Turn a Blind Eye

30

Sir Julian rose early the following morning, and not just because he couldn’t sleep. He needed to rehearse his closing summation to the waking birds and seek their approval.

He switched on the bedside light, put on his dressing gown, and padded across to his writing desk. He picked up his notes, looked in the mirror and began, ‘M’lud, members of the jury, what an extraordinary case this has turned out to be, and I would suggest that in the end, it simply comes down to who you believe. On the one hand...’

Forty minutes later, he ended with the words, ‘I am confident the jury will use its common sense when reaching a verdict, well aware who is the guilty party.’

But would they? he wondered as he put the script to one side. He still couldn’t be sure which way the jury would fall, and it didn’t help that Booth Watson would speak after him and have the final word before the judge’s summing-up. He decided to make himself a cup of tea before getting dressed and going across to chambers to find out if Grace or Clare had any last-minute suggestions.

On his way to the kitchen, he stopped to pick up the morning paper from the doormat. He looked at the Telegraph’s headline and swore out loud. After reading the front-page article he swore again, even louder.

‘Do you think they’ll find him guilty?’ Beth asked as she scooped a second fried egg out of the pan and dropped it on William’s plate.

‘It’s going to be a close-run thing,’ William replied. ‘They may feel there’s not enough evidence to convict him, after Booth Watson invented a line about revenge that Congreve never wrote.’

‘Why didn’t your father correct him?’

‘He couldn’t while Grace was representing the Crown.’

‘But you told me only a week ago you considered it an open-and-shut case.’

‘And it might have been if our undercover agent had been able to arrest Summers when he came out of Payne’s house, and relieve him of the Sainsbury’s bag he was carrying.’

‘Then why didn’t he?’

‘It’s not that easy to arrest two people when you have no backup, unless of course you’re James Bond.’

‘What about at the Playboy Club, when you were given a second chance?’

‘Same problem, although thanks to Nicky at least I found out what Summers and Lamont were up to.’

‘But you were still able to produce the ring as evidence,’ said Beth, as she began to feed the twins.

‘Yes, but it didn’t help that Nicky took her time admitting when she first saw it,’ said William, glancing across at Beth’s copy of the Daily Mail.

‘That’s all I need,’ he said, after he’d read the banner headline on the front page.

Grace didn’t bother with breakfast that morning as she went over her leader’s closing remarks one more time before leaving for chambers.

‘It’s your father at his most persuasive,’ said Clare after she’d read the peroration.

‘I agree,’ said Grace as the morning paper landed on the doormat with a thud. ‘But will the jury end up giving Summers the benefit of the doubt?’

‘We’ll find out soon enough. Why don’t you grab the paper while I make us coffee?’

Clare switched on the kettle as Grace left the kitchen. A few moments later she heard a string of expletives coming from the hall, which only increased in volume as her partner returned to join her. Not the sort of language one would expect from someone who was hoping to be appointed a QC.

Grace burst back into the room and threw the Guardian on the kitchen table, saying, ‘That won’t help our cause.’

Booth Watson still felt the verdict was in the balance as he went slowly over his final submission to the jury. He was enjoying a full English breakfast at his favoured table in the Savoy Grill. He was pleased he’d been able to convince Summers he shouldn’t give evidence. A risk not worth taking, he’d repeated, several times. Sir Julian would probably mention Banquo’s ghost during his summing-up, but at least he had the advantage of following his old rival and responding in kind before the judge addressed the jury.

He made one or two small emendations to his script before pushing it to one side and picking up his copy of The Times. His coffee went cold as he read the front-page article a second time.

‘Would you care for more coffee, sir?’ asked an attentive waiter.

‘No,’ said Booth Watson abruptly. ‘Get me a copy of every morning paper and put them on my bill. Immediately.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said the waiter, who scurried off.

Booth Watson read the article for a third time and smiled. The odds were no longer fifty-fifty. He began to rewrite the last paragraph of his closing speech.

The court was full long before the judge was due to make his entrance, the audience waiting expectantly for the curtain to rise on the final act.

Sir Julian had already set up his little stand, and Grace was double-checking the pages of his manuscript were all in order. Clare sat on the bench behind them, ready to hand over an urgent scribbled note should anything unanticipated arise.

