Twelve Red Herrings Read Online Free PDF

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 found guilty of the murder
of Jeremy Anatole Alexander...”
    “I did not kill
him, my lord,” I interrupted in a calm voice. “In fact, he is not dead. I can
only hope that you will live long enough to realise the truth.” Sir Matthew
looked up anxiously as uproar broke out in the court.
    The judge called
for silence, and his voice became even more harsh as he pronounced, “You will
go to prison for life. That is the sentence prescribed by law. Take him down.”
Two prison officers stepped forward, gripped me firmly by the arms and led me
down the steps at the back of the dock into the cell I had occupied every
morning for the eighteen days of the trial.
    “Sorry, old
chum,” said the policeman who had been in charge of my welfare since the case
had begun. “It was that bitch of a wife who tipped the scales against you.” He
slammed the cell door closed, and turned the key in the lock before I had a
chance to agree with him. A few moments later the door was unlocked again, and
Sir Matthew strode in.
    He stared at me
for some time before uttering a word. “A terrible injustice has been done, Mr.
Cooper,” he eventually said, ‘and we shall immediately lodge an appeal against
your conviction. Be assured, I will not rest until we have found Jeremy
Alexander and he has been brought to justice.” For the first time I realised
Sir Matthew knew that I was innocent.
    I was put in a
cell with a petty criminal called “Fingers’
    Jenkins.
    Can you believe,
as we approach the twenty-first century, that anyone could still be called “Fingers’?
Even so, the name had been well earned. Within moments of my entering the cell,
Fingers was wearing my watch. He returned it immediately I noticed it had
disappeared. “Sorry,” he said. “Just put it down to ‘abit.
    Prison might
have turned out to be far worse if it hadn’t been known by my fellow inmates
that I was a millionaire, and was quite happy to pay a little extra for certain
privileges. Every morning the Financial Times was delivered to my bunk, which
gave me the chance to keep up with what was happening in the City. I was nearly
sick when I first read about the takeover bid for Cooper’s. Sick not because of
the offer of 2.5o a share, which made me even wealthier, but because it became
painfully obvious what Jeremy and Rosemary had been up to.
    Jeremy’s shares
would now be worth several million pounds – money he could never have realised
had I been around to prevent a takeover.
    I spent hours
each day lying on my bunk and scouring every word of the Financial Times.
Whenever there was a mention of Cooper’s, I went over the
paragraph so often that I ended up knowing it by heart. The company was
eventually taken over, but not before the share price had reached 3.43- I
continued to follow its activities with great interest, and I became