A Prisoner of Birth Page 3

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘When you claim you heard the defendant say: “Then why don’t we go outside and sort it out?” ’

  ‘That is also correct.’

  ‘But isn’t it the truth, Mr Craig, that it was you who started this whole quarrel when you delivered another unforgettable remark to my client as he was leaving – ’ he glanced down at his notes – ‘ “When you’ve finished with her, my friends and I have just enough left over for a gang bang”?’ Redmayne waited for Craig to reply, but again he remained silent. ‘Can I assume from your failure to respond that I am correct?’

  ‘You can assume nothing of the sort, Mr Redmayne. I simply didn’t consider your question worthy of a response,’ replied Craig with disdain.

  ‘I do hope that you feel, Mr Craig, that my next question is worthy of a response, because I would suggest that when Mr Wilson told you that you were “full of shit”, it was you who said: “Then why don’t we go outside and sort it out?” ’

  ‘I think that sounds more like the kind of language one would expect from your client,’ responded Craig.

  ‘Or from a man who had had a little too much to drink and was showing off to his drunken friends in front of a beautiful woman?’

  ‘I must remind you once again, Mr Redmayne,’ interjected the judge, ‘that it is your client who is on trial in this case, not Mr Craig.’

  Redmayne gave a slight bow, but when he raised his eyes, he noticed that the jury was hanging on his every word. ‘I suggest, Mr Craig,’ he continued, ‘that you left by the front door and ran around to the back because you wanted a fight.’

  ‘I only went into the alley after I’d heard the scream.’

  ‘Was that when you picked up a knife from the end of the bar?’

  ‘I did no such thing,’ said Craig sharply. ‘Your client grabbed the knife when he was on his way out, as I made clear in my statement.’

  ‘Is that the statement you so carefully crafted when you couldn’t get to sleep later that night?’ asked Redmayne.

  Again, Craig didn’t respond.

  ‘Perhaps this is another example of something that’s unworthy of your consideration?’ Redmayne suggested. ‘Did any of your friends follow you out into the alley?’

  ‘No, they did not.’

  ‘So they didn’t witness the fight you had with Mr Cartwright?’

  ‘How could they, when I did not have a fight with Mr Cartwright.’

  ‘Did you get a Boxing Blue when you were at Cambridge, Mr Craig?’

  Craig hesitated. ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘And while at Cambridge, were you rusticated for—’

  ‘Is this relevant?’ demanded Mr Justice Sackville.

  ‘I am happy to leave that decision to the jury, m’lord,’ said Redmayne. Turning back to Craig, he continued, ‘Were you rusticated from Cambridge after being involved in a drunken brawl with some locals whom you later described to the magistrates as a “bunch of yobs”?’

  ‘That was years ago, when I was still an undergraduate.’

  ‘And were you, years later, on the night of September eighteenth 1999, picking another quarrel with another “bunch of yobs” when you resorted to using the knife you’d picked up from the bar?’

  ‘As I’ve already told you, it wasn’t me who picked up the knife, but I did witness your client stabbing Mr Wilson in the chest.’

  ‘And then you returned to the bar?’

  ‘Yes, I did, when I immediately called the emergency services.’

  ‘Let us try to be a little more accurate, shall we, Mr Craig. You didn’t actually call the emergency services. In fact, you phoned a detective sergeant Fuller on his mobile.’

  ‘That’s correct, Redmayne, but you seem to forget that I was reporting a crime, and was well aware that Fuller would alert the emergency services. Indeed, if you recall, the ambulance arrived before the detective sergeant.’

  ‘Some minutes before,’ emphasized Redmayne. ‘However, I’m curious to know how you were so conveniently in possession of a junior police officer’s mobile phone number.’

  ‘We had both been recently involved in a major drugs trial that required several lengthy consultations, sometimes at very short notice.’

  ‘So DS Fuller is a friend of yours.’

  ‘I hardly know the man,’ said Craig. ‘Our relationship is strictly professional.’

  ‘I suggest, Mr Craig, that you knew him well enough to phone and make sure that he heard your side of the story first.’

  ‘Fortunately, there are four other witnesses to verify my side of the story.’

