Unofficial and Deniable

by John Gordon Davis

  ‘So tell me,’ Vance said, ‘Josephine was an immensely valuable author to Harvest, was she? An author any publisher would jump at?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Vance smiled. ‘The implication being: “So why would I, her publisher, murder her, why would I kill the goose that lays the golden eggs?”’

  Harker looked at him bleakly. ‘Correct. Why would I?’

  ‘I’ll tell you why,’ Vance leered. ‘Because Harvest House insured her life didn’t they?’

  There was a silence. Both Charlie and Luke looked at Harker with astonishment.

  Harker blinked, ashen. He swallowed and said, ‘But that’s not unusual, Harvest had an insurable interest in her life as she was such a bestseller –’

  Charlie was clambering indignantly to his feet. ‘Why, your honour,’ he demanded incredulously, ‘have we not heard of this aspect of the prosecution case before? Why didn’t Mr Advance – I mean Vance – lead evidence about this earlier? He called Mr Mayton to testify about Josephine’s own life insurance; why didn’t he produce this other evidence earlier? Why has he taken us by surprise?’

  Ed Vance was smiling, twiddling his pen while old Charlie complained. Then he raised his eyes and said to the judge, ‘Because I had no evidence, your honour.’ He smiled. ‘I only had a hunch … But now the defendant has admitted I’m right, may I please proceed, unharassed by Mr Benson?’

  Judge Ludman said: ‘You had no evidence of this, Mr Vance?’

  ‘Just a hunch, your honour,’ Vance said happily, and looked at the television cameras. ‘Just a good old-fashioned lawyer’s suspicion that the witness was hiding something.’

  Judge Ludman subsided. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Vance smiled beautifully for the cameras. He turned back to Harker. ‘How much did Harvest insure Josephine for?’

  Harker swallowed. ‘Three million dollars.’

  There was a murmur across the courtroom. Vance raised his eyebrows and gave a soft whistle. ‘Lot of money … Who decided on that valuation?’

  Harker swallowed. He said: ‘When I contracted to publish Josie’s three unwritten books I decided to insure her life to cover our costs and hoped-for profit. Please remember that in those days Josephine was very much a photo-journalist and for all we knew she might jump on a plane and zoom off to some war and get killed.’ He added: ‘Term insurance, your honour.’

  Vance nodded deeply. ‘And you say this insurance was a perfectly legitimate business investment? Then tell me,’ he said conversationally, ‘why, when accountants went through Harvest’s affairs, they found no mention of this insurance policy, nor of premiums paid for it.’

  Harker shifted in his seat. ‘The premiums are included under our general business insurance costs – along with Harvest’s pension scheme, general overheads, et cetera.’

  ‘Et cetera?’ Vance mimicked. ‘Covers a multitude of sins. But why, under the heading of “general overheads, et cetera”, is there not a simple entry saying: Insurance premiums on Josephine Valentine, so-many thousands of dollars?’ Harker shifted again and Vance let the silence hang, then he cried, with a stab of his finger, ‘I’ll tell you why! Because you didn’t want anybody to know that Harvest had insured Josephine’s life! Because you intended to collect that insurance yourself!’

  Harker swallowed. ‘Not so,’ he said huskily.

  ‘No? Tell us – did Josephine know you had insured her life for three million?’

  Harker hesitated. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You hesitated!’ Vance cried accusingly. ‘Why?’

  ‘I was trying to remember. Yes, I think she knew.’

  ‘Why only “think”? Three million is a big deal!’

  Harker cleared his throat. ‘It was a business matter, authors aren’t usually told their publisher’s business details.’ He added, ‘And it was only term insurance, it had no cash value.’

  ‘Except on death! And Josephine was your lover – not just an author!’

  Charlie rose angrily. ‘What’s the question?’

  Vance glared at Harker, then said softly, ‘So the purpose of this surprise-surprise insurance was to cover the costs of publishing Josie’s next three books and your anticipated profit – plus the cost of the loss to Harvest if she died? Correct?’

  ‘Correct,’ Harker said.

