Blood on the Water (38 page)

A
FTER THE COURT WAS
adjourned, Rathbone spread out on his dining room table all the documents he had regarding the trial of Habib Beshara. It was the best way he could think of to help Brancaster. They were drawing near to the final stage of the battle, and it was far more evenly balanced than he wished. There was a difficult judgment call to make. If they allowed the jury to be complacent, to believe that all was well with the justice system, then they would lose. It was always harder to defy or overturn a verdict than it was to reach one in the first place.

And yet if they used fear, either of the atrocity happening again because the guilty man had gone free, or of an innocent man being convicted and hanged in the future, they might panic the jury, and all its vision and balance would be lost.

That was the trouble: The whole case rested on emotion. Therefore none of the usual rules could be relied on.

Rathbone started reading the transcript of the trial of Habib Beshara,
presided over by York. He smiled to himself. Here he was searching for emotional bias in York’s rulings, and he was so emotionally involved himself that he was overcompensating in every direction in order to try to be fair. He should not be the one doing this, but it was his skill, his experience, that was needed.

He understood the law and most of the idiosyncrasies, particularly those that opened either traps or opportunities for men who made their money and their fame in its practice.

Brancaster had to use this all-too-short weekend in order to think of a strategy to keep Pryor from simply closing the case and relying on the jury to return a decision that Sabri was not guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.

Rathbone had been reading for nearly two hours, unaware of the evening drawing in, when he found the first serious error. York had upheld Camborne’s objection when the grounds were insufficient. Over and over again Camborne had interrupted unnecessarily, played on the emotions of grief, even suggested that failure to convict Beshara was a blasphemy against the memory of the dead. Twice Juniver had argued vehemently and been overruled for questioning York’s decision. He had wisely refrained from trying a third time, but Rathbone could imagine his frustration. Had it been Rathbone in his place, he would have taken it as a warning that he had a deeply unfriendly judge, maybe even a prejudiced one.

Of course, it was always possible that the horror of the case had affected York. The authorities would have made certain that he had no immediate family bereaved by the atrocity, but many people would’ve had friends or neighbors or associates who had lost someone, or knew someone who had lost someone.

Rathbone requested a pot of tea, and read on. Camborne was good: In fact, he was excellent. Not only that, but of course the crowd had been with him, and he had taken advantage of it. The rulings had leaned more and more his way.

Would Rathbone have done that, in his place? If he were honest, he was obliged to admit that he probably would.

Dover brought the tea and Rathbone accepted it gratefully. He had not realized he was so thirsty.

He went back to the transcript and studied it further. Very few of York’s decisions were in favor of the defense. Had Juniver been so often wrong? Had he been so desperate that he’d been grasping at straws that would not bear the weight of his argument?

Or was Camborne simply the better lawyer? The fact that he was actually wrong could not have been known then.

Rathbone reached the end and went back to the beginning again. By that time it was midnight—the clock on the mantelshelf struck the hour. He ignored it. He made notes of every single one of York’s decisions, and slowly a pattern emerged. York had favored the prosecution, and then favored them again to avoid reversing the earlier decision, compounding the error.

Singly, each decision was just about acceptable. Only when viewed cumulatively, and apart from the emotion of the case, did they amount to prejudice.

He finally put the papers away and went to bed at just after two in the morning. He was determined to go to visit Alan Juniver the following morning, regardless of the fact that it was Saturday. They had no time to spare.

J
UNIVER WAS STARTLED TO
see him. He was sitting in his home glancing at the morning newspapers before preparing to go out for the day with his fiancée’s family.

“I’m sorry,” Rathbone said. “I wouldn’t call now if any other time would do. In fact I am concerned that I may already be too late.”

Juniver looked worried. “It will not be viewed well if I don’t turn up on time,” he said anxiously. “Mr. Barrymore is already of the opinion that I am not the best choice his daughter could make.”

