Felix Francis - Guilty Not Guilty

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ the coroner began. ‘We are here today to open and then adjourn the inquest into the death of Amelia Jane Gordon-Russell. As I am sure you are all aware, this death is subject to police inquiries and, as such, a date for the full hearing will not be set at this time.

‘The purpose of an inquest is to establish the who, where, when and how of an individual’s demise. Who was the deceased? Where did they die? When did they die? And how did they die? It is not the purpose of a Coroner’s Court to apportion blame to any specific individual or organisation. That is the role of the criminal courts.

‘Today we will be mainly concerned with evidence of identification of the deceased, and the time and place of death, plus we will hear brief updates on the medical circumstances and the police investigation.’

He shuffled his papers.

‘Do we have the investigating officer present?’

‘Here, sir,’ came a voice from behind the old dock, out of my sight.

A man I knew well appeared in view and went to stand in the witness box to the left of the coroner as we looked. He was sworn in by the usher.

‘Detective Sergeant Dowdeswell,’ said the man. ‘Thames Valley Police, based at Banbury Police Station. I am one of the investigating officers in this case. The senior investigating officer, Detective Chief Inspector Priestly, sends his apologies. He is detained elsewhere.’

The coroner nodded in understanding as he wrote down the details on a pad in front of him. Clearly the presence of a DCI at an inquest opening was not expected or required.

‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ said the coroner. ‘Can you please briefly outline the circumstances of the death?’

‘Yes, sir.’ The detective referred to his pocket notebook. ‘The police emergency line received a call at ten-seventeen last Wednesday morning informing us that a woman’s body had been found in the kitchen of a house in the village of Hanwell, near Banbury.’

‘Do we know who made the call?’ the coroner asked.

‘Yes, sir,’ said the DS. ‘It was made from the premises by the deceased’s brother, Mr Joseph Bradbury. It was he who had discovered the body and it was also he who provided the official identification of the remains as those of Mrs Amelia Gordon-Russell.’

The coroner looked up from his note-taking.

‘Is Mr Bradbury in court?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said another voice from out of sight behind a wooden division.

‘Good,’ said the coroner. ‘Sergeant, will you step down a moment but remain within the court as I will require you again shortly.’

DS Dowdeswell exited the witness box.

‘Mr Bradbury, if you please.’ The coroner waved a hand towards the now-empty space.

I watched with gritted teeth as Joe Bradbury made his way into the box. He was handed a Bible and he read from a card: ‘I swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.’

He handed the Bible and card back to the usher.

This will be interesting , I thought. I hadn’t heard him say much that had been even the slightest bit true for a very long time.

‘Please state your full name and occupation for the record.’

‘Joseph Reginald Bradbury. I work as a High Court enforcement officer.’

So far, so good. I knew that bit was true even if, as Douglas had said, it was just a fancy way of saying he was a debt collector.

‘Thank you, Mr Bradbury,’ said the coroner. ‘Can you please tell the court what happened on the morning of Wednesday last?’

‘I arrived at my sister’s house about ten o’clock. There was no answer at the front door so I walked round to the back. That was also locked so I looked through the kitchen window. My sister was lying face down on the floor. She didn’t respond to me knocking on the glass so I kicked the lock off the door and forced my way in.’

Joe stopped, looked up to the high ceiling and took a deep breath.

‘Take your time, Mr Bradbury,’ said the coroner. ‘I realise that this is very difficult for you but it would be most helpful to the court if you could continue.’

Joe took another deep breath.

‘I reached down to Amelia to try and wake her but her skin was cold to the touch — very cold. She was clearly dead. Had been for hours, I reckon. Then I saw the strap around her throat. That was when I called the police.’

He paused again, swallowed hard, and tears appeared in his eyes.

Crocodile tears. The bastard.

He and Amelia had been at loggerheads for the past three years, with some of his texts and emails reducing her to real tears, and he was the main reason she had ended up in hospital with mental health problems.

I found it impossible to believe that he was really upset by her death. After all, it was he who’d been doing his utmost to drive her to suicide.

‘What did you do while you waited for the police to arrive?’ asked the coroner, still writing notes on his pad.

‘I can’t really remember,’ Joe replied. ‘I was in shock.’

The coroner looked up at him with misplaced sympathy. ‘I won’t keep you much longer, Mr Bradbury, but can you confirm that you formally identified the deceased to the police as your sister, Mrs Amelia Jane Gordon-Russell?’

‘I can. There was no doubt about it.’

‘Thank you,’ said the coroner, making another note. ‘Just one more thing. Can you tell us why you went to see your sister that particular morning, a weekday morning when you would normally have been at work?’

‘Because she asked me to. She called me at home on Tuesday evening. Our mother has just been diagnosed with stage-four pancreatic cancer and Amelia wanted to discuss her treatment, and how we could make her remaining time a little easier for her.’

‘Liar!’ I shouted loudly.

I didn’t mean to. I hadn’t planned it. It just slipped out.

All eyes in the public gallery swung round in my direction, as they did in the courtroom below.

‘Silence!’ ordered the coroner. ‘You,’ he said, pointing up at me with his right forefinger extended. ‘Who are you?’

I removed the tweed cap and stood up.

‘I’m Bill Russell. Amelia Russell’s husband. And her brother is lying.’

My outburst brought the inquest proceedings to a halt, at least for a while.

I was warned by the coroner that I could be held in contempt of court.

‘I don’t care,’ I said. ‘Joe Bradbury is lying to you when he’s just sworn an oath to tell the truth. Surely that’s more a contempt of the court than a bit of shouting.’

‘That would be committing perjury not contempt,’ the coroner corrected.

‘Well, that’s what he’s doing. There is absolutely no way on earth that my wife would have invited her brother over to our house. She’d have rather cut off her own hand with an axe. She hated him with a passion for what he’d done to us over the past three years.’

‘Mr Gordon-Russell,’ said the coroner. ‘In the light of the loss of your wife, I can understand your anger and frustration at a perceived wrong, but this is neither the time nor the place for this conversation. Please resume your seat.’

‘It’s not a perceived wrong,’ I said. ‘It’s real. And this is the time. I’m fed up of not saying anything and letting him get away with it. Joe Bradbury is nothing more than a habitual liar and all his smarmy protestations otherwise are yet more lies.’

The coroner had run out of patience. ‘Mr Gordon-Russell. If you don’t retake your seat immediately and be quiet, I will have you forcibly removed from the court.’

All through this exchange, Joe Bradbury had been standing silently in the witness box, a supercilious smirk on his face.