John Francome - Declared Dead

The counsel for the prosecution simply ignored my outburst and continued with his questioning: 'Did there come a time when your relationship with the accused ceased?'

'Yes. At the beginning of this year we talked it over many times and finally agreed that it had to end. I had no intention of leaving Edward if it meant giving up custody of my son. Tom accepted that.'

'So when was the last occasion you saw the accused before your husband's death?'

'The day after the Gold Cup, 18th March, a Friday. I went over in the morning to his yard to school some horses.'

'Did you discuss your husband on that occasion?'

I had wondered when this would come up. No doubt Jamie Brown had already given evidence about it that morning.

'Yes, but only briefly. Tom was upset because he knew Edward had attacked me the night before. He made some remark about giving him a thrashing, he didn't mean it.'

'Thank you, Mrs Pryde, I've no more questions. Will you just stay there, please?'

Immediately another counsel, sitting at the other end of the row, rose to his feet. I assumed he must be acting for Tom.

'Mrs Pryde, it is true, is it not, that Mr Radcliffe readily accepted that your relationship had to end?'

'Yes, I think we both realised it couldn't go on, and he took the initiative in bringing it to an end.'

'And Mr Radcliffe recognised and accepted that out of love for your son you were determined to stay with your husband?'

'That's right. We often discussed it and Tom never suggested that I was wrong in putting Freddie, my son, first.'

'Shortly before your husband's death, did you discover something unpleasant about him?'

'Yes. He was a blackmailer.' That took the court by surprise and I could see the heads of the public in the gallery and the press corps jolt forwards in anticipation of what was to come. Counsel for the prosecution however had other ideas. He was on his feet quicker than a greyhound out of the trap.

'My Lord, I must object. I cannot possibly see the relevance of this line of questioning. It's not the deceased's character which is on trial here.'

'I agree with you, Mr Scott,' answered Snipe, who wasted no time in turning on Tom's counsel. 'Mr Fenton, what on earth has this to do with your client's case?'

Fenton, thank God, wasn't of the school that quaked before Snipe's feet. 'If Your Lordship will be so good as to be patient, the relevance of this line of questioning will soon emerge.'

Patience, as far as Snipe was concerned, was a game for ageing spinsters. He snarled with exasperation and his jaw moved as if he was about to savage poor Fenton. Then for some reason it stopped as if he had thought better of it. 'Very well,' he grumbled. 'Continue for the moment, but be careful.'

'I'm much obliged,' said Fenton, dutifully bowing in feigned respect.

'And how did you discover this, Mrs Pryde?' was Fenton's next question.

'He told me himself, after the Gold Cup. I, or rather Freddie, had discovered a diary hidden in my husband's wardrobe and I challenged him about the entries. He boasted to me that the initials on a number of the pages were those of his victims and the figure against each set was the monthly sum the particular victim had to pay for his secret to remain just that.'

'Did he identify those victims?'

This time counsel for the prosecution flew the trap: 'My Lord, this just won't do. Is my learned friend seriously suggesting that this witness should tell the court about the contents of a diary no one has ever seen and in the process expose to the public gaze and obloquy a number of individuals who have no right of defence or reply?'

Snipe was with him all the way and now Fenton had become the hare. 'Mr Fenton, I sincerely hope you were not inviting this witness to name names. You are well aware that these courts frequently grant anonymity to the victims of blackmail and indeed in this case we have only the word of this witness that such blackmail ever took place. Tragically, her husband is in no position to defend himself against such an allegation.'

Two of the jury nodded in approval, and I could tell from the way he was swaying back and forward that Fenton was no longer relishing his present position.

'I hope to avoid any unnecessary naming My Lord. I will restrict myself to one individual, who it is intended to call to give evidence on behalf of the defendant.'

I couldn't control myself any longer: 'But that's unfair. That list of names includes the very people who would have a motive for…'

'Silence!' boomed Snipe, glowering at me through his spectacles.

I carried on defiantly: '… killing my husband, such as…"

'I said silence!'

I looked over at Tom with a sigh, and realised by his demeanour that I was doing more harm than good. I stopped talking and waited for Snipe to lay into me. I wasn't disappointed.

'If that happens again, I will have no hesitation in committing you to prison for contempt of court. Mr Fenton, continue and don't forget, one name only.'

'Have you seen this note before?' He handed up via the usher the piece of paper on which Corcoran had written out his confession.

'Yes, I found it amongst my late husband's possessions.'

'Would you tell the court whose signature appears upon it?'

'Yes, a Mr Michael Corcoran.'

'And who is he?'

'A stable lad who used to work until fairly recently for Mr Radcliffe.'

'Would you please read that note out loud to the court.'

I did as I had been asked.

'Do you know how your late husband came into possession of that note?'

'He told me he obtained it from Corcoran by a trick and since then had been blackmailing him with it.'

'I've no more questions of this witness, My Lord.' Fenton sat down and I picked up my crutches to stand up and leave. No more questions.

'May I look at that note, Mrs Pryde?' The counsel for the prosecution was again on his feet.

I handed it to the usher, who in turn delivered it to counsel. He read it and then said, 'Perhaps the jury would also like to see it, My Lord.'

'After I have,' snapped Snipe.

It passed up and down the two rows to the accompaniment of a great deal of muttering. I was now to be re-examined: 'You told My Lord and the jury that you found this piece of paper amongst your husband's possessions?' asked the prosecuting counsel.

'That's right.'

'Was that after his death?'

'Yes.'

'Why didn't you hand it over immediately to the police?'

'Because I knew they didn't believe me when I said my husband was a blackmailer.'

'So you gave it instead to the accused's legal advisers?'

'Yes. They asked me for it and I willingly handed it over.'

'You appreciate that you are under oath, Mrs Pryde?'

'I am very aware of that fact, sir.'

'You know Mr Corcoran in his capacity as a lad in the accused's yard at Wantage?'

'Yes.'

'How do you know that it is his signature on this note?'

'Because it is his name there.'

'Have you ever seen his signature other than on this document?'

'No.'

'So anybody could have signed it with his name?'

'No, you're wrong. Corcoran did. I know he did.'

'Then no doubt he will come to this court and tell us so himself.' And with those words he sat down.

I felt impotent and helpless. I walked slowly across the court, found a place on a bench near the back and wondered what on earth would happen next.

My interrogator rose again to his feet: 'That, ladies and gentlemen,' he announced dramatically, 'completes the case for the prosecution.'

After a brief opening speech by his counsel, Tom was now called to give evidence. His chances of an acquittal depended on the impression he made in the witness box and to an even greater degree on the testimony of Michael Corcoran. Despite the ordeal he must have been going through over the past two months, he walked purposefully from the dock. His voice was strong and clearly audible as he took the oath and I even detected a hint of defiance as he looked out onto the court.