Felix Francis - Guilty Not Guilty

‘But they said that it could harm my defence if I didn’t say something now that I later rely on in court.’

‘Poppycock,’ Harriet said with a laugh. ‘That’s just the standard caution. And you can always blame me. What really hurts your defence is to say something now that is completely different from what you say later in court. So it’s better to say nothing now, and especially nothing you haven’t already said in your previous interview. But I’d much rather you say nothing at all. Any slight change to your story, however small and insignificant, maybe due only to a minor lapse of memory, will be picked up and thrown right back at you — and at the jury — as proof that you are lying.’

Why was all legal advice seemingly always to say nothing? And do nothing?

Harriet banged on the door, which was opened from the outside.

‘Tell them we’re ready when they are.’

We were taken into the same interview room as before, again with Detective Chief Inspector Priestly and DS Dowdeswell. The only difference was that, this time, it was Harriet sitting next to me instead of Simon.

The recorders were started again with a long beep.

‘I remind you, Mr Gordon-Russell,’ the DCI said, ‘that you are still under caution and anything you say may be used in evidence. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Good,’ he said, shuffling the papers in front of him. ‘Now, Mr Gordon-Russell, would you describe yourself as a violent man?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I would not.’

I received a nudge from Harriet under the table.

I looked at her. Surely there was no harm in answering that question.

‘But is it not the case, Mr Gordon-Russell, that you have been violent in the past?’

‘No,’ I said and, after receiving another nudge, I added, ‘comment.’

The DCI looked up at me from his notes.

‘Was that no, or no comment?’

‘No comment,’ I said.

‘So you have been violent in the past?’

He was twisting my answers, or rather my lack of them.

‘No comment.’

‘Do you know a young girl called Victoria Bradbury?’

Where was this going? Victoria was Joe and Rachael Bradbury’s ten-year-old daughter.

‘No comment.’

‘We have received a complaint from her father that you have been violent in the past towards Victoria Bradbury. That you picked her up by the arms, shook her violently and shouted at her. Is that true?’

I sat and stared at him. Of course it wasn’t true.

‘Well?’ said the DCI. ‘Is it true?’

I looked at Harriet and she shook her head very slightly.

‘No comment,’ I said.

‘Did you shout at her because she wouldn’t do what you wanted? And was that something of a sexual nature?’

What nonsense was this?

‘Was that why you killed your wife? Because she found out about your sexual depravity with her niece?’

I didn’t like this, not one bit. I could feel my palms beginning to sweat and my heart was racing.

‘I wish to consult alone with my solicitor.’

‘Interview suspended,’ said the DCI, and he stopped the recorder.

Harriet and I were shown back into the legal consultation room.

‘What is it?’ Harriet asked, the irritation clear in her voice.

‘I can’t just sit there saying “no comment” to such an allegation.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Because it’s not true, dammit. I’ve never laid a finger on that girl, and Joe Bradbury knows it. Why would he say such a thing?’

‘Because he’s trying to wind you up,’ Harriet said. ‘And so are the police. Ignore it — unless there’s some proof to back up the claim.’

‘There isn’t.’

‘So let it all wash over you.’

Easier said than done.

Sexual interference with a young child was considered the most horrendous of crimes — far worse even than murder. And yet it was so easy to accuse someone of sexually abusing children and have the police and others believe it. Look at how some senior politicians, including a former prime minister and other men of rank and influence, had been lambasted on the TV and in the press, having had false accusations of rape and sexual abuse made against them by a liar and complete fantasist. The police may have grudgingly apologised to the accused eventually, but not before one of them had died and the others had had their reputations destroyed for ever.

And I had no doubt that this latest unjustified claim against me would also make it into the newspapers.

‘I want to fight back,’ I declared. ‘If no one is telling them that Joe Bradbury is lying, then they will all believe him.’

‘They’ll all believe him anyway,’ Harriet said depressingly. ‘It’s human nature. People want to believe everything bad about the perceived villain and, in this case, that’s you. If Joe Bradbury told them that you had two heads and scales down your back, most of them would believe it absolutely. You simply claiming that he’s lying will make no difference.’

‘It’s so unfair.’

‘As maybe, but unfair false accusations are not evidence. It is still better for you to say nothing at this stage. Trust me.’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll try.’

‘At least we now know why they went all the way to Wales to arrest you.’

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘So that they could search your phone and computer for sexual images of children before you heard about Joe Bradbury’s allegations and destroyed them.’

‘I assure you, they won’t find any such images,’ I said. ‘Not unless Joe has managed to store them there remotely.’ I was suddenly worried. ‘He can’t do that, can he?’

‘I wouldn’t think so, not without sending them as emails and showing his hand as being the one responsible.’

That reassured me, but only slightly. Joe was a bit of a wizard with computers and I wouldn’t put anything beyond him at present.

‘Are you ready to continue?’ Harriet asked.

‘I suppose so.’

But I wasn’t looking forward to it. And with good reason.

‘I ask you again, Mr Gordon-Russell,’ DCI Priestly said when we were all again in the interview room with the recording restarted. ‘Was the reason you killed your wife because she found out about your sexual depravity with her niece?’

I still felt uneasy. I wanted to shout, No, of course not, you fool. Not only did I not kill my wife, but I have never had any sexual feelings towards any young children, let alone my wife’s niece.

But, instead, all I said was ‘No comment.’

I could see that the DCI took my reply as a minor victory. In his eyes, it clearly implied my guilt.

I felt sweaty and unwell.

But the DCI wasn’t finished. Not by a long way.

‘Does the name Tracy Higgins mean anything to you?’

I blushed.

I know I blushed. I could feel the warmth of the blood in my neck and face.

‘No comment,’ I said.

But the policeman had seen. And both he and I knew he’d seen.

‘Did you not admit to having sexual intercourse with Tracy Higgins when she was under the age of sixteen and was therefore still a child?’

‘No comment.’

‘And did that admission not result in your name being placed on the sex offenders register.’

I gritted my teeth. ‘No comment.’

How mistakes in your past can come back to haunt you.

I’d been in my first week as an undergraduate at Cambridge when, at a freshers’ party in my college, I’d been approached by a beautiful young woman with very long legs and a very short skirt. She told me that she’d also just started at the university, and wasn’t it fun to be finally living away from home.

One thing had led to another and, at her express invitation, we had ended up indulging in the pleasures of the flesh in my room. Only at one o’clock in the morning had I discovered that things were not as they appeared, when the college security officer banged on my door.