Teacher's Dead (7 page)

Mrs Joseph passed by to pick me up in a taxi as we had arranged and we headed for the court. When we arrived the taxi was immediately surrounded by press
reporters. I’d expected some press but not that many, and I could see that Mrs Joseph was surprised too. After she paid the fare we sat in the taxi, not sure what to do. The taxi driver was reminding us that he had a job to do and that he didn’t have time to sit around all day looking at us when the taxi door was opened by two men. One of them opened his arms to create some space for us.

‘Good morning,’ he said cheerfully. ‘We’re court staff.’

Like a well-rehearsed double act the other one said, ‘We’ve been asked to help you in. Don’t worry about that lot. Just say nothing, and come with us.’

We did as we were told. As we walked from the taxi to the court they shielded us from the reporters who shouted questions at Mrs Joseph. I wasn’t sure how they expected her to answer questions like, ‘How are you coping after the death of your husband?’ or, ‘What kind of verdict are you looking for, Mrs Joseph?’

We put our heads down and walked in. I don’t know about Mrs Joseph but the flashing lights made me feel more like a celebrity at a film premiere than a citizen heading for the public gallery of a murder trial.

We were taken to the courtroom. It was a modern extension to the old courthouse, and by the time we arrived there it was already quite full. We found two
empty seats next to each other and sat down. There was a tap on my shoulder. I looked around, it was Mrs Martel.

‘I knew you’d be here,’ she said, smiling down on me like a guardian headmistress.

And I replied, ‘I knew you’d be here,’ believing that being outside of school allowed me to be a bit more imaginative with my responses to her.

‘Now now,’ she said. She turned to Mrs Joseph. ‘Hello, Mary. I see he brought you along.’

Mrs Joseph replied politely and then the chatter that had filled the courtroom stopped. Someone shouted ‘all stand’, and we all stood. Three judges entered, one woman, with a man either side of her. They took a second to look ahead, then they sat. We took a second to watch them sit, then we sat. It was all a bit robotic. The clerk made an announcement informing us that this was a case of the state against two juveniles, and then the female judge spoke.

‘Those of you in this room are here because you have some connection to the case. We have allowed in a limited number of members of the press, and I would firstly like to remind them that we are the judges here. You must make your reports, but you must report responsibly. Furthermore I want to remind all of you that the defendants in this case are juveniles, and so unless we grant permission to reveal their names you must protect their identities to the
best of your abilities. It is important that everyone in this room understands this. Please bring the defendants in.’

There was absolute silence as Lionel and Ramzi were brought in by four uniformed police officers. They stood in front of seats behind small desks for a short while with an officer to the side and behind each of them. They were both dressed in their school uniforms, both looking pale and thin. They were ordered to sit. I looked to my right and saw a woman looking at me. She looked familiar, but I just couldn’t place her. I looked away for a moment then I looked back. She was still looking at me. I looked a third time. Now she was looking straight ahead. There was something about her, but I couldn’t work out what it was.

The female judge read out the charges.

‘Lionel Ferrier, could you please stand. Lionel Ferrier, it is alleged that at three fifty-five, on April the twenty-fourth, of two thousand and seven, that you murdered Mr Edgar Arnold Joseph, in the grounds of Marston Hall school. How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?’

Lionel looked straight at the judge. ‘Guilty.’

For thirty seconds no one spoke. All that could be heard was the woman who records every word typing away at her machine, the sound of pen upon paper as people took notes, and the sound of people breathing.

‘Be seated,’ said the judge. ‘Ramzi Sanchin, could you please stand. Ramzi Sanchin, it is alleged that you conspired with Lionel Ferrier to commit an act of murder, that murder, of Mr Edgar Arnold Joseph, having been committed at three fifty-five, on April the twenty-fourth, of two thousand and seven, in the grounds of Marston Hall school. How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?’

Ramzi looked straight at the judge. ‘Guilty.’

There was a repeat of the silent writing, and then Ramzi was told to sit down. The judges began to whisper amongst themselves when the silence was broken by a disturbance outside the courtroom. A woman was screaming and shouting at the top of her voice.

‘Leave me alone! Why don’t you believe me? I have a right to be in there, he’s my son. He’s my son. If my son’s in court I have the right to be there. Now leave me alone.’

