A Prisoner of Birth by Jeffrey Archer
‘Then who the hell is he?’ asked Payne.
‘I know exactly who he is,’ said Craig. ‘And what’s more, I can prove it.’
Danny had brought all three files up to date. There was no doubt that he had wounded Payne, and even crippled Davenport, but he’d hardly laid a glove on Spencer Craig, other than possibly to delay his appointment as a QC. And now he’d blown his cover, all three of them would be aware who was responsible for their downfall.
While Danny had remained anonymous, he’d been able to pick off his opponents one by one, and even select the ground on which he would fight. But he no longer had that advantage. Now they were only too aware of his presence, leaving him, for the first time, vulnerable and exposed. They would want to exact revenge, and he didn’t need to be reminded what had happened the last time they worked as a team.
Danny had hoped to defeat all three of them before they found out who they were up against. Now his only hope was to expose them in court. But that would mean revealing that it was Nick who had been killed in the shower at Belmarsh, not him, and if he was to risk that, his timing had to be perfect.
Davenport had lost his home and his art collection, and had been written out of Holby City even before he’d completed a screen test. He had moved in with his sister in Cheyne Walk, which made Danny feel guilty for the first time; he wondered how Sarah would react if she ever found out the truth.
Payne was on the verge of bankruptcy, but Hall had said that his mother might have bailed him out, and at the next election he could still expect to become the Honourable Member for Sussex Central.
And Craig had lost nothing compared to his friends, and certainly showed no signs of remorse. Danny wasn’t in any doubt which one of the Musketeers would lead the counter-attack.
Danny put the three files back on the shelf. He had already planned his next move, which he was confident would see all three of them end up in jail. He would appear before the three law lords as Mr Redmayne had requested, and would supply the fresh evidence needed to expose Craig as a murderer, Payne as his accomplice, and Davenport as having committed perjury which had caused an innocent man to be sent to prison for a crime he did not commit.
68
BETH EMERGED from the darkness of Knightsbridge tube station. It was a bright, clear afternoon, and the pavements were busy with window-shoppers and locals walking off their Sunday lunch.
Alex Redmayne could not have been kinder or more supportive over the past weeks, and when she left him less than an hour ago, she had felt full of confidence. That confidence was now beginning to ebb away. As she walked in the direction of The Boltons, she tried to recall everything Alex had told her.
Nick Moncrieff was a decent man who had become a loyal friend of Danny’s when they were in prison together. Some weeks before he was released, Moncrieff had written to Alex offering to do anything he could to assist Danny, who he was convinced was innocent.
Alex had decided to put that offer to the test, and after Moncrieff ’s release, he had written to him requesting to have sight of the diaries he had written while in prison, along with any contemporaneous notes concerning the taped conversation that had taken place between Albert Crann and Toby Mortimer. Alex ended the letter by asking if he would agree to appear before the tribunal and give evidence.
The first surprise came when the diaries were delivered to Alex’s chambers the following morning. The second was the courier. Albert Crann could not have been more cooperative, answering all the questions Alex put to him, only becoming guarded when he was asked why his boss wouldn’t agree to appear before the law lords – in fact, wouldn’t even consider an off-the-record meeting with Mr Redmayne in chambers. Alex assumed it must have something to do with Moncrieff wanting to avoid any confrontation with the police until he had completed his probation order. But Alex wasn’t willing to give up that easily. Over lunch he had convinced Beth that if she could get Moncrieff to change his mind and agree to give evidence before the law lords, it might be the deciding factor in having Danny’s name cleared.
‘No pressure,’ Beth had said with a smile, but now she was on her own and beginning to feel that pressure more with every step she took.
Alex had showed her a photograph of Moncrieff and warned her that when she first saw him she might think just for a moment that she was looking at Danny. But she must concentrate, and not allow herself to be distracted.
Alex had selected the day, even the hour, that the meeting should take place: a Sunday afternoon around four o’clock. He felt that Nick would be more relaxed at that time and possibly vulnerable to a distressed damsel appearing on his doorstep unannounced.
When Beth left the main road and walked into The Boltons, her pace became even slower. It was only the thought of clearing Danny’s name that kept her going. She walked around the semicircular garden with its church in the centre until she reached number 12. Before she opened the gate she rehearsed the words she and Alex had agreed on. My name is Beth Wilson, and I apologize for disturbing you on a Sunday afternoon, but I think you shared a cell with Danny Cartwright, who was . . .
By the time Danny had read through the third essay recommended by Professor Mori, he was beginning to feel a little more confident about facing his mentor. He turned to a piece he’d written over a year ago on J. K. Galbraith’s theories on a low-tax economy producing . . . when the doorbell rang. He cursed. Big Al had gone to watch West Ham play Sheffield Utd. Danny had wanted to join him, but they both agreed that he couldn’t take the risk. Would it be possible for him to visit Upton Park next season? He turned his attention back to Galbraith, in the hope that whoever it was would go away, and then the bell rang a second time.
