A Prisoner of Birth (9 page)

"Did that worry you?"

"Yes, because Danny had also been wounded. He'd been—"

"That's not what I meant," said Redmayne, not wanting her to finish the sentence. "Were you anxious that the police might consider Danny to be a suspect?"

"No," said Beth. "It never crossed my mind. I had already told the police what happened. In any case, he always had me to back up his story."

If Alex had looked across at Pearson, he would have seen the rare flicker of a smile appear on the prosecutor's face.

"Sadly your brother died on the way to Chelsea and Westminster Hospital?"

Beth began to sob. "Yes, I rang my parents, who came immediately, but it was too late." Alex made no attempt to ask his next question until she had composed herself.

"Did Danny join you at the hospital later?"

"No, he didn't."

"Why not?"

"Because the police were still questioning him."

"When did you next see him?"

"The following morning, at Chelsea police station."

"Chelsea police station?" repeated Redmayne, feigning surprise.

"Yes. The police came round to my house first thing in the morning. They told me they'd arrested Danny and charged him with Bernie's murder."

"That must have come as a terrible shock." Mr. Pearson leaped up. "How did you react to this piece of news?" asked Redmayne quickly.

"In total disbelief. I repeated exactly what had happened, but I could see they didn't believe me."

"Thank you, Miss Wilson. No more questions, m'lord."

Danny breathed a sigh of relief as Beth stepped down from the witness
box. What a diamond. She smiled anxiously up at him as she passed the dock.

"Miss Wilson," said the judge before she had reached the door. She turned back to face him. "Would you be kind enough to return to the witness box? I have a feeling Mr. Pearson may have one or two questions for you."

B
ETH WALKED SLOWLY
back to the witness box. She looked up at her parents in the public gallery—and then she saw him, glaring down at her. She wanted to protest, but realized that it would serve no purpose, and nothing would please Spencer Craig more than to know the effect his presence had on her.

She stepped back into the witness box, more determined than ever to defeat him. She remained standing, and stared defiantly at Mr. Pearson, who was still seated in his place. Perhaps he wasn't going to ask her any questions after all.

The old prosecutor rose slowly from his seat. Without glancing at Beth, he began to rearrange some papers. He then took a sip of water before finally looking across at her.

"Miss Wilson, what did you have for breakfast this morning?"

Beth hesitated for a moment, while everyone in the court stared at her. Alex Redmayne cursed. He should have realized that Pearson would try to throw her off guard with his first question. Only Mr. Justice Sackville didn't look surprised.

"I had a cup of tea and a boiled egg," Beth eventually managed.

"Nothing else, Miss Wilson?"

"Oh, yes, some toast."

"How many cups of tea?"

"One. No, two," said Beth.

"Or was it three?"

"No, no, it was two."

"And how many slices of toast?"

She hesitated again. "I can't remember."

"You can't remember what you had for breakfast
this morning
, and yet you can recall in great detail every sentence you heard six months ago." Beth bowed her head again. "Not only can you recall every word Mr. Spencer Craig uttered that night, but you can even remember such details as him winking at you and rolling his tongue round his lips."

"Yes, I can," insisted Beth. "Because he did."

"Then let's go back and test your memory even further, Miss Wilson. When the barman picked up the empty bottle of champagne, Mr. Craig said, 'Wasted on them.' "

"Yes, that's right."

"But who was it who said"—Pearson leaned forward to check his notes—" 'There are times when I quite like a slut's mouth to be open'?"

"I'm not sure if that was Mr. Craig or one of the other men."

"You're 'not sure.' 'One of the other men.' Do you mean the defendant, Cartwright?"

"No, one of the men at the bar."

"You told my learned friend that you didn't react, because you'd heard worse in the East End."

"Yes, I have."

"In fact, that's where you heard the phrase in the first place, isn't it, Miss Wilson," said Pearson, tugging the lapels of his black gown.

"What are you getting at?"

"Simply that you never heard Mr. Craig deliver those words in a bar in Chelsea, Miss Wilson, but you have heard Cartwright say them back in the East End many times, because that's the sort of language he would use."

"No, it was Mr. Craig who said those words."

"You also told the court that you left the Dunlop Arms by the back door."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you leave by the front door, Miss Wilson?"

"I wanted to slip out quietly and not cause any more trouble."

"So you had already caused
some
trouble?"

"No,
we
hadn't caused any trouble."

"Then why didn't you leave by the front door, Miss Wilson? If you had,
you would have found yourself on a crowded street, and could have slipped away, to use your words, without causing any more trouble."

Beth remained silent.

"Then perhaps you can also explain what your brother meant," said Pearson checking his notes, "when he said to Cartwright, 'If you think I'm gonna call you guv, you can forget it.' "

"He was joking," said Beth.

Pearson stared at his file for some time before saying, "Forgive me, Miss Wilson, but I can't see anything humorous in that remark."

"That's because you don't come from the East End," said Beth.

"Neither does Mr. Craig,' responded Pearson, before quickly adding, "and then Cartwright pushes Mr. Wilson towards the back door. Was that when Mr. Craig heard your brother say, 'Then why don't I join you and we can sort it'?"

"It was Mr. Craig who said, 'Then why don't I join you and we can sort it
out
,' because that's the kind of language they use in the West End."

