Felix Francis - Guilty Not Guilty

‘It did at the time but it has caused me all sorts of trouble since.’

‘The prosecution have claimed that you were there in order, on purpose, to crash into a car driven by your brother-in-law. Is that right?’

‘No, of course not. I’ve never crashed into anything on purpose and certainly not near Banbury. That would have been really stupid. If, as they say, the crash was so severe, how come the van wasn’t so badly damaged that it was impossible to drive? How would I have then got back to London?’

‘So where did you have the crash?’

‘It’s a bit embarrassing, really. I wasn’t concentrating and I ran into a concrete post near the company vehicle depot in Harrow. I know I told the staff in the office that someone else had driven into the van, but that was so I wouldn’t get the blame. Things like that happen all the time. That’s also why I took the van straight to the body shop.’

He looked shamefaced at the jury and some of them even nodded back at him in understanding.

How could they believe such a load of claptrap?

‘So let me just confirm what you’re saying to us, Mr Bradbury,’ said the eel. ‘You say there was no theft because the money was a gift from your mother to you; you say that you did not crash into any other cars; and you say that your sister was already dead when you arrived at her home. Is that correct?’

‘Yes,’ Joe said, smiling. ‘Totally correct on all three counts.’

He confidently removed his spectacles and polished the lenses with a handkerchief.

‘No more questions,’ said the eel, and he sat down.

The prosecution barrister stood up eagerly, but the judge quickly intervened.

‘I think we’ll take a short break there,’ he said. ‘Before the cross-examination. To allow the jury to stretch their legs.’ He looked at the clock situated on the wall above the exit doors. ‘We will reconvene in twenty minutes.’

‘All rise!’

‘He’s going to get off, isn’t he?’ I said to DS Dowdeswell over a cup of coffee. ‘I could see the jury believing every damn lie he uttered.’

‘It always looks bad just after the defence have asked their questions of the defendant. Let’s wait until after our man has had a go at him. I’m sure he has some tricks up his sleeve to catch Bradbury out.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ I said. ‘At the moment I’d put all my money on an acquittal.’

‘How would you describe your relationship with Amelia Jane Gordon-Russell?’

The prosecuting counsel was opening his cross-examination.

‘We loved each other,’ Joe said. ‘As a brother and a sister.’

‘I suggest to you that you did no such thing. When did you last talk to your sister prior to the supposed telephone call the night before she died?’

‘The call was real, I tell you,’ Joe said. ‘She called me.’

‘But when did you speak to her prior to that night?’

‘I can’t recall for sure.’

‘Would you say that you were in regular communication?’

‘Quite regular, yes. I sent her emails.’

‘Yes,’ said the prosecutor dryly. ‘Your emails. We will come to those.’

Joe suddenly looked rather worried. As well he might.

‘But when did you last actually speak to your sister prior to the call you say she made to you on that Tuesday evening?’

‘I’ve already told you. I can’t remember the exact date.’

‘Is that not because your sister hadn’t spoken to you for nearly two years prior to her death? Indeed, did she not refuse to speak to you after you had been so nasty to her and her husband?’

Joe said nothing.

‘Do you recall receiving an email from your sister in the January, twenty-one months before she died?’

‘No, I don’t,’ replied Joe.

‘Then I’ll read it out to you, to remind you,’ said the prosecutor. He lifted a piece of paper. ‘ Joseph, I hate you, I hate you. You are causing so much hurt and pain. I never want to see you again, ever. I have blocked your calls and I do not want to receive any more of your horrid emails. Leave us alone. ’ He waited in silence for a few moments before looking up at the witness. ‘Would you say that was the sort of email you might expect to be sent between two people who love each other as a brother and a sister?’

‘All siblings have their minor problems occasionally.’

‘But this is not a minor problem, is it, Mr Bradbury? Let me read your reply to that email, a reply sent by you in spite of being asked not to.’ He picked up another piece of paper. ‘This was found in Amelia Gordon-Russell’s inbox on her computer. It arrived the day after your sister sent the previous one to you. Amelia, it is not me that is causing so much hurt and pain, it is you and your vile husband. He is like a cancer in our family and the sooner you get rid of him, the better. He has destroyed his own family and he is now trying to destroy ours too. He is a hateful, hateful man who is trying to ruin my relationship with my mother. I wish he were dead. The whole family hate him and I have the evidence to prove it. He is a fraud and a liar and I am building a dossier against him. ’

He laid the piece of paper back down on the table.

‘Not much brotherly love shown there, wouldn’t you say, Mr Bradbury?’

Joe said nothing and the prosecutor waited patiently, looking at him.

‘The witness will answer the question,’ interjected the judge.

‘No,’ Joe said in a whisper.

‘Speak up,’ commanded the judge. ‘The recording equipment won’t catch what is said if you whisper.’

‘No,’ Joe said again, louder.

‘And that is not the only email you have sent to your sister since that time, is it, Mr Bradbury?’

‘No,’ Joe said again.

‘No, indeed,’ replied the prosecutor. ‘In fact, since then you have sent no fewer than twenty-six equally unpleasant emails to either your sister or your brother-in-law, in spite of receiving not a single reply back from either of them. Would you call that harassment, Mr Bradbury?’

Joe said nothing and, this time, the judge let it go.

But the prosecutor wasn’t finished with the emails just yet. ‘The jury will be given printed copies of all these emails as an evidence bundle.’ He held up a wad of papers. ‘It is not contested by the defence that these emails were sent by you to your sister and brother-in-law from your personal computer. Isn’t that right, Mr Bradbury?’

‘Yes,’ he said quietly.

‘Let me remind you of just one more of them. You sent the following to your sister just five days before she died.’ He picked up one of the pieces of paper from the wad and read from it. ‘ I hear from Mum that you have been bullying her again, telling her that I am wicked and evil. Her words not mine. I am hugely disappointed that you should choose to target a frail old lady with such abusive comments about her own son, shouting at her and threatening her. You are a stupid, stupid woman. Are you aware how much of a relief it is to everyone else that you can’t have children, so that you can’t pass on your crazy genes to the next generation? I will not tolerate behaviour like this towards our mother and will take severe action against you if it continues .’ The prosecutor paused. ‘What sort of severe action would that be, Mr Bradbury?’

‘It was just a turn of phrase,’ he mumbled.

The prosecutor left it hanging, and the jury looked suitably horrified by what they’d just heard. After a fitting pause, the prosecutor went on.

‘Let us now turn to why you drove a Ford Transit van belonging to your High Court enforcement firm all the way from Ealing in west London to Banbury and back, a distance of some seventy miles each way. You have told the jury that you undertook the journey solely because you believed that being close to where your sister died might give you some comfort in your grief. Is that right?’