  ‘And I look forward to cross-examining each one of your close friends, Mr Craig, as I’m curious to discover why, after you had returned to the bar, you advised them to go home.’

  ‘They had not witnessed your client stabbing Mr Wilson, and so were not involved in any way,’ said Craig. ‘And I also considered they might be in some danger if they stayed.’

  ‘But if anyone was in danger, Mr Craig, it would have been the only witness to the murder of Mr Wilson, so why didn’t you leave with your friends?’

  Craig once again remained silent and this time not because he considered the question unworthy of a reply.

  ‘Perhaps the real reason you told them to leave,’ said Redmayne, ‘was because you needed them out of the way so that you could run home and change out of your blood-covered clothes before the police turned up? After all, you only live, as you have admitted, “a hundred yards away”.’

  ‘You seem to have forgotten, Mr Redmayne, that Detective Sergeant Fuller arrived only a few minutes after the crime had been committed,’ responded Craig scornfully.

  ‘It was seven minutes after you phoned the detective sergeant that he arrived on the scene, and he then spent some considerable time questioning my client before he entered the bar.’

  ‘Do you imagine that I could afford to take such a risk when I knew the police could be turning up at any moment?’ Craig spat out.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ replied Redmayne, ‘if the alternative was to spend the rest of your life in prison.’

  A noisy buzz erupted around the court. The jurors’ eyes were now fixed on Spencer Craig, but once again he didn’t respond to Redmayne’s words. Redmayne waited for some time before adding, ‘Mr Craig, I repeat that I am looking forward to cross-examining your friends one by one.’ Turning to the judge, he said, ‘No more questions, m’lord.’

  ‘Mr Pearson?’ said the judge. ‘You will no doubt wish to re-examine this witness?’

  ‘Yes, m’lord,’ said Pearson. ‘There is one question I’m keen to have answered.’ He smiled at the witness. ‘Mr Craig, are you Superman?’

  Craig looked puzzled, but, aware that Pearson would be trying to assist him, replied, ‘No, sir. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because only Superman, having witnessed a murder, could have returned to the bar, briefed his friends, flown home, taken a shower, changed his clothes, flown back to the pub and been casually sitting at the bar by the time DS Fuller appeared.’ A few members of the jury tried to suppress smiles. ‘Or perhaps there was a convenient telephone box near at hand.’ The smiles turned to laughter. Pearson waited for them to die down before he added, ‘Allow me, Mr Craig, to dispense with Mr Redmayne’s fantasy world and ask you one serious question.’ It was Pearson’s turn to wait until every eye was concentrated on him. ‘When Scotland Yard’s forensic experts examined the murder weapon, was it your fingerprints they identified on the handle of the knife, or those of the defendant?’

  ‘They certainly weren’t mine,’ said Craig, ‘otherwise it would be me who was seated in the dock.’

  ‘No more questions, m’lord,’ said Pearson.

  4

  THE CELL DOOR opened and an officer handed Danny a plastic tray with several little compartments full of plastic food which he picked at while he waited for the afternoon session to begin.

  Alex Redmayne skipped lunch so he could read through his notes. Had he underes
timated the amount of time Craig would have had before DS Fuller walked into the bar?

  Mr Justice Sackville took lunch along with a dozen other judges, who didn’t remove their wigs or discuss each other’s cases as they munched through a meal of meat and two veg.

  Mr Pearson ate lunch on his own in the Bar Mess on the top floor. He considered that his learned friend had made a bad mistake when questioning Craig about the timing, but it wasn’t his duty to point that out. He pushed a pea from one side of the plate to the other while he considered the ramifications.

  Once two o’clock struck, the ritual began again. Mr Justice Sackville entered the courtroom and gave the jury the flicker of a smile before taking his place. He looked down at both counsel and said, ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen. Mr Pearson, you may call your next witness.’

  ‘Thank you, m’lord,’ said Pearson as he rose from his seat. ‘I call Mr Gerald Payne.’

