From 'Percival Sets Out His Stall'

The best view of proceedings in Court 1 at the Old Bailey is undoubtedly from the dock. You sit high up, as befits your star role, and look the judge straight in the eye. Better still, nowadays, if anyone for some absurd reason should wish to assault you, you’re protected by a thick glass screen. Unsurprisingly, this ringside seat is not much in demand as a vantage point as after the show, most occupants do not depart for an early supper at Sheekey’s but a late one at Belmarsh Prison, where the service is somewhat lacklustre and the wine list decidedly limited.

For this particular show, the courtroom was packed. The pre-trial publicity had resulted in a long queue forming at 9 a.m. for the limited public accommodation in the circle seats. The stalls were reserved for the trial lawyers, the police, the press and, of course, the jury, as well as out-of-work barristers, dreaming about their eventual debut in this most holy setting.

But this theatre of dreams is in a different league to any found on Shaftesbury Avenue. For a start, the gallery seats are free and dished out on a first-come, first-served basis. Secondly, you never see the same show two days in a row. But, best of all, no one knows for sure the ending or, sadly in modern times, when this might be. It’s also in such demand that it has been running continuously for centuries; far longer than even Agatha Christie’s The Mousetrap. Everyone is thrilled to be there except one person – the defendant!

Murder at the Bailey - Extracts

From 'Enter The Man to See'

On the same Tuesday evening that Jake was reminding his former cronies of their roots, one Patrick ‘The Edge’ Gorman QC was on the other side of town, delivering a Facts of Life-style lecture at the London School of Economics.

‘There’s a killer sleeping peacefully in each and every one of us – anybody who disagrees, raise your hand.’ Some 150 hands flew up in the air in a hurry.

Gorman cast his eyes around his shocked audience, pleased to note that he had their rapt attention. Not a bad opening gambit, he thought to himself. He’d never had any real appetite to perform this cabaret in the first place, but here he was and all because three months earlier he’d successfully defended a student accused of sexual assault by being a little too familiar with a rather attractive jurisprudence lecturer after a tutorial. The boy’s super-rich father was a governor at his son’s university and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Three times Gorman had politely declined, and three times the stakes went up, until Gorman persuaded himself that even he had his price.

Unsurprisingly, the old theatre in the college was packed, partly because of the emotive posters planted all over the college under the heading ‘The criminal within us all – an evening with the legendary defender Patrick Gorman QC’, but mainly because the small-print read: ‘To be followed by a champagne reception’. This, of course, provided a sure-fire guarantee that no one would be slipping out early.

‘Yes, there’s a killer lurking in all of us,’ Gorman repeated, undeterred, as if he were addressing an Old Bailey jury. Then he looked around for a suitable case for treatment. ‘You, young man,’ he called out, pointing at a skinny, bespeckled, naïve but academic-looking fellow sitting in the front row, pen and note- pad eagerly at the ready. ‘So, you’re incapable of killing anyone under any circumstances, are you?’

‘Definitely,’ was the immediate, indignant response.

Gorman allowed himself the hint of a smile. He’d picked the right target.

‘Got a girlfriend?’

‘Not at the moment, unfortunately.’

‘Well, let’s face it, that’s understandable.’ Laughter all around. ‘What’s your name, my good fellow?’ asked Gorman, now adopting a bedside manner to make amends for his unkind quip.

‘Douglas.’

‘Well, Mr Douglas Do-Right, stretch your imagination and let’s say you did have a girlfriend. I know it’s unrealistic, but just for the sake of argument – OK?’ More laughter, whilst Douglas bowed his head and nodded. What else could he do?

‘And let’s imagine you’re crazy about her. She’s gorgeous, sympathetic, intelligent and even cooks you a hot meal everynight when you arrive back at the flat you share, no doubt in your particular case you having been burning the midnight oil in the law library. And, to your horror, you find her stark naked, tied down on your bed, bleeding from her nose and bruised around her eyes. She’s gagged, terrified and being raped. What would you do?’

‘I’d call the police and let the law take its course,’ squeaked Douglas.

‘Would you indeed! OK, and suppose, to add insult to injury, the rapist is in your year and tells you to piss off and that your girlfriend’s a dirty whore who’s been giving him the eye for weeks and what she needs is a real man, not a boy?’

Now Douglas sat bolt upright. Four hundred eyes gazed at him in anticipation, but his lips remained sealed.

Gorman decided to turn up the heat a little. ‘Your sweetheart, your one and only, being brutally raped in your own bedroom, and you’re being treated with derision – nay, like a piece of shit who is boxing way above his weight – you’re going to call the police, are you? Your blood’s boiling and you want revenge and right now. What are you going to do?’

Finally, Douglas found his voice, and a loud one at that. ‘I’m going to grab my cricket bat and smash the bounder over the head with it – then I’m going to get you to defend me!’

At a stroke, the boy had become a man, and many in the audience rose to their feet cheering, clapping and banging their chairs in solid support.

‘A wise choice, if I say so myself,’ said Gorman once the applause had subsided. ‘Got a rich father?’ Gorman just couldn’t resist it.

Douglas reddened visibly. ‘He’s a stockbroker, but I doubt he’ll be a rich one by the time you’re finished with him.’ That put Gorman in his place and he had to suffer the loudest applause of the evening.

‘Good on ya, Douglas, I’ve been asking for that – we’ll make a barrister out of you yet,’ replied Gorman, good-naturedly. ‘Now, let’s take that vote again. All those who agree that there’s a killer dormant in each one of us – stand up. All those who disagree – stay seated.’

Gorman stared around, well pleased with his powers of persuasion.

It was a close call.

‘Now,’ said Gorman, well aware that he had his audience virtually brainwashed. ‘Before I move on to the sordid subject of blackmail, let’s see if I can whet your appetite for it. Hands up those of you in favour of moving the champagne reception for- ward and we have it right here and now – whilst I’m speaking.’

The verdict was unanimous.