Naked Justice
First published in 2002 by Oberon Books Ltd.
Electronic edition published in 2012
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Copyright © Advanpress Ltd. 2002.
John Mortimer is hereby identified as author of this play in accordance with section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. The author has asserted his moral rights.
All rights whatsoever in this play are strictly reserved and application for performance etc. should be made before commencement of rehearsal to United Agents, 12-26 Lexington Street, London, W1F 0LE (info@unitedagents.co.uk). No performance may be given unless a licence has been obtained, and no alterations may be made in the title or the text of the play without the author’s prior written consent.
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‘They Can’t Take That Away From Me’ music and lyrics by George Gershwin and Ira Gershwin copyright © 1936, 1937 (renewed 1963, 1964) George Gershwin Music and Ira Gershwin Music. All rights administered by WB Music Corp. Lyrics reproduced by permission of IMP Ltd. All rights reserved.
For staged performances of this play, an interpolated Music Licence must be obtained from the Performing Rights Society in advance of performances. Telephone 020 7580 5544.
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PB ISBN: 978-1-84002-221-6
E ISBN: 978-1-8494-3792-9
Cover design: Tim Everett
Cover photograph: John Timbers
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Contents
Characters
Act One
Act Two
In the burrows of the nightmare
Where justice naked is
Time watches from the shadows
And coughs when you would kiss.
W H Auden
Characters
BYRON JOHNSON
aged seventeen
FRED
HUBERT
ELSPETH
KEITH
CASSANDRA CRESSWELL
MR SWIVER
MARSTON DAWLISH, QC
RODDY BOYES
DETECTIVE INSPECTOR DACRE
MR BREADWELL
A town in the North
The present
The stage should be as empty as possible, a table and chairs being moved for the different locations
Naked Justice was first performed at the Quarry Theatre, West Yorkshire Playhouse, on 26 January 2001, with the following cast:
FRED, Leslie Phillips
KEITH, Nicholas Jones
ELSPETH, Anna Carteret
RODDY BOYES, Rupert Frazer
BYRON, Jimmy Akingbola
HUBERT, Paul Kemp
CASSANDRA, Geraldine Alexander
SWIVER, Gordon Kane
MARSTON DAWLISH, Rupert Baker
DI DACRE, Mark Spalding
BREADWELL, Robin Bowerman
Director, Christopher Morahan
Designer, Simon Higlett
It was subsequently rewritten, and first performed in the new version, as published here, at Birmingham Repertory Theatre, on 12 February 2002, with the following cast:
FRED, Leslie Phillips
KEITH, Simon Ward
ELSPETH, Joanna van Gyseghem
RODDY BOYES, Patrick Ryecart
BYRON, Jimmy Akingbola
HUBERT, Paul Kemp
CASSANDRA, Carolyn Backhouse
SWIVER, Kenneth Jay
MARSTON DAWLISH, Rowland Davies
DI DACRE, Paul Stewart
BREADWELL, Andrew Bolton
Director, Robert Chetwyn
Designer, Hugh Durrant
ACT ONE
Darkness. Suddenly split by the flashing blue lamp of a police car and a wailing siren. In a spotlight, a seventeen-year-old black boy, BYRON JOHNSON, is glimpsed for a moment, then has a mackintosh thrown over his head by a POLICE OFFICER. As they disappear into the shadows, the lights change and we are in:
The living room of a comfortable Victorian town house in a North Country town. There are well-used chairs and a sofa. A writing table with a telephone on it. A television set with its back towards us. HUBERT, around thirty, wearing a white jacket, not altogether clean, and dark trousers, opens a door to let in FRED, grey-haired, wearing a dark suit, untidy, sometimes appearing vague but capable of perception and charm.
FRED: Keith not here yet?
HUBERT: Mr Justice Craxton, as he likes to be known?
FRED: As he very much likes to be known.
HUBERT: There’s no sign of him at the moment.
FRED: You’ll be making the usual adjustments to Keith’s bathroom?
