My Learned Friend

My brother Ramsay had taken to the habit of visiting Chrissie and I unannounced. Although there was only two years between us, he and I could not be described as filial companions. His ideas and morals were not mine. However he was my brother and initially I made no objection when he called, which tended to be just before we sat down to eat. The result was that Chrissie would rush to stretch a meal for two into a meal for three. On some occasions when offered a drink he would help himself to a refill or three without asking, so much so that it was wrong for him to drive and Chrissie would make up a spare bed for him. Chrissie did not say anything but I knew he made her feel uncomfortable, his conversation was littered with innuendo and he took every opportunity to brush against her. This angered me and I was going to ask him to phone before turning up when his visits stopped.

I found out from my mother that Ram had found a girlfriend and had moved into her home. Ramsay had been this way all his life. He worked at a variety of jobs usually as unskilled labour never staying for any length of time. His attitude to women was the same. He had many lady-friends but none lasted more than a few months, so I was prepared for his visiting again once he had left his woman friend, or had been kicked out which I thought would be a likely outcome. I determined that I would talk to him when he came next time. How I wished that I hadn't postponed that conversation.

I was defending in a case of arson. Funnily enough the defendant was the Mr. Hathaway who had been one of my first briefs. At that time I was unsure and wracked with nerves. Now I could approach the court without those tremors of terror. I read the brief and was astounded. The case should have never come to court. I saw what I thought a gaping hole in the prosecution's case. We used a retired detective from time to time for gathering facts and I elicited his help to explore this gaping hole. In essence the case revolved around an arson attack. Brian Hathaway had been arrested and charged. The police alleged that he had left his local pub and detoured from his way home to throw what could best be described as a Molotov cocktail at the victim's home.

Stan Gleeman our retired detective did what the police didn't do. First he worked out the best possible way that Mr. Hathaway allegedly could have taken, then the best possible route from the scene of the crime to his own home. Then he asked among Brian Hathaway's neighbours and found one who could state unequivocally that Mr. Hathaway was putting out his rubbish bin at ten fifty. I also had firm evidence that he hadn't left the pub until ten thirty-five. Now the victim's house was two miles from the pub and was just over a mile to Brian's home. To go there from the pub, throw the incendiary and then get home for ten fifty meant that Brian Hathaway would have been running as fast as Roger Bannister would have done when he ran the first four-minute mile. Mr. Hathaway was not old but didn't appear to be that fit so I doubt that he could do that.

I had a good day in court. Confirming in cross-examination of the Detective Sergeant of the time Mr. Hathaway left the pub so there could be no doubt about that and then asked him to confirm the distance from the pub to the victim's house and the distance from the there to Mr. Hathaway's home. The Detective Sergeant could not confirm that distance. When I presented the defence case I called the neighbour who confirmed without doubt the time he saw Brian Hathaway. "I was watching the football highlights and that finished at ten-fifty." He told the court. "That's when I took my rubbish out as the collection usually happens about six-thirty in the following morning. I saw Mr. Hathaway doing the same thing and we said 'good evening' to each other." I then brought evidence of the distances from the pub to the victim's house and from there back to Mr. Hathaway's house. The prosecuting barrister was furious, as the police hadn't covered this. He tried to suggest that Mr. Hathaway had help, that someone had given him a lift. I countered by saying that if that were the case why the police hadn't laid the charge of conspiracy as well. This would have been automatic if there was an alleged helper. It was too late. The judge gave the prosecution a rather weary look. He knew that the case should have never been brought before the court. The charge was given to the jury who took no more than twenty minutes to come back with a verdict of 'not guilty'. It was a good day for me.

It was a Thursday evening the following week when after a tiring day I drove home. As I reached my house and turned into the drive I nearly hit Ram as he was running out of the drive. I stopped and called to him. "Ram!"

He stopped, turned and shouted. "She wanted it." Then ran off.

Alarmed, I locked the car and ran in shouting "Chrissie!" I heard a weak voice.

