A Prisoner of Birth by Jeffrey Archer
‘Some hope,’ he said to both parental enquiries.
By the time Alex left for London on Sunday afternoon, he had rehearsed the questions he intended to put to Beth Wilson the following day, with his father acting as the judge. Not a difficult task for the old man. After all, that was exactly what he had done for the past twenty years before retiring.
‘Sackville tells me you’re holding your own,’ his father reported, ‘but he feels you sometimes take unnecessary risks.’
‘That may be the only way I can find out if Cartwright is innocent.’
‘That’s not your job,’ responded his father. ‘That’s for the jury to decide.’
‘Now you’re sounding like Mr Justice Sackville,’ Alex said with a laugh.
‘It’s your job,’ continued his father, ignoring the comment, ‘to present the best possible defence for your client, whether he is guilty or not.’
His father had clearly forgotten that he’d first proffered this piece of advice when Alex was seven years old, and had repeated it countless times since. By the time Alex went up to Oxford as an undergraduate, he was ready to sit his law degree.
‘And Beth Wilson, what sort of witness do you imagine she’ll make?’ his father asked.
‘A distinguished silk once told me,’ replied Alex, tugging the lapels of his jacket pompously, ‘that you can never anticipate how a witness will turn out until they enter the box.’
Alex’s mother burst out laughing. ‘Touché,’ she said as she cleared the plates and disappeared into the kitchen.
‘And don’t underestimate Pearson,’ said his father, ignoring his wife’s interruption. ‘He’s at his best when it comes to cross-examining a defence witness.’
‘Is it possible to underestimate Mr Arnold Pearson QC?’ asked Alex, smiling.
‘Oh yes, I did so to my cost on two occasions.’
‘So were two innocent men convicted of crimes they didn’t commit?’ asked Alex.
‘Certainly not,’ replied his father. ‘Both of them were as guilty as sin, but I still should have got them off. Just remember, if Pearson spots a weakness in your defence he’ll return to it again and again, until he’s sure that it’s the one point the jury remember when they retire.’
‘Can I interrupt learned counsel, to ask how Susan is?’ asked his mother as she poured Alex a coffee.
‘Susan?’ said Alex, snapping back into the real world.
‘That charming girl you brought down to meet us a couple of months ago.’
‘Susan Rennick? I’ve no idea. I’m afraid we’ve lost touch. I don’t think the Bar is compatible with having a personal life. Heaven knows how you two ever got together.’
‘Your mother fed me every night during the Carbarshi trial. If I hadn’t married her, I would have died of starvation.’
‘That easy?’ said Alex, grinning at his mother.
‘Not quite that easy,’ she replied. ‘After all, the trial lasted for over two years – and he lost.’
‘No I didn’t,’ said his father, placing an arm round his wife’s waist. ‘Just be warned, my boy, Pearson’s not married, so he’ll be spending his entire weekend preparing devilish questions for Beth Wilson.’
They hadn’t granted him bail.
Danny had spent the past six months locked up in Belmarsh high-security prison in south-east London. He languished for twenty-two hours a day in a cell eight foot by six, the sole furnishings a single bed, a formica table, a plastic chair, a small steel washbasin and a steel lavatory. A tiny barred window high above his head was his only view of the outside world. Every afternoon they allowed him out of the cell for forty-five minutes, when he would jog around the perimeter of a barren yard – a concrete acre surrounded by a sixteen-foot wall topped with razor wire.
‘I’m innocent,’ he repeated whenever anyone asked, to which the prison staff and his fellow inmates inevitably responded, ‘That’s what they all say.’
As Danny jogged around the yard that morning, he tried not to think about how the first week of the trial had gone, but it proved impossible. Despite looking carefully at each member of the jury, he had no way of knowing what they were thinking. It might not have been a good first week, but at least Beth would now be able to tell her side of the story. Would the jury believe her, or would they accept Spencer Craig’s version of what had happened? Danny’s father never stopped reminding him that British justice was the best in the world – innocent men just don’t end up in prison. If that was true, he would be free in a week’s time. He tried not to consider the alternative.
Arnold Pearson QC had also spent his weekend in the country, at his cottage in the Cotswolds with its four-and-a-half-acre garden – his pride and joy. After tending the roses he attempted to read a well-reviewed novel, which he ended up putting to one side before deciding to go for a walk. As he strolled through the village he tried to clear his mind of everything that had been taking place in London that week, although in truth the case rarely strayed from his thoughts.
He felt that the first week of the trial had gone well, despite the fact that Redmayne had proved to be a far doughtier opponent than he had expected. Certain familiar phrases, obvious hereditary traits and a rare gift of timing brought back memories of Redmayne’s father, who in Arnold’s opinion was the finest advocate he had ever come up against.
But thank heavens, the boy was still green. He should have made far more of the time issue when Craig was in the witness box. Arnold would have counted the paving stones between the Dunlop Arms and the front door of Craig’s mews house, with a stopwatch as his only companion. He would then have returned to his own home, undressed, showered and changed into a new set of clothes while once again timing the entire exercise. Arnold suspected that the combined times would amount to less than twenty minutes – certainly no more than thirty.
