Mr Marshall Lobby, Barrister-at-Law, had practiced for ten years. He had long ago learned that his task was to present the strongest argument he could for his client or The Crown; strongly cross examine the other side’s witnesses and remember that some judges are allowed to ask naïve questions or berate and tease the counsels. He could not pre-judge the guilt or innocence of his client.
He almost forgot it in the case of The Crown versus Edward Hitman. The case was heavily and gloatingly covered in the media. Mr Hitman was a bad lot dedicated to the life of crime. Mr Lobby happily accepted to take the prosecution case and with some relish started his preparations.
The facts were so convincing that Mr Lobby was wondering how anyone could produce any defence. Mr Hitman did not impress. Everything about him was hard to like. His battered face, his gait, his fat fingers tapping a rhythm for his ears only; the words Belmarsh 2000 and Strangeways 1990 proudly drawn on his face and neck and his butcher’s hands covered in abstract red and blue art.
Lobby patiently built his case. Expert witnesses had a DNA trail and smart phone details. CTV cameras from all over the country shewed that he had been in the right place at the right time for the crimes. He lead a team of drug distributors forgers and smugglers. He was accused of trafficking, laundering and assault. Lobby knew it would be a long case with a fee to match. He was decently sorry for the Defence counsel who had drawn the short straw.
Six weeks later it looked as though no man could outlive the likely sentences. Defence counsel struggled to discredit the witnesses and supporters. The prisoner’s difficult childhood and verbal impediments had limited his education. His father had been a drunken child abuser – what chance had Hitman ever had. Sob sob.
Another five weeks. A juryman reported sick. Another told the judge that his business was collapsing and could he please be excused. The Judge, Sir Martin Geoffries, had several times to rebuke the public gallery for their interruptions. He then disturbed another jury woman for falling asleep. He even took time to tell Mr Lobby that his wig was awry. “Please fix it.”
13 weeks had passed. It was time for the final summaries. Lobby addressed the weary jury. It took an hour to list the charges. He called upon the jury to protect the public from what could be even more assaults if this vile man were allowed to go free in less than fifty years.
Defence called for mercy. This unlucky man had had suffered weeks of accusation on the most tenuous of evidence and conjecture.
The judge called for lunch adjournment. Two hours later he escaped from his tired secretaries and began his summing up. A brief break for refreshments and they re-convened. After twenty minutes jury was released to reach a decision.
They deliberated for just three hours. “Be upstanding for His Honour”
Judge Geoffries walked slowly to his place. He put his i-pad on the desk, cleared his throat and sipped his drink. He looked round the court, studying the jury one by one. He eyed the Counsel and lastly, the prisoner.
“Have you reached your decision?
The foreman stood, holding a clipboard.
“And what is your decision?.”
“Not guilty m’lud”.
The onlookers gasped and chattered.
“Silence in Court!”
“Mr Hitman , you are free to leave the Court without a stain on your record.”
Mr Marshall Lobby fainted.
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