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  Though most had heard the story before, there was still an audible gasp from the audience.

  ‘Yes, my friends, by his own confession, Broughton was indeed the murderer. The story Juanita Carberry told was this. Immediately after the inquest into Erroll’s death, Broughton drove to where his wife was staying with June Carberry at her house on the Nyeri farm. He arrived to find Diana and June were out. Only young Juanita was at home. When she had first met him at his house in Karen on the afternoon of the murder, he had taken her to see his horses. Now she took him to see her own horse. On the way to the stables he told her that he had shot Erroll. He added that on the way up to Nyeri he had stopped at Thika and thrown the gun into the Chania Falls.

  ‘James Fox revealed all this in his book White Mischief. But not only this – he also discovered that Broughton made other confessions. After his return to England in September that year, Broughton confessed to an old friend called Marie Waterhouse, later again to an old horse-racing acquaintance called Alan Horn. Fox also unearthed second-hand evidence of even more confessions. For instance, Prince Windisch-Graetz – an Austrian resident of Nairobi at the time – heard from a doctor who visited Broughton while he was in jail before the trial that Broughton had confessed to him.’ Mr Patel turned to Mr Gopez and smiled sweetly. ‘But that is, of course, hearsay evidence and not admissible in this debate.’

  He held up three fingers of his left hand. With his right hand, one by one, he bent the fingers down.

  ‘Confession one, Juanita Carberry. Confession two, Marie Waterhouse. Confession three, Broughton’s old racing friend. Three independent confessions. A most interesting story, is it not? But James Fox was not the only person to whom Juanita Carberry revealed her secret. According to the writer of another book on the subject, Juanita Carberry had already described the events of that day in Nyeri to her as early as 1977. And Miss Carberry narrates much the same story in her own autobiography – this last book published only eleven years ago.

  ‘So, ladies and gentlemen, Sir Jock Delves Broughton may have been found not guilty of murder by a jury of his peers, but it was he who had the motive, he who had the means, and he who later confessed – on at least three separate occasions – to that dark deed. It was he who killed Lord Erroll. Your Honour, I rest my case.’

  A moment’s silence was followed by a burst of applause during which Tiger Singh leaned towards him.

  ‘Mr Patel – you should have been a Queen’s Counsel.’

  Mr Patel smiled.

  ‘Thank you, Tiger – praise indeed. Let’s see A.B. get out of that.’

  The Tiger stood up.

  ‘I think we all agree that Mr Patel has presented a most persuasive – and, may I say, eloquent – argument. Though the confessions he describes would not necessarily be admissible as evidence in a court of law, I must remind you – and myself – that this is not a court of law. It is simply a debate. I would now like to introduce to you Mr Gopez who is, if I am not mistaken, ready to sow one or two small seeds of doubt in your minds.’

  10

  The lion does not approach the buffalo from the front, the zebra from the back or the snake from any side

  Mr Gopez stood.

  ‘Thank you, Tiger. Ladies, fellow members. My good friend Mr Patel has already told you that the journalist James Fox unearthed evidence that Sir Jock Delves Broughton made three confessions to the crime of murdering Lord Erroll – one while he was in Kenya, and two more after returning to England. What he neglected to point out is that the confessions differed in small but important details. For instance, Juanita Carberry said that Broughton told her he’d thrown the gun into the Chania Falls. According to the journalist James Fox, however, Broughton’s later confession to his old friend Marie Waterhouse included the detail that after the murder he gave the pistol to a friend to hide. To his old horse-racing acquaintance in England he said he had not himself pulled the trigger but had arranged and paid for the murder on behalf of a third party – a man called Derek. So you see, ladies and gentlemen, three confessions – but three different stories.’

  Mr Patel stood up.

  ‘With your permission, Tiger, I would like to point out that the journalist interviewed each of these people many years after they heard Broughton’s confession. Any differences between their accounts can simply be put down to the effects of time on memory.’

  ‘Of which, I am sure, many of us are all too aware, Mr Patel. But shall we let Mr Gopez continue?’

  ‘Thank you, Tiger,’ said Mr Gopez. ‘Now, with Mr Patel’s permission, I would like to ask you a question.’

