(The Original)

Amateur Scribe

Honest Court Reporter

A radio anchor is just finishing a news item...

Anchor: ...more on that story later. Now.... The man accused of murdering teenager Carly Pritchard has told a jury he was at home playing video games when the victim was snatched from Clapham Common and brutally assaulted last August. Our reporter Jeff Peabody is at The Old Bailey – Jeff, what can you tell us?

Reporter Jeff has one of those classic deadpan ultra-serious radio voices

Reporter: Well John, the defendant Dwain Mitchell stood impassively as the Prosecution Council described Carly Pritchard’s last movements. She was snatched from a remote footpath in the heart of Clapham Common just after midnight on the evening of 13th August. Her body was discovered by joggers the next morning – she had been sexually assaulted and then beaten to death in a savage attack that was, according police reports “entirely unprovoked”.

Three times Mitchell was asked to explain his whereabouts on the night of the 13th of August. Each time he replied defiantly that he had been at home alone playing video games.

So. No alibi then.

Plus, he just looks really shifty. I can’t really put my finger on it. Maybe it’s that his eyes are too close together. Anyway – he definitely seems a little bit rape-y and - who knows? – Probably capable of murder too if the opportunity arose.

Anchor (slightly thrown): Er… right. And the court was shown some pictures of the victim taken by forensics?

Reporter: That’s right John, yes. There were gasps of horror from the public gallery as graphic pictures of the victim were shown to the court. Her low-cut, sparkly top had been ripped down the middle and her slutty little miniskirt was rucked up around her waist. The jury was told she had been out drinking that night, so, frankly, she was probably asking for it.

Come on now - Walking home alone in the middle of the night across deserted parkland? Idiotic.

Anyway, it was all too much for the victim’s mother who ran from the courtroom in floods of tears. Hysterical bitch. From the state of her leopardskin leggings, ill-fitting blouse and clown-like make-up, it was easy to see where the victim got her poor dress sense and desperate, needy desire to be loved…

Anchor (interrupting): I’m not sure if you can say that during …

Reporter (ignoring): And apparently there was no father on the scene either. Clearly a broken home. It wouldn’t surprise me if dear old mum was turning tricks and peddling smack just to put food on the table. Broken Britain, eh?

Anchor: And I understand that tomorrow the jury will be taken to the scene of the alleged murder?

Reporter: Ah yes – the jury! You know – funny story – I know the foreman! Brian Watson he’s called – lives down my street, Honeysuckle Avenue, W10. We play golf together on Sundays. I’ve tried to catch his attention during the trial, but he keeps ignoring me. Weird.

But yes, the jury are heading off to look at the murder scene tomorrow. See where old Dwain dragged her into the bushes, did the old (whistles/thrusts hips) and then caved her face in with that brick… Sorry… allegedly caved her panic-stricken, tear-stained face in with that brick.

Anyway - it’s all a bit immaterial if you ask me. The guy is definitely going down. Brian hates the blacks…

old bailey

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