A Prisoner of Birth

by Jeffrey Archer

  ‘Intae an alley?’

  ‘How did you know that?’ asked a surprised-sounding voice.

  ‘Ye told me yisterday,’ said Big Al, recovering from his mistake.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Another long silence. ‘Spencer and Gerald ran round to the back of the pub the moment they left, so Larry and I went along for the ride. But then it got out of control.’

  ‘Who wis tae blame fur that?’

  ‘Spencer and Gerald. They wanted to pick a fight with the two yobs and assumed we’d back them up, but I was too spaced out to be of any use, and Larry doesn’t go in for that sort of thing.’

  ‘Larry?’

  ‘Larry Davenport.’

  ‘The soap star?’ said Big Al, trying to sound surprised.

  ‘Yes. But he and I just stood around and watched when the fight broke out.’

  ‘So it wis yer friend Spencer who wis looking fur a fight?’

  ‘Yes. He’s always fancied himself as a boxer, got a blue at Cambridge, but those two lads were in a different class. That was until Spencer pulled out the knife.’

  ‘Spencer had a knife?’

  ‘Yes, he picked it up from the bar before he went into the alley. I remember him saying, “Just in case”.’

  ‘An he’d nae seen the two men or the girl before?’

  ‘No, but he still fancied his chances with the girl, until Cartwright got the better of him. That’s when Spencer lost his temper and stabbed him in the leg.’

  ‘But he didnae kill him?’

  ‘No, just stabbed him in the leg, and while Cartwright was nursing his wound, Spencer stabbed the other guy in the chest.’ It was some time before the voice said, ‘And killed him.’

  ‘Did ye call the polis?’

  ‘No, Spencer must have done that later, after he told us all to go home. He said that if anyone asked any questions, we were to say we’d never left the bar, and didn’t see anything.’

  ‘And did anyone ask any questions?’

  ‘The police came round to my place the next morning. I hadn’t slept, but I didn’t let on. I think I was more frightened of Craig than the police, but it didn’t matter anyway, because the detective in charge of the investigation was convinced he’d arrested the right man.’

  The tape ran for several more seconds before Mortimer’s voice added, ‘That was over two years ago, and not a day goes by when I don’t think about that lad. I’ve already warned Spencer that as soon as I’m fit enough to give evidence . . .’ The tape went dead.

  ‘Well done!’ exclaimed Nick, but Big Al only grunted. He had stuck to the script Danny had written for him, which covered all the points Mr Redmayne needed for the appeal.

  ‘I still have to get the tape to Mr Redmayne somehow,’ said Danny as he removed it from the cassette player and tucked it under his pillow.

  ‘That shouldn’t prove too difficult,’ said Nick. ‘Send it in a sealed envelope marked “legal”. No officer would dare to open it unless they were convinced the lawyer was dealing in money or drugs directly with an inmate, and no barrister would be stupid enough to take that sort of risk.’

  ‘Unless that inmate hud a screw working on the inside,’ said Big Al, ‘who jist happened tae find oot aboot the tape.’

  ‘But that’s not possible,’ said Danny, ‘not while we’re the only three who know about it.’

  ‘Don’t forget Mortimer,’ said Big Al, finally deciding it was time to sit up. ‘An he’s no capable of keeping his mooth shut, especially when he needs a hit.’

  ‘So what should I do with the tape?’ said Danny. ‘Because I have no chance of winning my appeal without it.’

  ‘Dinnae risk sending it by post,’ said Big Al. ‘Make an appointment tae see Redmayne, and then hand it over in person. ’Cause who dae ye think jist happened to huv a meeting wi’ his lawyer yisterday?’

  Nick and Danny didn’t speak as they waited for Big Al to answer his own question.

  ‘That bastard Leach,’ he eventually said.

  ‘That could just be a coincidence,’ said Nick.

  ‘No when that lawyer is Spencer Craig.’

  ‘How can you be so sure it was Spencer Craig?’ asked Danny, gripping the railing on the side of his bunk.

  ‘Screws drop in and oot of the hospital to huv a chat wi’ sister, and I’m the wan who his tae brew their cuppa.’