"Clem?" I followed the sound and found Chrissie on the floor of the breakfast room. She was in a very dishevelled state with tears running down her face and her clothes torn. She seemed to be pushing what remained of her skirt between her legs. The skirt was bloodstained. My first impulse was to go and comfort her, but I knew the signs of rape from seeing so many photos of that heinous crime in court. I picked up the phone and called 999. The operators are trained to ask a set of questions. I spoke over her, gave my address, and then said ambulance and police in that order. I then put the phone down before the operator started asking questions. I sank down next to Chrissie and held her tightly. She tried to speak her lips were bruised and her words were indistinct.

"It's ok, Chrissie. The ambulance is on its way. We'll get you sorted."

I understood her next words. "Cold flannel p.p.please."

Much as I wanted to help her feel better I was too much the barrister and knew how much evidence could be destroyed, particularly DNA evidence. At this time in the early nineteen eighties the police forensic laboratories were getting to grip with this new technology and courts were now allowing DNA evidence in criminal cases. DNA could not be the sole decider in a case just part of the evidence that could convict or acquit. Emotion won and I wetted a flannel and used it to wipe her face. As much as Chrissie was distressed, I was as well. The lady who I loved so much had been attacked and to my shame and anger it was my own brother who appeared to be the perpetrator. My anger was mounting and if I could have left Chrissie I would be out in my car hunting down Ram. There would be no question of taking him to the police. Hospital or a mortuary would be more appropriate. If I had found him I would have driven at him and run him down.

Chrissie seemed to calm down a little as I held her. "I'm sorry, Clem." I heard the words with astonishment. Other barristers had told me that raped women feel guilty for what has happened to them. Now my wife is apologising for the same thing.

"Chrissie you have nothing to feel guilty about. You know what has happened and I know as well. It is Ram who should be begging your forgiveness. I suspect he will have quite a few years in prison to reflect on his behaviour."

"Hello!" The call came from the door, which I must have left open. "Ambulance!" called the same voice.

"In here." I called back.

The two medics as soon as they understood the situation became extremely solicitous and very careful knowing the police were on the way. Indeed the police arrived within ten minutes of the ambulance. I had to stand back now as the priorities of the police and the ambulance clashed. I intervened. "My wife needs to go to hospital and quickly, I believe she is bleeding internally." I turned to the police sergeant."You can get swabs for evidence when she is in hospital and statements tomorrow. Right now I need to make sure my wife is comfortable and not distressed."

The sergeant drew himself up. "So, Sir. You think you know about procedures." He produced his notebook from his top pocket. "And who would you be, Sir?"

"I am this lady's husband and my name is Clement Marston Q.C. So you could say I am quite well versed with the law."

"Oh!" He deflated immediately. The WPC who was comforting Chrissie had a little smile on her face, which vanished as the sergeant, turned to her. "Stay with Mrs. Marston. I'll get our doctor to come down to the hospital and do what's necessary."

The next two days were a blur. I was supposedly a calm collected person, used to keeping his head in the tussles of the court, which could become quite furious at times, usually when a witness dislikes the questions being asked and loses his temper. Now I felt useless, my Chrissie, the woman I loved more than life itself had been assaulted and I felt that I should shoulder the blame. It was I who procrastinated about ordering Ram not to come round without prior notice. It was my hesitation that had allowed this to happen and I felt wretched. I went to the police station the next day to give my statement. It was simple enough as I described exactly what I had seen and heard. The detective sergeant in charge of the case was sympathetic and promised me that the investigation would be a priority. Perhaps it was as three days later Ram was arrested trying to board the Irish ferry.

I had phoned chambers and let them know that I would be unavailable for a couple or three days. The current brief I put in the hands of Samira al Bazzeer; a very capable young barrister. I asked her to read the brief and make notes telling her that she would be my choice of junior when the case came to court. Chrissie came home on the third day. I knew what procedures the police doctor had carried out, Swabs from her vagina, photos of the bruises, which were very indicative of her attitude, and scrapings from under her fingernails. Chrissie was not meek and would almost certainly she would have fought back. Most rapists try the defence of consensual sex. The bruises are indicative of how hard the victim had been held and expert witnesses can deduce from that if the victim was struggling or not. I of course knew what was happening yet I was not involved except as a witness for the prosecution.

