A Prisoner of Birth by Jeffrey Archer
71
‘YOU HAVEN’T ARRIVED a moment too soon,’ she said.
‘That bad?’ said Alex.
‘Worse,’ replied his mother. ‘When will the Home Office realize that when judges retire, not only are they sent home for the rest of their lives, but the only people they have left to judge are their innocent wives.’
‘So what are you recommending?’ asked Alex as they walked into the drawing room.
‘That judges should be shot on their seventieth birthday, and their wives granted a royal pardon and given their pensions by a grateful nation.’
‘I may have come up with a more acceptable solution,’ suggested Alex.
‘Like what? Making it legal to assist judges’ wives to commit suicide?’
‘Something a little less drastic,’ said Alex. ‘I don’t know if his lordship has told you, but I sent him the details of a case I’m currently working on, and frankly I could do with his advice.’
‘If he turns you down, Alex, I won’t feed him again.’
‘Then I must be in with a chance,’ said Alex as his father strolled into the room.
‘A chance of what?’ the old man asked.
‘A chance of some help on a case that—’
‘The Cartwright case?’ said his father, staring out of the window. Alex nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve just finished reading the transcripts. As far as I can see, there aren’t many more laws left for the lad to break: murder, escaping from prison, theft of fifty million dollars, cashing cheques on two bank accounts that didn’t belong to him, selling a stamp collection he didn’t own, travelling abroad on someone else’s passport, and even claiming a baronetcy that should rightfully have been inherited by someone else. You really can’t blame the police for throwing the book at him.’
‘Does that mean you’re not willing to help me?’ asked Alex.
‘I didn’t say that,’ said Mr Justice Redmayne, turning round to face his son. ‘On the contrary. I’m at your service, because of one thing I’m absolutely certain. Danny Cartwright is innocent.’
BOOK FIVE
REDEMPTION
72
DANNY CARTWRIGHT sat on the small wooden chair in the dock and waited for the clock to strike ten so the trial could begin. He looked down into the well of the court to see his two counsel deep in conversation as they waited for the judge to appear.
Danny had spent an hour with Alex Redmayne and his junior in an interview room below the court earlier that morning. They had done their best to reassure him, but he knew all too well that although he was innocent of murdering Bernie, he had no defence to the charges of fraud, theft, deception and escaping from prison; a combined tariff of eight to ten years seemed to be the general consensus, from the barrack-room lawyers of Belmarsh to the eminent silks plying their trade at the Old Bailey.
No one needed to tell Danny that if the sentence was added to his original tariff, the next time he came out of Belmarsh would be for his own funeral.
The press benches to Danny’s left were packed with reporters, notepads open, pens poised as they waited to add to the thousands of column inches they had already written over the past six months. The life story of Danny Cartwright, the only man ever to escape from Britain’s top-security prison, who had stolen more than fifty million dollars from a Swiss Bank after selling a stamp collection that didn’t belong to him, and had ended up being arrested in The Boltons in the early hours of the morning while in the arms of his fiancée (The Times), sexy childhood sweetheart (the Sun). The press couldn’t make up their minds if Danny was the Scarlet Pimpernel or Jack the Ripper. The story had fascinated the public for months, and the first day of the trial was taking on the status of an opening night in the West End, with queues beginning to form outside the Old Bailey at 4 o’clock that morning for a theatre that seated less than a hundred and was rarely full. Most people agreed that Danny Cartwright was more likely to spend the rest of his days in Belmarsh than The Boltons.
Alex Redmayne and his junior, The Rt Hon Sir Matthew Redmayne KCMG QC, could not have done more to help Danny during the past six months, while he had been re-incarcerated in a cell little bigger than Molly’s broom cupboard. They had both refused to charge a penny for their services, although Sir Matthew had warned Danny that if they were able to convince the jury that the profits he’d accrued during the past two years belonged to him and not to Hugo Moncrieff, he would be presenting a hefty bill plus expenses, for what he called refreshers. It was one of the few occasions during that time when all three of them had burst out laughing.
Beth had been released on bail the morning after she had been arrested. But no one had been surprised when neither Danny nor Big Al were granted the same latitude.
Mr Jenkins was waiting in reception at Belmarsh to greet them, and Mr Pascoe made sure that they ended up sharing a cell. Within a month Danny was back in his post as the prison librarian, just as he had told Ms Bennett he would be. Big Al was allocated a job in the kitchen, and although the cooking didn’t compare to Molly’s, at least they both ended up with the best of the worst.