Booth Watson lounged at the other end of the bench, the only person in the crowded courtroom to acknowledge the defendant as he took his place in the dock, accompanied by two officers who looked as if they hoped he’d try to escape.

When the judge appeared, everyone in the court rose and bowed. He returned the compliment as he sat down in the high-backed chair in the centre of the raised platform. Once he’d settled he peered down at the jury over his spectacles and smiled. He finally turned his attention to the prosecution’s leading advocate.

‘Sir Julian, are you ready to sum up on behalf of the Crown?’

‘I am indeed, m’lud,’ said the Crown’s leader as he rose from his place, tugged at his gown, and adjusted his wig, showing that some things never change.

‘M’lud, members of the jury, what an extraordinary case this has turned out to be. In the end, I would suggest it simply comes down to who you believe. You could be forgiven for wondering who was on trial, as the defendant refused to answer any questions after he was arrested, and again failed to do so in the presence of my learned friend, and finally we were deprived of any explanation he might have to offer when he was given the chance to tell you his side of the story from the witness box. Not unlike Banquo’s ghost; you can see him standing there, but he doesn’t answer any of Macbeth’s questions.’

‘As is his legal right,’ grumbled Booth Watson from a sedentary position at the far end of the bench.

Sir Julian turned, smiled at his rival and said, ‘At last we’ve found something we can agree on.’ One or two members of the jury also smiled.

‘Had he done so, m’lud, I would have been able to ask the defendant why he had entered the home of a leading drug dealer at one o’clock in the morning, and what was in the Sainsbury’s bag he was carrying when he came back out twenty minutes later. Perhaps there’s a simple explanation. If so, we haven’t been given the opportunity to hear it.

‘And why, you may ask,’ he continued, turning to face the jury, ‘did the accused then drive to the home of an equally notorious drug dealer, who was clearly expecting him, because as Inspector Warwick pointed out, the front door was immediately thrown open to welcome him even before he had a chance to knock? When Summers emerged half an hour later he was no longer carrying the Sainsbury’s bag. What can have been in it? you may ask. Perhaps he was delivering the groceries?’

This caused more than one member of the jury to smile.

‘And then there’s the mysterious trip to the Playboy Club, when he was seen apparently parting with a large sum of money. But was he actually losing it, or was he simply exchanging it? Because three hours later he left the club with a cheque for almost exactly the same amount he’d started out with. I’m sure there’s another simple explanation he just didn’t feel he could share with us.

‘Even more inexplicable is how he came to be in possession of a diamond ring worth over three thousand pounds, which was found in his flat by PC Bailey. My learned friend deftly tried to place the blame onto Constable Bailey herself, by claiming that the dates didn’t fit. I’ll tell you one date that does fit, and which my learned friend avoided mentioning. The burglar who stole that ring from a house in Mayfair was arrested, charged and remanded in May, long before PC Bailey had even met the defendant, so it can’t have been her who stole the ring, which rather narrows down the field.

‘Had the accused chosen to appear in the witness box, and taken an oath to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, I might have been tempted to ask him how he came to be in possession of the latest Sony television set, a brand-new VHS recorder, two designer watches, not to mention the latest Jaguar, and furnishings that could have graced a mansion in Mayfair rather than a small flat in Romford.

‘However, there is one thing my learned friend and I can agree on.’ Sir Julian glanced across to see Booth Watson, head bowed, giving the impression he was fast asleep. ‘Namely, that only one person could have stolen all those items, including the ring.’ He turned once again to face the jury. ‘And it certainly wasn’t a naive, impressionable young woman who — perhaps unwisely — fell in love with the accused and ended up bearing his child. A child he has made no attempt to acknowledge. In fact, he went on holiday with another woman while PC Bailey was pregnant, and when they returned from that holiday, the other woman was wearing the engagement ring. Members of the jury, you may ask how any man could stoop so low as to try to place the blame for the theft of that ring on an innocent young woman, the mother of his child, in order to save his own skin.

‘Before you retire to consider your verdict, I would ask you to think about one more important aspect of this case. If DS Summers is allowed to flout the law and get away with his egregious crimes, what message does that send to all the thousands of decent and dedicated police officers across the land who selflessly and courageously carry out their duties day in and day out in the service of the public?

