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Daniel sat down.
Kitteridge rose to his feet. He was pale, but totally composed. ‘The defence rests, my lord.’
Tranmere considered for a moment, stood up, said, ‘The prosecution has no questions for the accused, my lord,’ then sat down.
‘Then you may begin your summations,’ the judge replied. ‘We will adjourn for luncheon when you are finished.’
Tranmere stood up and faced the jury. He seemed less confident now. He described the brutality of the crime, and the fact that there was no other reasonable suspect. Even Graves himself had claimed to know very little of his wife’s acquaintances and could suggest no one. It drew a picture of a very cold, d
isinterested man, and a distant marriage. But that in itself made it seem unlikely that Graves would have committed such a violent murder.
Kitteridge took his place and pointed that out. He did not labour anything but its inconsistency. He reminded them instead of Graves’ obvious care for his children, attributing his apparent detachment to his deep care for his wife and his very private nature that did not wish to disclose his grief to the public to pry into. He also wished to protect what was left of his wife’s reputation. Press comment had been vulgar, to say the least.
The jury retired and the court adjourned. Daniel was not at all sure how Kitteridge would regard his interference. His instructions had been plain enough. They walked out of the courtroom together, but without speaking. They could not go far. There was no way to tell how long the jury would be out. A swift return would almost certainly mean a guilty verdict, but the jurors themselves would at least have lunch.
Once Daniel and Kitteridge were out in the street, and walking down to the Magpie and Stump, one of the public houses that served a reasonable lunch, Kitteridge spoke at last.
‘If you ever do that again, I will have you kept out of court for half a year,’ he said. ‘But as it happens, I think you probably improved the situation. We might even have a chance of winning. You’ve no respect for anyone, have you?’
Daniel was not sure if he was referring to himself or to Graves. He chose to interpret it as if Kitteridge had meant Graves. ‘He’s an arrogant sod. They need to see him as human, capable of showing weakness or pain – like anyone.’
Kitteridge gave him a quick glance, then looked away again. ‘He won’t forgive you for exposing him like that.’
‘If they hang him, it won’t matter,’ Daniel replied. ‘And if they find him not guilty, he might even be grateful.’
Kitteridge gave him a frozen look. ‘I am rather more concerned about what Marcus says, you idiot!’
Daniel had no answer for that, and he decided to say nothing for a while.
They had lunch largely in silence, Kitteridge buried in grim concentration on his food, pushing it around the plate and eating very little. Then suddenly he would look up, as if to say something, then change his mind.
Daniel ate, but he had no idea what it was on his plate. He had ordered steak and kidney pie, but it did not taste like anything. Had he ruined his career in fford Croft and Gibson? His father would probably be angry; without question, he would be disappointed. That is what would hurt. He had accepted his father’s gift and squandered everything it offered him in one melodramatic and ill-judged attempt at – what? Getting an extremely unattractive, and publicly guilty man hanged!
Then what would Daniel do? He could explain all he wished that he thought the jury found Graves so cold as to believe anything possible of him. Perhaps he was wrong, and really the disobedience in not having kept quiet was all that mattered.
He looked up from his plate and found Kitteridge’s blue eyes directly upon him. ‘What is it?’ Daniel asked.
Kitteridge hesitated. ‘Do you still think he didn’t do it?’ he asked.
‘Then who did?’ Daniel had previously avoided the question. He was not sure what his own answer was.
Kitteridge returned to his meal, pausing a moment to answer. ‘Doesn’t matter now. It’s up to the jury.’ When Daniel did not reply, he said with sudden savagery, ‘Do you care about anything? Don’t you care about the law? No, that’s a stupid question. I know that you don’t. Not really. You play around the edges, which is a sin, Pitt! Because you could be good at it. Do you even understand that?’
Daniel thought for a moment. Kitteridge’s questions startled him. Kitteridge had talent, but he had worked hard for it, harder than Daniel did. Kitteridge loved it; he loved the idea that law was the elegant but imperfect servant of justice. It was up to them to defend a vision and its errors. It required dedication and, more than that, obedience.
‘No,’ Daniel admitted. ‘I don’t see the law first, I see the people.’
‘How incredibly stupid,’ Kitteridge replied. ‘You’re not supposed to be the judge, you . . . child! You have to serve the law. You are the advocate, or the prosecutor, if you ever get far enough for the Crown to trust you. The judge knows the law and sees that we all conduct ourselves accordingly, and the jury decides who to believe. Didn’t they teach you anything at Cambridge? Did you actually study?’
Daniel was stunned. He had actually studied very hard. He had had to, in order to pass the exams with a decent degree. He said the first truth that was burning a hole in his head. ‘You think that we’ll lose, don’t you? And you’re afraid old fford Croft will blame us because they’ll hang Graves. You believe he’s not guilty because you want him to be, so we’d be justified in getting him off? It might be very clever to win a case like this, but it won’t help you sleep at night to think he did that to his wife and you helped him walk away from it. And that will go on a lot longer than fford Croft’s satisfaction!’
Kitteridge stared at him. ‘You bastard!’
‘Is that your best argument?’ Daniel asked incredulously.
‘Shut up and eat your lunch.’ Kitteridge bent and took a mouthful of cold roast beef and potatoes.
Daniel ate, too. There didn’t seem to be any point in going on talking. He knew that Kitteridge was really afraid. And Daniel might well have ruined the case for him, although he thought it may have been beyond saving anyway.