  The Tiger raised an enquiring eyebrow.

  ‘In your long and distinguished career in the law, have you ever come across a case of someone confessing to a crime they did not commit?’

  Tiger Singh nodded.

  ‘I have indeed, Mr Gopez.’

  ‘And leaving aside confessions made under threat or coercion, is it not the case that the more serious the crime, the more likely it is that someone will falsely confess?’

  ‘In serious crimes – such as murder, for instance – I can almost guarantee one or more people will turn up at the lawyer’s office or the police station falsely claiming to be the culprit.’

  ‘Thank you, Tiger.’

  ‘Mr Gopez, I think you will have to explain to the jury – the audience – the relevance of this phenomenon to the subject of this debate.’

  ‘Certainly, Tiger, I will be pleased to.’

  Mr Gopez turned again to the audience.

  ‘Many of you will be aware of the legal principle of double jeopardy. Briefly stated – and I’m sure the Tiger will correct me if I stray too far from the correct definition – it is a principle enshrined in law which prevents a person from being tried twice for the same crime. I bring up this point because, as I think you will see, it has a strong bearing on the case under discussion.’

  The Tiger again nodded but said nothing.

  ‘Let us get back to Sir Jock Delves Broughton,’ said Mr Gopez. ‘Let us examine the character of the man. An Englishman, he inherited a fortune from his father but by the time he arrived in Kenya in 1940 he had lost most of it through gambling and other wanton extravagances. He avoided fighting in the First World War by claiming to have suffered sunstroke as his regiment was leaving for France. Many people thought he faked it. I ask you, ladies and gentlemen, does this sound like a bold man, a man who would not hesitate to shoot a rival dead? No, it is a picture of a weak man, a cowardly man. And Broughton was not only weak in spirit but in body – a car accident many years before had left him with a limp and a crippled right hand. Yet because of lack of any other evidence, this is the man who, it is claimed, climbed down a drainpipe from an upstairs room in the dead of night, crept unseen into a car, shot a man, manhandled the corpse, ran a mile back to the house and climbed up the drainpipe without being seen. This is the man who on the tenth of March 1941 was charged with the murder of Lord Erroll.’

  Mr Gopez paused to survey the audience.

  ‘Now let me, if you will, indulge in a little speculation. Broughton denies the charge and is acquitted. He knows about double jeopardy – with no new evidence he cannot be charged with the same offence. But at the same time he has come to realize that murder, shooting a man – especially, if I may say so, a lord of the realm, the Hereditary Lord High Constable of Scotland, no less – is quite a glamorous crime. Indeed, he can hardly fail to be aware of this – the trial made headlines for weeks in newspapers throughout the world. Add to this the fact that Lord Erroll was thought by many to be a cad and a bounder, and that there were many people in Kenya who were quite pleased to see him dead – why, that made killing him almost seem like a selfless act of public service. If Broughton can somehow make people think that he did it and managed to get away with it, think how he will rise in their estimation. What a clever fellow, what a brave chap that Broughton is. Hooray for Broughton.’

  ‘Let me get this clear, Mr Gopez,’ said
Tiger Singh. ‘You are suggesting that Broughton did not murder Lord Erroll, but later – for reasons of self-aggrandizement or bravado – claimed to have done so?’

  ‘I raise the matter as a distinct possibility.’

  ‘But if Broughton didn’t really kill Lord Erroll, Mr Gopez, then who did?’

  ‘That, my dear Tiger – ladies and gentlemen – is what we shall now explore.’

  Mr Gopez again turned to his audience.

  ‘If not Broughton, ladies and gentlemen, then who? Long after the crime, long after the suicide of Broughton himself, another person confessed. It happened in 1966 at the Muthaiga Club, the very place where Lord Erroll had first met Diana Broughton. Twenty-five years after the murder and the trial, four people were sitting round a table at the club playing cards. One was the Managing Director of the Sunday Nation. Also at the table was Diana – who by her fourth marriage had now become Lady Delamere, no less. Though the room was cool, the Managing Director was sweating. Two weeks earlier his paper had printed a piece by an investigative reporter which clearly stated his belief that Diana was the murderer. The law says that you are not allowed to call someone a murderer in print – it is gross libel. The Editor had managed to pull the story before the second edition, but the Managing Director had been in daily dread of a letter from Diana’s lawyer ever since. Finding himself seated next to her at the card table, he thought that perhaps it might not be too late to apologize. He had hardly begun when Diana interrupted him. “Oh,” she said, “everyone knows I did it.”’