  Vance rocked back on his heels. ‘But,’ he said softly, ‘Josephine’s next two books did not make anything like three million dollars profit, did they?’ He let that hang. ‘Her very first book, yes, was a bestseller, but her second book was an anti-climax, wasn’t it? It barely broke even.’

  Harker swallowed and glanced at Charlie, then said, ‘But that’s not unusual. If a first book is a bestseller the second one is often a disappointment. Second books are difficult for the author because he has often burned himself out emotionally on the first one. So his second often lacks the passion, the exuberance, the … spontaneity of the first, and the reviewers and the reading public are disappointed. Word gets around, the books do not move out of the shops so fast. Ask any publisher.’

  ‘I’m asking you, Mr Harker,’ Vance said softly. ‘You’re the accused in this case, you’re the publisher who insured the deceased’s life. Now, tell us about Josephine’s third book, please.’ He smiled.

  Harker shifted. He glanced at Charlie. Luke rubbed his brow.

  ‘Well, an author’s third book may be his hardest. His second book is quite likely a disappointment, so with his third book he must really try hard to regain the impetus and popularity he won with the first.’

  ‘I said tell us about Josephine’s third book, please,’ Vance repeated softly.

  Harker breathed deeply. ‘Josephine’s third book was a novel about Pinochet’s totalitarian military regime in Chile.’

  ‘This was one of the books that you had contracted to pay four million dollars for, on a three-book contract. So tell us,’ Vance purred, ‘how much money that book earned?’

  Harker said grimly: ‘It only broke even.’

  ‘Pity!’ Vance said sarcastically. ‘Now tell us about her fourth book, please.’

  ‘She hadn’t yet written it when she disappeared. That was the book she was researching in South Africa – when she came back we got married immediately. She was going to write the book while we sailed round the world.’

  ‘And how did you feel about the financial prospects of this book?’ Vance enquired.

  Harker cleared his throat. ‘Very positive.’

  ‘Very positive?’ Vance nodded. ‘You had high hopes of it being another money-spinner, another bestseller?’

  Harker shifted. ‘Certainly, yes.’

  Vance nodded sagely. ‘And what was it to be about, when she got around to writing it? About South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission?’

  Harker swallowed. ‘Correct.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Vance held up a folder. ‘I know that because these are Josephine’s notes about the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, which we found on your boat! Plus her ideas for the book – a diary of her thoughts about how the book should be written. And in these notes, Major Harker, she complains that you wish she would write a different book, that you’re worried about all the money you’ve got invested in her.’

  Luke looked at Charlie. Charlie looked at him. Harker said, disconcerted, ‘She says that?’

  ‘She certainly does, I’ll get you to read it out to the jury if you like! But first tell us how you reconcile that with your statement a few minutes ago that you felt “very positive” about her new South African book.’

  Harker did not look at Vance. He waved his hand. Vance waited, leering. Then:

  ‘Can’t answer the question?’ Vance turned to the judge. ‘May the record show, your honour, that the witness appears helpless, flummoxed, nervous.’

  Charlie was on his feet. ‘Objection! My client looks just fine! Just considering his response to a very broad question, that’s all.’

  ‘So be it, either way,’ Judge Ludman
said grimly. ‘Proceed, Mr Vance.’

  ‘So, Mr Harker, you were worried about Josephine’s fourth book,’ Vance said. ‘Her second and third books were disappointments, you had contracted to pay four million dollars for three books, so you were a worried man?’

  Harker took a deep breath. ‘No. Harvest had got its money back on the two preceding books, despite the disappointment.’

  ‘Not worried? Josephine was hardly the “gold mine” you had expected when you insured her life for three million dollars!’

  Harker looked flustered: ‘Her potential was enormous,’ he insisted.

  ‘But now,’ Vance said brightly, ‘Harvest House is due to receive three million dollars’ worth of insurance money from her death! And in terms of Josephine’s will – which was made only six months ago – you’ll inherit her forty-nine per cent shareholding in Harvest House – which, with your own two per cent, gives you control of the lot!’ Vance smiled at the jury. ‘So you would benefit by her death to the tune of fifty-one per cent of that three million dollars, plus the value of her shares.’

