send you home now, so that you can rest before you continue your deliberations tomorrow morning. But be aware," he added, "that once you leave this courtroom, you should not discuss the case with anyone, including your families."
Alex returned home to his little flat in Pimlico and spent a second sleepless night.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A LEX WAS BACK in court and seated in his place by five minutes to ten the following morning. Pearson greeted him with a warm smile. Had the old codger forgiven him for his ambush, or was he simply confident of the outcome? As the two of them waited for the jury to return, they chatted about roses, cricket, even who was most likely to be the first Mayor of London, but never once referred to the proceedings that had occupied every waking minute for the past two weeks.
The minutes turned into hours. As there was no sign of the jury returning by one o'clock, the judge released everyone for an hour's lunch break. While Pearson went off for a meal in the Bar Mess on the top floor, Alex spent his time pacing up and down the corridor outside court number four. Juries in a murder trial rarely take less than four hours to reach a verdict, his father had told him over the phone that morning, for fear that it might be suggested that they had not taken their responsibilities seriously.
At eight minutes past four, the jury filed back into their places and this time Alex noted that their expressions had changed from blank to bemused. Mr. Justice Sackville had no choice but to send them home for a second night.
The following morning, Alex had only been pacing up and down the marble corridors for just over an hour before an usher emerged fromthe courtroom and shouted, "The jury are returning to court number four."
Once again, the foreman read from a prepared statement. "My lord," he began, his eyes never rising from the sheet of paper he was holding, his hand trembling slightly. "Despite many hours of deliberation, we are unable to come to a unanimous decision and wish to seek your guidance on how we should proceed."
"I sympathize with your problem," responded the judge, "but I must ask you to try one more time to reach a unanimous decision. I am loath to call a retrial only for the court to be put through the whole procedure a second time."
Alex bowed his head. He would have settled for a retrial. If they gave him a second chance, he wasn't in any doubt that . . . The jury filed back out without another word and didn't reappear again that morning.
Alex sat alone in a corner of the restaurant on the third floor. He allowed his soup to go cold, and shifted his salad around the plate, before he returned to the corridor and continued his ritual pacing.
At twelve minutes past three, an announcement came over the loudspeaker. "All those involved in the Cartwright case, please make their way back in to court number four, as the jury is returning."
Alex joined a stream of interested parties as they walked quickly down the corridor and filed back into the courtroom. Once they were settled, the judge reappeared and instructed the usher to summon the jury. As they entered the court, Alex couldn't help noticing that one or two of them looked distressed.
The judge leaned forward and asked the foreman, "Have you been able to reach a unanimous verdict?"
"No, m'lord," came back the immediate reply.
"Do you think that you might reach a unanimous verdict if I were to allow you a little more time?"
"No, m'lord."
"Would it help if I were to consider a majority verdict, and by that I mean one where at least ten of you are in agreement?"
"That might solve the problem, m'lord," the foreman replied.
"Then I'll ask you to reconvene and see if you can finally come to a verdict." The judge nodded to the usher, who led the jury back out of court.
Alex was about to rise and continue his perambulations, when Pearson leaned across and said, "Stay still, dear boy. I have a feeling they'll be
Alex returned home to his little flat in Pimlico and spent a second sleepless night.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A LEX WAS BACK in court and seated in his place by five minutes to ten the following morning. Pearson greeted him with a warm smile. Had the old codger forgiven him for his ambush, or was he simply confident of the outcome? As the two of them waited for the jury to return, they chatted about roses, cricket, even who was most likely to be the first Mayor of London, but never once referred to the proceedings that had occupied every waking minute for the past two weeks.
The minutes turned into hours. As there was no sign of the jury returning by one o'clock, the judge released everyone for an hour's lunch break. While Pearson went off for a meal in the Bar Mess on the top floor, Alex spent his time pacing up and down the corridor outside court number four. Juries in a murder trial rarely take less than four hours to reach a verdict, his father had told him over the phone that morning, for fear that it might be suggested that they had not taken their responsibilities seriously.
At eight minutes past four, the jury filed back into their places and this time Alex noted that their expressions had changed from blank to bemused. Mr. Justice Sackville had no choice but to send them home for a second night.
The following morning, Alex had only been pacing up and down the marble corridors for just over an hour before an usher emerged fromthe courtroom and shouted, "The jury are returning to court number four."
Once again, the foreman read from a prepared statement. "My lord," he began, his eyes never rising from the sheet of paper he was holding, his hand trembling slightly. "Despite many hours of deliberation, we are unable to come to a unanimous decision and wish to seek your guidance on how we should proceed."
"I sympathize with your problem," responded the judge, "but I must ask you to try one more time to reach a unanimous decision. I am loath to call a retrial only for the court to be put through the whole procedure a second time."
Alex bowed his head. He would have settled for a retrial. If they gave him a second chance, he wasn't in any doubt that . . . The jury filed back out without another word and didn't reappear again that morning.
Alex sat alone in a corner of the restaurant on the third floor. He allowed his soup to go cold, and shifted his salad around the plate, before he returned to the corridor and continued his ritual pacing.
At twelve minutes past three, an announcement came over the loudspeaker. "All those involved in the Cartwright case, please make their way back in to court number four, as the jury is returning."
Alex joined a stream of interested parties as they walked quickly down the corridor and filed back into the courtroom. Once they were settled, the judge reappeared and instructed the usher to summon the jury. As they entered the court, Alex couldn't help noticing that one or two of them looked distressed.
The judge leaned forward and asked the foreman, "Have you been able to reach a unanimous verdict?"
"No, m'lord," came back the immediate reply.
"Do you think that you might reach a unanimous verdict if I were to allow you a little more time?"
"No, m'lord."
"Would it help if I were to consider a majority verdict, and by that I mean one where at least ten of you are in agreement?"
"That might solve the problem, m'lord," the foreman replied.
"Then I'll ask you to reconvene and see if you can finally come to a verdict." The judge nodded to the usher, who led the jury back out of court.
Alex was about to rise and continue his perambulations, when Pearson leaned across and said, "Stay still, dear boy. I have a feeling they'll be
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