After Ram was arrested my father phoned asking me if I could go round and see him. I was shocked when he asked me if I would defend Ram. "No, Dad I can't."

"Why not, Clem? He's your brother."

"Dad! Ram allegedly raped my wife. I cannot defend him for a variety of reasons. First if the case goes to court I shall be required as a prosecution witness. Secondly the victim is my wife, what would she think of me if I defend the man who allegedly attacked her? Thirdly the fact that he is my brother. I doubt that the judge would allow that."

"Oh I think she would understand, and how can you be a witness for the prosecution? You should tell them you won't do it."

"I don't get that choice, Dad. They can subpoena me and if I don't respond I can be arrested for contempt of court."

"Rubbish, Clem." Dad was angry now. "If you can't do this for your brother, you're no son of mine." I left then before my anger boiled over. Under normal circumstances I would have defended my brother had the victim been anyone than my wife. Therefore, another result of my hesitation was the start of a schism with my father. I did gather from my mum's attitude that she didn't agree with dad. She didn't say anything but her tight-lipped expression revealed her inner anger.

Samira had done a good job with the brief and we spent some time together going over the salient points and planning how we would present the defence. Samira was quite unusual in many ways. From what little she said her background was of a traditional Muslim family who had left Iraq to escape the ravages of Saddam Hussein. Her choice to study Law did not go down well with her family who wanted her to study medicine. She was now in a situation where her family found it difficult to find her a husband. She was a little too intelligent and quick to make her views known. Muslim men it seems wanted a quiet, subservient wife who will do as they are told. Her qualities would make her a very good barrister but not a good wife. We worked together well and we had our days in court. Her work on the brief was crucial and I have to admit it was her work, which got us the verdict. She did tell me that she found my presentation a lesson. "Mr. Marston you brought out all the points which cleared our client and furthermore you introduced them at exactly the right time. Just as the prosecution thought they were winning the jury you knocked them back."

"Samira. Thank you. It was your hard work that produced those points. I merely used them. Oh and by the way in chambers it is usual to use first names. So please call me Clem."

She shook her head. "I am sorry, Mr. Marston. My upbringing will not allow that. You are the teacher in many ways and respect must be shown. It would be wrong for me to be so familiar with a man of dignity and older than me."

When had I grown so old? I still saw myself as that raw, uncertain young barrister trying hard to master my craft and wooing a lovely young lady called Chrissie. Where had all those years gone? They had flown by so quickly, but then of course they would as I had Chrissie at my side. She made me happy and we all know that being happy speeds time.

I was in court to hear Ramsay sentenced. He pleaded not guilty which was to be expected and his defence were going to offer consent as cause. His trial was done in a day. The prosecution really tied it all up really leaving no crack in the case for the defence to exploit. I was the first prosecution witness and after giving my evidence and being cross-examined by the defence, I was told I would not be needed again. I took advantage of this and after one of the numerous breaks took my place in the public gallery just in time to hear Chrissie give her evidence. I expected her to break down. However, she made me proud of her as she answered the questions posed to her, and explained the sequence of events that evening. When the defending barrister cross examined her he was very courteous and did not bully her in any way. He knew as I did that attacking the victim would anger the jury.

I had to hand it to my learned friend Alistair Makepeace who led the prosecution. He gave the court a textbook lesson in building the case. He highlighted the injuries that Chrissie had suffered, the bruising which the medical expert said that in his opinion could be only the result of Chrissie being held down violently and exacerbated by her struggles. He also pointed out that Chrissie's vagina was torn and bruised. That evidence put paid to the consent defence.

Alistair handled the DNA very well. It was only recently that the court would accept this as corroborating evidence and the jury needed the facts about DNA profiling so they understand. The defence tried to muddy the waters by suggesting that the semen left in Chrissie could be mine. I had given a sample, Alistair had anticipated this, and he produced the relevant papers for the jury to read. They outlined the admittedly small difference that brothers would have. He then produced more results showing that the sample taken from Chrissie matched Ram's exactly and could not be mine. In case the jury were unsure about the DNA he produced evidence from Ram's clothing when he was arrested. There was blood on his clothing that conformed to Chrissie's type. The Judge, in his summing up reminded the jury to come to their verdict according to all of the evidence and advised then that they could not depend on the DNA evidence alone. I watched the jury as they filed in to give their verdict. None looked at Ramsay. I knew then that they had found him guilty.