  Harker said thickly, ‘Harvest will benefit – but only in the short term. In the long term Harvest will be the loser because they have no more books of hers to publish.’

  ‘And you also persuaded her to take out an additional two hundred and fifty thousand dollars’ worth of insurance which you would inherit on her death.’

  ‘I didn’t “persuade” her – we discussed it and she decided she should. A sensible investment.’

  Vance smiled. ‘She paid the premiums? And in terms of her will you inherit her estate …’ He looked at the jury and shook his head in admiration. He continued softly, ‘And you didn’t persuade her to make the will in your favour, perhaps?’

  Harker said desperately: ‘We discussed what to do about our wills. And we decided, together, that we would both make each other the principal beneficiary.’

  Vance smiled. ‘And the first thing you did was report her death to her life insurance company.’

  ‘But I thought that was what would be expected of me!’

  ‘Before you even advised her father?’ Vance enquired softly.

  ‘I sent a fax to her father straight afterwards.’

  ‘One would expect a grief-stricken husband to advise family before anybody else.’

  ‘I was confused,’ Harker said shakily. ‘I was also exhausted. Shocked. I was dreading telling Josie’s father. That’s why I sent him a fax so that when I spoke to him we had had a chance to compose ourselves.’

  Vance nodded disbelievingly, then smirked at the jury. ‘And then you faxed her lawyer who had drawn up her will in your favour.’

  ‘And my will. In her favour.’

  ‘You wanted him to start probating the will, didn’t you?’ Vance murmured.

  ‘I have no idea what’s involved in probate! I was simply advising everybody who I thought should know about Josie’s death!’

  Vance frowned. ‘So you felt it was urgent to advise people?’ Then he pounced: ‘So why, oh why had you wasted a whole week sailing into the wind down to the Virgin Islands when you could have turned and sailed for Florida and reached there within two days?!’

  Harker swallowed. ‘It simply didn’t occur to me. I was exhausted after searching for a solid night and day without sleep.’

  ‘Exhausted? All the more reason to run for the nearest land.’

  ‘I told you, I didn’t think of it.’ Harker waved a hand. ‘My wife was dead. I was grief-stricken. I just wanted to get on to my destination and report to the authorities.’

  ‘But America was the authority. Your boat was American, flying the American flag, technically you were on a piece of America. Josephine was an American. You had been living and working in America. You were exhausted and America was just a day’s sail away – two at the most. And you tell us you didn’t think of it?’ Vance snorted. ‘Come, come – and you a highly experienced military man? And then?’ Vance held up his finger. ‘Then, when you got to your destination, to the Virgins, you were at last back in American territory, in St Thomas. And you even anchored, and slept off at least some of your exhaustion. And yet you still did not report to the American authorities! The US Coast Guard was right there, a few hundred yards from where you anchored!’

  Old Charlie got to his feet. ‘This is rhetoric! What is the question?’

  ‘The question, Major Harker,’ Vance leered, ‘is why didn’t you report the death of your American wife off your American boat whilst in American waters to the American authorities in American St Thomas?’

  Harker breathed. ‘I was going to … But I wanted to report to a senior officer, not to a junior on night-shift. The senior officers would not come on duty until about nine a.m. When I woke up at four, I simply could not bear to wait five hours. So I decided to use the time by sailing to the British Virgin Isles nearby, where Josie and I had intended going anyway. So I plugged on to there.’ He picked up his glass and took a gulp of water.

  ‘And you hoped,’ Vance sneered, ‘that the authorities in the British Virgins would not be as sophisticated as in St Thomas, didn’t you?’

  ‘That question did not occur to me.’

  Vance cried, ‘You had avoided the Americans like the plague for the last week!’

  ‘What’s the question?’ Charlie cried.

  Vance glowered: ‘I put it to you, Mr Harker, that you ran for the British Virgin Islands because you hoped that they would be less efficient than in St Thomas!’