Alex Redmayne never once reminded Danny that if he had taken his advice and pleaded guilty to manslaughter at the original trial, he would now be a free man, managing Wilson’s garage, married to Beth and helping to raise their family. But a free man in what sense? Alex could hear him asking.
There had also been moments of triumph to sit alongside disaster. The gods prefer it that way. Alex Redmayne had been able to convince the court that although Beth was technically guilty of the offence she had been charged with, she had only been aware that Danny was still alive for four days, and they had already made an appointment to see Alex in his chambers on the morning she had been arrested. The judge had given Beth a six-month suspended sentence. Since then she had visited Danny at Belmarsh on the first Sunday of every month.
The judge had not taken quite as lenient a view when it came to the role Big Al had played in the conspiracy. Alex had pointed out in his opening speech that his client, Albert Crann, had made no financial gain from the Moncrieff fortune, other than to receive a salary as Danny’s driver while being allowed to sleep in a small room on the top floor of his house in The Boltons. Mr Arnold Pearson QC, representing the Crown, then produced a bombshell that Alex hadn’t seen coming.
‘Can Mr Crann explain how the sum of ten thousand pounds was deposited in his private account only days after he’d been discharged from prison?’
Big Al had no explanation, and even if he had, he wasn’t about to tell Pearson where the money had come from.
The jury were not impressed.
The judge sent Big Al back to Belmarsh to serve another five years – the rest of his original sentence. Danny made sure he quickly became enhanced, and that he behaved impeccably during his period of incarceration. Glowing reports from senior officer Ray Pascoe, confirmed by the governor, meant that Big Al would be released on a tag in less than a year. Danny would miss him, though he knew that if he even hinted as much, Big Al would cause just enough trouble to ensure that he remained at Belmarsh until Danny was finally released.
Beth had one good piece of news to tell Danny on her Sunday afternoon visit.
‘I’m pregnant.’
‘Christ, we only had four nights together,’ said Danny as he took her in his arms.
‘I don’t think that was the number of times we made love,’ said Beth, before adding, ‘Let’s hope it will be a brother for Christy.’
‘If it is, we can call him Bernie.’
‘No,’ said Beth, ‘we’re going to call him—’ The klaxon signalled the end of visits and drowned out her words.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ said Danny when Pascoe escorted him back to his cell.
‘Of course,’ Pascoe replied. ‘Doesn’t mean I’ll answer it.’
‘You always knew, didn’t you?’ Pascoe smiled, but didn’t reply. ‘What made you so sure that I wasn’t Nick?’ asked Danny as they reached his cell.
Pascoe turned th
e key in the lock and heaved open the heavy door. Danny walked in, assuming he wasn’t going to answer his question, but then Pascoe nodded at the photograph of Beth that Danny had sellotaped back on to the wall.
‘Oh my God,’ said Danny, shaking his head. ‘I never took her photo off the wall.’
Pascoe smiled, stepped back into the corridor and slammed the cell door shut.
Danny looked up at the public gallery to see Beth, now six months pregnant, looking down at him with that same smile he remembered so well from their playground days at Clement Attlee comprehensive and which he knew would still be there until the end of his days, however long the judge decreed his sentence should run.
Danny’s and Beth’s mothers sat on either side of her, a constant support. Also seated in the gallery were many of Danny’s friends and supporters from the East End who would go to their graves proclaiming his innocence. Danny’s eyes settled on Professor Amirkhan Mori, a foul-weather friend, before moving on to someone seated at the end of the row, whom he hadn’t expected to see again. Sarah Davenport leant over the balcony, and smiled down at him.
In the well of the court, Alex and his father were still deep in conversation. The Times had devoted a whole page to the father and son who would be appearing together as defence counsel in the case. It was only the second time in history that a high-court judge had returned to the role of barrister, and it was certainly the first occasion in anyone’s memory that a son would lead his father.
Danny and Alex had renewed their friendship during the past six months, and he knew they would remain close for the rest of their lives. Alex’s father came from the same growth as Professor Mori – a rare vintage. Both men were passionate: Professor Mori in the pursuit of learning, Sir Matthew in the pursuit of justice. The old judge’s presence in the courtroom had made even practised lawyers and cynical journalists think more carefully about the case, but they remained puzzled as to what had convinced him that Danny Cartwright could possibly be innocent.
