The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [208]
“Is this relevant, Sir Matthew?” interrupted the judge.
“It most assuredly is, M’Lud. It goes to the very core of the case,” replied my QC in a quiet even tone.
Everyone’s gaze was now fixed on Rosemary. I willed her to tell the truth.
She didn’t hesitate. “Certainly not,” she replied, “although it wasn’t the first time my husband had accused me unjustly.”
“I see,” said Sir Matthew. He paused. “Do you love your husband, Mrs. Cooper?”
“Really, Sir Matthew!” The judge was unable to disguise his irritation. “I must ask once again if this is relevant?”
Sir Matthew exploded. “Relevant? It’s absolutely vital, M’Lud, and I am not being assisted by Your Lordship’s thinly veiled attempts to intervene on behalf of this witness.”
The judge was beginning to splutter with indignation when Rosemary said quietly, “I have always been a good and faithful wife, but I cannot under any circumstances condone murder.”
The jury turned their eyes on me. Most of them looked as if they would be happy to bring back the death penalty.
“If that is the case, I am bound to ask why you waited two and a half hours to contact the police?” said Sir Matthew. “Especially if, as you claim, you believed your husband had committed murder and was about to dispose of the body.”
“As I explained, I fainted soon after he left the room. I phoned the police the moment I came to.”
“How convenient,” said Sir Matthew. “Or perhaps the truth is that you made use of that time to set a trap for your husband, while allowing your lover to get clean away.” A murmur ran through the courtroom.
“Sir Matthew,” the judge said, jumping in once again. “You are going too far.”
“Not so, M’Lud, with respect. In fact, not far enough.” He swung back round and faced my wife again.
“I put it to you, Mrs. Cooper, that Jeremy Alexander was your lover, and still is, that you are perfectly aware he is alive and well, and that if you wished to, you could tell us exactly where he is now.”
Despite the judge’s spluttering and the uproar in the court, Rosemary had her reply ready.
“I only wish he were,” she said, “so that he could stand in this court and confirm that I am telling the truth.” Her voice was soft and gentle.
“But you already know the truth, Mrs. Cooper,” said Sir Matthew, his voice gradually rising. “The truth is that your husband left the house on his own. He then drove to the Queen’s Hotel, where he spent the rest of the night, while you and your lover used that time to leave clues across the city of Leeds—clues, I might add, that were intended to incriminate your husband. But the one thing you couldn’t leave was a body, because, as you well know, Mr. Jeremy Alexander is still alive, and the two of you have together fabricated this entire bogus story simply to further your own ends. Isn’t that the truth, Mrs. Cooper?”
“No, no!” Rosemary shouted, her voice cracking before she finally burst into tears.
“Oh, come, come, Mrs. Cooper. Those are counterfeit tears, are they not?” said Sir Matthew quietly. “Now you’ve been found out, the jury will decide if your distress is genuine.”
I glanced across at the jury. Not only had they fallen for Rosemary’s performance, but they now despised me for allowing my insensitive bully of a counsel to attack such a gentle, long-suffering woman. To every one of Sir Matthew’s probing questions, Rosemary proved well capable of delivering a riposte that revealed to me all the hallmarks of Jeremy Alexander’s expert tuition.
When it was my turn to enter the witness box, and Sir Matthew began questioning me, I felt that my story sounded far less convincing than Rosemary’s, despite its being the truth.
The closing speech for the Crown was deadly dull, but nevertheless deadly. Sir Matthew’s was subtle and dramatic, but I feared less convincing.
After another night in Armley Jail I returned to the dock for the judge’s summing up. It was clear that he was in no doubt as to my guilt. His selection of the evidence he chose to review was unbalanced and unfair, and when he ended by