After he had picked up a few groceries and a local paper from the village store, Pearson set off on the return journey. He stopped by the village green for a moment, and smiled as he recalled the 57 he had scored against Brocklehurst some twenty years before – or was it thirty? All that he loved about England was embodied in the village. He looked at his watch, and sighed as he accepted that it was time to return home and prepare for the morrow.
After tea, he went to his study, sat down at his desk and ran an eye over the questions he had prepared for Beth Wilson. He would have the advantage of hearing Redmayne examine her before he had to ask his first question. Like a cat ready to pounce, he would sit silently at his end of the bench waiting patiently for her to make some tiny mistake. The guilty always make mistakes.
Arnold smiled as he turned his attention to the Bethnal Green and Bow Gazette, confident that Redmayne would not have come across the article that had appeared on the front page some fifteen years ago. Arnold Pearson may have lacked Mr Justice Redmayne’s elegance and style, but he made up for it with the hours of patient research, which had already uncovered two further pieces of evidence that would surely leave the jury in no doubt of Cartwright’s guilt. But he would save both of them for the defendant, whom he was looking forward to cross-examining later in the week.
On the day Alex was bantering with his parents over lunch in Bath, Danny was running round the exercise yard at Belmarsh prison and Arnold Pearson was visiting the village store, Beth Wilson had an appointment with her local GP.
‘Just a routine check,’ the doctor assured her with a smile. But then the smile turned to a frown. ‘Have you been under any unusual stress since I last saw you?’ he asked.
Beth didn’t burden him with an account of how she had spent the past week. It didn’t help that her father remained convinced Danny was guilty, and would no longer allow his name to be mentioned in the house, even though her mother had always accepted Beth’s version of what had taken place that night. But was the jury made up of people like her mother, or her father?
Every Sunday afternoon for the past six months, Beth had visited Danny in Belmarsh prison, but no
The baby was due in six weeks’ time, but long before then he would be free, and this terrible ordeal would finally be over. Once the jury had reached their verdict, surely even her father would accept that Danny was innocent.
On Monday morning, Mr Wilson drove his daughter to the Old Bailey and dropped her outside the main entrance to the courts. He only uttered three words as she stepped out of the car: ‘Tell the truth.’
9
HE FELT SICK when their eyes met. Spencer Craig glared down at him from the public gallery. Danny returned the stare as if he was standing in the middle of the ring waiting for the bell to sound for the first round.
When Beth entered the courtroom, it was the first time he’d seen her for two weeks. He was relieved that she would have her back to Craig while she was in the witness box. Beth gave Danny a warm smile before taking the oath.
‘Is your name Elizabeth Wilson?’ enquired Alex Redmayne.
‘Yes,’ she replied, resting her hands on her stomach, ‘but I’m known as Beth.’
‘And you live at number twenty-seven Bacon Road in Bow, East London.’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘And Bernie Wilson, the deceased, was your brother?’
‘Yes, he was,’ said Beth.
‘And are you currently the personal assistant to the chairman of Drake’s Marine Insurance Company in the City of London?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘When is the baby due?’ asked Redmayne. Pearson frowned, but he knew he dare not intervene.
‘In six weeks,’ Beth said, bowing her head.
Mr Justice Sackville leant forward and, smiling down at Beth, said, ‘Would you please speak up, Miss Wilson. The jury will need to hear every word you have to say.’ She raised her head and nodded. ‘And perhaps you’d prefer to be seated,’ the judge added helpfully. ‘Being in a strange place can sometimes be a little disconcerting.’
‘Thank you,’ said Beth. She sank on to the wooden chair in the witness box, and almost disappeared out of sight.
‘Damn,’ muttered Alex Redmayne under his breath. The jury could now barely see her shoulders, and would no longer be continually reminded that she was seven months pregnant, a vision he wanted implanted in the minds of the only twelve people who mattered. He should have anticipated the gallant Mr Justice Sackville and advised Beth to decline the offer of a seat. If she’d collapsed, the image would have lingered in the jury’s minds.
‘Miss Wilson,’ continued Redmayne, ‘would you tell the court what your relationship is with the accused.’
‘Danny and I are going to be married next week,’ she replied. A gasp could be heard around the courtroom.
‘Next week?’ repeated Redmayne, trying to sound surprised.
‘Yes, the final banns were read yesterday by Father Michael, our parish priest at St Mary’s.’
‘But if your fiancé were to be convicted—’
‘You can’t be convicted for a crime you didn’t commit,’ responded Beth sharply.
Alex Redmayne smiled. Word-perfect, and she had even turned to face the jury.
‘How long have you known the defendant?’
‘As long as I can remember,’ replied Beth. ‘His family have always lived across the road from us. We went to the same school.’
‘Clement Attlee comprehensive?’ said Redmayne, looking down at his open file.
‘That’s right,’ confirmed Beth.
‘So you were childhood sweethearts?’
‘If we were,’ said Beth, ‘Danny wasn’t aware of it, because he hardly ever spoke to me while we were at school.’