Mr Arnold Pearson QC and his junior were seated at the other end of the bench, checking over the opening for the Crown line by line and making the occasional small emendation. Danny was well prepared for the outburst of venom and bile that he was sure would come when Pearson rose from his place and told the court that not only was the defendant an evil and dangerous criminal, but that there was only one place the jury should consider des-patching him for the rest of his life.
Alex Redmayne had told Danny that he only expected three witnesses to give evidence: Chief Inspector Fuller, Sir Hugo Moncrieff and Fraser Munro. But Alex and his father already had plans to ensure that a fourth witness would also be called. Alex had warned Danny that whichever judge was appointed to try the case would do everything in his power to prevent that happening.
It came as no surprise to Sir Matthew that Mr Justice Hackett had called both counsel to his chambers before proceedings began, to warn them to steer clear of any reference to the original murder trial, the verdict of which had been reached by a jury and later upheld by three judges at the court of appeal. He went on to stress that should either party attempt to place on record the contents of a particular tape as evidence, or mention the names of Spencer Craig, now an eminent QC, Gerald Payne, who had been elected to Parliament, or the well-known actor Lawrence Davenport, they could expect to face his wrath.
It was common knowledge in legal circles that Mr Justice Hackett and Sir Matthew Redmayne had not been on speaking terms for the past thirty years. Sir Matthew had won too many cases in the lower courts when they were both fledgling barristers for anyone to be left in much doubt which of them was the superior advocate. The press were hoping that their rivalry would be rekindled once the trial was under way.
The jury had been selected the previous day, and were now waiting to be called into court so that they could hear the evidence before passing a final verdict in the case of the Crown versus Daniel Arthur Cartwright.
73
MR JUSTICE HACKETT peered around the courtroom much as an opening batsman does when checking to see where the fielders have been placed to catch him out. His eyes rested on Sir Matthew Redmayne, who was at second slip, waiting for the opening ball. None of the other players caused the judge the slightest apprehension, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to relax if Sir Matthew was put on to bowl.
He turned his attention to the opening bowler for the home team, Mr Arnold Pearson QC not known for taking early wickets.
‘Mr Pearson, are you ready to make your opening?’
‘I am, m’lord,’ replied Pearson, rising slowly from his place. He tugged on the lapels of his gown and touched the top of his ancient wig, then placed his file on a little raised stand and began to read the first page as if he had never seen it before.
‘Members of the jury,’ he began, beaming across at the twelve citizens who had been selected to pass judgement on this occasion. ‘My name is Arnold Pearson, and I shall be leading for the Crown in this case. I will be assisted by my junior, Mr David Simms. The defence will be led by Mr Alex Redmayne, assisted by his junior, Sir Matthew Redmayne.’ All eyes in the courtroom turned to look at the old man who was slouched on the corner of the bench, seemingly fast asleep.
‘Members of the jury,’ Pearson continued, ‘the defendant is charged with five counts. The first is that he did wilfully escape from Belmarsh prison, a high-security establishment in south-east London, while in custody for a previous offence.
‘The second count is that the defendant did steal from Sir Hugo Moncrieff an estate in Scotland, comprising a fourteen-bedroom mansion and twelve thousand acres of arable land.
‘The third count is that he occupied a house, namely number twelve The Boltons, London SW3, which was not lawfully his.
‘The fourth count relates to the theft of a unique stamp collection and the subsequent sale of that collection for the sum of over twenty-five million pounds.
‘And the fifth count is that the defendant cashed cheques on a bank account at Coutts in the Strand, London, and transferred money from a private bank in Switzerland, neither of which he was entitled to do, and that he profited by so doing.
‘The Crown will show that all five of these counts are interlinked, and were committed by one person, the defendant, Daniel Cartwright, who falsely passed himself off as Sir Nicholas Moncrieff, the rightful and legal beneficiary of the late Sir Alexander Moncrieff ’s will. In order to prove this, members of the jury, I will first have to take you back to Belmarsh prison to show how the defendant was able to place himself in a position to commit these audacious crimes. To do that, it may be necessary for me to mention in passing the original offence of which Cartwright was convicted.’
‘You will do no such thing,’ interjected Mr Justice Hackett sternly. ‘The original crime committed by the defendant has no bearing on the offences that are being tried in this court. You may not refer to that earlier case unless you can show a direct and relevant connection between it and this case.’ Sir Matthew wrote down the words, direct and relevant connection. ‘Do I make myself clear, Mr Pearson?’