  In front of the packed audience in the dining room of the Asadi Club Mr Patel again rose to his feet.

  ‘Look, A.B., how many times do I have to tell you? What she said – if she said it – was no more than an ironic joke.’

  Mr Gopez turned towards him. He smiled his biggest smile.

  ‘Patel, I completely agree with you.’

  Mr Patel sat down as if he had been pushed. Mr Gopez paused and leaned forward, both hands resting flat on the table in front of him.

  ‘As any detective will tell you, ladies and gentlemen, the investigation of a crime always starts with what might be called the big five – who, what, when, how and why? But there is a sixth question. Sometimes we not only need to know why this person did what they did, but why is this person telling me about it? With that in mind, let us look again at the confession of Sir Jock Delves Broughton to Juanita Carberry. We have heard much about him, but what about her?’

  Mr Gopez picked up a book from the table.

  ‘From her own autobiography we learn that this fifteen-year-old girl had already suffered much in life. Her father John Carberry was a sadist and a bully – known to local Africans as Msharisha, after the long whip he used freely on both animals and men. Her mother had died in a plane crash when she was three, her stepmother June was one of the most notorious of the so-called Happy Valley set of the time – free, with her husband’s apparent connivance, to indulge her tastes in extramarital sex, drink and drugs. This was the early world of Juanita Carberry. June encouraged the adolescent Juanita to smoke cigarettes and wear make-up, so perhaps it was no surprise when Juanita revealed in her memoir that by the time she was fifteen she was – how may I put it? – already a woman. Indeed, for more than a month before the murder she was being locked in her bedroom every night at the farm at Nyeri after being caught with a soldier in her bed.’

  Mr Gopez paused to allow the mixture of shocked gasps and shocked laughter to fade.

  ‘Yes, and a few months after the murder of Lord Erroll she ran away from her father and stepmother to live with her uncle. But let us return to Juanita’s account of the days before and after the murder – not the one that she gave to James Fox or to later writers, but the one she gives first-hand, the one in her autobiography. In essence it is this. At the time of the murder she is at home in Nyeri – a good three-hour drive away from Nairobi. Her stepmother June is staying with the Broughtons near Nairobi at their house in Karen, her father is overseas. On hearing by telegram of the death of Lord Erroll, whom she had never met, she and her governess drive from Nyeri to Karen. Here at lunch she meets for the first time Broughton and Diana. While going for a walk in the garden with the avuncular Broughton to see his horses she notices on a smouldering bonfire some half-burned gym shoes. She drives back to Nyeri with June and Diana. A couple of days later Broughton turns up and, finding her alone, confesses that he killed Erroll and has just thrown the gun into the waterfall at Thika. He then tells her how he had hidden in Erroll’s car and shot him when the car slowed down at the road junction. Feeling sorry for him because of his wife’s affair – everybody, it seems, knew about the affair – she decides to tell no one of this confession.’

  Mr Gopez paused. Through the open windows of the club dining room could be heard the noises of the night. Inside the room, silence – no laughter now.

  ‘Now, let us compare this with the account Juanita gave to James Fox some years earlier. In most ways the story is the same, but in her earlier version there is an additional element. You may remember that when Lord Erroll was found dead in his car by the milk delivery drivers that dark and rainy night, the armstraps usually attached to the inside of the roof were lying on the back seat. Juanita had a theory about this. She told Fox that on the day before the murder she had visited the hairdresser in Nairobi with June and Diana. They had gone in Erroll’s car, and she was sure that at that time the armstraps were in place. Her theory was that Broughton had shot Erroll from the back seat while the car was moving. He’d then grabbed the straps as the car ran off the road, pulling them off when the car crashed.’