Rathbone smiled ruefully. “I am not in a position to argue that particular case,” he admitted. “If she wishes you at her beck and call for social occasions she might do better with a banker, or a stockbroker in
the City. Of course she might then be bored to death, but one has to pick and choose which virtues or advantages one counts most important.” The moment he had said it he could have bitten the words back, but it was too late. Apologizing might only make it worse.

“I suppose it is better he find out now.” Juniver pulled his mouth into a tight line. “I assume this is about the Beshara case? You must normally have something better to do on a fine summer Saturday.”

“I’m sorry,” Rathbone said again. “We resume the trial on Monday, and I don’t know how to stretch it out much further. If I were in Pryor’s place, I’d close as soon as possible, while emotions are high and there’s still reasonable doubt. We’ve no motive yet. It’s a mess …”

“What do you want from me? I didn’t get Beshara off.”

Only in that moment did Rathbone perceive how deeply that still wounded Juniver. It was not his own failure that hurt—no lawyer always won—it was the fact that he now knew his client had been innocent, and was already dead, however long he might or might not have lived otherwise. It was not advisable to use that guilt against Juniver, but done well, it would be effective, and Rathbone dared not lose.

He put his leather attaché case on the floor. “I have the trial transcripts here. I spent a good deal of the night going over them several times. I would like very much to go over them again with you, because there are instances that trouble me. I would like your recollection, in case I am reading errors into them that, had I been present, I would realize were not as they seem.”

Juniver frowned. “I was overruled a lot, but I was pretty desperate, and I knew it. I thought the man was guilty.”

“I think everyone did,” Rathbone conceded.

“You didn’t?”

“I was out of the country. I didn’t have an opinion at all. I’m sorry about your day, but a great deal hangs in the balance. It’s the devil of a lot more than simply proving Sabri guilty.”

“I know. Excuse me while I send a message that I cannot come.”

“Of course. Juniver … I’m sorry!”

Juniver smiled. “I’d do the same … I hope.”

A few minutes later he was back again. They went through the entire transcript, Rathbone making notes where York’s judgments could have gone either way. Some of them were above question, some he had ruled for Juniver anyway, but precious few.

With increasing anxiety, Rathbone asked Juniver about each ruling that was against him. He had him look at the transcript and see if it was absolutely accurate, and if he could to recall anything more about the circumstances.

Juniver’s memory was excellent. Very often he could recite what his objection had been and, word for word, what York had ruled. He also remembered the objections Camborne had made, and almost all of them had been upheld.

“There’s a pattern,” Rathbone said finally, rubbing his hands over his eyes. “Taken one by one they all seem reasonable, except the last two. But put together, and including your memory of small remarks not noted, expressions and silences, it amounts to bias, at the very least.”

“It’s only my memory,” Juniver pointed out unhappily. “And when I look at it now, honestly, I didn’t fight as hard as I could have, or would have if I hadn’t believed Beshara was guilty. I’m not proud of that.”

“None of us is proud of our losses,” Rathbone said gently. “Whatever the reason.”

Juniver’s face was pale. “The reason was that I didn’t fight with everything I could think of. I believed he deserved it. He was a nasty man and I disliked him from the beginning. I couldn’t get the vision of those people in the water out of my mind, even though I didn’t see it myself …”

“I imagine the jurors couldn’t either,” Rathbone agreed. “And Beshara may have been involved, on the periphery. The law is the question, and what pressures were brought to bear.” He smiled, but his eyes did not waver from Juniver’s, and it was the younger man who lowered his gaze first.

Juniver breathed in and out slowly. “Are you speaking of York?” he asked.

“Do you know if I’m right?” Rathbone countered. “Or suspect it?”

“Suspect,” Juniver said immediately. Then, quite clearly, he regretted having not been more evasive. “At least … I wondered. It may have been no more than an emotional revulsion to the crime. It would be natural to be outraged. In fact, how could you not be?”