‘You most certainly do, my lord, and I apologize. It was remiss of me.’
Sir Matthew frowned. Alex would have to develop an ingenious argument to show that the two crimes were linked if he didn’t want to arouse the wrath of Mr Justice Hackett and be stopped in full flow. Sir Matthew had already given the matter some considerable thought.
‘I will tread more carefully in future,’ Pearson added as he turned the next page of his file.
Alex wondered if Pearson had offered up this hostage at an early stage in the hope that Hackett would come down on him from a great height, as he knew only too well that the judge’s ruling was far more helpful to the prosecution than to the defence.
‘Members of the jury,’ continued Pearson, ‘I want you to keep in mind all five offences, as I am about to demonstrate how they are interwoven, and therefore could only have been committed by one person: the defendant, Daniel Cartw
right.’ Pearson tugged on his gown once again before proceeding. ‘June seventh 2002 is a day that may well be etched on your memories, as it was the occasion on which England beat Argentina in the World Cup.’ He was pleased to see how many members of the jury smiled in recollection. ‘On that day, a tragedy took place at Belmarsh prison, which is the reason we are all here today. While the vast majority of the inmates were on the ground floor watching the football match on television, one prisoner chose that moment to take his own life. That man was Nicholas Moncrieff, who at approximately one fifteen that afternoon, hanged himself in the prison showers. During the previous two years, Nicholas Moncrieff had shared a cell with two other inmates, one of whom was the defendant, Daniel Cartwright.
‘The two men were roughly the same height, and were only a few months apart in age. In fact, they were so similar in appearance that in prison uniform they were often mistaken for brothers. My lord, with your permission, I will at this juncture distribute, among the members of the jury, photographs of Moncrieff and Cartwright so that they may see for themselves the similarities between the two men.’
The judge nodded and the clerk of the court collected a bundle of photographs from Pearson’s junior. He handed two up to the judge, before distributing the remainder among the jury. Pearson leant back and waited until he was satisfied that every member of the jury had been given time to consider the photographs. Once they had done so, he said, ‘I shall now describe how Cartwright took advantage of this likeness, cutting his hair and changing his accent, to cash in on the tragic death of Nicholas Moncrieff. And cash in on it is literally what he did. However, as in all audacious crimes, a little luck was required.
‘The first piece of luck was that Moncrieff asked Cartwright to take care of a silver chain and key, a signet ring bearing his family crest, and a watch inscribed with his initials that he wore at all times except when he took a shower. The second piece of luck was that Moncrieff had an accomplice who was in the right place at the right time.
‘YOU HAVEN’T ARRIVED a moment too soon,’ she said.
‘That bad?’ said Alex.
‘Worse,’ replied his mother. ‘When will the Home Office realize that when judges retire, not only are they sent home for the rest of their lives, but the only people they have left to judge are their innocent wives.’
‘So what are you recommending?’ asked Alex as they walked into the drawing room.
‘That judges should be shot on their seventieth birthday, and their wives granted a royal pardon and given their pensions by a grateful nation.’
‘I may have come up with a more acceptable solution,’ suggested Alex.
‘Like what? Making it legal to assist judges’ wives to commit suicide?’
‘Something a little less drastic,’ said Alex. ‘I don’t know if his lordship has told you, but I sent him the details of a case I’m currently working on, and frankly I could do with his advice.’
‘If he turns you down, Alex, I won’t feed him again.’
‘Then I must be in with a chance,’ said Alex as his father strolled into the room.
‘A chance of what?’ the old man asked.
‘A chance of some help on a case that—’
‘The Cartwright case?’ said his father, staring out of the window. Alex nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve just finished reading the transcripts. As far as I can see, there aren’t many more laws left for the lad to break: murder, escaping from prison, theft of fifty million dollars, cashing cheques on two bank accounts that didn’t belong to him, selling a stamp collection he didn’t own, travelling abroad on someone else’s passport, and even claiming a baronetcy that should rightfully have been inherited by someone else. You really can’t blame the police for throwing the book at him.’
‘Does that mean you’re not willing to help me?’ asked Alex.
‘I didn’t say that,’ said Mr Justice Redmayne, turning round to face his son. ‘On the contrary. I’m at your service, because of one thing I’m absolutely certain. Danny Cartwright is innocent.’
