A Prisoner of Birth Read online

  ‘So now we know four subjects Pearson won’t mention in cross-examination. But you can be sure he’ll question Cartwright about the playground incident in his youth, continually reminding the jury that a knife was involved, and that his girlfriend conveniently came to his rescue.’

  ‘Well, if that’s my only problem—’ began Alex.

  ‘It won’t be, I can promise you,’ replied his father, ‘because now that Pearson has raised the knife fight in the playground with Beth Wilson, you can be pretty confident that he has one or two other surprises in store for Danny Cartwright.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Sir Matthew, ‘but if you put him in the witness box, no doubt you’ll find out.’ Alex frowned as he considered his father’s words. ‘Something’s worrying you,’ said the judge when Alex didn’t reply.

  ‘Pearson knows that Beth’s father told Cartwright he had changed his mind about appointing him as manager of the garage.’

  ‘And intended to offer the job to his son instead?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Alex.

  ‘Not helpful when it comes to motive.’

  ‘True, but perhaps I’ve also got one or two surprises for Pearson to worry about,’ said Alex.

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Craig stabbed Danny in the leg, and he’s got the scar to prove it.’

  ‘Pearson will say it’s an old wound.’

  ‘But we have a doctor’s report to show it isn’t.’

  ‘Pearson will blame it on Bernie Wilson.’

  ‘So you are advising me not to put Cartwright in the box?’

  ‘Not an easy question to answer, my boy, because I wasn’t in court, so I don’t know how the jury responded to Beth Wilson’s testimony.’

  Alex was silent for a few moments. ‘One or two of them appeared sympathetic, and she certainly came across as an honest person. But then, they might well conclude that, even if she is telling the truth, she didn’t see what happened and is taking Cartwright’s word for it.’

  ‘Well, you only need three jurors to be convinced that she was telling the truth, and you could end up with a hung jury and at worst a retrial. And if that turned out to be the result, the CPS might even feel that another trial was not in the public interest.’

  ‘I should have spent more time pressing Craig on the time discrepancy, shouldn’t I?’ said Alex, hoping his father would disagree.

  ‘Too late to worry about that,’ responded his father. ‘Your most important decision now is whether you should put Cartwright in the witness box.’

  ‘I agree but if I make the wrong decision, Danny could end up in prison for the next twenty years.’

  12

  ALEX ARRIVED AT the Old Bailey only moments after the night porter had unlocked the front door. Following a long consultation with Danny in the cells below, he went to the robing room and changed into his legal garb, before making his way across to court number four. He entered the empty courtroom, took his seat on the end of the bench and placed three files marked Cartwright on the table in front of him. He opened the first file and began to go over the seven questions he’d written out so neatly the night before. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was 9.35 a.m.

  At ten minutes to the hour, Arnold Pearson and his junior strolled in and took their places at the other end of the bench. They didn’t interrupt Alex as he appeared to be preoccupied.

  Danny Cartwright was the next to appear, accompanied by two policemen. He sat on a wooden chair in the centre of the dock and waited for the judge to make his entrance.

  On the stroke of ten, the door at the back of the court opened and Mr Justice Sackville entered his domain. Everyone in the well of the court rose and bowed. The judge returned the compliment, before taking his place in the centre chair. ‘Bring in the jury,’ he said. While he waited for them to appear, he put on his half-moon spectacles, opened the cover of a fresh notebook and removed the top from his fountain pen. He wrote down the words: Daniel Cartwright examination by Mr Redmayne.

  Once the jury members were settled in their places, the judge turned his attention to defence counsel. ‘Are you ready to call your next witness, Mr Redmayne?’ he asked.

  Alex rose from his place, poured himself a glass of water and took a sip. He glanced towards Danny and smiled. He then looked down at the questions in front of him before turning the page to reveal a blank sheet of paper. He smiled back up at the judge and said, ‘I have no further witnesses, m’lord.’

  An anxious look crossed Pearson’s face. He swung quickly round to consult his junior, who appeared equally bemused. Alex savoured the moment, while he waited for the whispering to die down. The judge smiled down at Redmayne, who thought for a moment he might even wink.

  Once Alex had milked every moment he felt he could get away with, he said, ‘My lord, that concludes the case for the defence.’

  Mr Justice Sackville looked across at Pearson, who now resembled a startled rabbit caught in the headlamps of an advancing lorry.

  ‘Mr Pearson,’ he said as if nothing untoward had taken place, ‘you may begin your closing speech for the Crown.’

  Pearson rose slowly from his place. ‘I wonder, m’lord,’ he spluttered, ‘given these unusual circumstances, if your lordship would allow me a little more time to prepare my closing remarks. May I suggest that we adjourn proceedings until this afternoon in order that—’

  ‘No, Mr Pearson,’ interrupted the judge, ‘I will not adjourn proceedings. No one knows better than you that it is a defendant’s right to choose not to give evidence. The jury and the court officials are all in place, and I need not remind you how crowded the court calendar is. Please proceed with your closing remarks.’

  Pearson’s junior extracted a file from the bottom of the pile and passed it across to his leader. Pearson opened it, aware that he had barely glanced at its contents during the past few days.

  He stared down at the first page. ‘Members of the jury . . .’ he began slowly. It soon became evident that Pearson was a man who relied on being well prepared, and that thinking on his feet was not his strong suit. He stumbled from paragraph to paragraph as he read from his script, until even his junior began to look exasperated.

  Alex sat silently at the other end of the bench, concentrating his attention on the jury. Even the ones who were usually fully alert looked bored; one or two occasionally stifling a yawn as their glazed eyes blinked open and closed. By the time Pearson came to the last page, two hours later, even Alex was dozing off.

  When Pearson finally slumped back on to the bench, Mr Justice Sackville suggested that perhaps this might be a convenient time to take the lunch break. Once the judge had left the court, Alex glanced across at Pearson, who could barely disguise his anger. He was only too aware that he had given an out-of-town matinee performance to an opening-night audience in the West End.

  Alex grabbed one of his thick files and hurried out of the courtroom. He ran down the corridor and up the stone steps to a small room on the second floor that he had booked earlier that morning. Inside were just a table and chair, not even a print on the wall. Alex opened his file and began to go over his summing up. Key sentences were rehearsed again and again, until he was confident that the salient points would remain lodged in the jury’s mind.

  As Alex had spent most of the night, as well as the early hours of the morning, crafting and honing each and every phrase, he felt well prepared by the time he returned to court number four an hour and a half later. He was back in his place only moments before the judge reappeared. Once the court had settled, Mr Justice Sackville asked if he was ready to make his closing submission.

  ‘I am indeed, m’lord,’ Alex replied, and poured himself another glass of water. He opened his file, looked up and took a sip.

  ‘Members of the jury,’ he began, ‘you have now heard . . .’

  Alex did not take as long as Mr Pearson to present his closing argument, but then, for him it was not a dress rehearsal. He had no