‘Miss Wilson has already made a written statement that she had never visited this public house before, although Cartwright clearly knew it well, which the Crown will suggest was because he had selected it for one purpose and one purpose only: its back door opens on to a quiet alleyway, an ideal location for someone with murderous intent; a murder that Cartwright would later blame on a complete stranger who just happened to be a customer at the Dunlop Arms that night.’
Danny stared down at Mr Pearson. How could he possibly know what had happened that night when he wasn’t even there? But Danny wasn’t too worried. After all, Mr Redmayne had assured him that his side of the story would be presented during the trial and he mustn’t be too anxious if everything appeared bleak while the Crown was presenting its case. Despite his barrister’s repeated assurances, two things did worry Danny: Alex Redmayne wasn’t much older than he was, and had also warned him that this was only his second case as leader.
‘But unfortunately for Cartwright,’ continued Pearson, ‘the other four customers who were in the Dunlop Arms that night tell a different story, a story which has not only proved consistent, but which has also been corroborated by the barman on duty at the time. The Crown will present all five as witnesses, and they will tell you that they overheard a dispute between the two men, who were later seen to leave by the rear entrance of the bar after Cartwright had said, “Then why don’t we go outside and sort it out?” All five of them saw Cartwright leave by the back door, followed by Bernard Wilson and his sister Elizabeth, who was clearly in an agitated state. Moments later, a scream was heard. Mr Spencer Craig, one of the customers, left his companions and ran out into the alley, where he found Cartwright holding Mr Wilson by the throat, while repeatedly thrusting a knife into his chest.
‘Mr Craig immediately dialled 999 on his mobile phone. The time of that call, m’lord, and the conversation that took place were logged and recorded at Belgravia police station. A few minutes later, two police officers arrived on the scene and found Cartwright kneeling over Mr Wilson’s body, with the knife in his hand – a knife that he must have picked up from the bar, because Dunlop Arms is engraved on the handle.’
Alex Redmayne wrote down Pearson’s words.
‘Members of the jury,’ continued Pearson, once again tugging at his lapels, ‘every murderer has to have a motive, and in this case we need look no further than the first recorded slaying, of Abel by Cain, to establish that motive: envy, greed and ambition were the sordid ingredients that, when combined, provoked Cartwright to remove the one rival who stood in his path.
‘Members of the jury, both Cartwright and Mr Wilson worked at Wilson’s garage in Mile End Road. The garage is owned and managed by Mr George Wilson, the deceased’s father, who had planned to retire at the end of the year, when he intended to hand over the business to his only son, Bernard. Mr George Wilson has made a written statement to this effect, which has been agreed by the defence, so we shall not be calling him as a witness.
‘Members of the jury, you will discover during this trial that the two young men had a long history of rivalry and antagonism which stretched back to their schooldays. But with Bernard Wilson out of the way, Cartwright planned to marry the boss’s daughter and take over the thriving business himself.
‘However, everything did not go as Cartwright planned, and when he was arrested, he tried to place the blame on an innocent bystander, the same man who had run out into the alley to see what had caused Miss Wilson to scream. But unfortunately for Cartwright, it was not part of his plan that there would be four other people who were present throughout the entire episode.’ Pearson smiled at the jury. ‘Members of the jury, once you have heard their testimony, you will be left in no doubt that Daniel Cartwright is guilty of the heinous crime of murder.’ He turned to the judge. ‘That concludes the prosecution opening for the Crown, m’lord.’ He tugged his lapels once more before adding, ‘With your permission I shall call my first witness.’ Mr Justice Sackville nodded, and Pearson said in a firm voice, ‘I call Mr Spencer Craig.’
Danny Cartwright looked to his right and watched as an usher at the back of the courtroom opened a door, stepped out into the corridor and bellowed, ‘Mr Spencer Craig.’ A moment later, a tall man, not much older than Danny, dressed in a blue pinstriped suit, white shirt and mauve tie, entered the courtroom. How different he looked from when they’d first met.
Danny hadn’t seen Spencer Craig during the past six months, but not a day had passed when he hadn’t visualized him clearly. He stared at the man defiantly, but Craig didn’t even glance in Danny’s direction – it was as if he didn’t exist.
Craig walked across the courtroom like a man who knew exactly where he was going. When he stepped into the witness box, he immediately picked up the Bible and delivered the oath without once looking at the card the usher held up in front of him. Mr Pearson smiled at his principal witness, before glancing down at the questions he had spent the past month preparing.
‘Is your name Spencer Craig?’
‘Yes, sir,’ he replied.
‘And do you reside at forty-three Hambledon Terrace, London SW3?’
‘I do, sir.’
‘And what is your profession?’ asked Mr Pearson, as if he didn’t know.
‘I am a barrister at law.’
‘And your chosen field?’
‘Criminal justice.’
‘So you are well acquainted with the crime of murder?’
‘Unfortunately I am, sir.’
‘I should now like to take you back to the evening of September eighteenth, last year, when you and a group of friends were enjoying a drink at the Dunlop Arms in Hambledon Terrace. Perhaps you could take us through exactly what happened that night.’
