Twelve Red Herrings Read online

  I watched the faces of the jury at the end of the prosecution’s opening speech. They were perplexed and obviously in some doubt about my guilt. That doubt remained until Rosemary entered the witness box. I couldn’t bear to look at her, and diverted my eyes to a striking blond who was sitting in the front row of the public gallery.

  For an hour the counsel for the prosecution guided my wife gently through what had taken place that evening, up to the point when I had struck Jeremy. Until that moment, I couldn’t have quarreled with a word she had spoken.

  “And then what happened, Mrs. Cooper?” prodded the counsel for the Crown.

  “My husband bent down and checked Mr. Alexander’s pulse,” Rosemary whispered. “Then he turned white, and all he said was, ‘He’s dead. I’ve killed him.’”

  “And what did Mr. Cooper do next?”

  “He picked up the body, threw it over his shoulder, and began walking towards the door. I shouted after him, ‘What do you think you’re doing, Richard?’”

  “And how did he respond?”

  “He told me he intended to dispose of the body while it was still dark, and that I was to make sure that there was no sign that Jeremy had visited the house. As no one else had been in the office when they left, everyone would assume that Jeremy had returned to London earlier in the evening. ‘Be certain there are absolutely no traces of blood,’ were the last words I remember my husband saying as he left the room carrying Jeremy’s body over his shoulder. That must have been when I fainted.”

  Sir Matthew glanced quizzically up at me in the dock. I shook my head vigorously. He looked grim as counsel for the prosecution resumed his seat.

  “Do you wish to question this witness, Sir Matthew?” the judge asked.

  Sir Matthew rose slowly to his feet. “I most certainly do, M’Lud,” he replied. He drew himself up to his full height, tugged at his gown and stared across at his adversary.

  “Mrs. Cooper, would you describe yourself as a friend of Mr. Alexander?”

  “Yes, but only in the sense that he was a colleague of my husband’s,” replied Rosemary calmly.

  “So you didn’t ever see each other when your husband was away from Leeds, or even out of the country, on business?”

  “Only at social events, when I was accompanied by my husband, or if I dropped into the office to pick up his mail.”

  “Are you certain that those were the only times you saw him, Mrs. Cooper? Were there not other occasions when you spent a considerable amount of time alone with Mr. Alexander? For example, on the night of September 17, 1989, before your husband returned unexpectedly from a European trip: Did Mr. Alexander not visit you then for several hours while you were alone in the house?”

  “No. He dropped by after work to leave a document for my husband, but he didn’t even have time to stay for a drink.”

  “But your husband says …” began Sir Matthew.

  “I know what my husband says,” Rosemary replied, as if she had rehearsed the line a hundred times.

  “I see,” said Sir Matthew. “Let’s get to the point, shall we, Mrs. Cooper? Were you having an affair with Jeremy Alexander at the time of his disappearance?”

  “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 an attorney 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 intuition.

  When it was my turn to enter the witness box, and Sir Matthew began questioning me, I felt 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 reminding the jury that his opinion of the evidence should ultimately carry no weight, he only added hypocrisy to bias.

  After their first full day’s deliberations, the jury had to be put up overnight in a hotel—ironically the Queen’s—and when the jolly little fat man in the bow tie was finally asked: “Members of the jury, do you find the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty as charged?” I wasn’t surprised when he said clearly for all to hear, “Guilty, my lord.”

  In fact, I was amazed that the jury had failed to reach a unanimous decision. I have often wondered which two members felt convinced enough to declare my innocence. I would have liked to thank them.

  The judge stared down at me. “Richard Wilfred Cooper, you have been