HUBERT: I’m all prepared (He grins.) to screw.
FRED: Try not to laugh when you say that, Hubert. Keith was born in desperate need of a humour transplant. Put him in the same room as a joke, it brings him out in a rash. And Miss Justice… No, that sounds ridiculous. I always call her Elspeth.
HUBERT: Our Lady Judge? She arrived early and went straight upstairs. She said she needed a hot bath.
FRED: She says she needs plenty of hot baths. In her line of business.
(Pause.)
HUBERT: You here for the big one…?
FRED: What?
HUBERT: Our murder. You going to try that?
FRED: I hardly think so…
HUBERT: I’d’ve thought they’d given you the big job.
FRED: I’d imagine Keith’s doing that. In the present circumstances… I think it’s the one for Keith.
(He feels his back. Winces with pain. Sits in an armchair.)
HUBERT: (Looks at him silently, then says.) Can I get you something?
FRED: Yes. You can get me something, Hubert. A whisky. A dark one. The colour of dead bracken, not pale piss. You’ll remember how I like it.
HUBERT: I remember.
(HUBERT goes to the drinks table, looks among the bottles, picks them up, looks at them with increasing frustration while making conversation with FRED.)
How long since you were last here?
FRED: Last year? It seems like yesterday.
HUBERT: The freezer job, wasn’t it?
FRED: I always had my doubts about that freezer business. (Pause.) Freezers play merry hell with the time of death.
HUBERT: Oh, sugar!
FRED: What’s the problem?
HUBERT: Silly me. I forgot the whisky. There’s something here though.
FRED: What?
HUBERT: Mr Justice Everglades left it. How about a lovely drop of crème de menthe?
FRED: ‘Totty’ Everglades. No doubt he took it frappé.
HUBERT: Is that how you like it…?
FRED: Do I look like the ageing hostess of a dubious nightclub?
HUBERT: Not really. Judge Goodwin has bequeathed us. Cherry brandy!
FRED: I thought better of old Goodwin.
HUBERT: Tell you what. Why not try a nice sweet vermouth and so
da?
FRED: (Uncertain.) Do I have to?
HUBERT: (Pouring vermouth and soda.) Lovely drink. You’ll look really trendy with a glass of that in your hand. ‘Fly me to glamorous Yorkshire on the wings of a sweet vermouth!’
(He hands the drink to FRED, who winces as he moves to take it.)
(Sympathetic.) No better, is it…?
FRED: Our job. Buggers up the back. Over the course of years.
HUBERT: I told you! You need my cosmic pedal digital manipulation. It exercises your toes and gets you in touch with the universe.
FRED: Hubert. You’ve got no medical qualifications whatsoever.
HUBERT: (Hurt.) I used to go out with a masseuse. He taught me all I know.
FRED: (Drinking.) Fairly short relationship, was it?
HUBERT: I wish you’d try not to be sarcastic. Your weakness, isn’t it? Being sarky.
FRED: Probably.
HUBERT: Anyway. I just want you to relax.
FRED: When people say ‘relax!’, I always go quite stiff with anxiety.
(Pause. HUBERT looks at him.)
HUBERT: Enjoying our sweet vermouth are we?
FRED: (Takes another drink, makes a face.) Not much.
(At HUBERT’s look of disappointment.) Oh, all right. Quite enjoying it. What time’s dinner?
HUBERT: Seven-thirty, as per. Provided Mr Justice Craxton’s train’s on time. Tonight, I’m very much afraid, Mother’s doing you a paella. She watches those cooking programmes. ‘A taste of the Mediterranean sun.’ It’s been her downfall.
(ELSPETH enters, attractive, forties, energetic.)
FRED: Welcome, Elspeth. Darling of the Divorce Court. The Madonna of the Family Division.
ELSPETH: (With affection.) How are you, Uncle Fred?
FRED: Surviving…
ELSPETH: Keith’s not here yet…?
FRED: We’re enjoying a period of remission.
(She moves to the drinks table, inspects it.)
