The Constant Rabbit

The Trials of Lance deBlackberry

Only three rabbit lawyers were ever called to the bar, the longest serving for sixteen years until anti-rabbit legislation forced her to quit. ‘If things had been different,’ ex-Attorney General and pro-rabbit advocate Lord Jefferson said, ‘she would have been the finest judge this nation would ever have produced.’

By the time of my trial, my hands had more or less healed. My assailants had flushed my severed thumbs down the toilet, so the surgeons had suggested a series of operations that would have put a little finger or toe where my thumb had been, but success was not guaranteed, so I asked them to make the repair as neat as they could and that would be it.

Lance enquired several times whether I wanted to postpone the sentencing. I asked him whether that would change anything, and he said that it probably wouldn’t. The story of my lopping had got out, and while hardcore leporiphobic fox-friends saw it as my just deserts for killing Mr Ffoxe, most thought it was a cruel and unusual punishment, given that I was already facing a life sentence. The only upside to my incarceration was that without me, the Buchblitz overran twice in a row and had to be placed in ‘special measures’.

My hearing was held in the Gloucester law courts. I’d heard nothing from Pippa as the mobile phone masts around Colony One had been disabled, along with all the landlines. She did manage to get a message out to me, though. A scribbled note hidden inside a hollowed-out carrot left in my cell exhorted me to ‘be strong’ and informed me that she, and everyone else, ‘were fine’.

In the news, the refusal of the rabbits to move out of Colony One was causing something of a headache for Smethwick and the Taskforce. A vixen had been appointed the new Senior Group Leader. She was named Jocaminca fforkes, with two small ‘f’s – as if having two ‘f’s wasn’t pretentious enough – and the papers had reported ‘tensions’ within the upper echelons of the Taskforce. Prolonged and heated discussions had taken place amongst the elders of Colony One, the Rehoming team, Smethwick himself, fforkes and the Grand Council of Coneys.

The failure to reach an agreement on the Rehoming was blamed on the rabbit’s intransigence, while rabbit spokespeople cited ‘a litany of broken promises’ in past human/rabbit negotiations, which Smethwick defended on the grounds that ‘we may have been lying then, but we’re totally telling the truth now’, and since that particular gambit had always worked on humans, then it was reasonable that rabbits should adopt it also. The impasse was all set to evolve into an escalation, as the fifteen hundred foxes and several thousand Compliance Taskforce personnel were currently billeted in and around Colony One. The enforced curfew, instigated the day before Mr Ffoxe died, was still very much in place: no one in, no one out.

‘Good news,’ said Lance as we sat together on the defence bench, the morning of my sentencing. ‘I found a boxed set of Judge John Deed in Oxfam and have watched the entire series twice and made copious notes. Let me tell you,’ he added in a confident manner, ‘there is nothing I don’t know about procedure within the British legal system.’

‘OK,’ I said, not sharing his confidence. ‘You do know that Judge John Deed is actually one of the least realistic British TV courtroom drama series?’

‘Is it?’ said Lance, genuinely surprised. ‘That might cause a few problems with your defence – but I’m sure we’ll muddle through. Now,’ he said, ‘which one is the judge?’

‘She’s not in yet. You’ll know it’s her because she’ll be wearing a wig and you’ll be asked to stand.’

I took a deep breath and looked about. The public gallery was full, but there were only two rabbits, neither of whom I recognised.

Once we had stood for the judge and were all then reseated, the usual legal preamble went backwards and forwards while Lance doodled a picture of a carrot on his legal pad. When asked to confirm the plea I had entered earlier, he suddenly stood up.

‘I would like to put forward a motion that all charges be withdrawn.’

The prosecution barrister also stood up.

‘The prosecution will vigorously oppose any downgrading of the charge to manslaughter,’ he said.

‘You didn’t hear me,’ said Lance, ‘we do not seek a reduction to manslaughter, but a dropping of all charges. My client will also change his plea to not guilty to intimate association, for which the court will have to furnish compelling evidence beyond the testimony of witnesses who are either dead or can be demonstrably proven to have anti-rabbit bias by belonging to TwoLegsGood, a membership list of which I will enter as defence exhibit A. Regarding my client’s confession, we will come to that later when I outline how, although not coerced by police, my client was nonetheless coerced.’

There was a stunned silence as Lance deBlackberry finished his short speech. The clerks looked at one another and shrugged, and the two prosecution barristers stared at Lance incredulously.

‘I have to say I’m intrigued but not convinced by this, Mr deBlackberry,’ said the judge, ‘but I will hear your arguments.’

Lance thanked the judge and continued.