‘I am confident that after you have weighed up all the evidence, you can come to only one conclusion. That DS Jerry Summers is a corrupt, unscrupulous individual, who must now face the consequences of his actions, if only because it will reassure the public that no one is above the law.’ Sir Julian turned for the final time to face the jury before he said almost in a whisper, ‘In order to achieve that, you must surely deliver a verdict of guilty.’

Sir Julian sat down to an outburst of murmuring that suggested that most of those in the court agreed with him. The journalists continued to scribble away, seemingly convinced that the verdict had already been decided, and there could only be one headline on their front pages the following morning: GUILTY.

The judge waited for everyone to settle before turning to the other end of counsels’ bench, where the defence silk was not only wide awake, but clearly impatient to do battle.

‘Mr Booth Watson, are you ready to deliver your closing speech on behalf of your client?’ asked the judge.

‘More than ready, m’lud.’ Booth Watson rose from his place, not bothering to tug his gown or adjust his wig. He looked down at the seven bullet points written in capital letters on the back of an envelope. He too had been up all night.

‘Members of the jury,’ he began, looking at them for the first time. ‘Don’t you sometimes think you’d like to hear the other side of the story? The man on trial today has served as a police officer for seven years, attaining the rank of detective sergeant without a blemish on his record.’ His eyes never left the jury. ‘On three separate occasions he has been awarded commendations for the outstanding work he has carried out on behalf of his local community. Can this be the same man the Crown has just described? I don’t think so.’

‘You have been told by the Crown that the defendant’s home was full of expensive electronic equipment and luxury goods. Don’t you find it strange that not one of these items was offered up as evidence? The reason, we have been told, is that they were all destroyed by one of Scotland Yard’s own officers, Police Constable Bailey, before the police could conduct a search of his premises. And what, you may also ask, did they find when they took my client’s flat apart?’ He paused. ‘A silver-plated letter rack, a couple of watches and a Jaguar being paid for on the never-never. Hardly the Great Train Robbery.’

One member of the jury suppressed a smile.

‘The Crown went into great detail about how the defendant visited the head of a gang of drug dealers in the early hours of the morning. But isn’t it part of a police officer’s job to raid suspected drug dealers when they least expect it, in the hope of finding evidence that will enable them to be brought to justice? Not a job many of us would want to carry out in the middle of the night, when we’d rather be safely tucked up in bed. Let’s be thankful DS Summers was willing to take on that demanding and dangerous responsibility on your behalf.

‘If the undercover officer who’d been watching him night and day was so keen to discover what was in that Sainsbury’s bag on the night in question, why didn’t he arrest DS Summers and take a look inside? Perhaps he wasn’t there in the first place?’

Grace leant across and whispered to her father, ‘Surely he realizes undercover agents remain undercover, that’s the point of them.’

‘Of course he does,’ said Sir Julian. ‘However, his words aren’t aimed at us, but at the jury.’

‘It would appear, members of the jury, that it’s now a crime to visit the Playboy Club and enjoy a night out after a hard day’s work. And an even worse crime to leave the club with almost as much money as you came in with.’

Booth Watson managed to raise a second smile from another member of the jury.

‘Inspector Warwick wants you to believe that the defendant was doing something illegal by playing a game of roulette. If that’s the case, why did he once again fail to arrest him? Because once again he knew DS Summers had nothing to hide.’

Booth Watson glanced down at his list.

‘Let us now turn to the solitary piece of evidence on which this whole charade rests. A diamond ring that was discovered on DS Summers’s bedside table. But how did it get there? you may ask. Miss Bailey tells us she left it on his bedside table before returning home. If that is to be believed, why didn’t she hand it over to her superiors at Scotland Yard the following morning, when the case could have been solved there and then, and Police Constable Bailey might surely have received a commendation for her outstanding detective work, rather than the suspicion that she hasn’t been entirely honest about how she came into possession of the ring. To quote my learned friend, you may well ask why. Is it just possible that Miss Bailey isn’t quite as naive and innocent as my learned friend would have you believe?

‘After all, we know she held on to the ring for at least a month, possibly longer, and then when things started to unravel, she returned to the defendant’s flat when he wasn’t there, and left the ring on his bedside table, in the expectation it would be discovered by a search party from Scotland Yard who would arrive the following day all guns blazing. But unfortunately, they didn’t find the ring. So, one is bound to wonder who stole it in the first place.’

