A Prisoner of Birth Read online

  He suggested they should take seriously the testimony of three witnesses who had stated unequivocally that only Mr Craig had left the bar to go out into the alley, and only then after he’d heard a woman scream. Craig had stated on oath that he had seen the defendant stab Wilson several times, and had then immediately returned to the bar and called the police.

  Miss Wilson, on the other hand, told a different story, claiming that it was Mr Craig who had drawn her companions into a fight, and it was he who must have stabbed Wilson. However, she did not witness the murder, but explained it was her brother who told her what had happened before he died. If you accept this version of events, the judge said, you might ask yourselves why Mr Craig contacted the police, and perhaps more important, when DS Fuller interviewed him in the bar some twenty minutes later, why there was no sign of blood on any of the clothes he was wearing.

  Alex cursed under his breath.

  ‘Members of the jury,’ Mr Justice Sackville continued, ‘there is nothing in Miss Wilson’s past to suggest that she is other than an honest and decent citizen. However, you may feel that her evidence is somewhat coloured by her devotion and long-held loyalty to Cartwright, whom she intends to marry should he be found not guilty. But that must not influence you in your decision. You must put aside any natural sympathy you might feel because Miss Wilson is pregnant. Your responsibility is to weigh up the evidence in this case and ignore any irrelevant side issues.’

  The judge went on to emphasize that Cartwright had no previous criminal record, and that for the past eleven years he had been employed by the same company. He warned the jury not to read too much into the fact that Cartwright had not given evidence. That was his prerogative, he explained, although the jury might be puzzled by the decision, if he had nothing to hide.

  Again, Alex cursed his inexperience. What had been an advantage when he took Pearson by surprise, and had even caused the CPS to come up with their offer to accept a guilty plea to a lesser charge, might now be working against him.

  The judge ended his summing up by advising the jury to take their time. After all, he emphasized, a man’s future was in the balance. However, they should not forget that another man had lost his life, and if Danny Cartwright did not kill Bernie Wilson, they might well ask, who else could possibly have committed the crime?

  At twelve minutes past two, the jury filed out of the court to begin their deliberations. For the next two hours, Alex tried not to remonstrate with himself for having failed to put Danny in the witness box. Did Pearson, as his father had suggested, really have other damning material that would have taken them both by surprise? Would Danny have been able to convince the jury that he didn’t murder his closest friend? Pointless questions that Alex nevertheless continued to mull over as he waited for the jury to return.

  It was just after five o’clock when the seven men and five women returned to the court and took their places in the jury box. Alex couldn’t interpret the blank looks on their faces. Mr Justice Sackville looked down from the bench and asked, ‘Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?’

  The foreman rose from his new place at the end of the front row. ‘No, m’lord,’ he responded, reading from a prepared script. ‘We are still sifting through the evidence, and will need more time before we can come to a decision.’

  The judge nodded, and thanked the jury for their diligence. ‘I’m going to send you home now, so that you can rest before you continue your deliberations tomorrow morning. But be aware,’ he added, ‘that once you leave this courtroom, you should not discuss the case with anyone, including your families.’

  Alex returned home to his little flat in Pimlico and spent a second sleepless night.

  16

  ALEX WAS BACK in court and seated in his place by five minutes to ten the following morning. Pearson greeted him with a warm smile. Had the old codger forgiven him for his ambush, or was he simply confident of the outcome? As the two of them waited for the jury to return, they chatted about roses, cricket, even who was most likely to be the first Mayor of London, but never once referred to the proceedings that had occupied every waking minute for the past two weeks.

  The minutes turned into hours. As there was no sign of the jury returning by one o’clock, the judge released everyone for an hour’s lunch break. While Pearson went off for a meal in the Bar Mess on the top floor, Alex spent his time pacing up and down the corridor outside court number four. Juries in a murder trial rarely take less than four hours to reach a verdict, his father had told him over the phone that morning, for fear that it might be suggested that they had not taken their responsibilities seriously.

  At eight minutes past four, the jury filed back into their places and this time Alex noted that their expressions had changed from blank to bemused. Mr Justice Sackville had no choice but to send them home for a second night.

  The following morning, Alex had only been pacing up and down the marble corridors for just over an hour before an usher emerged from the courtroom and shouted, ‘The jury are returning to court number four.’

  Once again, the foreman read from a prepared statement. ‘My lord,’ he began, his eyes never rising from the sheet of paper he was holding, his hand trembling slightly. ‘Despite many hours of deliberation, we are unable to come to a unanimous decision and wish to seek your guidance on how we should proceed.’

  ‘I sympathize with your problem,’ responded the judge, ‘but I must ask you to try one more time to reach a unanimous decision. I am loath to call a retrial only for the court to be put through the whole procedure a second time.’

  Alex bowed his head. He would have settled for a retrial. If they gave him a second chance, he wasn’t in any doubt that . . . The jury filed back out without another word and didn’t reappear again that morning.

  Alex sat alone in a corner of the restaurant on the third floor. He allowed his soup to go cold, and shifted his salad around the plate, before he returned to the corridor and continued his ritual pacing.

  At twelve minutes past three, an announcement came over the tannoy. ‘All those involved in the Cartwright case, please make their way back in to court number four, as the jury is returning.’

  Alex joined a stream of interested parties as they walked quickly down the corridor and filed back into the courtroom. Once they were settled, the judge reappeared and instructed the usher to summon the jury. As they entered the court, Alex couldn’t help noticing that one or two of them looked distressed.

  The judge leant forward and asked the foreman, ‘Have you been able to reach a unanimous verdict?’

  ‘No, m’lord,’ came back the immediate reply.

  ‘Do you think that you might reach a unanimous verdict if I were to allow you a little more time?’

  ‘No, m’lord.’

  ‘Would it help if I were to consider a majority verdict, and by that I mean one where at least ten of you are in agreement?’

  ‘That might solve the problem, m’lord,’ the foreman replied.

  ‘Then I’ll ask you to reconvene and see if you can finally come to a verdict.’ The judge nodded to the usher, who led the jury back out of court.

  Alex was about to rise and continue his perambulations, when Pearson leant across and said, ‘Stay still, dear boy. I have a feeling they’ll be back shortly.’ Alex settled down on his corner of the bench.

  Just as Pearson had predicted, the jury were back in their places a few minutes later. Alex turned to Pearson, but before he could speak, the elderly QC said, ‘Don’t even ask, dear boy. I’ve never been able to fathom the machinations of a jury despite almost thirty years at the Bar.’ Alex was shaking as the usher stood and said, ‘Would the foreman please rise.’

  ‘Have you reached a verdict?’ the judge asked.

  ‘We have, m’lord,’ replied the foreman.

  ‘And is it a majority of you?’

  ‘Yes, m’lord, a majority of ten to two.’

  The judge nodded in the direction of the usher, who bowed. �