‘The crime of murder can only be committed between two humans. Since we know that Mr Ffoxe was of dual taxonomic status and is to be considered a human for the purposes of this trial, it is this status I challenge. Since he was in that house to kill rabbits then it follows that on the evening of his death Mr Ffoxe should be defined as a fox – if he wasn’t, then he would legally not be allowed to murder a rabbit, any more than a human is allowed to kill an anthropomorphised rabbit. The law affords us that protection.’

He paused.

‘So if the victim was legally a fox, then my client’s act becomes simply a man shooting a fox, which he is legally permitted to do under the 1854 Destruction of Countryside Pests Act.’

The prosecution lawyer stood up again.

‘While we concede that legally Mr Ffoxe was required to be a fox to kill rabbits but a human to be a victim of murder, we contend that Mr Ffoxe was legally a human when killed as he had not yet done anything that would define him as a fox in the eyes of the law.’

But Lance was not yet done.

‘This is not a question about when my learned colleague decides – arbitrarily – that a fox is a human or a fox; this is a question of intent. If Mr Ffoxe entered the Rabbits’ house with the sole purpose of terrifying and killing the Rabbit family then he would be very much defined as a fox, and that being so – he cannot be murdered.’

‘Defence counsel may be technically correct,’ said the prosecution, ‘but since we have no sense of Mr Ffoxe’s intent when he entered the Rabbits’ house, then it cannot be proven that he was there to kill rabbits. He may have been wanting to interview them, or offer a warning. Or simply request a glass of water.’

‘A fox does not go into a rabbit’s house with any other intent,’ said Lance, ‘but I concede that his state of mind is unknowable. But will prosecution counsel agree that the victim’s intent has a direct bearing on his taxonomic status?’

‘We do, Your Honour,’ said the prosecution barrister.

‘Good,’ said Lance, ‘then I would contend on the basis of that notion that the perpetrator’s intent must also have a direct bearing on the victim’s taxonomic status. My contention is that since Mr Knox was in that house to do a little fox-hunting, then by learned counsel’s arguments, Mr Ffoxe must be classed taxonomically as a fox – and can therefore be legally killed by a human.’

The prosecution seemed more amused than annoyed by Lance’s words.

‘Does learned council,’ he began in a haughty tone, ‘honestly expect this court to believe that his client was engaging in fox-hunting? I need hardly remind him that this is not a court of conjecture and fantasy, but one that depends upon burden of proof. The defendant’s confession makes no mention of being out for a little fox-hunting, and it seems a stretch for the court to accept this line of reasoning. In none of the photographic evidence can the defendant be seen having a pack of hounds, a horse or a hunting horn, nor was he even dressed in Pink.’

There was a ripple of laughter around the court at this, but not from the rabbits in the public gallery, who had been hanging on Lance’s every word.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Lance, ‘the confession to which I alluded earlier. Mr Knox was in fear of his life from the Hominid Supremacist group TwoLegsGood, who are well known to despise rabbits and are not keen on anyone who kills foxes, and there is strong circumstantial evidence – despite the stories you have read in the media – that it was they who burned the Rabbits’ house down, set fire to Mr Knox’s house, and murdered the Rabbits in their own home. Furthermore, they threatened Mr Knox with a punishment that is well known to be one meted out to those humans who are reputed to side with rabbits – the removal of the thumbs, usually with a bolt-cutter. A threat, the court can see, that was carried out, despite Mr Knox agreeing to confess to everything. His confession, therefore, is unreliable, and should be deemed inadmissible.’

There was a short pause, and someone entered at the back of the courtroom, walked forward and handed a note to the more junior of the prosecution barristers. He read the note, then stood up.

‘If it pleases the court,’ said the prosecutor, ‘I have just received a shocking communication that is pertinent to the proceedings here today. To the effect that opposing counsel, Mr Lance deBlackberry, does not have any professional credentials qualifying him to practise law and has thus fraudulently misrepresented himself, and should be immediately removed from the courtroom pending criminal charges.’

I had seen the junior barrister texting under the table as soon as Lance started to speak, and realised what was going on. Lance had cultivated a sense of incompetence for a very good reason.

‘We would also,’ said the senior prosecutor, ‘move for an adjournment of the proceedings until such time as Mr Knox can be properly represented.’

Lance, however, was not fazed in the least.

‘My legal diploma,’ he said in a loud, clear voice, ‘was sent to the court, which had ample time to review my credentials, but did not. My presence here is simply to undermine my client’s case and ensure Mr Knox be jailed for the maximum time possible. I was permitted and encouraged to represent Mr Knox only so I could fail.’