‘The Crown made great play of the fact that when Miss Bailey gave birth to her child, DS Summers callously made no effort to visit her or his son. Once again, Miss Bailey only told you her side of the story. What she failed to let you know, members of the jury, and the judge will confirm, is that he issued a ruling that the defendant must not in any circumstances attempt to contact Miss Bailey before the trial began, otherwise his bail would be rescinded. My client sticks to the letter of the law, and she condemns him for it,’ protested Booth Watson, his eyes never leaving the jury.

‘Members of the jury, the Crown went on to suggest that if my client isn’t found guilty and sentenced to a long period of imprisonment, it will send a message to his fellow police officers that they can flout the law with impunity. In fact, the opposite is true. If you find DS Summers not guilty, it will send a message to his colleagues that an innocent man need not fear false and baseless allegations from a vengeful woman, as long as he comes before a jury who believe in justice.’ He paused for some time before continuing.

‘You heard at the beginning of this trial, from none other than my learned friend, that DS Summers is a highly decorated officer, with an extremely promising career ahead of him. Miss Bailey went even further when she testified that his arrest record was, in her own words, “second to none”. However, such has been the adverse publicity DS Summers received as a result of this trial that even if you were to find him not guilty, he will be left with no choice but to resign from the police force, as he will no longer be able to carry out to the best of his abilities the job he’s always wanted to do since he was a child. You may feel that’s punishment enough for such minor indiscretions.

‘And finally, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I wondered if you have had the chance to read any of this morning’s newspapers. If you haven’t, allow me to show you just a sample of their front pages.’

Booth Watson waited for a moment before he held up first The Times, followed by the Telegraph, then the Daily Mail, and finally the Guardian. Every one of them displayed the same banner headline: NOT GUILTY.

‘Yesterday,’ continued Booth Watson, lowering his voice, ‘a prisoner was released from Wormwood Scrubs having served a sentence of fourteen years for a crime he did not commit. I want you just for a moment,’ he said, his eyes running along the front bench of the jury, ‘to remember what you were doing fourteen years ago, and all the things that have happened in those intervening years.’ His gaze moved on to the second row. ‘And now imagine, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, what it would be like if you were unable to return to your family tonight, because you were about to be locked up for fourteen years, for a crime you had not committed. I feel sure you’ll agree it doesn’t bear thinking about. But thankfully you now have the opportunity to ensure that an innocent man does not have to serve a similar harsh sentence for a crime he did not commit.

‘I would suggest to you that if there’s an ounce of doubt in your mind as to DS Summers’s guilt, weigh it carefully in the balance. Because if you do, it will surely come down on the side of justice, and you will be left with no choice but to reach a verdict of not guilty.’

Once again, he held up his copy of The Times, so that the last image the members of the jury saw before they retired to consider their verdicts was NOT GUILTY.

Booth Watson collapsed onto the bench, clearly exhausted. Not for the first time, Sir Julian had to acknowledge that he had no more formidable rival at the Bar.

Low chattering once again broke out around the court. Booth Watson surreptitiously opened one eye and peeked at the jury. He was confident he had sown the seed of doubt, because they all looked as Dickens had once described a jury: in two minds.

‘Brilliant,’ whispered Sir Julian to Grace. ‘I know he’s guilty, you know he’s guilty, and certainly BW knows he’s guilty. But after that, the jury may no longer feel confident enough to deliver a verdict that could be described as beyond reasonable doubt.’

‘Perhaps this would be an appropriate time for us to take a break for lunch,’ said the judge. ‘If you would return at two o’clock, I shall begin my summing-up.’

Mr Justice Ramsden pushed back his chair, rose, and bowed to the assembled gathering before leaving his court. No sooner had the door closed behind him, than the chattering began once again. Everyone seemed to have an opinion as to whether the defendant would be found guilty or not guilty.

Well, everyone except Sir Julian Warwick and Mr Booth Watson.

‘Steak-and-kidney pie and chips,’ said William.

Grace frowned. ‘I’m not sure Beth would approve.’

‘I won’t tell her if you don’t,’ said William with a grin.

‘I’ll have the same,’ said Sir Julian, handing back the menu. Grace didn’t comment.

