As court duty solicitor, I am required to represent any
defendant appearing at court without his/her own legal representation. On
one occasion, I arrived at court, to be greeted by the court usher, who
directed me towards a rather agitated orthodox Jewish man, who
required my assistance.
“Good Morning” I said to him, introducing myself.
“I have been charged with drink driving!" he
shouted, his voice full of panic. "But you have to understand. It wasn't
my fault. It was a religious festival. I HAD to drink!!"
I paused for a moment. Most of my clients claim that it
wasn't their fault. Very few blame God.
"This religious festival." I asked. "Was
it Purim, by any chance?"
The man, who until this moment had been pacing back and
forth, stopped still. He looked straight at me.
“Boruch Hashem! The Almighty has sent me
a Jew to save me!"
“Not quite." I said. "I've been sent by the
Legal Aid Board".
At this point, I began to wonder
whether volunteering the information that I was Jewish, and
aware of the traditions of Purim, might have been premature. The client, let's
call him Mr Mordechai, was insistent that the police had not given him
his own sample of blood to test, which he was entitled to, as he was only just
over the limit. So I advised him to plead 'not guilty', and Mr Mordechai
began to visit me at my office to prepare for his trial.
And so began a lawyer-client relationship, and a court
case, that I have never forgotten, although it happened over 20 years ago
now. During his client consultations, it became clear that Mr Mordechai
was much more interested in the particulars of my personal life than on the
specifics of his own case.
On many occasions, while I was trying to investigate the
details of his arrest, he would launch into investigative enquiries
of his own.
"So Mr Harris. You have children, yes?"
"No" I said.
"But you live with your wife, yes?”
“No” I said
“Aah” he responded, “You live with your
parents.”
“No” I said. "I live on my own."
“Alone!" he said, with tangible concern,
“Alone is not good. Listen. When this is over, I will find you a wife!"
On a separate occasion, he asked me for my Hebrew name
and he seemed genuinely delighted to discover that I am a Cohen. This did
lead to some confusion, however, when he rang the office; I once arrived to
hear the receptionist, a stalwart of London's East End, telling a caller
"No. You must have the wrong number. There is nobody called Shmuel HaCohen
working here".
Occasionally, he would attempt to steer the conversation
into Hebrew, even though mine was quite limited. I attended a six-month Ulpan
in Israel after I finished University, so I am able to order a falafel or buy a
bus ticket. Unfortunately, there had not been a lesson on saying "There
are in excess of 80 milligrammes of alcohol in 100 millilitres of your
blood."
As a result of these distractions, as the trial
approached, I became concerned that Mr Mordechai was not taking the process as seriously
as he should. He seemed to be mistakenly of the view that being represented by
a Cohen with patchy Hebrew would be sufficient.
At our final meeting before the trial I gave him a series
of very strict instructions.
"Mr Mordechai” I said. “It’s very important that you
listen to these instructions. Do not call me Shmuel in the trial
process. Do not speak in Hebrew when giving your evidence. And, most
importantly. Do not drive to court. If you are convicted, you will be banned
from driving immediately. So please, do not drive to the court.”
The trial was listed at Thames Magistrates Court at
2pm. I had advised him to be there at 1pm.
At 1, he was not there.
1:05 - no sign.
1:15 – still no sign
Finally, at 1:25 he arrived.
“Where have you been??” I asked
“It was hard to park” he responded
There seemed little point focussing on his ignoring my
advice about driving and indeed his complete lack of acknowledgement that he
might be convicted. I needed to concentrate on the matter at hand, and began to
run through his evidence again with him before the trial started.
As I was talking, Mr Mordechai interrupted and said, “I
think it would help if you gave me the Cohen blessing before the trial.”
“Don’t be ridiculous” I replied.
“I want you to do it. You’re my lawyer. I’m the client.
That’s what I want.”
“I don’t even know it” I stated.
In shul, the priestly blessing always makes me feel
rather awkward. I wondered what the court clerk would say if I took off my
shoes in the court lobby and started chanting ancient incantations. But Mr
Mordechai had no such concerns.
“No problem” he said, grabbing my hand, “I will
tell you what to say and you can just repeat it”.
And so there I was, outside Courtroom 2 at Thames
Magistrates Court. Whilst colleagues and friends were taking last minute
instructions, giving advice and checking that witnesses had arrived, I was
asking God to ensure that his heavenly face shone with light over my client’s
face.
The trial began. The two officers who had stopped him in
his car and escorted him to the police station both gave evidence. Although
present when the custody officer had processed the drink drive test in the
custody suite, these officers (rather conveniently for Mr Mordechai) could not
remember whether or not the suspect had been offered his own sample
of blood to test.
This meant that the custody officer, who also gave
evidence, became a key witness. If we could establish that he also could not
remember whether the client had been offered blood, we might have a chance. I
was fairly confident. It was a busy police station. There were suspects being
brought in and out all the time. It was usually a scene of chaos. How could he possibly
remember a single arrest for drink driving?
“But Mr Harris” he said, when being cross examined, “I
had been off work for 6 months. This was my first day back. It was my first
job. I remember it clearly. I offered him his own sample and he declined. Also,
he was dressed as a pirate.”
Things were not going well. But then, the custody officer,
seemingly in an effort to promote his efficiency, produced the exhibit label
which would have been attached to the blood sent to the laboratory. But the
label did not have Mr Mordechai’s name on it. Just a number.
It was incredible. Some might call it a miracle. Suddenly,
the prosecutor was in a panic. Unless he could demonstrate that the number on
the label related to my client, he could not prove it was his blood and,
therefore, could not prove the case. The prosecutor, in a desperate attempt to
save his case, asked to recall the two officers who had already given evidence,
in the hope that they could confirm that the number on the label did indeed
relate to Mr Mordechai. I, of course, objected, on the grounds that their
evidence would be tainted by the discussion they had just heard in the court.
There was a rustling of papers and whispered panicky conversations between the
prosecutors and his team as they frantically sought to save the case. And all
the while, Mr Mordechai sat in the dock, oblivious to what was going on,
gesticulating to me and asking when he could have his say.
Finally, the judge turned to me and said, “Do you agree that
the prosecution have not put forward any evidence that the number on the label
relates to your client.”
“I do” I said.
The judge continued, “And do you submit, Mr Harris, that
I have not heard evidence that the blood exhibited was definitely your
client’s”
I needed no encouragement to agree.
“Do you therefore submit, Mr Harris, that there is no
case against your client?”
I agreed and the judge dismissed all charges.
Stunned, I turned to Mr Mordechai, who was still sitting
in the dock, without any clue as to what had gone on. I went up to him and said
“It’s over. Case is dismissed. Let’s leave”
“I have not had my say” he responded with
indignation. “I want to have my say!”
“Forget that. Believe me. It’s not going to get any better.”
As we left the building, Mr Mordechai gave me his advice
and I gave him mine.
He said, “In view of what just happened, I presume
you will now become more religious”.
I replied, “In view of what just happened, I presume that
next Purim you won’t drink and drive”.
He thanked me for my hard work and then, as he turned to
leave the court, smiled and said “On Simchas!”
We have not met at any simchas since.
HAPPY PURIM. DON’T DRINK AND DRIVE.
