Nothing Ventured Read online

  ‘Why don’t we go ahead and arrest Carter anyway?’ said William calmly.

  ‘And break off any relationship we still have with the Italian police? No, I don’t think that would please the politicians in either country.’

  ‘So there’s absolutely nothing we can do about it?’ asked William.

  ‘Except shoot Miles Faulkner, and hope there’s a bullet left over for Booth Watson,’ said Lamont.

  ‘Calm down, Bruce, we have no proof that Faulkner is involved. Let’s take a deep breath and move on.’

  ‘Whatever you say, boss,’ said Lamont, ‘but there was one more question I would have liked you to ask.’ Hawksby indulged him with a nod. ‘How many people who work in the Italian Naval Office also took early retirement?’ he said before storming out of the room.

  William was about to follow when Hawksby said, ‘Don’t forget your files, DC Warwick.’

  ‘But I didn’t—’ began William, as he turned round and saw two thick files lying on the table. He picked them up and left the room without another word. When he arrived back in his office he found Lamont punching a telephone directory.

  ‘Faulkner or Carter?’ asked William innocently.

  ‘The system,’ barked Lamont. ‘That always gives the crooks an advantage.’

  William sat down at his desk and opened the first of the two files Hawksby had left on the table. He only had to turn a few pages to realize what a risk the commander was taking.

  ‘Where did you get these?’ asked Grace after a cursory glance at the contents.

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ said William.

  She continued turning the pages. ‘They look promising, but I’ll have to read them more thoroughly when I get home this evening, and then brief my leader first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Does that mean Dad has agreed to visit Mr Rainsford in Pentonville?’

  ‘Yes. He spent the rest of the weekend reading the transcripts from the original trial, accompanied by ums, ahs, and even the occasional “disgraceful”.’

  ‘So does he think there might be a chance . . .’

  ‘No, he does not,’ said Grace firmly. ‘However, he does think that he owes it to you to visit Mr Rainsford before he offers his considered opinion.’

  ‘Can I come along?’

  ‘Yes, but on one condition.’

  ‘And what might that be?’

  ‘When father begins to cross-examine Mr Rainsford, you will not, under any circumstances, interrupt him. If you do, he will leave the meeting and withdraw from the case altogether.’

  ‘I still want to come.’

  ‘Then don’t take his threat lightly.’

  ‘Will you be there too?’

  ‘Yes, he’s appointed me as his junior for the case, and given me the unenviable task of coming up with some fresh evidence that would make it possible for him to apply for a retrial.’

  ‘Anything so far?’

  ‘Nothing, but it’s early days. And if I’m going to read these files on DI Stern and DC Clarkson before midnight, I’d better get started.’

  ‘Will you let your friend Clare read them?’

  ‘She’s agreed to be the instructing solicitor on the case.’

  ‘That’s good of her,’ said William. ‘Now we’ll just have to wait to hear Dad’s verdict.’

  ‘Just be thankful he’s in your corner. Because if he thinks there’s been a miscarriage of justice, he’ll not only come out fighting like the heavyweight he is, but he’ll go the whole fifteen rounds.’

  25

  SIR JULIAN, GRACE and William each made their way to HMP Pentonville by different modes of transport: William by bus from Fulham – two changes; Grace by tube from Notting Hill – one change; and Sir Julian in a chauffeur-driven car from Shoreham in Kent.

  They all met up in reception, where a prison officer signed them in.

  ‘Rainsford’s waiting for you,’ said the officer, before accompanying them to the interview room. Arthur Rainsford rose as they entered the glass cube and shook hands with his three visitors.

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you for your kindness, Sir Julian,’ he said. ‘I feel I already know your son because whenever Beth visits me, she talks of little else. Though I find it somewhat ironic that my daughter fell in love with a detective, as my experience of policemen hasn’t been particularly happy.’

  ‘I think you’ll find it was me who fell in love with her,’ said William, as the two men shook hands for the first time and took their seats around the table. ‘By the way, she sends her love, and is looking forward to seeing you on Saturday.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Rainsford. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing her too.’

  Up until that moment Sir Julian hadn’t spoken, although his eyes had never left the prisoner as he tried to make an assessment of the man, something he always did whenever he met a potential client for the first time. He knew from Rainsford’s charge sheet that he was fifty-three years old, almost six feet, and had a broken nose from his days as a college boxer. He suspected that Rainsford’s hair had turned grey since he’d been in prison. He looked fit, which suggested he spent his voluntary hour each afternoon in the gym rather than strolling around the yard smoking, and also that he avoided the usual prison diet of sausage, beans and chips. He was softly spoken, clearly well educated, and certainly didn’t look like a murderer. However, Sir Julian had learnt over the years that murderers come in all shapes and sizes, some with first class honours degrees, others who had left school at fourteen.

  ‘I have, Mr Rainsford—’ began Sir Julian.

  ‘Arthur, please.’

  ‘I have, Mr Rainsford, read the transcript of your trial most carefully, examined the evidence presented by the Crown, considered your testimony from the witness box, and gone over your confession word for word. However, as this is the first time any of us have met you, I would like to hear your side of the story. Forgive me if I occasionally interrupt to ask you to clarify a point or ask a question.’

  ‘Of course, Sir Julian. I was born in Epsom, where my father was a GP, and from an early age he hoped I would follow in his footsteps. I did well enough at school to be offered a place to study medicine at University College Hospital, which pleased my father. But it didn’t take me long to realize I wasn’t cut out to be a doctor. So, much to his disappointment, I hung up my short white coat in exchange for a long black gown and transferred to the LSE to study economics, which I enjoyed from the opening lecture.

  ‘After I’d graduated, I joined Barclays Bank as a trainee, but once again I quickly realized I wasn’t by nature a corporate animal. So in the evenings I returned to the LSE and took a business degree, which was how I finally discovered my natural vocation. With too many letters after my name and too little income, I joined a merchant bank in the City.’

  ‘Which one?’ asked Sir Julian.

  ‘Kleinwort Benson. I began life in their small business division, and spent the next three years helping the bank’s customers to expand their companies. Nothing gave me greater pleasure than to see them become larger businesses.

  ‘I had two close friends at the time, Hamish Galbraith, an old school chum, and Gary Kirkland, who I’d met at the LSE. Hamish joined John Lewis as a trainee manager after he left school. He had a natural flair with people, and the gift of getting the best out of them. Gary was far brighter than both of us, but spent most of his time as an undergraduate drinking and socializing. Frankly I was surprised he got a degree, let alone came out near the top of his year. He became an accountant in the City and enjoyed reading spreadsheets more than novels.

  ‘One Friday night when we’d all had a little too much to drink, Hamish suggested we should set up our own business. I spent the rest of the weekend wondering if he could be right. After all, I’d spent the past three years advising others on how to expand their companies, so perhaps I was ready to set up one myself. I prepared the same detailed proposal I would have expected from any prospective client, with myself as the