He reluctantly stood up and pushed back his chair. Who would it be this time? A Jehovah’s Witness or a double-glazing salesman? Whichever it turned out to be, he already had his first sentence prepared for whoever had decided to interrupt his Sunday afternoon. He jogged downstairs and walked quickly along the corridor, hoping that he could get rid of them before his concentration broke. The bell rang a third time.
He pulled open the door.
‘My name is Beth Wilson, and I apologize for disturbing you on a Sunday . . .’
Danny stared at the woman he loved. He had thought about this moment every day for the past two years, and what he would say to her. He stood there, speechless.
Beth turned white, and began to shake. ‘It can’t be,’ she said.
‘It is, my darling,’ Danny replied as he took her in his arms.
A man sitting in a car on the opposite side of the road continued to take photographs.
‘Mr Moncrieff ?’
‘Who is this?’
‘My name is Spencer Craig. I’m a barrister, and I have a proposition to put to you.’
‘And what might that be, Mr Craig?’
‘If I were able to restore your fortune, your rightful fortune, what would that be worth to you?’
‘Name your price.’
‘Twenty-five per cent.’
‘That sounds a bit steep.’
‘To give you back your estate in Scotland, to kick out the present occupant of your house in The Boltons, to restore the full amount paid for your grandfather’s stamp collection, not to mention ownership of a luxury penthouse in London which I suspect you don’t even know about, and to reclaim your bank accounts in Geneva and London? No, I don’t think that’s particularly steep, Mr Moncrieff. In fact, it’s quite reasonable when the alternative is a hundred per cent of nothing.’
‘But how could this be possible?’
‘Once you’ve signed a contract, Mr Moncrieff, your father’s fortune will be restored to you.’
‘And there will be no fees or hidden charges?’ asked Hugo suspiciously.
‘No fees or hidden charges,’ promised Craig. ‘In fact, I’ll throw in a little bonus which I suspect will even please Mrs Moncrieff.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘You sign my contract, and by
69
‘DID YOU GET a photo of his leg?’ asked Craig.
‘Not yet,’ replied Payne.
‘Let me know the moment you do.’
‘Hold on,’ said Payne. ‘He’s coming out of the house.’
‘With his driver?’ asked Craig.
‘No, with the woman who went inside yesterday afternoon.’
‘Describe her.’
‘Late twenties, five foot eight, slim, brown hair, great legs. They’re both getting into the back of the car.’
‘Stay with them,’ said Craig, ‘and keep me briefed on where they go.’ He put the phone down, turned on his computer and pulled up a photo of Beth Wilson, not surprised that she fitted the description. However, he was surprised that Cartwright was willing to take such a risk. Did he now believe that he was invincible?
Once Payne had taken a photograph of Cartwright’s left leg, Craig would make an appointment to see Detective Sergeant Fuller. He would then stand aside and let the policeman take all the credit for capturing an escaped murderer and his accomplice.
Big Al dropped Danny outside the entrance to the university. After Beth had given him a kiss, he jumped out of the car and ran up the steps and into the building.
All his plans had been blown away with one kiss, followed by a night with no sleep. When the sun rose the following morning, Danny knew that he could no longer live a life that didn’t include Beth, even if it meant leaving the country and having to live abroad.
Craig slipped out of the court while the jury were considering their verdict. He stood on the steps of the Old Bailey and phoned Payne on his mobile.
‘Where did they end up?’ he asked.
‘Cartwright was dropped off at London University. He’s doing a Business Studies degree there.’
‘But Moncrieff already has a degree in English.’
‘True, but don’t forget that when Cartwright was at Belmarsh he took A levels in maths and business studies.’
‘Another small mistake that he’s assumed no one would pick up,’ said Craig. ‘So where did the driver take the girl after he’d dropped Cartwright off ?’
‘They headed for the East End and—’
‘Twenty-seven Bacon Road, Bow,’ said Craig.
‘How did you know?’
‘It’s the home of Beth Wilson, Cartwright’s girlfriend – she was with him that night in the alley, don’t you remember?’
‘How could I forget,’ snapped Payne.
‘Did you manage to get a photograph of her?’ asked Craig, ignoring the little outburst.
‘Several.’
‘Good, but I still need a shot of Cartwright’s left leg just above the knee before I can pay a visit to Detective Sergeant Fuller.’ Craig checked his watch. ‘I’d better get back to court. The jury shouldn’t take too long to find my client guilty. Where are you at the moment?’
‘Outside twenty-seven Bacon Road.’
‘Stay well out of sight,’ said Craig. ‘That woman would recognize you at a hundred paces. I’ll call you as soon as the court rises.’
During his lunch break, Danny decided to take a walk and grab a sandwich before he attended Professor Mori’s lecture. He tried to recall the six theories of Adam Smith in case the professor’s hovering finger ended up pointing at him. He failed to notice the man sitting on a bench on the other side of the road, a camera by his side.
Craig dialled Payne on his mobile moments after the court had risen.
