A Prisoner of Birth
Page 10"Yes," she replied, "he went off to the toilets some time ago but he hasn't returned."
"Thank you, madam." The usher disappeared back into the courtroom. He walked quickly over to the associate, who listened carefully before briefing the judge.
"We'll give him a few more minutes," said Mr. Justice Sackville.
Redmayne kept glancing at his watch, becoming more anxious as each minute slipped by. It didn't take that long to go to the lavatory-unless... Pearson leaned across, smiled, and helpfully suggested, "Perhaps we should leave this witness until first thing in the morning?"
"No, thank you," Redmayne replied firmly. "I'm happy to wait." He went over his questions again, underlining relevant words so that he wouldn't have to keep glancing down at his crib sheet. He looked up the moment the usher came back into court.
The usher hurried across the courtroom and whispered to the associate, who passed the information on to the judge. Mr. Justice Sackville nodded. "Mr. Pearson," he said. The prosecution counsel rose to his feet. "It appears that your final witness has been taken ill, and is now on his way to hospital." He didn't add, with a needle sticking out of a vein in his left leg. "I therefore intend to close proceedings for the day. I would like to see both counsel in my chambers immediately."
Alex Redmayne didn't need to attend chambers to be told that his trump card had been removed from the pack. As he closed the file marked Crown Witnesses, he accepted that the fate of Danny Cartwright now rested in the hands of his fiancee, Beth Wilson. And he still couldn't be sure if she was telling the truth.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE FIRST WEEK of the trial was over and the four main protagonists spent their weekends in very different ways.
Alex Redmayne drove down to Somerset to spend a couple of days with his parents in Bath. His father began quizzing him about the trial even before he'd closed the front door, while his mother seemed more interested in finding out about his latest girlfriend.
"Some hope," he said to both parental inquiries.
"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 defense 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. "Touche," 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 defense witness."
"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 defense 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."
***
They hadn't granted him bail.
Danny had spent the past six months locked up in Belmarsh high-security prison in southeast 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.