The Inner Temple Yearbook 2021–2022
Circumstantial Evidence
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE By Master Paul Purnell
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A hush fell on the court as the prosecution QC rose to crossexamine. He pulled his silken gown around him and looked across the court. Henry Pownall was a thin man with a large head. He stood with his shoulders hunched and reminded one of a predatory bird – perhaps a hawk or a kite.
Pownall paused to see if there was any legal objection. There was none. James Burge, for the defence, saw no harm in the line of questioning, although far from the facts in the case. His instincts told him to save his ammunition for more serious objections.
Across the well of Court One, the defendant stood tall in the witness box. His fair hair and blue eyes caught the light from the high windows of the Old Bailey. Gavin Somerset had been accused of the murder of Lord Gower, his father-inlaw. Upon the body of the dead man was an important piece of evidence, a fragment of a typed letter with the words,
The questioning went on; he persisted in querying other mishaps during the young man’s life, dwelling on his bad luck and misfortune. Burge began to feel uneasy. It seemed as if the questions were sympathising with the defendant, almost sharing his misfortunes. His instincts told him there was danger ahead, but what could it be?
“…And misfortunately, we have lost everything…”
Then Pownall turned to the vast unpaid debts and Somerset’s bank account, showing money passing out into casino hands.
The first questions seemed harmless. What was behind it? “Did you lose your parents when very young?” “That’s correct.” “And it caused you much distress?” “Yes.” The cross-examination continued in the same theme. “When you were 21, did you suffer an accident?” “True. I was skiing in Verbier and broke a leg.” The defendant, Somerset, grew in confidence as he related past events. “What was the reason for the accident?” The calm, quiet manner of the query had the jury straining to catch the question. An elderly man at the back leant forward and cupped his ear. “Well, I suppose it must have been my own fault.” Then he interjected, “But that was years ago! I don’t see how it relates to this case.”
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At last, he turned to his relationship with his father-in-law. “Did you realize Lord Gower might have cleared your huge debts with a stroke of his pen?” “I suppose so, but I didn’t approach him.” “Why not?” “Because the old man would never do it. He loathed me for gambling away his daughter’s dowry. But that was our money.” His eyes blazed defiance at the thin, bewigged figure across the width of the court. “How did you feel about his attitude?” Again, the tone of reasonable enquiry seemed more like an interview with a friendly doctor rather than a deadly prosecutor. The earlier questions had been kindly put, so the defendant was eager to build on the apparent sympathy between them. “He was nothing to me.” “Then why did you visit him on the day he died?” Just for a moment, Somerset blinked. The jury leant forward, aroused from torpor. Even the Old Bailey ushers paused and listened.
