Free Rumpole Rests His Case by John Mortimer

piece.’
    â€˜Been buried carefully, had it?’ Judge Cameron Foulks was a ginger-moustached, wary-eyed Scot who behaved, throughout his trials, in a military fashion, having a tendency to bark out orders as though without them courtroom discipline couldn’t be maintained and proceedings might, at any moment, slide into anarchy. ‘The Jury will remember that. A woman of average height, buried carefully.’ So far the evidence was giving him great pleasure.
    â€˜Could you form any view as to how long ago the body was buried?’ I asked the Master of the Morgues.
    â€˜A considerable time. More than twenty years.’
    â€˜It was thirty-three years ago that your client’s wife disappeared.’ The Judge was sitting bolt upright, perky as a cock who has just exercised his droit de seigneur over all the surrounding hens.
    â€˜I think the Jury can work that out without any assistance from your Lordship.’ I thought the time had come to take the Judge down a peg or two. He considered flying at me in a whirl of ruffled feathers but, thinking better of it, relapsed into a sulky silence.
    â€˜Professor Ackerman, you’re familiar with a condition known as obstructive cardiac myopathy.’ Here I smiled at the Judge in a pleasant sort of way. ‘May I spell that for your Lordship?’ And before he could protest, I did so.
    Then I turned from him to the witness.
    â€˜Is that a hardening of a muscle of the heart?’
    â€˜It is more or less that.’
    â€˜Doesn’t it cause breathlessness and, in an extreme attack, death?’
    â€˜It could do, certainly.’
    â€˜And could such an attack be brought on by extreme emotional stress — in a young woman, for example?’
    â€˜I believe it might.’
    â€˜And if this young woman were taking drugs in the shape of LSD tablets, might that worsen her condition?’
    â€˜I don’t think it would do her any good.’
    â€˜Mr Rumpole. Are you suggesting that death in this case had something to do with a heart condition?’
    Prof. Ackerman and I had built up a certain rapport across many courts and in many murder trials. We both looked at the Judge who had interrupted our dialogue with a sort of weary patience.
    â€˜I congratulate your Lordship.’ I smiled at him in a way he clearly found irritating. ‘Your Lordship has grasped the exact nature of the defence.’
    Before his Lordship could find the breath to reply, I asked the expert witness the next question.
    â€˜Was it possible to tell, from your examination of her bones, if this woman had any such heart condition?’
    I knew, of course, what his answer was going to be, but Dr Paul of Acton was dead and his notes gone, God knows where. Asking my old friend and sparring partner, Professor Ackerman of the Morgues, the above question was the only way I had of getting the facts of this complaint in front of the Jury.
    â€˜I’m afraid, Mr Rumpole, I couldn’t tell that.’
    â€˜He couldn’t possibly tell that.’ The Judge had his tail feathers up again. ‘You’ve got your answer, Mr Rumpole.’
    â€˜Certainly I have, my Lord.’ I continued to look as though it were just the answer I wanted. Then I changed the subject.
    â€˜Professor Ackerman, I want to ask you about the cause of death. Can you help us?’
    â€˜I’ll do my best.’
    â€˜I’m sure you will. The skull was completely intact, wasn’t it?’
    â€˜It was.’
    â€˜So we can rule out a heavy blow to the head, let us say with a blunt instrument?’
    â€˜Yes we can.’
    â€˜There were no broken bones?’
    â€˜There were not.’
    â€˜So we can rule out a violent attack?’
    â€˜I think so.’
    â€˜You mean very possibly we can rule such an attack out?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜There were no bones broken in the neck?’
    â€˜None.’
    â€˜So you can rule out violent