I expected the judge to intervene, but she did not.

‘But in light of my learned colleague’s accusation,’ continued Lance, ‘I would apply to this court to represent Mr Knox in a lay capacity as a McKenzie friend.61’

‘Ridiculous,’ said prosecution counsel. ‘Mr deBlackberry’s status and qualifications should be reviewed separately, and I must once again request, in the strongest possible terms, that these proceedings be adjourned.’

There was silence and we all watched the judge, who stared at Lance and prosecution council in turn.

‘The court is dismayed to learn that Mr deBlackberry is not legally permitted to speak,’ she said, ‘and since he has done so in the capacity of defence counsel, I find that he is in contempt of this court, and the court will fine him a solitary one pound, to be paid to the clerk before the end of the day. As regards his plea to become a McKenzie’s friend, I see no reason to deny this, and every reason to permit it. I should also warn prosecution counsel that I have taken note of Mr deBlackberry’s concerns, and will direct my staff to make enquiries. If the concerns prove justified, I fully intend to bring charges against anyone who has attempted to pervert the course of justice. Do you understand me?’

‘Yes, Your Honour,’ said the head prosecution barrister.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘Mr deBlackberry? Please continue.’

Lance cleared his throat and summarised what he had said so far: that I had been coerced and threatened to confess – something that was apparent by my thumbless condition – and that I was actually in the Rabbits’ house to indulge in a little fox-hunting.

‘Yes indeed,’ said the lead prosecution barrister, ‘the thorny fox-hunting issue. Would learned counsel care to demonstrate to the court just how he can prove this ridiculous suggestion, given there were no horses or hounds?’

There wasn’t any laughter this time around, and Lance drew several evidence photographs from a folder.

‘I draw the court’s attention to crime scene photographs 8, 17, 34, 26 and 38. In all of them an owl can clearly be seen. I would also like to draw your attention to photograph 78, in which we see Mr Knox’s burned-out house the following morning, in which an aviary is, again, clearly visible. I also have a signed receipt, here entered as defence exhibit B, to show that said aviary and owl were delivered to Mr Knox the week before.’

He paused to take a sip of water.

‘The Hunting Act of 2004 clearly states that a bird of prey may be used to flush a fox, and a bird of prey – brought by Mr Knox himself – was there in Hemlock Towers when Mr Knox was doing what the law permitted: legally destroying vermin. Once again I appeal to this court to dismiss all charges and release my client.’

‘None of this was in discovery,’ said the prosecution barrister, ‘and shows a flagrant lapse in procedural rectitude.’

‘Agreed,’ said the judge. ‘I find Mr deBlackberry in contempt again, and fine him another pound. As for dismissing the charges against Mr Knox, I find Mr deBlackberry’s argument plausible, and given the grey areas regarding Mr Ffoxe’s taxonomic status, I no longer believe there is enough evidence to satisfy this court that Mr Ffoxe was human when he was killed, and I therefore dismiss the charge of murder. As for the “intimate association” charge, I find that Mr Knox’s confession, in light of the personal attack upon him in prison, should be regarded as tainted, and is also inadmissible. Without it, I cannot see any likely chance of a conviction, and dismiss this charge also.’

There was a collective sigh of annoyance from the humans in the public gallery, and three ‘huzzahs’ from the rabbits. The judge directed her next comments to Lance.

‘Mr deBlackberry, I have been as impressed with your qualities in this court today as much as I have been disappointed by prosecution counsel’s attempt to undermine the rule of law. I will warn you, Mr deBlackberry, that in future you should not misrepresent yourself in court as other judges may not be so tolerant. Consider this a reprimand. Mr Knox, you are free to go.’

The judge then stood up, the court stood up, and ten minutes later I found myself blinking on the steps of the courthouse.

‘My client has no comment at this time,’ said Lance as we made our way through the phalanx of reporters to a waiting RabCab, in this instance a charmingly ugly 1973 Ford Gran Torino.

‘Nffiffr hrff niffrh?’ asked the cabbie, who was an old flea-bitten buck with a single hole in his left ear that was so large he must have duelled with a howitzer.

‘Colony One,’ said Lance, ‘and step on it.’

The cabbie did indeed ‘step on it’, but only in a strictly relative way: he ramped it up to a heady 40 mph, only 12.62 mph below the all-time self-piloted rabbit land speed record. I think I realised then how they made their cars last so long.

‘Is that wise?’ I asked. ‘I’m probably the last person who should be seen anywhere near the May Hill colony.’

‘You need to be there,’ said Lance.

‘Why?’

‘Because Bunty has foreseen that the endgame is near – and we need all the help we can get.’