BOOK FIVE
REDEMPTION
72
DANNY CARTWRIGHT sat on the small wooden chair in the dock and waited for the clock to strike ten so the trial could begin. He looked down into the well of the court to see his two counsel deep in conversation as they waited for the judge to appear.
Danny had spent an hour with Alex Redmayne and his junior in an interview room below the court earlier that morning. They had done their best to reassure him, but he knew all too well that although he was innocent of murdering Bernie, he had no defence to the charges of fraud, theft, deception and escaping from prison; a combined tariff of eight to ten years seemed to be the general consensus, from the barrack-room lawyers of Belmarsh to the eminent silks plying their trade at the Old Bailey.
No one needed to tell Danny that if the sentence was added to his original tariff, the next time he came out of Belmarsh would be for his own funeral.
The press benches to Danny’s left were packed with reporters, notepads open, pens poised as they waited to add to the thousands of column inches they had already written over the past six months. The life story of Danny Cartwright, the only man ever to escape from Britain’s top-security prison, who had stolen more than fifty million dollars from a Swiss Bank after selling a stamp collection that didn’t belong to him, and had ended up being arrested in The Boltons in the early hours of the morning while in the arms of his fiancée (The Times), sexy childhood sweetheart (the Sun). The press couldn’t make up their minds if Danny was the Scarlet Pimpernel or Jack the Ripper. The story had fascinated the public for months, and the first day of the trial was taking on the status of an opening night in the West End, with queues beginning to form outside the Old Bailey at 4 o’clock that morning for a theatre that seated less than a hundred and was rarely full. Most people agreed that Danny Cartwright was more likely to spend the rest of his days in Belmarsh than The Boltons.
Alex Redmayne and his junior, The Rt Hon Sir Matthew Redmayne KCMG QC, could not have done more to help Danny during the past six months, while he had been re-incarcerated in a cell little bigger than Molly’s broom cupboard. They had both refused to charge a penny for their services, although Sir Matthew had warned Danny that if they were able to convince the jury that the profits he’d accrued during the past two years belonged to him and not to Hugo Moncrieff, he would be presenting a hefty bill plus expenses, for what he called refreshers. It was one of the few occasions during that time when all three of them had burst out laughing.
Beth had been released on bail the morning after she had been arrested. But no one had been surprised when neither Danny nor Big Al were granted the same latitude.
Mr Jenkins was waiting in reception at Belmarsh to greet them, and Mr Pascoe made sure that they ended up sharing a cell. Within a month Danny was back in his post as the prison librarian, just as he had told Ms Bennett he would be. Big Al was allocated a job in the kitchen, and although the cooking didn’t compare to Molly’s, at least they both ended up with the best of the worst.
Alex Redmayne never once reminded Danny that if he had taken his advice and pleaded guilty to manslaughter at the original trial, he would now be a free man, managing Wilson’s garage, married to Beth and helping to raise their family. But a free man in what sense? Alex could hear him asking.
There had also been moments of triumph to sit alongside disaster. The gods prefer it that way. Alex Redmayne had been able to convince the court that although Beth was technically guilty of the offence she had been charged with, she had only been aware that Danny was still alive for four days, and they had already made an appointment to see Alex in his chambers on the morning she had been arrested. The judge had given Beth a six-month suspended sentence. Since then she had visited Danny at Belmarsh on the first Sunday of every month.
The judge had not taken quite as lenient a view when it came to the role Big Al had played in the conspiracy. Alex had pointed out in his opening speech that his client, Albert Crann, had made no financial gain from the Moncrieff fortune, other than to receive a salary as Danny’s driver while being allowed to sleep in a small room on the top floor of his house in The Boltons. Mr Arnold Pearson QC, representing the Crown, then produced a bombshell that Alex hadn’t seen coming.
‘Can Mr Crann explain how the sum of ten thousand pounds was deposited in his private account only days after he’d been discharged from prison?’
Big Al had no explanation, and even if he had, he wasn’t about to tell Pearson where the money had come from.
The jury were not impressed.
The judge sent Big Al back to Belmarsh to serve another five years – the rest of his original sentence. Danny made sure he quickly became enhanced, and that he behaved impeccably during his period of incarceration. Glowing reports from senior officer Ray Pascoe, confirmed by the governor, meant that Big Al would be released on a tag in less than a year. Danny would miss him, though he knew that if he even hinted as much, Big Al would cause just enough trouble to ensure that he remained at Belmarsh until Danny was finally released.