  Danny watched a man enter the courtroom whom he didn’t immediately recognize. He must have been around five feet nine inches tall, prematurely balding, and his well-cut beige suit was unable to disguise the fact that he’d lost a stone since Danny had last seen him. The usher guided him towards the witness box, handed him a copy of the Bible and held up the oath. Although Payne read from the card, he displayed the same self-confidence as Spencer Craig had shown that morning.

  ‘You are Gerald David Payne, and you reside at sixty-two Wellington Mews, London W2?’

  ‘That is correct,’ replied Payne in a firm voice.

  ‘And what is your profession?’

  ‘I am a land management consultant.’

  Redmayne wrote down the words estate agent next to Payne’s name.

  ‘And which firm do you work for?’ enquired Pearson.

  ‘I am a partner with Baker, Tremlett and Smythe.’

  ‘You are very young to be a partner of such a distinguished firm,’ suggested Pearson innocently.

  ‘I am the youngest partner in the firm’s history,’ replied Payne, delivering a well-rehearsed line.

  It was obvious to Redmayne that someone had been tutoring Payne long before he entered the witness box. He knew that for ethical reasons it couldn’t have been Pearson, so there was only one other possible candidate.

  ‘My congratulations,’ said Pearson.

  ‘Get on with it, Mr Pearson,’ said the judge.

  ‘I do apologize, m’lord. I was simply trying to establish the credibility of this witness for the jury.’

  ‘Then you have succeeded,’ said Mr Justice Sackville sharply. ‘Now get on with it.’

  Pearson patiently took Payne through the events of the night in question. Yes, he confirmed, Craig, Mortimer and Davenport had all been present at the Dunlop Arms that evening. No, he had not ventured out into the alley when he heard the scream. Yes, they had gone home when advised to do so by Spencer Craig. No, he had never seen the defendant before in his life.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Payne,’ concluded Pearson. ‘Please remain there.’

  Redmayne rose slowly from his place, and took his time rearranging some papers before he asked his first question – a trick his father had taught him when they had conducted mock trials. ‘If you’re going to open with a surprise question, my boy,’ his father used to say, ‘keep the witness guessing.’ He waited until the judge, the jury and Pearson were all staring at him. Only a few seconds, but he knew it would seem a lifetime to anyone standing in the box.

  ‘Mr Payne,’ said Redmayne finally, looking up at the witness, ‘when you were an undergraduate at Cambridge, were you a member of a society known as the Musketeers?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Payne, looking puzzled.

  ‘And was that society’s motto: “All for one and one for all”?’

  Pearson was up on his feet even before Payne had a chance to reply. ‘My lord, I am puzzled to know how the past membership of a university society can have any bearing on the events of September eighteenth last year.’

  ‘I am inclined to agree with you, Mr Pearson,’ replied the judge, ‘but no doubt Mr Redmayne is about to enlighten us.’

  ‘I am indeed, m’lord,’ Redmayne replied, his eyes never leaving Payne. ‘Was the Musketeers’ motto: “All for one and one for all”?’ Redmayne repeated.

  ‘Yes, it was,’ replied Payne with a slight edge to his voice.

  ‘What else did the members of that society have in common?’ asked Redmayne.

  ‘An appreciation of Dumas, justice and a bottle of fine wine.’

  ‘Or perhaps several bottles of fine wine?’ suggested Redmayne as he extracted a small, light blue booklet from the pile of papers in front of him. He began to turn its pages slowly. ‘And was one of the society’s rules that if any member found himself in danger, it was the duty of all other members to come to his assistance?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Payne. ‘I have always considered loyalty to be the benchmark by which you can judge any man.’

  ‘Do you indeed?’ said Redmayne. ‘Was Mr Spencer Craig by any chance also a member of the Musketeers?’

  ‘He was,’ replied Payne. ‘In fact, he’s a past chairman.’

  ‘And did you and your fellow members come to his assistance on the night of September eighteenth last year?’

  ‘My lord,’ said Pearson leaping to his feet once again, ‘this is outrageous.’

  ‘What is outrageous, m’lord,’ retorted Redmayne, ‘is that whenever one of Mr Pearson’s witnesses looks as if he might be in some trouble, he leaps to their assistance. Perhaps he is also a member of the Musketeers?’

  Several of the jurors smiled.