  ‘If a bent screw were to find out about that tape,’ said Nick, ‘there would be no prizes for guessing whose desk it would end up on.’

  ‘So what am I meant to do about that?’ said Danny, sounding desperate.

  ‘Make sure it does end up on his desk,’ said Nick.

  ‘Are you booked in for a consultation?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘So are you here to seek legal advice?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Then what are you here for, exactly?’ asked Spencer Craig.

  ‘I require aid, but not of the legal variety.’

  ‘What kind of aid do you have in mind?’ asked Craig.

  ‘I’ve spotted a rare opportunity to get my hands on a large shipment of wine, but there’s a problem.’

  ‘A problem?’ repeated Craig.

  ‘They require a down payment.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Ten thousand pounds.’

  ‘I’ll need a few days to think about it.’

  ‘I’m sure you will, Mr Craig, but don’t take too long, because I have another interested party, who’s hoping I’ll be able to answer a few questions this time around.’ The barman of the Dunlop Arms paused before adding, ‘I promised to let him know before May the thirty-first.’

  They all heard the key turning in the lock, which took them by surprise, as it was still another hour before Association.

  When the cell door was pulled open, Hagen was standing in the doorway. ‘Cell search,’ he said. ‘You three, in the corridor.’

  Nick, Danny and Big Al made their way out on to the landing and were even more surprised when Hagen marched into their cell and pulled the door closed behind him. The surprise was not that a screw was carrying out a pad search. They were common enough – officers were always on the lookout for drugs, drink, knives and even guns. But whenever a cell search had taken place in the past, there were always three officers present, and the cell door was left wide open so that prisoners couldn’t claim something had been planted.

  A few moments later the door swung open and Hagen reappeared, unable to hide the grin on his face. ‘OK, lads,’ he said, ‘you’re clean.’

  Danny was surprised to see Leach in the library, because he’d never taken out a book before. Perhaps he wanted to read a paper. He was roaming up and down the shelves, looking lost.

  ‘Can I help?’ ventured Danny.

  ‘I want the latest copy of the Law Review.’

  ‘You’re in luck,’ said Danny. ‘We only had an out-of-date one until a few days ago when someone donated several books to the library, including the latest edition of the Law Review.’

  ‘So hand it over,’ Leach demanded.

  Danny walked across to the legal section, removed a thick leather-bound book from the shelf and brought it back to the counter. ‘Name and number?’

  ‘I don’t have to tell you nothin’.’

  ‘You’ll have to tell me your name if you want to take out a book, because otherwise I can’t make out a library card.’

  ‘Leach, 6241,’ he snarled.

  Danny made out a new library card. He hoped Leach hadn’t noticed his hand was trembling. ‘Sign on the bottom line.’

  Leach put a cross on the place where Danny was pointing.

  ‘You’ll have to return the book within three days,’ Danny explained.

  ‘Who do you think you are, a fuckin’ screw? I’ll bring it back when I feel like it.’

  Danny watched as Leach grabbed the book and walked out of the library without saying another word. He was puzzled. If Leach couldn’t sign his name . . .

  28
>
  CRAIG LEFT HIS black Porsche in the visitors’ car park, an hour before they were due to see Toby. He had already warned Gerald that it was almost as difficult to get into Belmarsh prison as it was to get out: an endless rat-run of barred gates, double-checking of credentials and thorough body searches, and that was before you even reached the reception area.

  Once they had given their names in at the desk, Craig and Payne were handed a numbered key and told to place any valuables, including watches, rings, necklaces and any notes or loose change, in a locker. If they wished to buy any items from the canteen on behalf of a prisoner, they had to hand over the correct amount of money in exchange for small plastic tokens marked £1, 50p, 20p, 10p, so that cash could not be passed to an inmate. Each visitor’s name was called separately, and before being allowed to enter the secure area, they were subjected to a further search, on this occasion by an officer assisted by a sniffer dog.

  ‘Numbers one and two,’ said a voice over the tannoy.

  Craig and Payne sat in a corner of the waiting room with only copies of Prison News and Lock and Key to help while away the time as they waited for their numbers to be called.