“We are all offended by crime,” Rathbone answered. “Some more than others, of course. Violence is frightening; extreme violence is extremely frightening. We appoint judges because we believe they have the strength and the wisdom to separate their personal fears or weaknesses from the facts of the case. Lawyers who prosecute or defend are allowed to be as passionate as they wish. Judges are not … as I know, to my cost.” He saw Juniver’s face and immediately wondered if he had been wise to make the remark. Perhaps he had temporarily forgotten Rathbone’s fall from grace. It could have been profoundly inopportune to remind him.

“We are all vulnerable,” Juniver replied, lowering his eyes. “We want justice as we see it. We want to be heroes. We want to be on the side of right. And a good few of us want to climb on up the ladder as well …” He stopped. Then he added as if it were an afterthought, “And some of us want to earn favors of certain people.”

That was what he had been meaning to say. Rathbone knew it as surely as if he had spoken of nothing else. He did not need to ask if he were referring to York. What did York want? To rise to the Supreme Court or the House of Lords? Not lord chief justice, surely? He had neither the brilliance nor the reputation among his peers for that.

Rathbone looked at Juniver again. Had the Beshara case really been big enough to build a reputation from which to reach for that? Or was York deluding himself? Perhaps Rathbone should have read more of the newspapers from the time of the sinking; then he would have understood the mood better.

“Is York in line for the next high office vacant?” he asked Juniver. Answers winged through his mind: York as lord chief justice, smiling
under his white wig, nodding as he spoke with the prime minister, bowing before the queen. He saw Beata behind him, watching. Even if she just affected to be proud to be his wife, his heart ached for her. If she really was proud, because she had no idea the price York had paid for the honor, Rathbone was hurt as if with a raw wound. And if she knew the price, and did not care, then the pain within him was intolerable.

Had his tragedy with Margaret so warped his belief in people, and in his own judgment, that he trusted nothing anymore? He should not allow her to do that to him! No, that was not strictly fair: He was doing it to himself. Blaming others was what had driven them apart, the refusal to accept the truth because it hurt.

He forced himself back to the issue.

“It began as minor error,” he said to Juniver. “But it looks to me as if he compounded it until it moved into the realm of something that would be cause for reversal in an ordinary trial for theft or assault. No one is going to reverse Beshara’s conviction, because of the horror of the crime. York will have known that, as will Camborne. But is there anything here, looking at it now with the knowledge that Beshara was innocent, that could be viewed as corruption?”

Juniver’s eyes widened. “You’d accuse York of corruption?”

“If there are grounds,” Rathbone replied. “Wouldn’t you?” Then instantly he changed his mind. He had been willfully insensitive. “If it is necessary, I will. I have nothing to lose anyway, and more chance of presenting it successfully. If it came to that.”

“Bring down York?” Juniver said in little more than a whisper. “Because of the Beshara trial?” There was more than doubt in his voice; there was the weight of all he must know about Rathbone’s own trial over which York had presided, and he might even guess what else lay between them.

“Do you think I should ignore it?” Rathbone asked quietly. He did not mean it, or like the sound of it on his lips. “Or give the information to someone else to use? Would you like it?”

“I should have done it at the time of Beshara’s trial,” Juniver replied
unhappily. “I should have gone over it all, and I should have appealed then. Not that I imagine it would have done much good.” He bit his lip. “But it wasn’t fear for myself that stopped me, I swear. I thought the man was guilty, and the sooner they hanged him the better.”

“And now?”

“I’ll help you prepare an exact statement of the facts, all York’s rulings on the Beshara case. If they amount to corruption, I’ll do whatever I can to help you bring it to the right attention. A corrupt judge damages every person in England.”

R
ATHBONE THOUGHT ABOUT IT
all the rest of the day after he got home, and for far too much of the night. When he and Juniver had assembled all their notes and references, there was no doubt left. York’s bias had come through in his rulings, and then his summing up. It had probably not been noticed by anyone else because the heat of emotion had been so high, and a conclusion was greeted with a wave of relief.

Rathbone turned it over and over in his mind, rereading the conclusions that he and Juniver had reached. The answer was inescapable. Either he must have Brancaster raise the issue in court, with reference to Beshara’s conviction, which so closely reflected on the trial of Sabri, or he must face York with it himself.