‘This season, yes, sir,’ he said.
‘So you know the defendant well?’
‘Yes, sir.’ He glanced briefly at Steve in the dock before returning his eyes to the prosecuting counsel.
‘And you knew Mr Barlow well?’
‘Yes, sir. I did.’
‘Did you ever hear Mr Mitchell and Mr Barlow arguing?’ the QC asked.
‘Were they ever not?’ said Reno. ‘Sometimes they would even argue all the way round during a race. The rest of us got fed up listening to them.’
‘And what did they argue about?’ asked the QC.
‘Anything and everything,’ said Reno. ‘But mostly about Barlow’s sister and Mitchell having had an affair with her.’
‘And was Mitchell married at the time of the affair?’ asked the QC.
Oh no, I thought, here we go.
‘He was at the beginning,’ said Reno. ‘But not at the end.’
‘Do you know if Mitchell’s wife was aware of his affair with Scot Barlow’s sister?’ the QC asked almost smugly.
‘She was after Barlow told her,’ Reno said.
‘Is that something you know, Mr Clemens, or just something you have heard from others?’
‘I heard it from Mitchell himself,’ Reno said. ‘He would often shout at Barlow in the jocks’ changing room and accuse him of being a Judas for snitching to his wife.’
‘You bloody lying bastard,’ Steve Mitchell stood up and shouted at him from the dock, hammering on the glass partition with his fists.
The judge had his gavel banging down almost before the echo in the courtroom had died away.
‘Silence,’ he ordered. ‘Silence in court. Mr Mitchell,’ he pointed the gavel at the dock, ‘another outburst like that and I will have you taken down to the cells. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, My Lord,’ said Steve sheepishly. ‘I’m sorry.’
Steve sat down again. But more damage had been done to our side.
The prosecution QC had remained standing throughout, and now he had a slight smirk on his face.
‘Now, Mr Clemens,’ he said, greatly enjoying himself. ‘Let me get this straight. Are you telling the court that you had often heard the defendant shouting at Mr Barlow that he, Barlow, had been a Judas for telling Mitchell’s wife that Mitchell was having an affair with Barlow’s sister?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Reno Clemens very distinctly. ‘I am.’
A motive for Barlow’s murder had just been clearly established by the prosecution.
∗
Two more prosecution witnesses completed the day’s proceedings. Both of these gave testimony to reinforce that already given by Charles Pickering and Reno Clemens.
The first was another jockey, Sandy Webster, who did little more than confirm that Mitchell and Barlow argued a lot. When asked what they had argued about he couldn’t really say because ‘he didn’t bother to listen to them ranting on all the time’.
I imagined the prosecution was regretting having called him because he was sonervous that his voice was continuously quivering, and he was hardly giving them the answers they wanted. In my experience, witnesses who were over nervous tended to be discounted by juries, who were inclined to think they were lying.
The second witness was Fred Pleat, a former employee of Mitchell, who had worked as a groom at Mitchell’s home soon after the stables were built and when horses were housed there at livery.
‘Now, Mr Pleat,’ said the prosecution QC in his smarmy manner. ‘Were you present at Mr Mitchell’s property the day three new pitchforks were delivered?’
‘Yes, I was,’ he replied.
‘And can you recall the actions of Mr Mitchell when he saw that they had been delivered?’
‘Yes,’ he said again. ‘Steve, that’s Mr Mitchell, picked one of them up and thrust it forward and said something about sticking that bastard Scot Barlow with it.’
There was a moment of silence in the court.
‘Thank you, Mr Pleat,’ said the QC. ‘Your witness.’
I rose to my foot.
‘Mr Pleat,’ I said to him. ‘Were you frightened by this action you say Mr Mitchell performed?’
‘No,’ he said.
‘Why not?’ I asked him.
‘I figured Steve was only joking, like,’ he said. ‘He was laughing. We were both laughing.’
‘Thank you, Mr Pleat,’ I said. ‘No more questions.’
Fred Pleat left the court and, as a bonus to our side, he gave Steve a slight wave as he passed the dock. I hoped the jury had been watching.
‘My Lord, that concludes the case for the prosecution,’ said their QC.
The judge looked at the clock on the courtroom wall that showed ten past four, then he turned towards the jury.
‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,’ he said. ‘You are free to go now until tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. May I remind you not to discuss the case amongst yourselves, nor with anybody else, not even your families. You will get your chance to deliberate in due course.’
The jury was then ushered out of court.
‘Mr Mason,’ the judge said when the jury door had been closed. I had earlier informed the judge that I wished to make a submission at the conclusion of the prosecution’s case, and members of the jury were never present in court during legal argument.
‘Yes, My Lord,’ I said, struggling upright. ‘Thank you.’ I collected together some papers in front of me. ‘My Lord, the defence wishes to make a submission to the court that the defendant has no case to answer. The prosecution have presented nothing more than circumstantial evidence. There is nothing to show that my client was ever in Mr Barlow’s house, let alone being there at the time of the murder.’
I took my time going over each of the witnesses’ evidence in some detail.
‘In conclusion,’ I said. ‘The forensic evidence may be able to place my client’s pitchfork and wellington boots at the scene, but this does not prove that my client was there with them at the time. The prosecution may also be able to show that hair and blood from the victim were found in my client’s car, but they were not able to demonstrate that the car had ever been at Mr Barlow’s residence, nor that it had been locked throughout the afternoon and early evening on the day of the murder, while it sat on Mr Mitchell’s driveway.
‘While the defence readily accepts that our client and Mr Barlow held an ongoing and deep-seated antagonism towards each other, this is not evidence of murder. If it were, then half the nation would be so tainted. The defence further accepts that our client does not have an alibi for the time of the murder, but failure to have an alibi is not evidence of guilt. It is our contention that the prosecution has failed to present prima facie evidence of Mr Mitchell’s guilt. My Lord, we submit that you should direct the jury to return a not guilty verdict because there is no case for Mr Mitchell to answer.’
I sat down.
‘Thank you, Mr Mason,’ said the judge. ‘I will consider your submission overnight and make a ruling in the morning. Court adjourned until ten o’clock tomorrow.’
‘All rise.’
Eleanor finally did come to Oxford on Wednesday night. She was waiting for me in the dimly lit hotel lobby when I returned from court. I hadn’t expected her to be so early, and I was worried that there might be a message for me giving yet another good reason why she couldn’t make it tonight either. So I was caught unawares as I struggled with both my box of papers and the crutches. She came up behind me and took the box just before it dropped to the floor.
‘Oh, thank you,’ I said, thinking it had been one of the hotel staff.
Eleanor peeped at me round the side of the box.
‘Hello,’ I said with a grin from ear to ear. ‘How absolutely wonderful. You can catch my boxes any day you like.’
‘I thought I’d surprise you,’ she said. ‘I’ve been here more than an hour.’
‘Blimey,’ I said. ‘If I’d known that I would have been here more than an hour ago.’
‘Why weren’t you?’ she said in mock annoyance.