“And what did Mr Cooper do next?”
“He picked up the body, threw it over his shoulder, and began walking towards the door. I shouted after him, ‘What do you think you’re doing, Richard?”’
“And how did he respond?”
“He told me he intended to dispose of the body while it was still dark, and that I was to make sure that there was no sign that Jeremy had visited the house. As no one else had been in the office when they left, everyone would assume that Jeremy had returned to London earlier in the evening. ‘Be certain there are absolutely no traces of blood,’ were the last words I remember my husband saying as he left the room carrying Jeremy’s body over his shoulder. That must have been when I fainted.”
Sir Matthew glanced quizzically up at me in the dock. I shook my head vigorously. He looked grim as counsel for the prosecution resumed his seat.
“Do you wish to question this witness, Sir Matthew?” the judge asked.
Sir Matthew rose slowly to his feet. “I most certainly do, M’Lud,” he replied.
He drew himself up to his full height, tugged at his gown and stared across at his adversary.
“Mrs Cooper, would you describe yourself as a friend of Mr Alexander?”
“Yes, but only in the sense that he was a colleague of my husband’s,” replied Rosemary calmly.
“So you didn’t ever see each other when your husband was away from Leeds, or even out of the country, on business?”
“Only at social events, when I was accompanied by my husband, or if I dropped into the office to pick up his mail.”
“Are you certain that those were the only times you saw him, Mrs Cooper? Were there not other occasions when you spent a considerable amount of time alone with Mr Alexander? For example, on the night of September, 17, 1989, before your husband returned unexpectedly from a European trip: did Mr Alexander not visit you then for several hours while you were alone in the house?”
“No. He dropped by after work to leave a document for my husband, but he didn’t even have time to stay for a drink.”
“But your husband says …” began Sir Matthew.
“I know what my husband says,” Rosemary replied, as if she had rehearsed the line a hundred times.
“I see,” said Sir Matthew. “Let’s get to the point, shall we, Mrs Cooper? Were you having an affair with Jeremy Alexander at the time of his disappearance?”
“Is this relevant, Sir Matthew?” interrupted the judge.
“It most assuredly is, M’Lud. It goes to the very core of the case,” replied my QC in a quiet even tone.
Everyone’s gaze was now fixed on Rosemary. I willed her to tell the truth.
She didn’t hesitate. “Certainly not,” she replied, “although it wasn’t the first time my husband had accused me unjustly.”
“I see,” said Sir Matthew. He paused. “Do you love your husband, Mrs Cooper?”
“Really, Sir Matthew!” The judge was unable to disguise his irritation. “I must ask once again if this is relevant?”
Sir Matthew exploded. “Relevant? It’s absolutely vital, M’Lud, and I am not being assisted by your lordship’s thinly veiled attempts to intervene on behalf of this witness.”
The judge was beginning to splutter with indignation when Rosemary said quietly, “I have always been a good and faithful wife, but I cannot under any circumstances condone murder.”
The jury turned their eyes on me. Most of them looked as if they would be happy to bring back the death penalty.
“If that is the case, I am bound to ask why you waited two and a half hours to contact the police?” said Sir Matthew. “Especially if, as you claim, you believed your husband had committed murder, and was about to dispose of the body.”
“As I explained, I fainted soon after he left the room. I phoned the police the moment I came to.”
“How convenient,” said Sir Matthew. “Or perhaps the truth is that you made use of that time to set a trap for your husband, while allowing your lover to get clean away.” A murmur ran through the courtroom.
“Sir Matthew,” the judge said, jumping in once again. “You are going too far.”
“Not so, M’Lud, with respect. In fact, not far enough.” He swung back round and faced my wife again.
“I put it to you, Mrs Cooper, that Jeremy Alexander was your lover, and still is, that you are perfectly aware he is alive and well, and that if you wished to, you could tell us exactly where he is now.”
Despite the judge’s spluttering and the uproar in the court, Rosemary had her reply ready.
“I only wish he were,” she said, “so that he could stand in this court and confirm that I am telling the truth.” Her voice was soft and gentle.
“But you already know the truth, Mrs Cooper,” said Sir Matthew, his voice gradually rising. “The truth is that your husband left the house on his own. He then drove to the Queen’s Hotel, where he spent the rest of the night, while you and your lover used that time to leave clues across the city of Leeds — clues, I might add, that were intended to incriminate your husband. But the one thing you couldn’t leave was a body, because as you well know Mr Jeremy Alexander is still alive, and the two of you have together fabricated this entire bogus story, simply to further your own ends. Isn’t that the truth, Mrs Cooper?”
“No, no!” Rosemary shouted, her voice cracking before she finally burst into tears.
“Oh, come, come, Mrs Cooper. Those are counterfeit tears, are they not?” said Sir Matthew quietly. “Now you’ve been found out, the jury will decide if your distress is genuine.”
I glanced across at the jury. Not only had they fallen for Rosemary’s performance, but they now despised me for allowing my insensitive bully of a counsel to attack such a gentle, long-suffering woman. To every one of Sir Matthew’s probing questions, Rosemary proved well capable of delivering a riposte that revealed to me all the hallmarks of Jeremy Alexander’s expert tuition.
When it was my turn to enter the witness box, and Sir Matthew began questioning me, I felt my story sounded far less convincing than Rosemary’s, despite its being the truth.
The closing speech for the Crown was deadly dull, but nevertheless deadly. Sir Matthew’s was subtle and dramatic, but I feared less convincing.
After another night in Armley Jail I returned to the dock for the judge’s summing up. It was clear that he was in no doubt as to my guilt. His selection of the evidence he chose to review was unbalanced and unfair, and when he ended by reminding the jury that his opinion of the evidence should ultimately carry no weight, he only added hypocrisy to bias.
After their first full day’s deliberations, the jury had to be put up overnight in a hotel — ironically the Queen’s — and when the jolly little fat man in the bow tie was finally asked: “Members of the jury, do you find the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty as charged?” I wasn’t surprised when he said clearly for all to hear, “Guilty, my lord.”
In fact I was amazed that the jury had failed to reach a unanimous decision. I have often wondered which two members felt convinced enough to declare my innocence. I would have liked to thank them.
The judge stared down at me. “Richard Wilfred Cooper, you have been found guilty of the murder of Jeremy Anatole Alexander …”
“I did not kill him, my lord,” I interrupted in a calm voice. “In fact, he is not dead. I can only hope that you will live long enough to realise the truth.”
Sir Matthew looked up anxiously as uproar broke out in the court.
The judge called for silence, and his voice became even more harsh as he pronounced, “You will go to prison for life. That is the sentence prescribed by law. Take him down.”
Two prison officers stepped forward, gripped me firmly by the arms and led me down the steps at the back of the dock into the cell I had occupied every morning for the eighteen days of the trial.
“Sorry, old chum,” said the policeman who had been in charge of my welfare since the case had begun. “It was that bitch of a wife who tipped the scales against you.”
He slammed the cell door closed, and turned the key in the lock before I had a chance to agree with him. A few moments later the door was unlocked again, and Sir Matthew strode in.
He stared at me for some time before uttering a word. “A terrible injustice has been done, Mr Cooper,” he eventually said, “and we shall immediately lodge an appeal against your conviction. Be assured, I will not rest until