Beth had one good piece of news to tell Danny on her Sunday afternoon visit.
‘I’m pregnant.’
‘Christ, we only had four nights together,’ said Danny as he took her in his arms.
‘I don’t think that was the number of times we made love,’ said Beth, before adding, ‘Let’s hope it will be a brother for Christy.’
‘If it is, we can call him Bernie.’
‘No,’ said Beth, ‘we’re going to call him—’ The klaxon signalled the end of visits and drowned out her words.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ said Danny when Pascoe escorted him back to his cell.
‘Of course,’ Pascoe replied. ‘Doesn’t mean I’ll answer it.’
‘You always knew, didn’t you?’ Pascoe smiled, but didn’t reply. ‘What made you so sure that I wasn’t Nick?’ asked Danny as they reached his cell.
Pascoe turned th
‘Oh my God,’ said Danny, shaking his head. ‘I never took her photo off the wall.’
Pascoe smiled, stepped back into the corridor and slammed the cell door shut.
Danny looked up at the public gallery to see Beth, now six months pregnant, looking down at him with that same smile he remembered so well from their playground days at Clement Attlee comprehensive and which he knew would still be there until the end of his days, however long the judge decreed his sentence should run.
Danny’s and Beth’s mothers sat on either side of her, a constant support. Also seated in the gallery were many of Danny’s friends and supporters from the East End who would go to their graves proclaiming his innocence. Danny’s eyes settled on Professor Amirkhan Mori, a foul-weather friend, before moving on to someone seated at the end of the row, whom he hadn’t expected to see again. Sarah Davenport leant over the balcony, and smiled down at him.
In the well of the court, Alex and his father were still deep in conversation. The Times had devoted a whole page to the father and son who would be appearing together as defence counsel in the case. It was only the second time in history that a high-court judge had returned to the role of barrister, and it was certainly the first occasion in anyone’s memory that a son would lead his father.
Danny and Alex had renewed their friendship during the past six months, and he knew they would remain close for the rest of their lives. Alex’s father came from the same growth as Professor Mori – a rare vintage. Both men were passionate: Professor Mori in the pursuit of learning, Sir Matthew in the pursuit of justice. The old judge’s presence in the courtroom had made even practised lawyers and cynical journalists think more carefully about the case, but they remained puzzled as to what had convinced him that Danny Cartwright could possibly be innocent.
Mr Arnold Pearson QC and his junior were seated at the other end of the bench, checking over the opening for the Crown line by line and making the occasional small emendation. Danny was well prepared for the outburst of venom and bile that he was sure would come when Pearson rose from his place and told the court that not only was the defendant an evil and dangerous criminal, but that there was only one place the jury should consider des-patching him for the rest of his life.
Alex Redmayne had told Danny that he only expected three witnesses to give evidence: Chief Inspector Fuller, Sir Hugo Moncrieff and Fraser Munro. But Alex and his father already had plans to ensure that a fourth witness would also be called. Alex had warned Danny that whichever judge was appointed to try the case would do everything in his power to prevent that happening.
It came as no surprise to Sir Matthew that Mr Justice Hackett had called both counsel to his chambers before proceedings began, to warn them to steer clear of any reference to the original murder trial, the verdict of which had been reached by a jury and later upheld by three judges at the court of appeal. He went on to stress that should either party attempt to place on record the contents of a particular tape as evidence, or mention the names of Spencer Craig, now an eminent QC, Gerald Payne, who had been elected to Parliament, or the well-known actor Lawrence Davenport, they could expect to face his wrath.
It was common knowledge in legal circles that Mr Justice Hackett and Sir Matthew Redmayne had not been on speaking terms for the past thirty years. Sir Matthew had won too many cases in the lower courts when they were both fledgling barristers for anyone to be left in much doubt which of them was the superior advocate. The press were hoping that their rivalry would be rekindled once the trial was under way.
The jury had been selected the previous day, and were now waiting to be called into court so that they could hear the evidence before passing a final verdict in the case of the Crown versus Daniel Arthur Cartwright.
73
MR JUSTICE HACKETT peered around the courtroom much as an opening batsman does when checking to see where the fielders have been placed to catch him out. His eyes rested on Sir Matthew Redmayne, who was at second slip, waiting for the opening ball. None of the other players caused the judge the slightest apprehension, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to relax if Sir Matthew was put on to bowl.
