Julian Trent moaned a little, so I went back and sat on the arm of the sofa and looked down at him lying on the carpet in front of me, the young man who had brought so much misery to so many innocent people.
He began to stir, pulling his knees up under him so he was kneeling on the floor facing away from me. He cradled his right hand in his left, and his head was bowed down in front. As I watched him, his head came up a fraction and he tried to slowly reach out with his left hand towards the baseball bat that I had put down on the sofa beside him.
Would he ever give up? I asked myself.
I leaned down quickly and picked up the bat before he could reach it. Instead, he used his left hand to push down on the blue upholstery, as if he were about to try and stand.
No, I suddenly realized. He would never give up, not ever.
Eleanor and I might make our life together but there would always be three of us in the relationship, the spectre of Julian Trent hovering nearby in the darkness, forever waiting for the chance to settle the score in his favour. Even if he was convicted of Scot Barlow’s murder, and past form gave no guarantee of that, I was under no illusion that a lengthy term of imprisonment would reform or rehabilitate him. He would simply spend the time planning the completion of what he thought of as his ‘unfinished business’.
Just like Josef Hughes and George Barnett, we would never be free of the fear. Not for as long as Julian Trent was alive.
In common law, self-defence is called an ‘absolute defence’, that is, it doesn’t just mitigate a crime, it means that no crime exists in the first place. But in order for a justification of self-defence to succeed, certain conditions needed to apply. I knew this because I had recently defended someone accused of causing grievous bodily harm to a would-be mugger.
The conditions were a two-stage test, one of which was subjective and the other objective. First, did the accused genuinely believe that force was necessary to protect himself? And, secondly, if he did have that belief, then was the degree of force reasonable to meet the threat as he saw it?
The degree of force used was always the key. The law demanded that the force used should not have been excessive or, if it had been, then the perpetrator was making an honest, even if over zealous, attempt to uphold the law rather than taking the law into his own hands for the purposes of revenge or retribution.
In a landmark case in 1971 Lord Morris, the Lord of Appeal, stated, ‘If there has been an attack so that self-defence is reasonably necessary, it will be recognized that a person defending himself cannot weigh to a nicety the exact measure of his defensive action. If the jury thought that, in a moment of unexpected anguish, the person attacked had only done what he honestly and instinctively thought was necessary, that would be the most potent evidence that only reasonable defensive action had been taken.’
I glanced briefly out of the window. There was still no sign of the police, nor of the arrival of an ambulance.
Julian Trent drew his left leg forward beneath him and slowly began to rise.
It had to be now or never.
I stood up, lifted my arms high over my head and hit him again, bringing the bat down hard and catching him at the base of the skull where the neck joins the head. I hit him with the very end of the bat in order to gain maximum leverage. There was a terrible crunching noise and he went flat down again onto the carpet, and lay still.
I wasn’t certain whether it had been a lethal blow or not, but it would have to be enough. I felt sick.
All the frustration and fear of the past six months had gone into that strike, together with the anger at losing my possessions, the rage I had for him having torn to shreds the photograph of my Angela, the resentment I bore for having to dance to his tune for so long, and the fury at what he had done to my father.
I sat down again calmly on the arm of the sofa.
It was finally over. I had done only what I honestly and instinctively thought had been necessary to meet the threat as I saw it, and I would have to take my chances in court.
I glanced out of the window once more.
At long last, I could see two policemen coming down the driveway.
But now I needed help of a different kind.
I picked up the telephone and called Arthur.
Dick Francis, Felix Francis