‘I know it’s a silly question, Sir Julian,’ said Clare, ‘but if you had to put a small wager on the verdict, what—’

‘You’re quite right, Clare, it’s a silly question. We’ll just have to leave that decision to the jury. None of us can second-guess.’

No further opinion was offered until a waitress reappeared carrying a tray full of food.

‘Mine’s the green salad,’ said Grace.

‘Don’t look now,’ said William, ‘but your esteemed colleague—’

Sir Julian, Grace and Clare glanced across the room to see Booth Watson having lunch with his client.

‘BW isn’t a colleague, and he certainly isn’t esteemed,’ said Sir Julian. ‘We just happen to be in the same profession.’

‘That may well be true,’ said William, ‘but even so, I wish I was a fly on the wall.’

‘What do you think?’ said Summers as he cut into his steak.

‘Once there’s nothing more I can do to influence the jury,’ replied Booth Watson, ‘I stop thinking. It’s a fool’s game. But I’ll be interested to hear what the judge has to say, because it could in the end all rest on his judgment.’

‘Two of the women on the jury were looking at me when you sat down after your closing speech, and you said that’s a good sign.’

‘Probably the same two women who were looking at Warwick after he’d given his evidence.’

‘You couldn’t have done any more,’ said Summers, popping a chip into his mouth.

But will it be enough? Booth Watson couldn’t help wondering, as a waitress whisked away their plates.

‘How long do you think the judge’s summing-up will take?’ said William, checking his watch. ‘I was hoping to get back to the Yard and catch up on some files in my in-tray that have been gathering dust.’

‘As long as it takes,’ said Sir Julian helpfully.

‘Could I have a word with you, Father, about Nicky Bailey?’ said Grace, changing the subject.

‘What about her?’

‘Whichever way the verdict goes, I was wondering if we could find her a job in chambers. It won’t be easy for her to make ends meet as a single mother.’

‘Essex Court is not a crèche,’ said Sir Julian, putting down his coffee. ‘We’re a professional legal chambers.’

‘I’d be happy to take her on as an investigator,’ said Clare. ‘She’s bright and capable, and the fact that she fell in love with the wrong man doesn’t mean she’s not entitled to a second chance.’

‘Why not employ Summers while you’re at it?’ said Sir Julian. ‘After all, he might be also looking for a job.’

‘Is your father always this chippy?’ whispered Clare to her partner.

‘Only after he’s sat down for the last time and thinks of questions he should have asked.’

The waitress returned to their table. ‘Will there be anything else, sir?’

Booth Watson looked at his watch. ‘No, just the bill,’ he said, while making no attempt to pay.

Summers smiled at the waitress as she gave him the bill. He glanced at the figure, £7.80, and handed over ten pounds.

‘Keep the change.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘I look forward to seeing you again tomorrow,’ Summers added with a grin.

Booth Watson didn’t offer an opinion other than to say, ‘Time to make a move. We’d better get back before the judge, otherwise we could both end up in the dock.’

They left the restaurant and made their way back to court number one, where Summers returned to the dock, while Booth Watson took his place on the front bench; both of them sat back and waited for Mr Justice Ramsden to return and begin his summing-up.

As two o’clock struck, the judge entered, a large red folder tucked under his right arm. Like the two leading counsels, he’d also spent most of the night polishing his summation, which was among the most difficult he’d had to write in a long career.

He sat down in his high-backed chair, rearranged his long black gown and smiled down at the assembled gathering, but the smile disappeared when he observed that the Crown’s leader was not in his place. Nor was his junior. He checked his half-hunter to see it was three minutes past the hour. By the fourth minute, he was tapping his fingers impatiently on his open folder, and by the fifth he was becoming increasingly irritated. He had never known Sir Julian Warwick to be late for the start of a session.

Booth Watson made no attempt to repress a smirk as the clock reached six minutes past the hour, and the court doors swung open. Sir Julian, Grace and Clare came rushing in.

‘I do apologize, m’lud,’ said the Crown’s leader, while still on the move.

Mr Justice Ramsden nodded curtly. ‘When you are quite ready, Sir Julian,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I might be permitted to begin my summing-up.’

‘Before you call the jury back, m’lud,’ said Sir Julian, slightly out of breath, ‘I hope you will allow me to make a legal submission.’

‘As you wish,’ said the judge, reluctantly closing his folder and sitting back in his chair.

