The Four Just Men

I was quietly working in my office, as branch manager in the bank, when my mobile phone vibrated.

“Good morning, Charles Brown at your service.”

“Charlie, can you talk?”

“Yes, Bernie, what’s up.”

“I’ve just opened up my post and there’s a summons for Jury Duty.”

“So, why did you ring me?”

“I’ve been reading the papers and there’s an interesting case coming up, where a bunch of women beat up a trannie for using the female toilet in the library.”

“You’re hoping to be on that case, or do you want to avoid it? There are ways to get out of Jury Duty, but they have to be good ones. You haven’t booked any holidays this next month, and owning your own business means that you can’t plead that you’ll lose your job.”

“I’ll front up. It’s usually only one or two weeks, and it may be interesting.”

“I’m sure that you’ll learn lots, Bernie, some that may be handy in future, seeing how the market trading skirts close to the edge.”

“Hey, I’m not one of those shonks who sell stolen goods, well, not often.”

“TMI, Bernie, I’ll see you on the weekend, then?”

“I’ll be there. Got a new load of remaindered stock that may have some nice things in.”

“I’ll look forward to that, then. Got to go, I’ve got a couple coming in to see if I’ll give them a mortgage.”

“OK, bye.”

I settled back to my job and thought nothing more about Bernie’s call. So, he may have something interesting to relate after he’d spent his time in court. The evening, when I got to the building where I lived, I checked the mailbox before going up to my apartment. After I had hung up my coat and poured a stiff drink, I looked at my mail, to find a summons to Jury Duty. That evening, I had two more calls on my mobile.

One was from Alfred; the other was from Algernon. Both were calling to say that they had received the summons. Now, I’d better tell you a little about the four of us. Alfred Banyon had started primary with me, and we had gone through school together. Algernon Cathcart had joined us in secondary, along with Bernard Andrews. We had been good friends there, all keen to go to university and do well.

We were known as the ‘Primer Gang’, because all our names only had ABC. We had stayed in touch as we went through university and graduated. I had a degree in finance, so ended up in the bank. Bernie had a degree in marketing and ended up owning a warehouse and several sites in markets, where he had employees manning the stalls, selling everything from Almanacs to stuffed Zebras. Alf had an arts degree and now owned a reputable gallery, selling all sorts of artistic things, from paintings to porcelain pepper pots. Algy had a law degree but had used it to set up a company specialising in insurance claim investigations.

You could say that we had all done well for ourselves. We all lived in a thirty-mile radius of each other, and got together once a month at Algys’ mansion, usually stopping over on a Saturday night. None of us had married, too busy getting ahead and making money to be distracted by girls. We were all now in our thirties, well off and could be considered as very eligible.

That weekend, we met at Algys’ home, admired some of the remaindered stocks that Bernie was sorting out for his stalls, and talked about the summons. We had all decided to reply that we would be available, as in our positions we didn’t have any excuses. We were all upright, solid, citizens. We were all considered well able to carry out our public duties. We did wonder what case we may be called for, or even if we were all called for one case, as there were a few high-profile things coming up. Algy had managed to get a copy of the court diary and the one that Bernie had spoken about was, indeed, set to start within the time that we would all be at court.

Algy had warned us that we shouldn’t be seen as a group, so we arrived at the court at different times and refrained from sitting together, only talking to other potential jurors. The first day was easy, with us being taken through an orientation of procedures and being shown where everything was, and warned about drinking too much, as we may be sitting in court for an extended time, without the opportunity to put ones’ hand up to be excused.

The following day, the group of jurors were split into twelves, and allocated to a court for the duration. The four of us were chosen, along with two other men and six women, to attend Court Three, where the case of ‘The Crown versus Henrietta Carruthers et al’ was to be tried. This was, indeed, the case that Bernie had spoken about. When we filed into the court, we made sure that we didn’t sit next to each other. There were notepads and pencils for us to take notes, which were not allowed to be taken away.

We all stood as the judge entered and sat after he had. He gave us a brief overview of what we were likely to hear and told us that the case had to be gauged on its merits, rather than our own views on the subject. I had to smile, inwardly, as there would be nobody in the court who didn’t have some sort of perception of what the case entailed.

