A Prisoner of Birth (77 page)

The judge leaned back, happy to allow Pearson to be the one who sank deeper and deeper into the Munro mire.

"Can you explain to the court, Mr. Munro," asked Pearson in a whisper, "just what you mean by that?"

"It's quite simple really, Mr. Pearson. The late Sir Nicholas Moncrieff made a will in which he left everything to Daniel Arthur Cartwright of twenty-six Bacon Road, London E3, with the sole exception of an annuity of ten thousand pounds, which he bequeathed to his former driver, a Mr. Albert Crann."

Sir Matthew opened his other eye, not sure whether to focus on Munro or Pearson.

"And this will was properly executed and witnessed?" asked Pearson, desperately searching for a possible escape route.

"It was signed by Sir Nicholas in my office on the afternoon of his father's funeral. Aware of the gravity of the situation and my responsibility as the legal custodian of the family estate—as you have been so keen to point out, Mr. Pearson—I asked Senior Officer Ray Pascoe and Senior Officer Alan Jenkins to witness Sir Nicholas's signature in the presence of another partner of the firm." Munro turned to the judge. "I am in possession of the original document, m'lord, should you wish to study it."

"No, thank you, Mr. Munro. I am quite happy to take your word," the judge replied.

Pearson collapsed onto the bench, quite forgetting to say, "No more questions, my lord."

"Do you wish to re-examine this witness, Mr. Redmayne?" the judge inquired.

"Just one question, my lord," said Alex. "Mr. Munro, did Sir Nicholas Moncrieff leave anything to his uncle, Hugo Moncrieff?"

"No," said Munro. "Not a brass farthing."

"No more questions, m'lord."

An outbreak of hushed whispers filled the courtroom as Munro stepped out of the witness box, walked across to the dock and shook hands with the defendant.

"My lord, I wonder if I might address you on a point of law," inquired Alex as Munro departed from the courtroom.

"Of course, Mr. Redmayne, but first I will have to release the jury. Members of the jury, as you have just heard, defense counsel has asked to discuss a point of law with me. It may not have any bearing on the case, but should it do so, I will fully brief you on your return."

Alex looked up at the packed public gallery as the jury left. His gaze
settled on an attractive young woman whom he had noticed sitting at one end of the front row every day since the trial had begun. He had meant to ask Danny who she was.

A few moments later the usher approached the bench and said, "The court has been cleared, m'lord."

"Thank you, Mr. Hepple," said the judge. "How can I assist you, Mr. Redmayne?"

"My lord, following the evidence given by the estimable Mr. Munro, the defense would suggest that there is no case to answer on counts three, four and five, namely the occupation of the house in The Boltons, benefiting from the sale of the stamp collection, and the issuing of checks on the Coutts bank account. We would ask that all these counts be dismissed, as it is self-evidently quite difficult to steal that which already belongs to you."

The judge took a few minutes to consider the argument before replying, "You make a fair point, Mr. Redmayne. What is your view, Mr. Pearson?"

"I feel I should point out, m'lord," said Pearson, "that although it may well be the case that the defendant was the beneficiary of Sir Nicholas Moncrieff's will, there is nothing to suggest that he was aware of this at the time."

"My lord," countered Alex immediately, "my client was well aware of the existence of Sir Nicholas's will, and of who the beneficiaries were."

"How is that possible, Mr. Redmayne?" asked the judge.

"While he was in prison, m'lord, as I pointed out on a previous occasion, Sir Nicholas kept a daily diary. He recorded the details of his will on the day after he returned to Belmarsh following his father's funeral."

"But that doesn't prove that Cartwright was privy to his thoughts," pointed out the judge.

"I would agree with you, m'lord, were it not for the fact that it was the defendant himself who pointed out the relevant passage for my junior's consideration." Sir Matthew nodded.

"That being the case," said Pearson, coming to the judge's rescue, "the Crown has no objection to these charges being withdrawn from the list."

"I am grateful for your intervention, Mr. Pearson," said the judge, "and agree that it would appear to be the proper solution. I will so inform the jury when they return."

"Thank you, m'lord," said Alex. "I am obliged to Mr. Pearson for his assistance in this matter."

"However," said the judge, "I'm sure you don't need reminding, Mr. Redmayne, that the most serious offense, that of escaping from prison while in custody, remains on the indictment."

"I am indeed aware of that, m'lord," said Alex.

The judge nodded. "Then I shall ask the usher to bring back the jury so I can inform them of this development."

"There is a related matter, my lord."

"Yes, Mr. Redmayne?" said the judge, putting down his pen.

"My lord, following Sir Hugo Moncrieff's evidence, we have subpoenaed Mr. Spencer Craig QC to appear before you as a witness. He has asked for your lordship's indulgence as he is currently leading in a case taking place in another part of this building, and will not be free to appear before your lordship until tomorrow morning."

Several members of the press rushed out of the courtroom to phone their news desks.

"Mr. Pearson?" said the judge.

"We have no objection, m'lord."

"Thank you. When the jury returns, after I have directed them on these two matters, I shall release them for the rest of the day."

"As you wish, my lord," said Alex, "but before you do so, may I alert you to a slight change in tomorrow's proceedings?" Mr. Justice Hackett put his pen down a second time, and nodded.

"My lord, you will be aware that it is a recognized tradition of the English Bar to allow one's junior to examine one of the witnesses in a case, in order that they may gain from the experience and indeed be given the chance to advance their career."

"I think I can see where this is leading, Mr. Redmayne."

"Then with your permission, m'lord, my junior, Sir Matthew Redmayne, will lead for the defense when we examine the next witness, Mr. Spencer Craig."

The rest of the press corps bolted for the door.