ELSPETH: What happened to the whisky…?
FRED: Done a runner.
HUBERT: (Pouring her a drink.) Have a nice sweet vermouth. You’ll enjoy that. Molto delicioso, vermouth.
ELSPETH: Who says so?
HUBERT: The telly.
ELSPETH: Is there gin?
HUBERT: (Looking at the bottles.) Oh, yes. Plenty of gin.
ELSPETH: And tonic?
(HUBERT makes the drink.)
FRED: Had a nice bath, did you?
ELSPETH: Glorious. It’s the only place where I can forget – the horrors of family life. When I’m in court I’m dreaming of Floribunda’s Hollyhock Bath Gel. I imagine myself sinking into cleansing bubbles.
(HUBERT hands ELSPETH her drink and goes. ELSPETH brings her drink and sits near FRED. She drinks.)
Sometimes I wonder how I got landed with this job. I was a model child in so many ways. Helpful. Polite to my parents. Looked after the young ones. Head of school. Voted the girl most likely to.
FRED: Most likely to what?
ELSPETH: Hardly ever masturbated… Worked hard to get where I am.
FRED: Where you are? Exactly!
ELSPETH: The case I’m starting tomorrow. It hardly bears thinking about this husband!
FRED: Tell me about him.
ELSPETH: If you’re really interested…
FRED: It passes the time, while we’re waiting for Keith.
ELSPETH: I don’t know how people find out they like such things.
FRED: What sort of things?
ELSPETH: (With disgust.) Chocolate cakes.
FRED: He had a sweet tooth?
ELSPETH: Nothing like that. He enjoyed sitting on them. And he wanted his wife to sit on them too. If you had the slightest affection for me, he used to say, you’d join the splodgers.
FRED: What are they? Football supporters?
ELSPETH: Don’t you believe it. People who get erotic delight from sitting on food.
FRED: (Looking at the paper.) Absolutely nothing on telly tonight.
ELSPETH: I mean, how did he discover that was what he wanted to do?
FRED: A Call Girl Remembers.
ELSPETH: (Frowns.) Is that how he found out?
FRED: No. It’s a programme on Channel Four.
ELSPETH: Do you think he was born knowing it? Or did it come to him in a blinding flash one day?
FRED: On an early birthday. Perhaps his mother made him a cake.
ELSPETH: Chocolate…
FRED: With candles. And ‘Happy Birthday’ written in icing. And he said, ‘I say, Mum. What a super cake. Would you mind if I sat on it a moment?’ (He looks at the paper again.) The Wonders of Nature. ‘A stunning documentary on the life cycle of the prawn.’
ELSPETH: I meant to ask you… A friend of mine…
FRED: Unusual to have a friend. In our particular line of business.
ELSPETH: I thought I might ask him to dinner. On Thursday.
FRED: Here?
ELSPETH: Yes. Here. Can you see any objection…?
FRED: Only… Well, I suppose I want to keep you to myself. You invite your…
ELSPETH: Friend.
FRED: Boy friend?
ELSPETH: Well… Perhaps.
FRED: Exactly! And you’ll be off whispering in corners. And I’ll be left to hear how brilliantly Keith got a hundred per cent conviction in the Croydon Savings Bank job.
ELSPETH: Uncle Fred… You know I love going on circuit with you. But…
FRED: But what?
ELSPETH: Well, Keith won’t want us to have guests.
FRED: That’s true. (Thinks it over.) Then let’s invite him. If it’ll annoy Keith.
ELSPETH: He’s quite fun.
FRED: You can’t be talking about Keith?
ELSPETH: My friend. His name’s Roddy Boyes.
FRED: I won’t hold that against him.
ELSPETH: Lives round here. Keeps a lot of horses. He’s rather an amusing chartered accountant.
FRED: Isn’t that an oxymoron? You know, like hot ice…
Or the wit and wisdom of Keith.
(KEITH enters with a strangely-shaped parcel wrapped in plastic, and a briefcase. He is in his forties, upright, unsmiling, an alarmingly serious Judge who sticks to the letter of the law.)
