She had rather expected a long wig coming down to his collarbones, but his wiry grey hair was partly covered by the same compact headpiece as worn by the barristers below. More sinister was the square of black silk which he carried along with his gloves; she fervently hoped that this ‘black cap’ would not be needed and she mentally willed her employer to do all he could to save the life of the haggard man in the dock behind her.
The judge bowed to the counsel as a small procession followed him from the door hidden behind the large central chair. Moira was surprised to see two august-looking ladies shepherded in by two gentlemen. They wore expensive dresses and elaborate hats, their gloved hands clutching large handbags.
‘Who are they?’ she whispered to her friendly informant.
‘The wives of the High Sheriff and the Lord Lieutenant,’ hissed Doris Armitage. ‘Those are the chaps in the fancy outfits!’
One man wore breeches and a black velvet jacket with frilled lace at the throat, the other a dark blue military-style uniform with gold epaulettes and red collar-tabs. As the judge settled himself in the large central chair, the others seated themselves two on either side, at a slightly lower level.
When Mr Justice Templeman had arranged his pens, magnifying glass and notebooks before him, the clerk of the court rose and opened the proceedings, directing the ushers to bring in the jury. From another door in the panelling, a dozen men filed in self-consciously and took their places in the two rows of the jury box. The judge greeted them courteously and reminded them that they were still under the oath that they had sworn the previous day. Then he turned to the prosecuting counsel.
‘Mr Gordon, I believe you are ready to call your medical evidence today?’
Lewis Gordon, a tall, heavily built man with a rugged face, looked more like a retired rugby international than a Queen’s Counsel. He had a deep, sonorous voice to match. Rising to his feet, he grasped the front edges of his black silk gown.
‘Indeed, my lord, I have four doctors for the court to hear.
I first call Dr John Anthony Rogers.’
There was some creaking of doors as an usher went outside and returned with the regular family physician of the Parker household. He ascended the three steps into the darkly varnished witness box and stood looking slightly uneasy to be the subject of such public scrutiny.
The judge’s associate, who to Moira looked like a stage butler, stood up at the end of the upper bench to administer the oath.
‘Take the book in your right hand and repeat after me,’ he ordered. The GP, a benevolent-looking man of sixty, wearing large horn-rimmed glasses, held the battered Testament and spoke the well-known words which made him liable for a perjury charge if he strayed from the truth.
The evidence that the QC extracted from him was to the effect that, about eighteen months previously, Mary Parker had been diagnosed as having cancer of the pancreas and that there had been steady deterioration of her condition ever since, no effective treatment being available.
‘When did you last attend her, doctor?’ asked Lewis Gordon.
‘Four days before her death, sir. I usually went in on alternate days, though there was nothing I could really do, except check that she was getting sufficient painkillers and proper nursing care. Unfortunately, I was on holiday when she died.’
No one took him up on why he considered his absence ‘unfortunate’.
‘And was she any different on that last visit?’
Dr Rogers thought carefully, as he knew the significance of his reply, but had no thought other than to tell the truth as he saw it.
‘Not really. Her condition didn’t change much on a daily basis, but she was certainly worse than she had been a week or two earlier.’
‘But you had no reason to think that she would have died from the cancer four days later?’ persisted the barrister.
Again the careful doctor thought before he spoke. ‘No, but equally I had no reason to exclude that possibility. Patients in the terminal stages can die at any time.’
Gordon tried several more times, asking what was basically the same question in different ways, but Rogers stuck to his guns. Even though she was already partisan in this issue, Moira silently applauded him for his refusal to be pressurized into qualifying his opinion to suit the QC.
Gordon’s court sense soon told him that the judge would get restive if he persisted in his repetition and, knowing that he had obtained all he was likely to get from the family doctor, sat down to leave the field to his defence colleague.
‘Have you any questions for this witness, Mr Prideaux?’ asked Templeman.
Nathan rose slowly to his feet and wrapped his gown around his stomach as he leaned against his document stand.
‘I will be very brief, my lord.’ He turned to the witness box.
‘Dr Rogers, you indicated to my learned colleague just now that you had no reason to exclude the possibility that Mrs Parker might have died within days following your last visit. How strong would you rate the word “possibility”?’
Again the experienced GP hesitated before he replied. ‘I think it impossible to quantify, sir. I have been in practice for over thirty-five years and seen many patients die in similar circumstances. I think it virtually impossible to forecast when death will occur. In fact, I sometimes deprecate the too-dogmatic opinions of some of my colleagues, which can lead to distress for both patients and their relatives when their estimates prove markedly incorrect, in either direction.’
Nathan Prideaux nodded wisely, to emphasize to the jury what a sensible fellow this witness was. ‘So you were not surprised to hear that Mary Parker had died on that day?’
Dr Rogers shook his head. ‘Not at all, though I was sorry that it occurred when I was away on holiday – especially when I learned of the allegations that arose later.’
Prideaux shied away from this aspect, as it was outside this witness’s sphere of knowledge. He tried another tack. ‘So why, medically speaking, would you not be surprised that this patient or any other in similar circumstances might die suddenly and unexpectedly?’
John Rogers looked down at the front of the court through his thick glasses and saw what he correctly took to be a pathologist in the second row. ‘I expect you will get a more authoritative answer to that from other experts, sir, but as a mere family doctor I can say that a widespread cancer like that suffered by Mrs Parker can lead to a variety of fatal pathological events. She had secondary growths in her bones, her liver and her lungs. These could cause internal bleeding or clotting of the veins, which could cause sudden death by blocking the circulation in the lungs. Her liver impairment can reach a point where the whole chemistry of the body is irreparably damaged. But even apart from those specific problems, any patient with very severe disease of many kinds can just give up on life. We all have to die from something at some time – it used to be called “giving up the ghost”!’
Prideaux felt that this rather philosophical statement was an ideal point to leave with the jury and, being a canny advocate, he knew when to stop pushing.
He sat down with a sincere, ‘Thank you, doctor.’
The judge asked Gordon if he wished to re-examine, but the prosecution barrister politely declined. Mr Justice Templeman offered his own thanks to the family doctor and released him from any further attendance.
As the next witness was being called from outside the court, Moira whispered to her new friend from the solicitor’s office. ‘How did that go, do you think?’ she asked anxiously.
Mrs Armitage, who had attended many courts with her own boss, gave a little shrug. ‘Neither helped nor hindered, really. Probably more helpful than not,’ she said. ‘It’s the next chap who might be a problem.’
The ‘next chap’ was Dr Roger’s locum, the man who had been called to the vet’s house on the day of her death.