  Harker swallowed. ‘Not so.’

  ‘Then perhaps you can explain this to the jury … You arrived in Tortola; you slept; you drank; you went ashore and reported to the immigration authorities – pretending Josephine was still part of your crew; you phoned Josephine’s insurers; you sent a fax to her father; you faxed her attorney – and then you returned to your yacht and proceeded to drink a lot of rum!’

  ‘What’s the question?’ Charlie cried, his arms spread.

  Vance ignored him. ‘If you were so anxious to report to the police, why did you report to everybody except the police? Why, having done all that was necessary to secure Josephine’s fortune, did you not go to the police? Why?’

  Harker took another gulp of water. ‘Because,’ he said, ‘I was so tense. I had been living in a nightmare for a week, I couldn’t bear to face the police yet. Couldn’t bear to relive the nightmare until I’d had some more rest.’

  ‘You needed to fortify yourself before facing the police with your lies?’ Vance suggested.

  ‘With the truth. Which they might not believe – like you don’t.’

  Vance smiled maliciously. ‘You can say that again.’

  Charlie jumped up. ‘Objection, your honour, we’re not interested in what Mr Vance believes, it’s a most improper remark!’

  ‘I apologize, your honour,’ Vance said. ‘The remark may be stricken.’ He turned back to Harker venomously. ‘Now, the next day police came and took you to the police station. You were questioned while detectives examined your boat. You finally made a statement. That night Commissioner Humphrey told you to come back the next day for more questioning, and he took possession of your passport. But the next day you tried to fly off the island. Why?’

  Harker said, ‘Humphrey did not tell me to come back the next day. He said he would study the evidence and then get me back for more questions. At some time. And as he was not arresting me he had no right to deprive me of my passport – I was free to go where I liked. I had been told by Immigration to return to Nassau for my port clearance papers. Rather than hang around waiting for Mr Humphrey, I decided to use the time. I had to do something.’

  ‘So Mr Humphrey is a liar, is he, when he says he told you to come back at noon the next day?’

  Harker swallowed. ‘He is mistaken. Perhaps he thinks he said that but he certainly didn’t make me understand that.’

  ‘I see … However, you must have understood from the fact that Mr Humphrey took your passport away that you
were not allowed to leave the British Virgin Islands. That you were a suspect – that much you must have understood?’

  Harker coughed. Took a sip of water. ‘I understood he wanted me to remain on the island, but not necessarily that I was a suspect – he hadn’t charged me, he hadn’t locked me up. Maybe he thought that because he was the local top cop he could restrict the movement of whoever he pleased. Big fish in small ponds get to think their authority is unfettered, I’ve seen it often in Africa.’

  Luke closed his eyes and Charlie groaned softly. Vance pounced. ‘And Mr Humphrey’s ancestors clearly come from Africa! So you made a racist judgement against him and decided to defy his orders?’

  ‘He didn’t order me to return on any specific date,’ Harker insisted huskily. ‘I defied his … implied order not to leave the island not because he’s black and self-important but because he had no right to take my passport away from me. And I was very distressed and I wanted to do something, get away from the boat, get out of myself. I had been told by Immigration to get back to Nassau, so that’s what I decided to do, Mr Humphrey or no Mr Humphrey.’

  Vance smirked. ‘You expect the jury to believe that? It would have been clear to a blind man in your circumstances that to run away from the island would prove guilt – but you, Major Harker, experienced senior soldier, glibly tell this jury that you didn’t feel under suspicion because you considered there was no basis for anybody to be suspicious because all that had happened was that your wife – who just happened to have made her will in your favour leaving you her forty-nine per cent of Harvest shares and millions of dollars’ worth of insurance – had just happened to disappear overboard!’

  ‘In the name of Justice,’ Charlie cried, ‘what is the question?!’

  Vance turned to the jury theatrically. ‘I would have thought my question obvious. However, I’ll simplify it: I put it to you that you’re shamelessly and foolishly lying. That only a fool would have been unaware that he was under suspicion.’