  ‘Mr Redmayne,’ said the judge quietly, ‘are you suggesting that the witness is committing perjury just because he was a member of a society while he was at university?’

  ‘If the alternative was life imprisonment for his closest friend, m’lord, then yes, I do think it might have crossed his mind.’

  ‘This is outrageous,’ repeated Pearson, still on his feet.

  ‘Not as outrageous as sending a man to jail for the rest of his life,’ said Redmayne, ‘for a murder he did not commit.’

  ‘No doubt, m’lord,’ said Pearson, ‘we are about to discover that the barman was also a member of the Musketeers.’

  ‘No, we are not,’ responded Redmayne, ‘but we will contend that the barman was the only person in the Dunlop Arms that night who did not go out into the alley.’

  ‘I think you have made your point,’ said the judge. ‘Perhaps it’s time to move on to your next question.’

  ‘No more questions, m’lord,’ said Redmayne.

  ‘Do you wish to re-examine this witness, Mr Pearson?’

  ‘I do, m’lord,’ said Pearson. ‘Mr Payne, can you confirm, so that the jury are left in no doubt, that you did not follow Mr Craig out into the alley after you had heard a woman scream?’

  ‘Yes, I can,’ said Payne. ‘I was in no condition to do so.’

  ‘Quite so. No more questions, m’lord.’

  ‘You are free to leave the court, Mr Payne,’ said the judge.

  Alex Redmayne couldn’t help noticing that Payne didn’t look quite as self-assured as he walked out of the courtroom as he had done when he’d swaggered in.

  ‘Do you wish to call your next witness, Mr Pearson?’ asked the judge.

  ‘I had intended to call Mr Davenport, m’lord, but you might feel it would be wise to begin his cross-examination tomorrow morning.’

  The judge didn’t notice that most of the women in the courtroom seemed to be willing him to call Lawrence Davenport without further delay. He looked at his watch, hesitated, then said, ‘Perhaps it would be better if we were to call Mr Davenport first thing tomorrow morning.’

  ‘As your lordship pleases,’ said Pearson, delighted with the effect the prospect of his next witness’s appearance had already had on the five women on the jury. He only hoped that young Redmayne would be foolish enough to attack Davenport in the same way he had Gerald Payne.

  5
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  THE FOLLOWING MORNING a buzz of expectation swept around the courtroom even before Lawrence Davenport made his entrance. When the usher called out his name, he did so in a hushed voice.

  Lawrence Davenport entered the court stage right, and followed the usher to the witness box. He was about six foot, but so slim he appeared taller. He wore a tailored navy blue suit and a cream shirt that looked as if it had been unwrapped that morning. He had spent a considerable time debating whether he should wear a tie, and in the end had accepted Spencer’s advice that it gave the wrong impression if you looked too casual in court. ‘Let them go on thinking you’re a doctor, not an actor,’ Spencer had said. Davenport had selected a striped tie that he would never have considered wearing unless he was in front of a camera. But it was not his outer garments that caused women to turn their heads. It was the piercing blue eyes, thick wavy fair hair and helpless look that made so many of them want to mother him. Well, the older ones. The younger ones had other fantasies.

  Lawrence Davenport had built his reputation playing a heart surgeon in The Prescription. For an hour every Saturday evening, he seduced an audience of over nine million. His fans didn’t seem to care that he spent more time flirting with the nurses than performing coronary artery bypass grafts.

  After Davenport had stepped into the witness box, the usher handed him a Bible and held up a cue card so that he could deliver his opening lines. As Davenport recited the oath, he turned court number four into his private theatre. Alex Redmayne couldn’t help noticing that all five women on the jury were smiling at the witness. Davenport returned their smiles, as if he were taking a curtain call.

  Mr Pearson rose slowly from his place. He intended to keep Davenport in the witness box for as long as he could, while he milked his audience of twelve.

  Alex Redmayne sat back as he waited for the curtain to rise, and recalled another piece of advice his father had given him.

  Danny felt more isolated in the dock than ever as he stared across at the man he recalled so clearly seeing in the bar that night.

  ‘You are Lawrence Andrew Davenport?’ said Pearson, beaming at the witness.