Lionel continued to stare straight ahead, but Ramzi looked disturbed. He began to look towards the direction of the shouting. Suddenly the door flew open and the two men who had brought me and Mrs Joseph in were chasing after a woman who was determined to sit in the court. She pointed to Ramzi.

‘This is my son. You people don’t know anything. He is innocent, and he is mine, and I have the right to be here.’ She pointed to a man and a woman who were
sitting behind Ramzi. ‘You leave him alone – you keep your hands off my child. All this is your fault. He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t be here if you’d taken care of him. He’s mine, my baby, mine.’

The couple remained motionless, we all remained motionless, all except for the two court staff who began trying to reason with her, but she just shouted above them.

One of the male judges spoke to the staff.

‘Let me hear her speak.’

They stopped shouting at her, she stopped screaming, and the judge continued.

‘You do realise that I could have you charged with contempt of court. What do you have to say for yourself?

The woman pointed to Ramzi. ‘That’s my son, which means I have the right to be here.’

The judge turned to Ramzi. ‘Is this your mother?’

Ramzi shook his head.

‘Could you speak, please?’

‘No,’ Ramzi said, looking straight at the judge.

‘Where are your parents?’ asked the judge.

Ramzi lifted his shoulders. The judges whispered to each other.

‘OK. Where are your foster parents, or your guardians?’ asked the judge.

Ramzi pointed to the couple. ‘They are my foster parents.’

‘But where are your biological parents?’ asked the judge.

‘I don’t know,’ said Ramzi. ‘I don’t know who my parents are.’

The woman screamed, ‘How can you say that? Forget all them fancy words you know, I’m your mother, I’m the only one that cares about you. What are they doing to you? These people don’t care about you, I care about you.’

‘Silence,’ shouted the judge. He then looked towards the couple. ‘Do you know this person?’

The man replied, ‘We have seen her before. She appears sometimes and makes these outrageous claims, and then she disappears. We understand that she has some mental health issues.’

The woman then charged towards the couple but was held back by the two men.

‘Mental health issues!’ she shouted. ‘I’ll give you mental heath issues. You’re all mental, the lot of you. Give me my son. Come on, son, we’re going home.’

‘OK,’ said the judge. ‘I want you to leave this courtroom now. If you have parental claims on this boy you must go through the proper channels. This may be the place but this is not the time.’

The woman began to cry. ‘He’s mine, you can’t have him. He’s mine, and you are all devils. You’re the ones with the mental health issues. Yeah. This is no court, this is a joke.’

‘Remove her from the court, please,’ said the female judge.

The two men then took her arms and held her in some fancy jujitsu arm locks and led her out. She was still shouting, and we could hear her shouting all the way out of the building.

‘Right,’ said the female judge, ‘let’s get on with the business in hand. ‘Can the legal representatives of the juveniles both stand?’

Two young men stood up. The judge continued.

‘I take it that court procedure has been explained to your clients?’

They both said, ‘Yes.’

‘And you are both happy with their guilty pleas?

One of them replied, ‘We are not happy with them, and we have tried to talk to them as much as we could. We have given them as much advice as legally possible but they both insist on entering guilty pleas.’

The judge looked towards Lionel and Ramzi.

‘Do you understand that you are entering a guilty plea which cannot be changed at a later date?’

They both said, ‘Yes.’

‘These are serious charges. Are you happy with your legal representation?’

They both said, ‘Yes.’

‘And you wish to stick with your plea?’

Once more they both said, ‘Yes.’

‘In that case,’ said the judge. ‘There will be no
need to call any witnesses. We will review the reports and return at nine a.m. tomorrow morning for sentencing. If there is no other business we shall adjourn until tomorrow.’

It was quick and it was strange. The woman claiming to be the mother of Ramzi certainly caused some courtroom drama, but I was more surprised by the way that Lionel and Ramzi seemed to have no life left in them. They remained emotionless throughout the hearing; they just didn’t seem to care about what was going to happen to them.

After the judges left the courtroom and people were collecting their belongings and making their way out, I saw the woman who had caught my eye earlier. I nudged Mrs Joseph.

‘Who’s that?’ I asked.

‘I have no idea,’ she replied.

I looked behind me. Mrs Martel was still there.

‘Mrs Martel. Who’s that lady over there?’

‘Don’t you know who that is?’ she replied. ‘That’s Miss Ferrier, Lionel’s mother.’

‘Didn’t you recognise her?’ asked Mrs Joseph.

