“Well, since you seem unable to advise us, I will, with your permission, My Lord, read the statement made before Mr. Justice Rodger on June 9, 1961, at the Swindon County Court by the first Mrs. Menzies.” Sir Humphrey cleared his throat. “‘He used to hit me again and again, and it became so bad that I had to run away for fear he might one day kill me.’” Sir Humphrey emphasized the last five words.
“She was exaggerating!” shouted Menzies from the witness box.
“How unfortunate that poor Miss Carla Moorland cannot be with us today to let us know if your story about her is also an exaggeration.”
“I object, My Lord,” said Mr. Scott. “Sir Humphrey is harassing the witness.”
“I agree,” said the judge. “Tread more carefully in future, Sir Humphrey.”
“I apologize, My Lord,” said Sir Humphrey, sounding singularly unapologetic. He closed the file to which he had been referring and replaced it on the desk in front of him before taking up a new one. He opened it slowly, making sure all in the court were following every movement before he extracted a single sheet of paper.
“How many mistresses have you had since you were married to the second Mrs. Menzies?”
“Objection, My Lord. How can this be relevant?”
“My Lord, it is relevant, I respectfully suggest. I intend to show that this was not a business relationship that Mr. Menzies was conducting with Miss Moorland but a highly personal one.”
“The question can be put to the defendant,” ruled the judge.
Menzies said nothing as Sir Humphrey held up the sheet of paper in front of him and studied it.
“Take your time because I want the exact number,” Sir Humphrey said, looking over the top of his glasses.
The seconds ticked on as we all waited.
“Hmm—three, I think,” Menzies said eventually in a voice that just carried. The members of the press began scribbling furiously.
“Three,” said Sir Humphrey, staring at his piece of paper in disbelief.
I was finding it hard to keep a grin off my face. Menzies’s adulterous background was an unexpected bonus for me and the press—and I couldn’t help wondering how Carla would have reacted if she had known about it.
Sir Humphrey spent the rest of the day making Menzies relate the details of his relationships with the previous four mistresses. The court was agog, and the journalists continued to scribble away, knowing they were about to have a field day. When the court adjourned, Mr. Scott’s eyes were closed.
On entering the courtroom the following morning I noticed people were beginning to acknowledge other regulars and nod. I found myself falling into the same pattern and greeted people silently as I took my regular position at the end of the bench.
Sir Humphrey spent the morning going over some of Menzies’s other misdemeanors. We discovered that he had served in the Territorial Army for only five months and left after a misunderstanding with his commanding officer over how many hours he should have been spending on exercises during weekends and how much he had claimed in expenses for those hours. We also learned that his attempts to get on the local council sprang more from anger at being refused planning permission to build on a piece of land adjoining his house than from an altruistic desire to serve his fellow men. To be fair, Sir Humphrey could have made the Archangel Gabriel look like a soccer hooligan; but his trump card was still to come.
“Mr. Menzies, I should now like to return to your version of what happened on the night Miss Moorland was killed.”
“When you visit a client to discuss one of your policies, how long would you say such a consultation usually lasts?”
“Usually half an hour, an hour at the most,” said Menzies.
“And how long did the consultation with Miss Moorland take?”
“I didn’t have any small change for the meter at the time,” said Menzies confidently. “As I was already a couple of minutes late, I just risked it.”
“You just risked it,” repeated Sir Humphrey slowly. “You are obviously a man who takes risks, Mr. Menzies. I wonder if you would be good enough to look at the parking ticket in question.”
“So now we have established that you were in fact with Miss Moorland some time before four-sixteen, and not, as I suggest you later wrote in your diary, five o’clock. That was just another lie, wasn’t it?”
“No,” said Menzies. “I must have arrived a little earlier than I realized.”
”Sir Humphrey changed tack without warning: “Have you heard of DNA, by any chance?”
“No,” came back the puzzled reply.
“Deoxyribonucleic acid testing is a technique that shows genetic information unique to every individual. Blood or semen samples can be matched. Semen, Mr. Menzies, is as unique as any fingerprint. With such a sample we would know immediately if you raped Miss Moorland.”