The prosecution case was straightforward. The main defendant had urged the other four to teach the victim that a transgender woman was not allowed in the female toilets. Between them, they had hit the victim so hard, that she had died, two days later, from the damage to their head. The prosecution counsel used the victims female name in his opening remarks and submitted documentary evidence of the date of transition, which was well before the Supreme Court ruling, as well as her various cards and driving licence in her name.

“The victim was female, with no sign of being male. She was intending to use the toilet for the purpose for which it had been placed there. The actions of the accused was not the actions of sane and law-abiding people. They were the actions of a mob, urged on by Henrietta Carruthers, the Librarian, who had previously known the victim before transition. The victim didn’t attack these women, it was the women who attacked the victim, with malice and aforethought. To that end, I am asking the court to consider this case as a murder trial. Not the charge of affray that has been put forward.”

There was a buzz in the court and the defendants’ lawyer stood and bellowed ‘Objection, Your Honour’ as the judge rapped his gavel. He glared at everyone as the courtroom quietened.

“We are here to determine if the defendants took part in an affray, not to put them on a murder trial. If we do find the defendants guilty, then it’s up to the police to decide if that affray led to the death of the victim. I believe that the charges were laid before the victim died and have not been upgraded. I understand your concern, but I will uphold the objection. Jurors, please do not use the prosecutors’ request as part of your considerations.”

The defense was totally sure that they would get their way. They described how the victim, naming them with the birth name, had flaunted his crossdressing whenever he visited the library, as well as working as a teaching assistant, no doubt there to groom young, innocent, children to achieve his pedophile desires. I could see Henrietta smirking as he spoke. I knew about her, the unpublished novelist who had never married, but had inherited enough money to be able to pay for the best legal team. She was sure that the judge, and us jurors, would see things her way. The other women, her pawns, were simply her tools to administer the beating, so fulfilling her desire to teach the victim a lesson. I had seen some of the pictures in the paper. The victim had been quite pretty, where Henrietta was not.

The day was interesting. The prosecution offered CCTV coverage of the library, which showed Henrietta clearly shouting at the others to teach ‘the filthy pedo a lesson and see him never coming back’. They had testimony from the ambulance crew, who had been instructed to ‘cart this trash away’, and medical records from the hospital. The actual cause of death was from the victim hitting her head on the toilet when knocked over by one of the women, although it couldn’t be proved which one had done the pushing, and the pawns were obviously instructed not to admit a thing. There was no CCTV coverage from inside the toilet, naturally.

When the defence stood up, he told the judge that he would be calling a number of witnesses, who would attest to the lewd and distasteful lifestyle of the ‘paedophile child groomer’. I could see the judge looking out towards the press gallery, where they were frantically making notes.

“I will adjourn for today. I authorise sequestration of the jury, seeing that this case is obviously attracting press coverage. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. You will be taken to a hotel for the night. You will not discuss the case at any time, and you will be provided nightwear. Should the case be extended, we will allow you to be transported to your homes, where you will be able to collect a change of clothing. You will not be allowed to read the newspapers, watch the TV news, or search for case details on your phones. In fact, your phones will be confiscated after you have time to ring home, to tell them that you won’t be there, tonight, and instruct them to prepare a small case for you, should you be sequestered for a few days.”

The cry of ‘All Stand’ rang out and the judge left, with us following an usher as the press were almost running for the exit. We were taken to a hotel in a bus, given dinner, nightwear and a teeth cleaning kit like the ones you get in airlines, and taken to individual rooms to spend the night without radio, TV or our phones.

Next morning, I redressed in my suit and went down for breakfast, not looking out of place as we were all somewhat dishevelled. Back in the court, we did the sitting, the standing, and the sitting once more. The judge looked hard at the defence side.

“Counsel for the defence. I have to remind you that this is not a place where you can try to give the victim a bad reputation. In fact, it is a case to find the defendants guilty or not guilty of affray. We have seen the CCTV, and it clearly shows the victim going about her business, without any animosity to any of the defendants. Do you have any witnesses to the actual event that you wish to put on the stand?”

“Your Honour. I have a number of witnesses who are prepared to speak about the victim, and his proclivities.”

“Her proclivities are not on trial, counsellor. Do not waste my time. If you do not have any actual witnesses, we will move on to summing up and end this.”