‘I didn’t get a good look at her face,’ I said, a little embarrassed. But I had a plan. When we had left the courtroom but were still in the court building, I left Mrs Joseph for a moment and went to Miss Ferrier. I knew it was going to be tough but it was my one chance.

‘Miss Ferrier,’ I said. ‘Do you remember me? Jackson Jones.’

‘I remember you,’ she said. ‘Most kids just want to shout at me and throw things at me. You were the one that said you wanted to talk to me, but you couldn’t fool me, I’ve seen enough tricks in my time. Talk to me.’

‘But Miss Ferrier, it wasn’t a trick, I really did want to talk to you. I’m not like the other kids.’

‘All kids are alike. No manners, no discipline, no anything.’

I smiled in an attempt to humour her. ‘I got manners, lots of them, and discipline, I got that too. I’ve even got anything, or I’ll do anything, anything to get to the truth.’

She looked at me as if to pity me. ‘Why do you want the truth? What would you do with it?’

‘I don’t really know until I know what the truth is, but when I know, I know that I’ll want others to know so that people will think about truth and not believe lies. That’s the truth, Miss Ferrier.’

She looked at me wondering about what I had just said. I looked at her wondering about what I had just said.

She yawned. ‘Are you clever or just full of fancy talk?’

‘I’m just a kid trying to make sense of all this.’

‘You want to talk to me that badly, do you?’

‘I do, Miss Ferrier.’

She glanced around. ‘I can’t see what’s so important about talking to me. I’m just a nobody.’

‘I think you’re a somebody, Miss Ferrier.’

The pitch in her voice changed. Instead of speaking at me she spoke to me.

‘I understand that the kids on the street give you a hard time.’

‘You understand right.’

‘Come and see me Sunday morning, about nine. The street’s empty then, they’re all asleep.’

‘Oh, thanks, Miss Ferrier, thanks so much.’

‘Just make sure you come early or the kids will give you hell. They give me hell all the time.’

I thought for a moment. ‘Will you promise not to give me a warm shower?’

‘I don’t promise anything,’ she said, and walked away.

After we left the court Mrs Joseph took me to a small restaurant in the same park that Lionel and Ramzi had been arrested in. We sat outside in the sunshine, which was good for her, she was wearing a light summer dress, but I was still fully suited. After five minutes in the midday sun it dawned on me. I wasn’t in court any more, my mother was not with me, and I probably looked stupid. I took the jacket off, it was the least I could do.

We talked about the morning’s events, both of us still completely confused by the woman claiming to be Ramzi’s mother. Although she had no proof of her claim, in her own way she sounded very convincing. On the other hand it was believed that Ramzi was probably abandoned on the other side of the country. How would she have managed to track him down? After so many foster parents how would she have kept up with his movements?

I was very surprised by the boys’ guilty pleas. They did the crime of course, there were so many witnesses
who saw it, but I was surprised that their solicitors didn’t convince them to enter some other plea. Something like manslaughter, or guilty due to diminished responsibility, but like Mrs Joseph said, that would mean admitting they were mad. The speed of the proceedings suited Mrs Joseph fine. In keeping with her ideas of celebrating life, she didn’t want to sit through lots of stories describing the death of her husband from different angles; she wanted to be filled with positive memories. We had a small lunch that took for ever to eat due to her telling me the life and times of Edgar Arnold Joseph. Now I know everything about him.

She told me that he was born in a small city in the north of England and was an only child. His body was covered with scars that he gained from living dangerously on bombsites as a small kid. At the age of eight he listed his hobbies as climbing up difficult trees, crashing home-made go-karts, jumping off speeding roundabouts and swinging on swings, rolling down hills in dustbins, and getting lost. His ambition was to climb Mount Everest, or the Post Office Tower. When he was eleven years old he began to take his schoolwork very seriously and his parents and his teachers began to see how intelligent he was. He had a great head for figures and was fascinated with science and the way that things work. His parents thought that he would do even better in a different
environment. They weren’t rich but they worked hard and sent him to a boarding school. He hated it. He said it wasn’t so much about the school and the way they taught, or the other pupils, it was about home. He just loved coming home at the end of the day. Which apparently was the way he was as a teacher. He loved going to school, but he also loved going home, and at a boarding school he couldn’t come home at the end of the day. After one term he was taken out of boarding school and admitted back into his comprehensive school.