‘She didn’t leave the house for over an hour,’ said Payne, ‘and when she came out, she was carrying a large suitcase.’
‘Where did she go?’ asked Craig.
‘She was driven to her office at Mason Street in the City.’
‘And did she take the suitcase with her?’
‘No, she left it in the boot of the car.’
‘So she intends to stay at The Boltons for at least another night.’
‘Looks that way. Or do you think they’re planning to skip the country?’ asked Payne.
‘They’re unlikely to consider doing that until after his final meeting with his probation officer on Thursday morning, when he will have completed his licence.’
‘Which means we’ve only got another three days to gather all the evidence we need,’ said Payne.
‘So what’s he been up to this afternoon?’
‘He left the university at four, and was driven back to The Boltons. He went into the house, but the driver left again straight away. I followed him in case he was picking up the girl.’
‘And was he?’
‘Yes. He collected her from work and drove her back to the house.’
‘And the suitcase?’
‘He carried it inside.’
‘Perhaps she thinks it’s safe for her to move in now. Did he go for a run?’
‘If he did,’ said Payne, ‘it must have been while I was following the girl.’
‘Don’t bother with her tomorrow,’ said Craig. ‘From now on concentrate on Cartwright, because if we’re going to flush him out, only one thing matters.’
‘The photograph,’ said Payne. ‘But what if he doesn’t go for a run in the morning?’
‘All the more reason to ignore the girl and stick with him,’ said Craig. ‘Meanwhile, I’ll bring Larry up to date.’
‘Is he doing anything to earn his keep?’
‘Not a lot,’ said Craig. ‘But we can’t afford to antagonize him while he’s still living with his sister.’
Craig was shaving when the phone rang. He cursed.
‘They left the house together again.’
‘So he didn’t go for a run this morning?’
‘Not unless it was before five a.m. I’ll call again if there’s any change in his routine.’
Craig flicked the phone closed and continued to shave. He cut himself. He cursed again.
He needed to be in court by ten o’clock, when the judge would pass sentence on his aggravated burglary case. His client would probably end up with a two-year sentence, despite the fact that he had asked for twenty-three other offences to be taken into consideration.
Craig dabbed on some aftershave as he thought about the charges Cartwright would end up facing: escaping from Belmarsh while impersonating another prisoner, theft of a stamp collection worth over fifty million dollars, falsifying cheques on two bank accounts, with at least twenty-three other offences to be taken into consideration. Once the judge had considered that lot, Cartwright wouldn’t be seeing the light of day until he was eligible for his old-age pension. Craig suspected that the girl would also end up facing a long spell behind bars for aiding and abetting a criminal. And once they found out exactly what Cartwright had been up to since escaping from prison, no one would be talking about offering him a pardon. Craig was even beginning to feel confident that the Lord Chancellor would be calling him back again and this time he would be offered a dry sherry, while the two of them discussed the decline of English cricket.
‘Wur bein’ followed,’ said Big Al.
‘What makes you think that?’ asked Danny.
‘I spotted a car following us yisterday. Now it’s there again.’
‘Take a left at the next junction and see if he stays with us.’
Big Al nodded, and without indicating, suddenly swung left.
‘Is he still following us?’ asked Danny.
‘Naw, he drove straight on,’ said Big Al, checking his rear-view mirror.
‘What type of car was it?’
‘A dark blue Ford Mondeo.’
‘How many of those do you imagine there are in London?’ asked Danny.
Big Al grunted. ‘He wis following us,’ he repeated as he turned into The Boltons.
‘I’m going for a run,’ said Danny. ‘I’ll let you know if I see anyone following me.’
Big Al didn’t laugh.
‘Cartwright’s chauffeur spotted me,’ said Payne, ‘so I had no choice but to driv
‘What did you just say?’ asked Craig.
‘I’m going to have to change—’
‘No, before that.’
‘Cartwright’s driver must be police or army trained.’
‘Of course he is,’ said Craig. ‘Don’t forget that Moncrieff ’s driver was locked up in the same cell as him and Cartwright.’
‘You’re right,’ said Payne. ‘Crann, Albert Crann.’
‘Better known as Big Al. I’ve got a feeling that Detective Sergeant Fuller is going to end up with a royal flush – king, queen and now jerk.’
‘Do you want me to go back this evening and double-check?’ asked Payne.
‘No. Crann may well turn out to be a bonus, but we can’t risk him working out that we’re on to them. Keep well out of their way until tomorrow afternoon, because you can be sure that Crann will now be on the lookout for you. Once he drops Cartwright off at the house and leaves to pick up the girlfriend, that’s when I think you’ll find Cartwright’ll go for his run.’
As Danny walked down the corridor he was greeted by Professor Mori who was talking to some students who were sitting their exams.
‘A year today, Nick,’ he said, ‘and it will be your turn to take your finals.’ Danny had quite forgotten about how little time he had left before his exams, and didn’t bother to tell the professor that he had no idea where he would be a year today. ‘When I’ll be expecting great things of you,’ added the professor.