Bright woman, thought Alex, delighted that she'd picked up his point and rammed it home.

"And when you were outside," said Pearson quickly, "you found Mr. Craig waiting for you at the other end of the alley?"

"Yes, I did."

"How long was it before you saw him standing there?"

"I don't remember," replied Beth.

"This time you
don't
remember."

"It wasn't that long," said Beth.

"It wasn't that long," repeated Pearson. "Less than a minute?"

"I can't be sure. But he was standing there."

"Miss Wilson, if you were to leave the Dunlop Arms by the front door, make your way through a crowded street, then down a long lane, before finally reaching the end of the alley, you'd find it's a distance of two hundred and eleven yards. Are you suggesting that Mr. Craig covered that distance in under a minute?"

"He must have done."

"And his friend joined him a few moments later," said Pearson.

"Yes, he did," said Beth.

"And when you turned round, the other two men, Mr. Davenport and Mr. Mortimer, were already positioned by the back door."

"Yes, they were."

"And this all took place in under a minute, Miss Wilson?" He paused. "When do you imagine the four of them found time to plan such a detailed operation?"

"I don't understand what you mean," said Beth, gripping the rail of the witness box.

"I think you understand only too well, Miss Wilson, but for the benefit of the jury, two men leave the bar by the front door, go around to the rear of the building while the other two station themselves by the back door, all in under a minute."

"It could have been more than a minute."

"But you were keen to get away," Pearson reminded her. "So if it had been more than a minute you would have had time to reach the main road and disappear long before they could have got there."

"Now I remember," said Beth. "Danny was trying to calm Bernie down, but my brother wanted to go back to the bar and sort Craig, so it must have been more than a minute."

"Or was it Mr. Cartwright he wanted to sort out," asked Pearson, "and leave him in no doubt who was going to be the boss once his father retired?"

"If Bernie had wanted to do that," said Beth, "he could have flattened him with one punch."

"Not if Mr. Cartwright had a knife," responded Pearson.

"It was Craig who had the knife, and it was Craig who stabbed Bernie."

"How can you be so sure, Miss Wilson, when you didn't witness the stabbing?"

"Because Bernie told me that's what happened."

"Are you sure it was Bernie who told you, and not Danny?"

"Yes, I am."

"You'll forgive the cliché, Miss Wilson, but
that's my story and I'm sticking to it
."

"I am, because it's the truth," said Beth.

"Is it also true that you feared your brother was dying, Miss Wilson?"

"Yes, he was losing so much blood I didn't think he could survive," replied Beth as she began sobbing.

"Then why don't you call for an ambulance, Miss Wilson?" This had always puzzled Alex, and he wondered how she would respond. She didn't, which allowed Pearson to add, "After all, your brother had been stabbed again and again, to quote you."

"I didn't have a phone!" she blurted.

"But your fiancé did," Pearson reminded her, "because he had called your brother earlier, inviting him to join you both at the pub."

"But an ambulance arrived a few minutes later," replied Beth.

"And we all know who phoned the emergency services, don't we, Miss Wilson," said Pearson, staring at the jury.

Beth bowed her head.

"Miss Wilson, allow me to remind you of some of the other half-truths you told my learned friend." Beth pursed her lips. "You said, 'I knew we were going to be married the first day I met him.' "

"Yes, that's what I said and that's what I meant," said Beth defiantly.

Pearson looked down at his notes. "You also said that in your opinion Mr. Davenport 'wasn't as good-looking as' Mr. Cartwright."

"And he isn't," said Beth.

"And that if anything went wrong, 'he always had me to back up his story.' "

"Yes, he did."

"Whatever that story was."

"I didn't say that," protested Beth.

"No, I did," said Pearson. "Because I suggest you'd say anything to protect your husband."

"But he isn't my husband."

"But he will be, if he is acquitted."

"Yes, he will."

"How long has it been since the night your brother was murdered?"

"Just over six months."

"And how often have you seen Mr. Cartwright during that period?"

"I've visited him every Sunday afternoon," said Beth proudly.

"How long do those visits last?"

"About two hours."

Pearson looked up at the ceiling. "So you've spent roughly," he calculated, "fifty hours together during the past six months."

"I've never thought of it that way," said Beth.

"But now you have, wouldn't you agree that would it be quite long enough for the two of you to go over your story again and again, making sure that it was word-perfect by the time you appeared in court."

"No, that's not true."

"Miss Wilson, when you visited Mr. Cartwright in prison"—he paused—"for fifty hours, did you ever discuss this case?"

Beth hesitated. "I suppose we must have."

"Of course you did," said Pearson. "Because if you didn't, perhaps you can explain how you recall every detail of what happened that night, and every sentence delivered by anyone involved, while you can't remember what you had for breakfast this morning."

"Of course I remember what happened on the night my brother was murdered, Mr. Pearson. How could I ever forget? In any case, Craig and his friends would have had even more time to prepare their stories because they had no visiting hours or any restrictions on when or where they could meet."

"Bravo," said Alex, loud enough for Pearson to hear.

"Let us return to the alley and test your memory one more time, Miss Wilson," said Pearson, quickly changing the subject. "Mr. Craig and Mr. Payne, having arrived in the alley in under a minute, began walking towards your brother, and without any provocation started a fight."

"Yes, they did," said Beth.