The Second Man –
Edward Grierson
This excellent courtroom mystery begins with our narrator Michael Irvine in a
dour mood. In the north of England in a crowded set of chambers, he is forced
to double up in a broom-closet of an office with The New Guy. The New Guy turns
out to be woman barrister Marion Kerrison, who, on the bright side, is about
the same age and has the same depth of legal experience as Michael. Over time
he recognizes that while she may be young, green, and reckless in court, she’s
brilliant, insightful, and possesses amazing gifts for speaking and
cross-examining.
Marion gets her once-in-a-lifetime chance in a
high-profile murder case. She must defend a shady Australian named John
Maudsley, charged with the murder of his aunt. The two witnesses for the
prosecution give unassailable testimony. Maudsley doesn’t help himself by
looking deceitful and acting over-confidently. Nor does Marion when she flies
off the handle in court and rankles the judge. She intuits that it was a second
man, not her client, that did the deed.
Edward Grierson (1914 - 1975) was a lawyer himself so the
settings of chambers and courts strike the reader as authentic. Set in the
middle 1950s, this vintage mystery weaves together the murder case itself with
a woman barrister’s struggle to be accepted as a professional and a damn good
one. Vintage too are the various male attitudes ranging from outright hostile
to condescendingly sympathetic. Also old-fashioned is Grierson’s assumption
that we have read the same books that he has:
I was always moved too easily:
by the death of Steerforth, and the perplexities of John Forsyte, by Soames
walking in his picture gallery in Mapledurham, Uncle Pio, Natasha at the window
in the summer night, and the dying fall of the words that record the passing of
Socrates.
David Copperfield, The Forsyte Saga, The Bridge
at San Luis Rey, and The Apology, but who’s Natasha? Where was her window?
In the spirit of “two great peoples separated by a common
language,” American readers will have to brush up on Rumpolian terms such as
“take silk,” “leader,” and “queen’s counsel” and picture barristers in gowns
and little wigs. I daresay that Americans will be flummoxed by the idioms too:
“[Women] want to make an
Aunt Sally of you; so will you please to
perch yourself up there to be shot at!” They will turn to the Web to figure out
puzzlers from European history: “Cross-purpose crimes of the
Reichstag variety have a respectable
ancestry: do not some historians believe that there were two independent plots
afoot on the night when Darnley died in
Kirk
o’Field?”
Still, these are mere quibbles, questions easy to answer in our wired world. I agree with James Sandoe, a critic for New York Herald Tribune, who ranked this mystery "among the very best of that long, diverse series of detective stories set within the formalities of a trial." In 1956, it won the Crime Writer’s Association Golden Dagger Award, when it was called (say it three times fast) the Crossed Red Herring Award.