A Fatal Mistake. Faith Martin

little downstream), had been clearly rather the worse for drink.

      Indeed, the PC admitted with a deadpan face, most of the students had admitted to being a ‘bit squiffy’ on orange juice and champagne, supplied by Lord Jeremy Littlejohn in his rooms in college, even before setting off to hire the punts. And that, on the journey towards Port Meadow, beer and yet more champagne had been quaffed liberally.

      Lord Littlejohn, it became clear, was the sun around whom most of the other students orbited, the leading light in student society, and it simply didn’t do to disappoint him, or otherwise incur his laconic displeasure. Not if you wanted to be in with the ‘in’ crowd, anyway!

      About half the partygoers had elected to stay ‘larking about’ on the punts while half had disrobed and swum to shore by the time the third punt arrived and the collision took place.

      When asked what the immediate result had been when all three punts collided, tipping the majority of passengers into the river, most students agreed that everyone thought it was ‘screamingly funny’ and ‘a bit of a jape’. Nearly everyone from the original two punts had clambered up and onto the banks, for the river was hardly wide at that point. They then proceeded to strip off all they decently could (and perhaps not so decently in some cases, the constable muttered darkly) in the hope that the hot sun would quickly dry their clothes – and themselves – off.

      All those from the third punt, however, had elected to climb back onto their vessel and – amidst much ribald argument over who had caused the accident – head back to Oxford the same way they’d come.

      All those questioned were adamant they had heard no calls for help, nor seen anyone in obvious difficulty in the water.

      Having given his evidence, the PC left the stand with obvious relief.

      Obviously, not every student present at the party had been called to give testimony – only a small cross-section. But it was when these students were called to give more specific evidence that Clement Ryder first began to smell a rat.

      First off, one Rt Hon Lady ‘Millie’ Dreyfuss was called to the stand. A third-year English literature student from Cadwallader College, she stated clearly that, although she hadn’t known Derek Chadworth, she was sure he couldn’t have been part of the picnic party. She had been in charge of laying on the food and making the travel arrangements, and had delegated some of these chores to three other girls, who’d brought along their boyfriends to help. But they hadn’t offered the dead boy a lift in their cars, nor had he been one of the small group of students who’d caught the town bus.

      The next witness up was the lad who’d been responsible for the third, ‘random’ (as Clement had come to think of it) punt. He’d been indignant and hotly insistent that the blame for the dunking hadn’t lain with his boating prowess. He claimed the two ‘Lord Littlejohn’ punts had been meeting end to end across the water when he’d rounded the bend in the river, and that he’d had no chance to avoid a collision.

      Since both he and the passengers on his punt were among the most sober of the witnesses questioned – according to the police constable – the coroner could see the jury was inclined to believe him.

      He was also quite adamant that the drowned boy had not been a member of his party. As well as having the regulation number of passengers only (and not being vastly overloaded, as everyone freely admitted the other two punts had been), this punt had comprised exclusively engineering students, who were all known to one another.

      Clearly, then, Derek Chadworth must have been on one of Lord Jeremy Littlejohn’s punts. On the face of it, this seemed by far the most likely explanation, as several witnesses had testified that ‘we all poured onto the punts by Magdalen Bridge until there wasn’t an inch of space left.’ And ‘none of us wanted to be left behind, as Lord Jerry gives such great bashes, so we all crammed in.’

      However, as the afternoon wore on, it became clear to Dr Ryder that something untoward was afoot. What was more, he wasn’t certain the jury had noticed it.

      It began simply enough, with one sheepish student after another taking the stand and admitting to being present on a punt, but to having very little real memory of what had happened. ‘Had a bit too much champers, I’m afraid’ was a familiar litany. As was ‘when we all ended up in the drink, I just splashed to the bank as best as I could’. And ‘I didn’t notice anyone else having any trouble or I’d have helped the poor blighter out’. But not one of them mentioned seeing or talking to Derek Chadworth before the accident.

      The jury seemed less than impressed with these examples of drunken high jinks, but most of them looked ready to dismiss it as ‘one of those things’. The rich upper classes would play. And these things happened.

      But Clement wasn’t so sure.

      Eventually, he decided to take a more active role in order to get some answers, and he chose his victims carefully.

      He waited until a theology student by the name of Lionel Gulliver had taken the stand, and – working on the somewhat precarious premise that someone who was training for the church would be less likely to lie under oath – began to question him in earnest.

      ‘So, Mr Gulliver. I take it that, as a potential man of the cloth, you were perhaps… er… a little less the worse for drink than some of your fellow students when you got on the punt at Magdalen Bridge?’ he asked, fixing the nervous youth with a flat stare.

      Lionel Gulliver, a rather small, neat-looking young man with a quiff of sandy hair and big blue eyes, went a trifle pale. ‘Well, I’d had one glass of Lord Littlejohn’s Buck’s Fizz. To show willing and all that,’ he admitted with a gulp.

      ‘But only one?’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘So you were more aware of your fellow students and surroundings than most of your party?’

      ‘Oh, well, I don’t suppose I was quite as… er…’ The theology student plucked his collar nervously. ‘But, as the good Lord said, let him who is without sin cast the first stone and all that.’

      Dr Ryder smiled grimly. ‘Yes. I fully understand you not wanting to come across as morally superior, Mr Gulliver,’ he said sardonically. ‘But this is a court of law, and you’ve taken an oath on the Bible to tell the truth, and these good men and women of the jury need facts if they’re to deliver a fair verdict.’

      At these steely words, the young man paled even further and visibly stiffened in the witness box.

      ‘Oh, of course.’

      ‘Splendid,’ Clement said dryly. ‘So, can you tell us… did you know Derek Chadworth by sight?’

      ‘Oh, er… yes, I’d seen him around once or twice.’ He went rather red, and then cast a quick, nervous glance towards the public gallery. He then hastily looked away again, his lips firming tightly together.

      ‘And so,’ the coroner swept on, ‘was Mr Chadworth one of those on the same punt as yourself?’

      Again, the young man plucked at his collar and glanced nervously across the courtroom, as if seeking inspiration. But he didn’t seem to find any, because he turned a rather miserable-looking face to the coroner and took a deep breath.

      ‘You know, sir, I don’t believe he was,’ he said reluctantly. Far too reluctantly, in the circumstances, the coroner thought. After all, it should have been a simple enough question to answer – not one that gave the theology student cause for so much angst.

      Clement felt a touch of excitement lance up his spine. Yes, he knew it. There was definitely something about this case that wasn’t quite as cut and dried as it seemed. But what exactly? And why did he have the feeling that all the young men and women who had just testified in his court had been at pains not to speak out of turn about something?

      ‘We understand that both punts were rather overcrowded, Mr Gulliver. Are you quite certain that Derek Chadworth couldn’t have got on without your seeing him?’ Clement began to probe