  ‘Numbers seventeen and eighteen,’ said the voice some forty minutes later.

  Craig and Payne rose from their places and made their way through another set of barred gates to face an even more rigorous security search before they were allowed to enter the visits area, where they were told to take their seats in row G, numbers 11 and 12.

  Craig sat down on a green chair that was bolted to the floor, while Payne went off to the canteen to buy three cups of tea and a couple of Mars Bars in exchange for his prison tokens. When he rejoined Craig, he placed the tray on a table that was also bolted to the floor and sat down on another immovable seat.

  ‘How much longer will we have to wait?’ he asked.

  ‘Some time yet, I suspect,’ replied Craig. ‘The prisoners are only let in one by one and I expect they’re being searched even more thoroughly than we were.’

  ‘Don’t look round,’ whispered Beth, ‘but Craig and Payne are sitting three or four rows behind you. They must be visiting someone.’

  Danny began to shiver, but resisted looking round. ‘It has to be Mortimer,’ he said. ‘But they’re too late.’

  ‘Too late for what?’ asked Beth.

  Danny took her hand. ‘I can’t say too much at the moment, but Alex will be able to brief you when you next see him.’

  ‘It’s Alex now, is it?’ said Beth, smiling. ‘So are you two on first-name terms?’

  Danny laughed. ‘Only behind his back.’

  ‘You’re such a coward,’ said Beth. ‘Mr Redmayne always refers to you as Danny, and he even told me how pleased he was that you’d started shaving regularly, and grown your hair longer. He thinks it just might make a difference when it comes to the appeal.’

  ‘How’s the garage coming along?’ asked Danny, changing the subject.

  ‘Dad’s slowing down a bit,’ said Beth. ‘I wish I could convince him to give up smoking. He never stops coughing, but he won’t listen to anything Mum or I have to say on the subject.’

  ‘So who has he made manager?’

  ‘Trevor Sutton.’

  ‘Trevor Sutton? He couldn’t run a whelk stall.’

  ‘No one else seemed to want the job,’ said Beth.

  ‘Then you’d better keep a close eye on the books,’ said Danny.

  ‘Why? You don’t think Trevor is on the fiddle?’

  ‘No, but only because he can’t add up.’

  ‘But what can I do about it?’ said Beth. ‘Dad never confides in me, and frankly I’m pretty overworked myself at the moment.’

  ‘Mr Thomas driving you hard, is he?’ asked Danny with a grin.

  Beth laughed. ‘Mr Thomas is a terrific boss, and you know it. Don’t forget how kind he was during the trial. And he’s just given me another pay rise.’

  ‘I don’t doubt he’s a good chap,’ said Danny, ‘but—’

  ‘A good chap?’ laughed Beth.

  ‘Blame Nick,’ said Danny, unconsciously running a hand through his hair.

  ‘If you go on like this,’ said Beth, ‘you won’t be able to mix with your old mates when you’ve released.’

  ‘But you do realize,’ said Danny, ignoring her comment, ‘that Mr Thomas fancies you.’

  ‘You must be joking,’ said Beth. ‘He always behaves like the perfect gentleman.’

  ‘That doesn’t stop him fancying you.’

  ‘How does anyone ever manage to get drugs into a place as well protected as this?’ asked Payne, looking up at the CCTV cameras and the prison officers on the balcony peering down at them through binoculars.

  ‘The carriers are getting more and more sophisticated,’ said Craig. ‘Children’s nappies, wigs – some even put the gear in condoms and then stuff them up their backside, knowing not many officers enjoy searching around in there, while others even swallow the stuff, they’re so desperate.’

  ‘And if the packet breaks open inside them?’

  ‘They can die a horrible death. I once had a client who could swallow a small packet of heroin, hold it in his throat, and then cough it up when he got back to his cell. You might consider that one hell of a risk, but imagine being on twelve pounds a week, when you can sell a packet like that for five hundred pounds – they obviously think it’s worth it. The only reason why we were put through such a rigorous search is because of what Toby’s in for.’

