Murphy Judge Walden: Call the Next Case

1. Auflage 2019
ISBN: 978-0-85730-298-4
Verlag: No Exit Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, Band 3, 416 Seiten

Reihe: Walden of Bermondsey

The Third Judge Walden Novel 'Warm, witty and endearingly entertaining' Joanne Owen, LoveReading 'Wickedly addictive read' Yvonne Bastian Charlie Walden, the irrepressible Resident Judge (RJ) of Bermondsey Crown Court is back to preside over five new cases. As ever, there is little rest for the RJ as he does his best to deal with: the church-going carer who steals from the old lady under her care, the cleaver-wielding chefs wth different ideas about how to make a Caesar salad, the man with a penchant for 'marrying' multiple women, and the astrological guru accused of fraud. Not to mention the shock-horror when colleagues get into trouble - Judge Hubert Drake for writing an angry letter to the press, and Judge Marjorie Jenkins for storing suspected pornography on her judicial computer. Oh, and the ongoing wars against the Grey Smoothies, who try to frustrate Charlie at every turn with their bureaucracy and their endless quest for value for money for the taxpayer.

Born in 1946, Peter Murphy graduated from Cambridge University and pursued a career in the law in England, the United States and The Hague. He practised as a barrister in London for a decade, then took up a professorship at a law school in Texas, a position he held for more than twenty years. Towards the end of that period he returned to Europe as counsel at the Yugoslavian War Crimes Tribunal in The Hague for almost a decade. In 2007 he returned to England to take up an appointment as a judge of the Crown Court. He retired as Resident Judge and Honorary Recorder of Peterborough in 2015. Peter started writing fiction more than twenty years ago, but following his retirement from the bench he became a full-time author, often drawing on the many experiences of his former career. Two political thrillers about the American presidency: Removal and Test of Resolve were followed by eight legal thrillers in the Ben Schroeder series about a barrister practising in London in the 1960s and 1970s. Alongside those he also penned the light-hearted series of short story collections featuring Judge Walden of Bermondsey in the 'Rumpole' tradition, based in part on his own experiences as a lawyer and judge, and recently published A Statue for Jacob, based on the true story of Jacob de Haven. Peter passed away in July 2022.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Murphy, Peter

Leseproben

TOO MANY COOKS

Monday morning

As I hand over my change to Jeanie this morning in payment for my ham and cheese bap, I find my mind more than usually focused on food. Like most people, I find thoughts of eating something nice flitting through my mind during the day, even when I’m supposed to be concentrating on other things, and even when I’m not particularly hungry. But having occupied myself during a few idle moments on Friday afternoon by reading the file in the case I’m due to try today, I’ve prepared myself for the fact that it may be difficult to avoid stirring up the gastric juices a bit. It’s likely to be a warm day, apparently, and the false promise of delicious, cooling dishes seems unusually seductive.

It’s strange how often cases take you into establishments devoted to food and drink. Usually, the restaurant or bar is just part of the scenery, the backdrop to a case that has nothing to do with eating or drinking as such. Logically, the type or location of the venue shouldn’t matter very much. But despite the number of restaurants, pubs and clubs to be found in London, it’s interesting how often the same names crop up time and time again in proceedings in front of any of our Crown Courts. Bermondsey is no exception. In any given prosecution for offences involving the supply of drugs, drunken Saturday night fisticuffs, drunken Saturday night sexual escapades, the dishonest handling of high-end stolen goods, or even the odd instance of counterfeit currency, two names spring instantly to mind – and very often on to the pages of police reports and witness statements: the George and Dragon, and the Blue Lagoon. Both seem to play host to a statistically improbable number of transactions that eventually end up in court. As a result two things tend to happen: the police keep a close eye on them, which serves to increase the number of arrests and turn the whole thing into a self-fulfilling prophecy; and the judges and staff at the Crown Court avoid both places like a forensic plague.

But you also have the occasional case in which the establishment is not just part of the scenery, but is more intimately involved with the events in question. In cases like that, the judges and staff, having no reason to fear any adverse consequences, may well have some personal knowledge of the premises acquired during an agreeable night out. The most notorious example at Bermondsey was the case of Jordan’s, an up-and-coming restaurant rapidly turning into one of London’s leading gastronomic destinations, but which also turned out to be the site of a brothel frequented by a number of men in public life who didn’t want that fact to become public knowledge. There were, of course, other men – such as Legless – who just happened to have been there for dinner, but were nervous that their presence at Jordan’s might be misconstrued. I tried the resulting case against the proprietor, Robert Jordan, his girlfriend Lucy Trask, and his Russian bar manager, Dimitri Valkov, who ran the brothel. When Valkov, in a futile attempt to save himself, produced a ‘black book’ containing a number of names, panic broke out in certain quarters that took some time to dispel.