Mr. Justice Chandler was not in a good mood. After the verdict, he was not going to allow psychiatric reports to interfere with his sentence. "Ramsay Marston. The jury have found you justly guilty of a heinous crime. A crime rightly abhorred by society but in your case disgustingly abhorrent. You attacked a woman who had welcomed you into her home as brother to her husband. She had cared for you, given you food and on occasions a bed for the night. You violated all the rules of decency and hospitality when you decided to take your pleasure of her. We have seen the injuries you inflicted, wantonly and without thought. This court has heard no evidence that could persuade me to leniency. You will go to prison for eight years." I watched Ram as his sentence was passed; his face went visibly white. His attitude all through had been that this was a fuss about nothing. The Judge raised his head and addressed the gaolers. "Take him down." It was a stiff sentence, but he could have been sentenced to life imprisonment. In the UK rape, especially violent rape is viewed as seriously as murder.

I met Chrissie in the circulating area outside the court. I held her tightly as at last, the facade of bravado collapsed and the tears came. It was unfortunate that my mum and dad came by at that moment. Dad was still obdurate. "See what you've done. Eight years! You have put your brother in prison for eight years. What kind of a brother are you?"

"And what kind of husband would I be if I had let him get away? Look at her, dad. This is Chrissie your daughter in law. You heard what he did, and you expect us to forgive?"

He ignored Chrissie. "I only have one son now, and I will not see him for eight years. Proud of yourself are you?" He turned a cold back on me and stalked away.

Mum laid her hand on my arm. "You did what you had to do, son. I have no blame for you. Ram went his own way." She turned a compassionate gaze on Chrissie. "Chrissie, can I come and see you soon?"

Chrissie nodded. "Yes mum. I would like that."

Mum gave Chrissie a kiss on the cheek and moved away. "Your dad will now know what Cold Comfort farm is like."

CHAPTER SIX

It was obvious to me that Chrissie had relapsed into depression. Dr. Purvess had anticipated this could happen and told me to increase her medication if necessary. We did but she did not seem to improve. I did my best to show her that what had happened did not change my love for her. I knew that she would not want physical love for some time, but in all ways, I tried to show her that I still desired her holding her hand, kissing and holding her close when we were in bed together. She responded happily to my kisses yet wouldn't let me touch her intimately. I could live with a celibate marriage as long as Chrissie felt comfortable, if that is what it takes to keep her with me. She was not eager to rise in the morning. For years, she had fought her depression but now she seemed to be giving in to it. There were many days when I came home from work to find her still in bed. I took as much time off from work as I could; balancing Chrissie's needs with my need to earn and support our lifestyle. My cousin Jean would visit Chrissie on some of the days that I couldn't be there. Her marriage had not lasted more than three years and she seemed happy to help. However, she could not fill the gap every day.

It was a Tuesday that I arrived home after a good day in court. This was the ultimate day of a case that had been in court for four days. Conspiracy to murder would be punished as severely as the actual murder. The accused had asked specifically for me, he seemed to view me as his lucky charm. Yes, it was Brian Hathaway. I enlisted Samira's help as my junior and we made a good case. The verdict of not guilty was relief for all three of us. I arrived home about five-thirty, early for me, but not nearly enough.

Having no Chrissie to welcome me home was not unusual. I sighed and started up the stairs knowing that I would probably find her in bed. She was in bed cold and lifeless! For minutes, I was on my knees by the bed; holding Chrissie's cold hand unable to think, move or speak. Tears cascaded down my cheeks and dripped unchecked to my jacket. She was gone; the whole reason for my existence had gone. The hollow grip of loneliness tightened around my heart. That bastard! Ramsay my evil selfish brother. He had done this. He, who had never had the fulfilment of a long, loving relationship and envious of mine had stamped his moral vacuum over Chrissie and I.