‘With your permission, m’lud, I would like to recall a witness, as some important new evidence has emerged.’

‘That, as you well know, Sir Julian, would be highly irregular at this stage in proceedings.’

‘I accept that, m’lud. Nevertheless, if this new evidence were not brought to the attention of the jury, it might undermine the whole purpose of these proceedings. The jury, I am sure you will agree, must be given all the relevant and admissible evidence if they are to come to a considered judgement in this case.’

‘Do you have any objection to Sir Julian recalling a witness?’ asked Mr Justice Ramsden, turning his attention to the other end of the bench.

‘I most certainly do, m’lud,’ said Booth Watson, rising from his place. ‘This would, as you’ve suggested, be highly irregular, considering that the trial has almost concluded, and all that remains before the jury retires is your summing-up.’

‘I hear you, Mr Booth Watson, and will need a few moments to consider Sir Julian’s request.’

Loud chattering broke out the moment the judge had closed the door behind him. Booth Watson was conducting an urgent whispered discussion with his junior about who the witness could possibly be, and more important, what new evidence the Crown had come up with.

The clock had reached the thirty-sixth minute past the hour before the door opened once again and Mr Justice Ramsden reappeared. The court fell silent as everyone waited for his pronouncement.

‘I have given your request some considerable thought, Sir Julian,’ he said, ‘and decided that the court will hear this witness’s new evidence before I deliver my summing-up.’

‘He must have sought the Lord Chancellor’s advice,’ growled Booth Watson to his junior, ‘so there’s not much point in objecting.’

The judge waited for the jury to return and take their places before saying, ‘Who is it you wish to recall, Sir Julian?’

‘Detective Inspector William Warwick, m’lud,’ replied prosecuting counsel.

The judge nodded, and the clerk of the court bellowed, ‘Call Detective Inspector William Warwick.’

William entered the court moments later. On his way to the witness box he handed an envelope to Clare.

‘I’m sure I don’t have to remind you, Detective Inspector,’ said the judge, ‘that you are still under oath.’

William bowed, as Clare handed her leader the contents of the envelope, which he double-checked before asking his first question.

‘Inspector, would you tell the court exactly what you witnessed a few minutes ago, while we were having lunch in the Silks’ restaurant?’

‘I saw the defendant, who was lunching with his legal representative, hand two five-pound notes to a waitress after she’d presented him with the bill.’

‘What did you do then?’

‘Once they’d left the dining room, I retrieved the two banknotes from the waitress.’

Booth Watson was quickly on his feet. ‘I’m bound to ask, m’lud, how Inspector Warwick can be certain they were the same two notes.’

‘She hadn’t yet put the money in the till and I asked the waitress if she would be able to identify the customer who’d handed her the notes,’ said William. He opened his notebook. ‘Her exact words were, “Oh, yes, I couldn’t forget him, because he was so handsome and he gave me such a large tip.” ’

‘M’lud,’ said Sir Julian, ‘may I ask the clerk to hand the two banknotes in question to Inspector Warwick.’

The judge nodded, and the clerk took the notes and passed them to the witness.

‘What precisely is the significance of these banknotes?’ asked Mr Justice Ramsden.

‘They were part of the batch of ten thousand pounds in cash that was handed to Mr Reg Payne by the undercover police officer shortly before DS Summers entered his house in the early hours of May the twenty-ninth, as I reported earlier under oath. You will recall, m’lud, that when Summers came out of the house twenty minutes later, he was carrying a Sainsbury’s bag that was not, as Mr Booth Watson suggested, full of groceries, but the ten thousand pounds in cash the undercover officer had handed over to Mr Payne, and received a receipt for.’

‘What makes you so sure these two five-pound notes came from the same batch?’

‘The serial numbers of the notes given to Payne were recorded at Scotland Yard by Commander Hawksby and witnessed by me. They were,’ said William, once again referring to his notebook, ‘AJ142001 to AJ152000.’

‘And what are the numbers of the two notes you recovered from the waitress, Inspector Warwick?’ asked Sir Julian.

‘AJ143018 and AJ143019.’

‘No more questions, m’lud,’ said Sir Julian.

‘Do you wish to cross-examine this witness, Mr Booth Watson?’

Booth Watson remained slumped in his place and muttered, ‘If only I’d paid the bill.’