Mercifully, the case of Luigi Ricci, featuring Bermondsey’s equally up-and-coming Primavera Toscana, has nothing to do with brothel keeping, as Roderick Lofthouse is about to explain. In fact, it hasn’t attracted any suspicion at all in the two years during which it has graced Queen Elizabeth Street, SE1. On the contrary, while it doesn’t pretend to be a Jordan’s, it has quietly established its reputation for ‘excellent affordable Italian food in a family-style setting’. All four judges of the Bermondsey Crown Court have been seen there on several occasions, once or twice together on a Friday evening; and, I suppose, on one or more of those occasions we probably encountered Luigi Ricci and his brother Alessandro, though if so, I don’t remember. To err on the safe side, when we had our plea and case management hearing I did suggest to Roderick and to Julian Blanquette, who’s defending Luigi, that it might be prudent to move the case to a Crown Court north of the River, or at least import a judge from some such distant clime to try the case. But apparently the Brothers Ricci have no more memory of us than we have of them; counsel saw no need to worry about it, and so on we go.

‘May it please the court, members of the jury, my name is Roderick Lofthouse and I appear to prosecute in this case. My learned friend Mr Julian Blanquette represents the defendant, Mr Luigi Ricci, the gentleman in the dock. Members of the jury, with the usher’s assistance I’m going to provide you with copies of the indictment, which the clerk of court read to you just a few moments ago. One between two, please.’

Dawn scurries over to Roderick and the jury box in turn, handing out copies while repeating that there is only one between two, just in case they missed it when Roderick told them. Although Roderick and Julian weren’t concerned about the judicial familiarity with Primavera Toscana, we all agreed that it wouldn’t be a good idea to have a jury of frequentatores. So this morning, while I was dealing with my usual hour and a quarter’s worth of bail applications and other assorted reasons to delay the start of a trial, we could at least offer the new jury panel something to occupy them during their tedious waiting around time. They were given a short questionnaire asking whether any of them were patrons of Primavera Toscana, or intimates of the Brothers Ricci or any of their employees. It was just as well we did. We received five positive replies from satisfied customers, who had apparently interpreted the questionnaire as the court asking for suggestions of decent places the staff might enjoy going to for lunch. Three supplied particularly effusive recommendations, and one expressed the view that the Riccis should be awarded a Michelin star in recognition of the grilled sea bass. Happily, the jurors concerned were shipped off to panels in the other courts before any damage could be done.

‘You will see that the indictment contains a single count of unlawful wounding with intent to cause grievous bodily harm,’ Roderick continues, ‘contrary to section 18 of the Offences against the Person Act 1861. The particulars of the offence are that Mr Ricci wounded a woman by the name of Linda Galloway by stabbing her with a meat cleaver. Members of the jury, later in the trial the learned judge will direct you about the law, and you must take the law from him, not from me. But I think I can safely tell you this much. A wounding is simply any breaking of the skin, and grievous bodily harm – in the rather archaic language of this old Act of Parliament dating back to 1861 – simply means really serious physical injury. The Crown say, members of the jury, that when you have heard the evidence in this case, you will be driven to conclude that Mr Ricci clearly wounded Miss Galloway, and clearly did so with the intention of causing her really serious physical injury.’

Roderick glances at his notes, and takes a deep breath. The doyen of the Bermondsey Bar is at his deadliest in apparently clear-cut cases of violence. He uses his undoubted gravitas to wonderful effect, and as he increases in seniority the relative lack of detail typical of such cases suits his style more and more. On the other side, Julian Blanquette has a gravitas of his own, but it owes nothing to seniority. Julian owes such gravitas as he has to an infectious energy and a keen wit, which he often employs to good effect against opposing counsel, to the amusement of the jury. I’m wondering with interest what his approach will be to this case. On the face of it, there’s not much to raise a chuckle in the papers I’ve read.

‘Members of the jury, it all started at about eight o’clock on a Thursday evening about four months ago. You will hear that the defendant Luigi Ricci and his brother Alessandro, who are both in their fifties, own and operate an Italian restaurant called Primavera Toscana, in Queen Elizabeth Street, SE1, not very far from this court. You will hear that Linda Galloway went to Primavera Toscana for dinner on that evening with a male companion. She arrived at about seven fifteen. It was a quiet evening. Only one other table was occupied, by a Mr and Mrs Snape, and they were several tables away from where Miss Galloway and her companion were seated.

‘After two pre-dinner drinks Miss Galloway and her companion placed their orders for dinner. The orders were taken by a young woman called Valentina Ricci, who is the daughter of Alessandro Ricci, and who works part-time at Primavera Toscana while studying for her degree. Members of the jury, you may be surprised by what I’m about to tell you, because generally what the victim of an offence had to eat just before the offence was committed is not of great importance. But in this case you may hear it referred to by the witnesses, and so I will tell you. As it was a warm night, both Miss Galloway and her companion ordered a chilled garlic soup and a Caesar salad with chicken. They also asked for a bottle of sparkling water and a bottle of Vermentino di Gallura – a light, crisp white from Sardegna, which I must say I’ve rather taken to myself…’

Seeing me looking at him curiously, Roderick holds up a hand.

‘I’m sorry, your Honour,’ he says quickly, ‘I seem to have got rather carried away. I’ll move on.’

‘The mid-1990 vintages aren’t bad,’ Julian...