Danny smiled for the first time that day, remembering the little girl with pigtails who was always hanging around her brother.
‘But did you try to speak to him?’
‘No, I wouldn’t have dared. But I always stood on the touchline and watched whenever he played football.’
‘Were your brother and Danny in the same team?’
‘Right through school,’ replied Beth. ‘Danny was captain and my brother was the goalkeeper.’
‘Was Danny always captain?’
‘Oh, yes. His mates used to call him Captain Cartwright. He captained all the school teams – football, cricket, even boxing.’
Alex noticed that one or two of the jury were smiling. ‘And did your brother get on well with Danny?’
‘Danny was his best friend,’ said Beth.
‘Did they regularly quarrel, as my learned friend has suggested?’ asked Redmayne, glancing in the direction of the Crown prosecutor.
‘Only about West Ham, or Bernie’s latest girlfriend.’ A member of the jury just managed to stifle a laugh.
‘But didn’t your brother knock Danny out in the first round of the Bow Street Boys’ Club boxing championship last year?’
‘Yes, he did. But Bernie was always the better boxer, and Danny knew it. Danny once told me that he’d be lucky to make the second round if they met in the final.’
‘So there was no bad feeling between them, as has been suggested by my learned friend, Mr Pearson.’
‘How could he know?’ asked Beth. ‘He never met either of them.’ Danny smiled again.
‘Miss Wilson,’ said the judge, not quite so gently, ‘please concentrate on answering the questions.’
‘What was the question?’ asked Beth, sounding a little flummoxed.
The judge glanced down at his notebook. ‘Was there any bad feeling between your brother and the defendant?’
‘No,’ said Beth. ‘I’ve already told you, they were best mates.’
‘You also told the court, Miss Wilson,’ said Redmayne, trying to steer her back on to the script, ‘that Danny never spoke to you while you were at school. Yet you ended up engaged to be married.’
‘That’s right,’ said Beth, looking up at Danny.
‘What caused this change of heart?’
‘When Danny and my brother left Clem Attlee, they both went to work in my dad’s garage. I stayed on at school for another year before going on to sixth-form college and then Exeter University.’
‘From where you graduated with an honours degree in English?’
‘Yes, I did,’ replied Beth.
‘And what was your first job after leaving university?’
‘I became a secretary at Drake’s Marine Insurance Company in the City.’
‘Surely you could have obtained a far better position than that, remembering your qualifications?’
‘Perhaps I could have,’ admitted Beth, ‘but Drake’s head office is in the City and I didn’t want to be too far from home.’
‘I understand. And how many years have you worked for the company?’
‘Five,’ replied Beth.
‘And during that time you have risen from being a secretary to the chairman’s personal assistant.’
‘Yes.’
‘How many secretaries are employed at Drake’s Insurance?’ asked Redmayne.
‘I’m not sure of the exact number,’ Beth replied, ‘but there must be over a hundred.’
‘But it was you who ended up with the top job?’ Beth didn’t reply. ‘After you returned from university to live in London again, when did you next see Danny?’
‘Soon after I’d started working in the City,’ said Beth. ‘My mother asked me to drop off my dad’s lunchbox at the garage one Saturday morning. Danny was there, with his head under a car bonnet. To begin with, I thought he hadn’t noticed me, because he could only have seen my legs, but then he looked up and banged his head on the bonnet.’
‘And was that when he asked you out for the first time?’
Pearson leapt to his feet. ‘M’lord, is this witness to be prompted, line by line, as if she were in a dress rehearsal for an amateur dramatic society production?’
Not
‘I apologize, m’lord,’ said Redmayne. ‘I will try not to displease your lordship again.’
Mr Justice Sackville frowned, recalling Redmayne’s father delivering that line with the same lack of sincerity.
‘When did you next see the defendant?’ Redmayne asked Beth.
‘That same evening. He invited me to go to the Hammersmith Palais,’ said Beth. ‘He and my brother used to go to the Palais every Saturday night – more birds per acre than you’ll find in the fens, Bernie used to say.’
‘How often did you see each other following that first date?’ enquired Redmayne.
‘Almost every day.’ She paused. ‘Until they locked him up.’
‘I’m now going to take you back to the evening of September eighteenth last year,’ said Redmayne. Beth nodded. ‘I want you to tell the jury in your own words exactly what took place that night.’
‘It was Danny’s idea,’ Beth began looking up at the defendant and smiling, ‘that we should go for dinner in the West End as it was a special occasion.’
‘A special occasion?’ prompted Redmayne.
‘Yes. Danny was going to propose.’
‘How could you be so sure of that?’
‘I heard my brother telling Mum that Danny had spent two months’ wages on the ring.’ She held up her left hand so that the jury could admire the single diamond on a gold band.
Alex waited for the murmurs to die down before he asked, ‘And did he ask you to be his wife?’
‘Yes, he did,’ replied Beth. ‘He even got down on one knee.’
‘And you accepted?’
‘Of course I did,’ said Beth. ‘I knew we were going to be married the first day I met him.’
Pearson noted her first mistake.
‘What happened next?’