‘My friends and I were celebrating Gerald’s thirtieth birthday—’
‘Gerald?’ interrupted Pearson.
‘Gerald Payne,’ said Craig. ‘He’s an old friend from my days at Cambridge. We were spending a convivial evening together, enjoying a bottle of wine.’
Alex Redmayne made a note – he needed to know how many bottles.
Danny wanted to ask what the word convivial meant.
‘But sadly it didn’t end up being a convivial evening,’ prompted Pearson.
‘Far from it,’ replied Craig, still not even glancing in Danny’s direction.
‘Please tell the court what happened next,’ said Pearson, looking down at his notes.
Craig turned to face the jury for the first time. ‘We were, as I said, enjoying a glass of wine in celebration of Gerald’s birthday, when I became aware of raised voices. I turned and saw a man, who was seated at a table in the far corner of the room with a young lady.’
‘Do you see that man in the courtroom now?’ asked Pearson.
‘Yes,’ replied Craig, pointing in the direction of the dock.
‘What happened next?’
‘He immediately jumped up,’ continued Craig, ‘and began shouting and jabbing his finger at another man, who remained seated. I heard one of them say: “If you think I’m gonna call you guv when you take over from my old man, you can forget it.” The young lady was trying to calm him down. I was about to turn back to my friends – after all, the quarrel was nothing to do with me – when the defendant shouted, “Then why don’t we go outside and sort it out?” I assumed they were joking, but then the man who had spoken the words grabbed a knife from the end of the bar—’
‘Let me stop you there, Mr Craig. You saw the defendant pick up a knife from the bar?’ asked Pearson.
‘Yes, I did.’
‘And then what happened?’
‘He marched off in the direction of the back door, which surprised me.’
‘Why did it surprise you?’
‘Because the Dunlop Arms is my local, and I had never seen the man before.’
‘I’m not sure I’m following you, Mr Craig,’ said Pearson, who was following his every word.
‘The rear exit is out of sight if
you’re sitting in that corner of the room, but he seemed to know exactly where he was going.’
‘Ah, I understand,’ said Pearson. ‘Please continue.’
‘A moment later the other man got up and chased after the defendant, with the young lady following close behind. I wouldn’t have given the matter another thought, but moments later we all heard a scream.’
‘A scream?’ repeated Pearson. ‘What kind of scream?’
‘A high-pitched, woman’s scream,’ replied Craig.
‘And what did you do?’
‘I immediately left my friends and ran into the alley in case the woman was in any danger.’
‘And was she?’
‘No, sir. She was screaming at the defendant, begging him to stop.’
‘Stop what?’ asked Pearson.
‘Attacking the other man.’
‘They were fighting?’
‘Yes, sir. The man I’d earlier seen jabbing a finger and shouting now had the other chap pinned up against the wall, with his forearm pressed against his throat.’ Craig turned to the jury and raised his left arm to demonstrate the position.
‘And was Mr Wilson trying to defend himself?’ asked Pearson.
‘As best he could, but the defendant was thrusting a knife into the man’s chest, again and again.’
‘What did you do next?’ asked Pearson quietly.
‘I phoned the emergency services, and they assured me that they would send police and an ambulance immediately.’
‘Did they say anything else?’ asked Pearson, looking down at his notes.
‘Yes,’ replied Craig. ‘They told me under no circumstances to approach the man with the knife, but to return to the bar and wait until the police arrived.’ He paused. ‘I carried out those instructions to the letter.’
‘How did your friends react when you went back into the bar and told them what you had seen?’
‘They wanted to go outside and see if they could help, but I told them what the police had advised and that I also thought it might be wise in the circumstances for them to go home.’
‘In the circumstances?’
‘I was the only person who had witnessed the whole incident and I didn’t want them to be in any danger should the man with the knife return to the bar.’
‘Very commendable,’ said Pearson.
The judge frowned at the prosecuting counsel. Alex Redmayne continued to take notes.
‘How long did you have to wait before the police arrived?’
‘It was only a matter of moments before I heard a siren, and a few minutes later a plain-clothes detective entered the bar through the back door. He produced his badge and introduced himself as Detective Sergeant Fuller. He informed me that the victim was on his way to the nearest hospital.’
‘What happened next?’
‘I made a full statement, and then DS Fuller told me I could go home.’
‘And did you?’
‘Yes, I returned to my house, which is only about a hundred yards from the Dunlop Arms, and went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep.’
Alex Redmayne wrote down the words: about a hundred yards.
‘Understandably,’ said Pearson.
The judge frowned a second time.
‘So I got up, went to my study and wrote down everything that had taken place earlier that evening.’
‘Why did you do that, Mr Craig, when you had already given a statement to the police?’
‘My experience of standing where you are, Mr Pearson, has made me aware that evidence presented in the witness box is often patchy, even inaccurate, by the time a trial takes place several months after a crime has been committed.’
‘Quite so,’ said Pearson, turning another page of his file. ‘When did you learn that Daniel Cartwright had been charged with the murder of Bernard Wilson?’