He turned his attention to the opening bowler for the home team, Mr Arnold Pearson QC not known for taking early wickets.
‘Mr Pearson, are you ready to make your opening?’
‘I am, m’lord,’ replied Pearson, rising slowly from his place. He tugged on the lapels of his gown and touched the top of his ancient wig, then placed his file on a little raised stand and began to read the first page as if he had never seen it before.
‘Members of the jury,’ he began, beaming across at the twelve citizens who had been selected to pass judgement on this occasion. ‘My name is Arnold Pearson, and I shall be leading for the Crown in this case. I will be assisted by my junior, Mr David Simms. The defence will be led by Mr Alex Redmayne, assisted by his junior, Sir Matthew Redmayne.’ All eyes in the courtroom turned to look at the old man who was slouched on the corner of the bench, seemingly fast asleep.
‘Members of the jury,’ Pearson continued, ‘the defendant is charged with five counts. The first is that he did wilfully escape from Belmarsh prison, a high-security establishment in south-east London, while in custody for a previous offence.
‘The second count is that the defendant did steal from Sir Hugo Moncrieff an estate in Scotland, comprising a fourteen-bedroom mansion and twelve thousand acres of arable land.
‘The third count is that he occupied a house, namely number twelve The Boltons, London SW3, which was not lawfully his.
‘The fourth count relates to the theft of a unique stamp collection and the subsequent sale of that collection for the sum of over twenty-five million pounds.
‘And the fifth count is that the defendant cashed cheques on a bank account at Coutts in the Strand, London, and transferred money from a private bank in Switzerland, neither of which he was entitled to do, and that he profited by so doing.
‘The Crown will show that all five of these counts are interlinked, and were committed by one person, the defendant, Daniel Cartwright, who falsely passed himself off as Sir Nicholas Moncrieff, the rightful and legal beneficiary of the late Sir Alexander Moncrieff ’s will. In order to prove this, members of the jury, I will first have to take you back to Belmarsh prison to show how the defendant was able to place himself in a position to commit these audacious crimes. To do that, it may be necessary for me to mention in passing the original offence of which Cartwright was convicted.’
‘You will do no such thing,’ interjected Mr Justice Hackett sternly. ‘The original crime committed by the defendant has no bearing on the offences that are being tried in this court. You may not refer to that earlier case unless you can show a direct and relevant connection between it and this case.’ Sir Matthew wrote down the words, direct and relevant connection. ‘Do I make myself clear, Mr Pearson?’
‘You most certainly do, my lord, and I apologize. It was remiss of me.’
Sir Matthew frowned. Alex would have to develop an ingenious argument to show that the two crimes were linked if he didn’t want to arouse the wrath of Mr Justice Hackett and be stopped in full flow. Sir Matthew had already given the matter some considerable thought.
‘I will tread more carefully in future,’ Pearson added as he turned the next page of his file.
Alex wondered if Pearson had offered up this hostage at an early stage in the hope that Hackett would come down on him from a great height, as he knew only too well that the judge’s ruling was far more helpful to the prosecution than to the defence.
‘Members of the jury,’ continued Pearson, ‘I want you to keep in mind all five offences, as I am about to demonstrate how they are interwoven, and therefore could only have been committed by one person: the defendant, Daniel Cartw
‘The two men were roughly the same height, and were only a few months apart in age. In fact, they were so similar in appearance that in prison uniform they were often mistaken for brothers. My lord, with your permission, I will at this juncture distribute, among the members of the jury, photographs of Moncrieff and Cartwright so that they may see for themselves the similarities between the two men.’
The judge nodded and the clerk of the court collected a bundle of photographs from Pearson’s junior. He handed two up to the judge, before distributing the remainder among the jury. Pearson leant back and waited until he was satisfied that every member of the jury had been given time to consider the photographs. Once they had done so, he said, ‘I shall now describe how Cartwright took advantage of this likeness, cutting his hair and changing his accent, to cash in on the tragic death of Nicholas Moncrieff. And cash in on it is literally what he did. However, as in all audacious crimes, a little luck was required.
‘The first piece of luck was that Moncrieff asked Cartwright to take care of a silver chain and key, a signet ring bearing his family crest, and a watch inscribed with his initials that he wore at all times except when he took a shower. The second piece of luck was that Moncrieff had an accomplice who was in the right place at the right time.