There were no meaningful witnesses for the defence, and I could see Harriette starting to come to the boil. I expect that she had called in a lot of favours to have people to back up her own hatred. The prosecution smiled as he led us though the case, reminding us that we were not here to decide who did the deed, nor why, just that the deed happened due to the aggression of the defendants, and no other. We would be handing down our decision on all five, or none of them, but that the evidence clearly showed them attacking the victim without provocation, with the CCTV showing them leaving the toilets and smiling. Nobody else had been into the toilets until the ambulance crew arrived, followed by the police.

The defence could only reiterate that the victim had deserved all that came their way, due to their own actions. We were taken to a conference room, where we were given a drink and the time to discuss our thoughts. Four of the women had no problem with a guilty verdict, while the other two were leaning towards the ‘they deserved it’ camp. Of the men, the one who had been elected foreman was for guilty, as were all four of us.

Algy made a reasoned argument along the lines that we were only there to decide whether the five had taken part in an affray, which tended to sway the rest, seeing that the evidence was so obvious. The foreman gave out pages from his notepad and asked us to write ‘G’ or ‘NG’ on them and hand them back. We were all ready to go home and out of our yesterday’s clothes, especially the women, and all twelve pages had ‘G’ on them. We indicated that we had come to a decision and were taken back into court.

When the judge was sitting, he asked the Jury Foreman if we had come to a decision.

“We have, Your Honour.”

The judge then asked if we found each individual defendant guilty or not guilty, with the answer, every time, being, ‘Guilty as charged, Your Honour.’

When Harriette was found guilty, she exploded, calling her legal team stupid and incompetent, calling us a bunch of queer lovers, and then letting rip on the judge for being a woman hater, a queer lover, and that he should be shot at dawn. I could see her legal team holding their heads in their hands, with her lead counsel putting his papers into his briefcase and gathering his pens.

The judge, finally, banged his gavel to shut her up.

“Silence in Court!!! With the jury decision, I find all the defendants guilty of taking part in an affray, that led to the loss of a life. I suggest that the police now talk to all the defendants to find out which one will return to this court to face a charge of manslaughter, at the very least. You, madam, are now going to be charged with another crime, that of contempt of court. I will see you at the call on Monday, to tell you about my sentencing on that account. In the meantime, I will commit you to being held in remand, to give your co-conspirators time to be spoken to by the police, so that the full story of what really happened in that toilet can be known. For now, the sentence for each of you being found guilty of taking part in an affray in a public building shall be five hundred pounds and two hundred hours of civic service. The bailiff will advise the four of you of your procedure when you leave this court.”

He raised his gavel and then carried on.

“I sincerely hope that this case is not just the first of its kind, seeing the green light that a higher court has shown to the zealots of this once inclusive country. Thank you, members of the jury, you are now free to go. You will not be called again.”

He banged the gavel, and we were clear to leave.

That evening, we had a zoom meeting to discuss the case, and to talk about what had been in the newspapers that we had bought on the way home. The press had picked up on how quickly the lesser charges had been laid, and an insider had let it be known that the Inspector in charge of the case was a second cousin of Harriette. The TV news had shown her being led to a prison van to be taken to the remand centre.

Over the next two days, more came out until the police gave a press conference, where they revealed that the four pawns had all signed full confessions to being present at the death, and all four saying that it had been Harriette who did the final push. There was a report, on the TV news, the next Monday evening, that Harriette Caruthers had been committed to a month in prison for the contempt charge, as well as being officially charged with murder, with the earlier CCTV showing her clearly calling for the victim to be taught a lesson, so showing malice aforethought.

She didn’t go to court. She was shown on a screen, from the prison, a different woman since we had seen her. She pleaded guilty to manslaughter and the prosecution accepted the bargain. She got ten years.

The next time our get-together came about, we gathered at Algys’ mansion, and went to the separate rooms we had there. After a shower and change we gathered in his library with glasses of wine, and he proposed a toast.

“To the Four Just Men, and the service that they did on behalf of the downtrodden.”

We took sips of our drinks and then turned our attention to some more remaindered stock that Bernie had brought with him. Some of it was good labels, even in our size. You see, our monthly get-together was for us to wear the clothes we preferred and to look good.

We may have been the Four Just Men for once in our lives, but, once a month, safe behind a high wall in a five-acre garden, we were Just Four Women.

Marianne Gregory © 2026