Cat O'Nine Tales and Other Stories - Jeffrey Archer [1]
Mr. Justice Gray settled back as he prepared to listen to how poor Mr. Haskins had been thrashed by a ruthless stepfather, night after night, and Mrs. Haskins had been raped by an evil uncle at an impressionable age, but no; Mr. Rodgers assured the court that the Haskins came from happy, well-balanced backgrounds and had in fact been at school together. Their only child, Tracey, a graduate of Bristol University, was now working as an estate agent in Ashford. A model family.
Mr. Rodgers glanced down at his brief before going on to explain how the Haskins had ended up in the dock that morning. Mr. Justice Gray became more and more intrigued by their tale, and by the time the barrister had resumed his place the judge felt he needed a little more time to consider the length of the sentence. He ordered the two defendants to appear before him the following Monday at ten o’clock in the forenoon, by which time he would have come to a decision.
Mr. Rodgers rose a second time.
“You were no doubt hoping that I would grant your clients bail, Mr. Rodgers?” inquired the judge, raising an eyebrow, and before the surprised young barrister could respond Mr. Justice Gray said, “Granted.”
Jasper Gray told his wife about the plight of Mr. and Mrs. Haskins over lunch on Sunday. Long before the judge had devoured his rack of lamb, Vanessa Gray had offered her opinion.
“Sentence them both to an hour of community service, and then issue a court order instructing the Post Office to return their original investment in full,” she declared, revealing a common sense not always bestowed on the male of the species. To do him justice, the judge agreed with his spouse, although he told her that he would never get away with it.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because of the four passports.”
Mr. Justice Gray was not surprised to find Mr. and Mrs. Haskins standing dutifully in the dock at ten o’clock the following morning. After all, they were not criminals.
The judge raised his head, stared down at them and tried to look grave. “You have both pleaded guilty to the crimes of theft from a post office and of falsifying four passports.” He didn’t bother to add any adjectives such as evil, heinous or even disgraceful, as he didn’t consider them appropriate on this occasion. “You have therefore left me with no choice,” he continued, “but to send you both to prison.” The judge turned his attention to Chris Haskins. “You were obviously the instigator of this crime, and with that in mind, I sentence you to three years’ imprisonment.” Chris Haskins was unable to hide his surprise: his barrister had warned him to expect at least five years. Chris had to stop himself from saying, thank you, my lord.
The judge then looked across at Mrs. Haskins. “I accept that your part in this conspiracy was possibly no more than an act of loyalty to your husband. However, you are well aware of the difference between right and wrong, and therefore I shall send you to prison for one year.”
“My lord,” protested Chris Haskins.
Mr. Justice Gray frowned for the first time. He was not in the habit of being interrupted while passing sentence. “Mr. Haskins, if it is your intention to appeal against my judgment—”
“Certainly not, my lord,” said Chris Haskins, interrupting the judge for a second time. “I was just wondering if you would allow me to serve my wife’s sentence.”
Mr. Justice Gray was so taken aback by the request that he couldn’t think of a suitable reply to a question he had never been asked before. He banged his hammer, stood up and quickly left the courtroom. An usher hurriedly shouted, “All rise.”
Chris and Sue first met in the playground of their local primary school in Cleethorpes, a seaside town on the east coast of England. Chris was standing in a queue waiting for his third of a pint of milk—government regulation for all schoolchildren under the age of sixteen. Sue was the milk monitor. Her job was to make sure everyone received their correct allocation. As she