Rule Of Law

I think there is probably too much law. Law is just a process for dispensing justice but is it really necessary to cross every i and dot every t? [Sic]

What is so surprising is not that so many people escape the attentions of the judicial process but the fact that so many people of essentially good character find themselves so deeply in the mire because the true essence of justice is merely a system and no system devised by men cannot be subverted by a wily and skillful operator. We all know that the guilty walk free whilst the hapless are damned by their own gullibility. None of this is news, of course, but it's a useful preamble to remind us that, in spite of preconceptions, British Justice is heavily hamstrung by the weight of laws and procedures designed to protect all the parties involved, from the accused via the police and law profession to the victim. Every aspect is governed by various versions of Police And Criminal Evidence Acts and the less formal "Judges Rules", which have been mostly superceded by the statutes but — I am sure — remain in force anyway.

My free legal advocate was one of those men to whom women like myself cannot but help but to like at first sight. He was older than me, but not by much, and he was dressed in a good suit that, although well cut, did not shriek any of the male power game signals that so turn me off. My initial impression, then, of a man who cares — as much about his demeanour and appearance as he does about his work and domestic life. His opening comment focussed on my most recent affectation: a "make poverty history" wristband. He drew my attention to his with the wry observation that his wife had told him he was too old for such silliness. It was an instant ice-breaker. He took charge while leaving me the impression that I was still in control as much as any paying client.

He began by summarising the situation as it had been outlined in the police charge sheet and he then asked for my side of the story. I'd had the best part of three hours solitary confinement to consider my situation. With no experience of the criminal justice system other than as a viewer and reader of television and books I had arrived in police custody in a defiant mood. My intention was simply to deny all knowledge of the bike and to hell with it. I knew I was technically innocent and my guilt had to be proven. For that to occur evidence had to be produced and my "confession" to EP in the heat of a row could never be admissible in a court. But three hours is a long time for a mouthy, opinionated cow like me. I had time to consider how much worse my punishment might be if — against all reason — evidence emerged anyway and then I was found guilty. Frankly the idea was appalling. It seemed unlikely the bike would ever be found (and without habeas rustus I would remain forever in the clear) but likely and certain are beasts of differring hue. I don't gamble, except an occasional irrational impulse to buy a lottery ticket, because I dislike odds of any kind.

I began then by asking TS (The Solicitor) how much trouble I was in. "Am I facing a jail sentence over this?" I asked. Nothing like cutting to the chase! I hate to shilly-shally in conversation.

"Good lord, no!" TS said. "This is the first time you've ever been arrested, isn't it?" I nodded. I was close to tears of self pity throughout much of the next half hour or so, but I shall not mention it again. I chewed at my lip and worked away at the cuff of light jacket I was wearing. I don't swear to it now, but I think it was then that I decided with finality that I would tell everything. Every damned sordid detail.

It did not take long, but I chronicled my life and times with ET through 3 different addresses, bank account sharing and bedroom arrangements. In a few minutes I covered 16 years of my life. When I reached the end he neatly summarised the central and most painful fact of the whole affair. "Goodness!" He said. "You've been involved with him longer in separation than you were as a couple."

I agreed that this was so. I also enlarged upon some of the more salient elements of our financial entanglements that had left me helplessly tied down to the place until EP committed himself to a final deal for transferring the whole title in the property to me. The very last conversation EP and I had had on the deal had been in February or March of 2004 when he had offered me a deal that effectively gave the house to me in return for taking responsibility for all debts outstanding. I'd then told him that I was not working and was under treatment for anxiety and depression and that I would be unable to proceed with mortgage negotiation until I was better.

Over the next seventeen months my mental state ebbed and flowed. My ability to pay the mortgage failed during last summer and arrears began to accumulate. I discovered I was unable to contact him and he — for reasons best know to himself — made no effort to contact me or his bankers. Eventually I was being served with eviction notices by the courts at the bank's behest. I sold the bike because EP still owed me money I had loaned him after we separated. It had been abandonned and untouched for almost eight years and had not been in any sort of running condition since 1993 ... at which time EP himself had estimated that £5,000 minumum was required to restore the machine to a condition suitable for "showing".

My tale concluded, TS told me that he thought the matter was almost more appropriately a civil matter rather than a criminal one. However there was a criminal charge extant and my best approach would be to admit the charge on the same basis as I had just explained it to him.

So we called in the officer and we went through the whole process again, this time on record for the tapes. Little of the procedure is like that seen on TV. Even the standard caution takes on new meaning when I was challenged to explain what I understood it to mean. For the benefit of the tape record I was coaxed into repeating the sentiment of the caution so there could never be any doubt that I knew exactly what it meant.

At last we were drawing to the grisly conclusion. A crime had been reported and an allegation made concerning me. In consequence I had been arrested and charged with the offence and now I was making a verbal statement, cooperatively in a police interview. The important fact, for the cops, was my admission of guilt in respect of the offence on the chargesheet. Such a confession leaves little room for manoeuvre by any of the parties involved ... I kind of knew that much both on the instinctual level as well as on the higher moral ground of that imposter known as natural justice. I did not hear that term employed but it seemed to be singing sweetly out of every pore in the sound-deadening tiles of the interview room (tiles, without which, tape-recording would have been a far greater technological challenge in a 1950's police station at a busy city intersection.)

The officer told me that he was satisifed to terminate the interview and I could be released. He also told me that he would consult with his inspector concerning the next action, which I understood to be the preparation of a report for the Crown Prosecution Service who would decide if I would face trial.

After a short phone call the officer hung up and offered me a caution. TS took me aside to whisper his advice that it was the best deal I was going to get if I wanted a quiet life (That is to say: to go home and put it all behind behind me.) A police caution is a case-clearing shortcut for all parties ... except the victim. I signed a confession and the police got a crime cleared up (good for station morale and statistics). I also got to walk home with no further criminal charges to face regarding the same matter. Only a fool would risk a trial after making a taped confession, so I accepted the caution with immense relief.

The downside of a police caution is the acquisition of a criminal record. I was fingerprinted, photographed and sampled for DNA so my life of crime is over before it ever really got off the ground. Which is one failure I shall not be unhappy to have on my life's record.

It wasn't the best day of my life ... but, hell! I've had worse. And I did get to witness EP's reaction and that almost pays all. I'll settle for almost. For once nearly is good enough!