and Tony hosted a big Sunday lunch today for ten of their friends. In spite of them knowing that you’re my brother, it was all they talked about. I had to spend the whole time defending your character and reputation.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

‘Don’t be.’ He smiled. ‘It was my pleasure. The damn media should be ashamed of the hatchet job they’ve done on you. I hope you sue.’

‘Douglas, you know as well as I do, in fact better, that suing newspapers is a mug’s game. They will have cleared everything through their lawyers before they printed it.’

‘Yeah, you’re right. The media are so careful these days. Especially after the BBC quite rightly got done for invading Cliff Richard’s privacy. And then there was that dreadful case in Bristol when the landlord was accused by the papers of murdering one of his female tenants.’

I looked at him blankly.

‘You must remember. They made a TV film about him and he was a star witness at the Leveson Inquiry into press ethics — not that that seems to have done any good, if this case is anything to go by. What the hell was his name?’

‘I can’t help you,’ I said.

‘Jefferies!’ Douglas said, clapping his hands together in delight. ‘That was it. Christopher Jefferies.’

‘What about him?’

‘Turned out he was completely blameless, so he sued for libel. And he won, too. Received substantial damages from eight national newspapers, no less, two of which were later also found in contempt of court and heavily fined on top. The combined press had tried and convicted him in the eyes of the public without any evidence whatsoever. Assassinated his character just because he had long white hair and looked a bit odd. It was disgraceful.’

No more disgraceful than what they were now doing to me.