D
ANNY
SPENT ANOTHER
sleepless night in his cell at Belmarsh, and it wasn't just Big Al's snoring that kept him awake.

Beth sat up in bed trying to read a book, but she never turned a page as her mind was more concerned with the ending of another story.

Alex Redmayne didn't sleep, because he knew that if they failed tomorrow, he would not be given a third chance.

Sir Matthew Redmayne didn't even bother to go to bed, but went over the order of his questions again and again.

Spencer Craig tossed and turned as he tried to work out which questions Sir Matthew was most likely to ask, and how he could avoid answering them.

Arnold Pearson never slept.

Mr. Justice Hackett slept soundly.

Court number four was already packed by the time Danny took his place in the dock. He glanced around the courtroom, and was surprised to see a melee of senior barristers and solicitors attempting to find vantage points from which to follow proceedings.

The press benches were filled with crime correspondents who for the past week had written hundreds of column inches, and had warned their editors to expect a lead story for tomorrow's first editions. They couldn't wait for the encounter between the greatest advocate since F. E. Smith and the most brilliant young QC of his generation (
The Times
), or the Mongoose versus the Snake (
The Sun
).

Danny looked up at the public gallery and smiled at Beth, who was sitting in her usual place next to his mother. Sarah Davenport was seated at the end of the front row, her head bowed. On counsel's bench Mr. Pearson was chatting to his junior. He looked more relaxed than at any time during the trial; but then today he would only be a spectator, not a participant.

The only empty seats to be found in the well of the courtroom were at the far end of counsel's bench awaiting the entrance of Alex Redmayne and his junior. Two extra policemen had been stationed on the door to explain to latecomers that only those on official business could now be accommodated in the courtroom.

Danny sat in the center of the dock, the best seat in the house. This was one performance for which he would like to have read the script before the curtain went up.

There was a babble of anticipation in the room as everyone awaited the four remaining participants who still had to make their entrance. At five minutes to ten, a policeman opened the courtroom door and a hush fell over the assembled gathering as those who had been unable to find a seat stood aside to allow Alex Redmayne and his junior to make their way to counsel's bench.

This morning Sir Matthew made no pretense of slumping in a corner and closing his eyes. He didn't even sit down. He stood bolt upright and looked around the courtroom. It was many years since he'd appeared as an advocate in any court. Once he'd found his bearings, he unfolded a small wooden stand that his wife had retrieved from the loft the night before, and which hadn't seen service for a decade. He placed it on the desk in front of him, and from his bag he removed a sheaf of papers on which he had written in his neat hand the questions Spencer Craig had spent all night trying to anticipate. Finally he handed Alex two photographs that they both knew could decide the fate of Danny Cartwright.

Only after everything was in place did Sir Matthew turn and smile at his old adversary. "Good morning, Arnold," he said. "I do hope that we won't be troubling you too much today."

Pearson returned the smile. "A sentiment with which I am fully able to concur," he said. "In fact, I'm going to break the habit of a lifetime, Matthew, and wish you luck, despite the fact I have never once during all my years at the Bar wanted my opponent to win. Today is the exception."

Sir Matthew gave a slight bow. "I will do my best to fulfill your wishes." He then sat down, closed his eyes and began to compose himself.

Alex busied himself preparing documents, transcripts, photographs and other miscellaneous material in neat piles so that when his father shot out his right hand, like an Olympic relay runner, the baton would be passed instantly.

The noise of uninvolved chatter ceased when Mr. Justice Hackett made his entrance. He ambled across to the three chairs on the center of the stage, attempting to give an impression that nothing untoward was about to take place in the court that morning.

Having amply filled the center chair, he spent longer than usual arranging his pens and checking his notebook while he waited for the jury to take their places.

"Good morning," he said once they had settled, the tone of his voice rather avuncular. "Members of the jury, the first witness today will be Mr. Spencer Craig QC. You will recall his name being raised during the cross-examination of Sir Hugo Moncrieff. Mr. Craig does not appear as a witness for either the prosecution or the defense, but has been subpoenaed to attend this court, meaning that he does not do so willingly. You must remember that your only duty is to decide if the evidence Mr. Craig presents has any bearing on the case being tried in this court, namely, did the defendant unlawfully escape from custody? On that count, and that count alone, you will be asked to deliver your verdict."

Mr. Justice Hackett beamed down at the jury before turning his attention to junior counsel. "Sir Matthew," he said, "are you ready to call the witness?"

Matthew Redmayne rose slowly from his place. "I am indeed, my lord," he responded, but did not do so. He poured himself a glass of water, then placed a pair of spectacles on the end of his nose, and finally opened his red leather folder. Having satisfied himself that he was ready for the encounter, he said, "I call Mr. Spencer Craig," his words sounding like a death knell.

A policeman stepped out into the corridor and bellowed, "Mr. Spencer Craig!"

Everyone's attention was now focused on the courtroom door as they awaited the entrance of the final witness. A moment later, Spencer Craig, dressed in his legal garb, strode into the courtroom as if it was just another day in the life of a busy advocate.

Craig stepped into the witness box, picked up the Bible and, facing the jury, delivered the oath in a firm and confident manner. He knew that it
was they, and they alone, who would decide his fate. He handed the Bible back to the usher, and turned to face Sir Matthew.

"Mr. Craig," Sir Matthew began in a quiet, lulling tone, as if it was his desire to assist the witness in every possible way. "Would you be kind enough to state your name and address for the record?"

"Spencer Craig, forty-three Hambledon Terrace, London SW3."

"And your occupation?"

"I am a barrister at law and a Queen's Counsel."

"So there is no need for me to remind such an eminent member of the legal profession of the significance of the oath, or the authority of this court."