‘I read the details in the Evening Standard the following Monday. It reported that Mr Wilson had died on his way to Chelsea and Westminster Hospital, and that Cartwright had been charged with his murder.’
‘And did you regard that as the end of the matter, as far as your personal involvement was concerned?’
‘Yes, although I knew that I would be called as a witness in any forthcoming trial, should Cartwright decide to plead not guilty.’
‘But then there was a twist that even you, with all your experience of hardened criminals, could not have anticipated.’
‘There certainly was,’ responded Craig. ‘Two police officers visited my chambers the following afternoon to conduct a second interview.’
‘But you had already given verbal and written statements to DS Fuller,’ said Pearson. ‘Why did they need to interview you again?’
‘Because Cartwright was now accusing me of killing Mr Wilson, and was even claiming that I had picked up the knife from the bar.’
‘Had you ever come across Mr Cartwright or Mr Wilson before that night?’
‘No, sir,’ replied Craig truthfully.
‘Thank you, Mr Craig.’
The two men smiled at each other before Pearson turned to the judge and said, ‘No more questions, m’lord.’
3
MR JUSTICE SACKVILLE turned his attention to the counsel at the other end of the bench. He was well acquainted with Alex Redmayne’s distinguished father, who had recently retired as a high court judge, but his son had never appeared before him.
‘Mr Redmayne,’ intoned the judge, ‘do you wish to cross-examine this witness?’
‘I most certainly do,’ replied Redmayne as he gathered up his notes.
Danny recalled that not long after he’d been arrested, an officer had advised him to get himself a lawyer. It had not proved easy. He quickly discovered that lawyers, like garage mechanics, charge by the hour and you only get what you can afford. He could afford ten thousand pounds: a sum of money he had saved over the past decade, intending to use it as the deposit on a basement flat in Bow, where Beth, he and the baby would live once they were married. Every penny of it had been swallowed up long before the case had come to court. The solicitor he selected, a Mr Makepeace, had demanded five thousand pounds up front, even before he took the top off his fountain pen, and then another five once he’d briefed Alex Redmayne, the barrister who would represent him in court. Danny couldn’t understand why he needed two lawyers to do the same job. When he repaired a car, he didn’t ask Bernie to lift the bonnet before he could take a look at the engine, and he certainly wouldn’t have demanded a deposit before he picked up his toolkit.
But Danny liked Alex Redmayne from the day he met him, and not just because he supported West Ham. He had a posh accent and had been to Oxford University, but he never once spoke down to him.
Once Mr Makepeace had read the charge sheet and listened to what Danny had to say, he had advised his client to plead guilty to manslaughter. He was confident that he could strike a deal with the Crown, which would allow Danny to get away with a sentence of six years. Danny turned the offer down.
Alex Redmayne asked Danny and his fiancée to go over what had taken place that night again and again, as he searched for any inconsistencies in his client’s story. He found none, and when the money ran out he still agreed to conduct his defence.
‘Mr Craig,’ began Alex Redmayne, not tugging his lapels or touching his wig, ‘I am sure it is unnecessary for me to remind you that you are still under oath, and of the added responsibility that carries for a barrister.’
‘Tread carefully, Mr Redmayne,’ interjected the judge. ‘Remember that it is your client who is on trial, not the witness.’
‘We shall see if you still feel that way, m’lord, when the time comes for your summing up.’
‘Mr Redmayne,’ said the judge sharply, ‘it is not your responsibility to remind me of my role in this courtroom. Your job is to question the witnesses, mine to deal with any points of law that arise, and then let us both leave the jury to decide on the verdict.’
‘If your lordship pleases,’ said Redmayne, turni
ng back to face the witness. ‘Mr Craig, what time did you and your friends arrive at the Dunlop Arms that evening?’
‘I don’t recall the exact time,’ Craig replied.
‘Then let me try and jog your memory. Was it seven? Seven thirty? Eight o’clock?’
‘Nearer eight, I suspect.’
‘So you had already been drinking for some three hours by the time my client, his fiancée and his closest friend walked into the bar.’
‘As I have already told the court, I did not see them arrive.’
‘Quite so,’ said Redmayne, mimicking Pearson. ‘And how much drink had you consumed by, let’s say, eleven o’clock?’
‘I’ve no idea. It was Gerald’s thirtieth birthday so no one was counting.’
‘Well, as we have established that you had been drinking for over three hours, shall we settle on half a dozen bottles of wine? Or perhaps it was seven, even eight?’
‘Five at the most,’ retorted Craig, ‘which is hardly extravagant for four people.’
‘I would normally agree with you, Mr Craig, had not one of your companions said in his written statement that he drank only Diet Coke, while another just had one or two glasses of wine because he was driving.’
‘But I didn’t have to drive,’ said Craig. ‘The Dunlop Arms is my local, and I live only a hundred yards away.’
‘Only a hundred yards away?’ repeated Redmayne. When Craig didn’t respond, he continued, ‘You told the court that you were not aware of any other customers being in the bar until you heard raised voices.’
A Prisoner of Birth Page 2