Oh, hullo, Keith. I see you’ve brought your lavatory seat with you.
KEITH: (Calls.) Hubert…
(HUBERT enters. KEITH gives him the parcel, which he fits under one arm.)
For my bathroom.
HUBERT: Right! My screwdriver’s at the ready.
(HUBERT goes.)
ELSPETH: Good evening, Keith.
KEITH: How are you, Elspeth?
FRED: Clean. She’s amazingly clean.
KEITH: So. We’re all here.
FRED: Apparently…
KEITH: A load of heavy work ahead.
FRED: And absolutely nothing on telly. I have to say, I do miss Blind Date.
KEITH: I rather think we’ll all have work to do in the evenings.
FRED: What I could never understand about Blind Date was the way they never seemed to get down to rogering.
KEITH: I have very little idea…what you’re talking about.
FRED: They got so easily put off. ‘I wasn’t at all impressed by the way he slurped his soup during our first candle-lit dinner in the gourmet restaurant.’ I mean, they’d gone off to Jersey to roger each other, not to fuss about their table manners. That’s the way I look at it.
(Pause.)
KEITH: There is one thing, though, I’d like to make absolutely crystal clear at the outset.
FRED: Blind dates seem to be a complete turn-off, so far as rogering is concerned.
ELSPETH: (Gloomily.) Unlike chocolate cake.
KEITH: I can only hope, in the course of time, your conversation may become intelligible to me. Meanwhile, there’s one thing I must emphasise.
FRED: Go on, old sport. Emphasise it.
KEITH: The clear understanding was that, of the two available bathroo
ms, you and Elspeth should share one. And I’d have the one nearest my bedroom door…for my sole use.
FRED: In solitary splendour.
KEITH: Those were the clear terms of our agreement. I took it to be binding on you both.
FRED: You mean we can’t just pop into your loo. In case of emergency?
(KEITH looks appalled.)
Don’t worry, old sport. Only joking.
(He gets up, moves to the drinks table.)
Do you want a drink? I’m afraid there’s no whisky.
(HUBERT enters, speaks to ELSPETH.)
HUBERT: There’s a gentleman on the ’phone for you…
ELSPETH: Thank you, Hubert. (She goes.)
KEITH: What happened to the whisky?
FRED: Hubert had a lapse of memory.
KEITH: Typical! Can I have a glass of mineral water?
FRED: I suppose you can. Although I don’t see a whole lot of point in mineral water. (Pours water, takes it to KEITH.)
KEITH: (Drinks mineral water, then says.) Aren’t you a little worried about Hubert?
FRED: I worry about practically everything. Except Hubert. You mean his mother’s cooking? Normal things, like toad-in-the-hole and rice pudding, are a closed book to Hubert’s Mum.
KEITH: Do you think it’s entirely safe, having him in this job?
FRED: You’re afraid he might make a pass? Elspeth and I are here to protect you.
KEITH: (Sighing.) Fred. Do you think you could take something seriously?
FRED: Oh, I do. Lots of things. Toad-in-the-hole. And rice pudding.
KEITH: Doesn’t it occur to you that people of Hubert’s sexual orientation tend to be indiscreet? They gossip, you know. They tell tales. They haunt doubtful clubs and spread scandalous stories…
FRED: If anyone has a scandalous story to spread about me, I think I’d find it immensely flattering.
KEITH: (Not listening.) His work here… He may know a little too much about us.
FRED: You’re afraid news of your lavatory seat may leak… To the Yorkshire Post? So far as I can make out, Hubert regards our lives as something of a joke.
KEITH: That’s what I’m afraid of.
FRED: You’re afraid of jokes?
(KEITH stares at him, doesn’t answer.)
FRED: As far as his sexual orientation goes… I can only hope he enjoys it. No doubt it makes a pleasant contrast to life with Mother.
KEITH: I remain…uneasy about Hubert.
(Pause.)