  Mr Gopez held up the book that was still in his hand.

  ‘In her autobiography, you may remember, Juanita Carberry said something slightly different. She said that when she arrived at the Broughtons’ house at Karen on the morning after the shooting she had never met Diana. Here she is saying that the day before that she went to the hairdresser in Nairobi with Diana and June. So, had Juanita Carberry met Diana before, or hadn’t she? Was she in Nyeri on the day before the murder, or was she in Karen?’

  Mr Gopez put the book back down on the table.

  ‘It was while considering these interesting inconsistencies that the question occurred to me – the sixth question. Why, I began to wonder, why after keeping the secret of Broughton’s confession for over forty years, did Juanita Carberry at last decide to tell other people? I think I have already demonstrated that Juanita’s version of events is sometimes contradictory, and I’ve raised the possibility that she may not always have been telling the truth. This made me think, ladies and gentlemen. What if the whole story of the confession was not the truth? What if Broughton had not, on the way to the stables at Nyeri, told her that he killed Lord Erroll? But why make up such a story? The simplest answer was that she wanted to hide something, to divert attention from what really happened that night in January 1941. She wanted to protect someone – but who?’

  Mr Gopez again leaned forward over the table.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen. I suggest the person Juanita Carberry wanted to protect was none other than herself.’

  11

  The snake smiles before it strikes

  Mr Gopez had to allow several minutes for the tumult caused by his words to die down.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘with our adjudicator’s permission, allow me to share with you what really happened that night.’

  Tiger Singh rose to his feet.

  ‘In a court of law, Mr Gopez, I would have raised several objections by now. But in the spirit of this debate, and looking at the rapt faces in front of us, I cannot but let you continue.’

  Mr Gopez bowed his thanks and turned once more to face the audience.

  ‘As she let slip to James Fox, Juanita Carberry was staying at the Broughton house at Karen on the night of the murder. Like June Carberry, she would have heard Erroll and Diana arrive back from the dance. Slipping on her gym shoes and taking one of her father’s guns th
at she had brought with her from Nyeri – you will remember that he was away at the time so she knew it would not be missed – she climbed out of the bedroom window. While the two lovers were taking their leave, she concealed herself in the back of the Buick – just as she later claimed Broughton had done. And just as she said Broughton had done, she waited until the car slowed down at the junction and shot him. As the car veered across the road she grabbed at the armstraps, which came away in her hand. That was another slip she made – how else could she know what happened to those armstraps? She switched off the car engine and made her way back to the house unseen.’

  ‘An interesting and by no means impossible theory, Mr Gopez,’ said the Tiger. ‘You have certainly raised and answered an important question – why did the girl tell? But you have not yet answered one of your “big five” questions, perhaps the most important one. You have not told us why she killed Lord Erroll. You have not given us a motive.’

  ‘It is simple. Juanita was an attractive girl. She was sexually precocious and clearly fond of men. Perhaps she found Erroll as attractive as so many other women did. She approached him and was rebuffed. If she couldn’t have him, she could at least make sure that no other woman could. It has happened often enough before. Or perhaps the reverse. He made an unwelcome pass at her – or went even further. In her anger she killed him.’

  Mr Patel rose to speak.

  ‘All very interesting, I’m sure. But, A.B. old chap, this is pure speculation.’

  ‘Speculation, my dear Patel, which just happens to fit the facts. You have proposed your theory. I have proposed mine. Shall we leave it to the audience to decide which is true?’

  Who would you have voted for? I must admit that Mr Patel made a very strong case for Broughton’s guilt, and even though I noticed a few discrepancies that he tried to brush under the debating carpet, he certainly had style. On the other hand, you may have been impressed with the way in which A. B. Gopez first demolished the opposing theory and then came up with a counter-theory – even if it was somewhat, shall we say, imaginative. As for first bringing up the Diana confession and then agreeing with his opponent to dismiss it, that was a very nice touch. Judging from the general hubbub after Mr Gopez sat down, much the same thoughts were being entertained and discussed by the audience. It took some time for the adjudicator to call the meeting to order.