  ‘If Toby takes much longer our time will be up before he even makes an appearance,’ said Payne, looking down at a cup of tea that had gone cold.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir.’ An officer was standing by Craig’s side. ‘I’m afraid Mortimer has been taken ill, and won’t be able to join you this afternoon.’

  ‘Bloody inconsiderate,’ said Craig as he rose from his place. ‘The least he could have done was to let us know. Typical.’

  ‘Bang up! Everyone back in your cells immediately, and I mean immediately!’ bellowed a voice. Whistles were blowing, klaxons were blaring and officers appeared from every corridor and began herding any stray prisoners back into their cells.

  ‘But I have to report to education,’ protested Danny as the cell door was slammed in his face.

  ‘No today, Danny boy,’ said Big Al, lighting a cigarette.

  ‘What was that all about?’ asked Nick.

  ‘It could be wan ay many things,’ said Big Al, inhaling deeply.

  ‘Like what?’ asked Danny.

  ‘A fight couldae broken oot on another wing, which the screws think might spread. Someone could even huv attacked a screw – God help the bastard. Or a dealer might have been caught handin’ over some gear, or a prisoner couldae torched his cell. Ma bet,’ he offered, but not before he’d exhaled a large cloud of smoke, ‘is that someone’s gone and topped himself.’ He flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette on to the floor. ‘Ye cin take yer choice, because only wan thing’s fur certain – we willnae be opened up again fur at least another twenty-four hours, until it’s been sorted.’

  Big Al turned out to be right: it was twenty-seven hours before they heard a key turning in the lock.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Nick asked the officer who opened their cell door.

  ‘No idea,’ came back the regulation response.

  ‘Someone’s topped himself,’ said a voice from the next cell.

  ‘Poor bastard, must have discovered it was the only way out of this place.’

  ‘Anyone we know?’ asked another.

  ‘A druggie,’ said another voice, ‘only been with us for a few weeks.’

  Gerald Payne asked the man at the porter’s lodge in Inner Temple to direct him to Mr Spencer Craig’s chambers.

  ‘Far corner of the square, sir. Number six,’ came back the reply. ‘You’ll find his office on the top floor.’

  Payne hurried across the square, keeping to the path, obeying the notices that firmly announced, Keep off
the grass. He had left his office in Mayfair as soon as Craig had phoned to say, ‘If you come to my chambers around four, you won’t be suffering any more sleepless nights.’

  When Payne reached the other side of the square, he climbed the stone steps and pushed open a door. He stepped into a cold, musty corridor with stark white walls adorned with old prints of even older judges. At the far end of the corridor was a wooden staircase, and attached to the wall was a shiny black board on which was painted boldly in white a list of names indicating the members of chambers. As the porter had told him, Mr Spencer Craig’s chambers was on the top floor. The long climb up the creaking wooden staircase reminded Payne how badly out of shape he’d become – he was breathing heavily long before he reached the second floor.

  ‘Mr Payne?’ enquired a young woman who was waiting on the top step. ‘I’m Mr Craig’s secretary. He’s just phoned to say that he’s left the Old Bailey and should be with you in a few minutes. Perhaps you’d care to wait in his office?’ She led him down the corridor, opened a door and ushered him in.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Payne as he stepped into a large room, sparsely furnished with a partner’s desk and two high-backed leather chairs, one on either side.

  ‘Would you care for a cup of tea, Mr Payne, or perhaps a coffee?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Payne, as he looked out of a window overlooking the square.

  She closed the door behind her, and Payne sat down facing Craig’s desk; it was almost bare, as if no one worked there – no photos, no flowers, no mementoes, just a large blotting pad, a tape recorder and a bulky, unopened envelope addressed to Mr S. Craig and marked ‘Private’.

  A few minutes later Craig came bursting into the room, closely followed by his secretary. Payne rose and shook hands with him, as if he was a client rather than an old friend.

  ‘Have a seat, old boy,’ said Craig. ‘Miss Russell, can you make sure we’re not disturbed?’

  ‘Of course, Mr Craig,’ she replied, and left, closing the door behind her.

  ‘Is that what I think it is?’ asked Payne, pointing at the envelope on Craig’s desk.