“And check your blood group?” Sir Humphrey paused. “I will ask you once again, Mr. Menzies. Did sexual intercourse between you and the murdered woman take place that Thursday afternoon?”
“Yes, sir,” said Menzies in a whisper.
I went home that night and ate the largest meal I had had for several days.
The following morning Mr. Scott called two more witnesses. The first turned out to be the vicar of St. Peter’s, Sutton, who was there as a character witness to prove what a pillar of the community Menzies was. After Sir Humphrey had finished his cross-examination the vicar ended up looking like a rather kind, unworldly old man, whose knowledge of Menzies was based on the latter’s occasional attendance at Sunday matins.
Mr. Scott put up no more witnesses and informed Mr. Justice Buchanan that he had completed the case for the defense. The judge nodded and, turning to Sir Humphrey, told him he would not be required to begin his final address until the following morning.
Sir Humphrey’s closing speech was masterful. Every little untruth was logged, so that one began to accept that very little of Menzies’s testimony could be relied on.
“We will never know for certain,” said Sir Humphrey, “for what reason poor young Carla Moorland was murdered. Refusal to succumb to Menzies’s advances? A fit of temper that ended with a blow that caused her to fall and later die alone? But there are, however, some things, members of the jury, of which we can be quite certain.
“We can be certain that Menzies was with the murdered woman that day before the hour of four-sixteen because of the evidence of the damning parking ticket.
“We can be certain that he left a little after six because we have a witness who saw him drive away, and he does not himself deny this evidence.
“And we can now be certain that he lied about having sexual intercourse with Miss Moorland a short time before she was killed, though we cannot be certain if intercourse took place before or after her jaw had been broken.” Sir Humphrey’s eyes rested on the jury before he continued.
“We can, finally, establish, beyond reasonable doubt, from the pathologist’s report, the time of death and that, therefore, Menzies was the last person who could possibly have seen Carla Moorland alive.
“Therefore no one else could have killed Carla Moorland—for do not forget Inspector Simmons’s evidence—and if you accept that, you can be in no doubt that only Menzies could have been responsible for her death. And how damning you must have found it that he tried to hide the existence of a first wife who had left him on the grounds of his cruelty, and the four mistresses who left him we know not why or how. Only one less than Bluebeard,” Sir Humphrey added with feeling.
Menzies’s counsel put up a spirited defense of his client, pointing out that almost all the evidence that Sir Humphrey had come up with had been circumstantial, and that it was even possible someone else could have visited Carla Moorland after his client had left that night. Mr. Scott’s bushy eyebrows seemed almost to have a life of their own as he energetically emphasized that it was the prosecution’s responsibility to prove their case beyond reasonable doubt and not his to disprove it, and that, in his opinion, his learned friend, Sir Humphrey, had failed to do so.
“For this reason I feel confident that you will find it in your hearts to release my client from the torment he has been put through during the last seven months. He has surely been shown to be an innocent man deserving of your compassion.”
Mr. Scott sank down on the bench having, I felt, given his client a glimmer of hope.
As soon as the trial resumed, the judge began by explaining once again that it was the jury alone who must make the ultimate decision. It was not his job to let them know how he felt, but only to advise them on the law.
I waited with nearly as much anxiety as Menzies must have done while I listened to others giving their opinion as the minutes ticked by in that little room. Then, four hours later, a note was sent up to the judge.
The jury disappeared downstairs again to continue its deliberations, and did not return for another three hours. I could sense the tension in the court as neighbors sought to give each other opinions in noisy whispers. The clerk called for silence as the judge waited for everyone to settle before he instructed the clerk to proceed.
When the clerk rose, I could hear the person next to me breathing.
“Have you reached a verdict on which at least ten of you are agreed?”
“We have, sir.”
“Do you find the defendant, Paul Menzies, guilty or not guilty?”
“Guilty,” I replied.
Thanks for reading this story.