A Prisoner of Birth

by Jeffrey Archer

  The governor’s strictures, as he called them, rather suited Danny, as he was not allowed to mix with the Cartwright family, their friends or any members of the public. In fact, he was not permitted to speak to anyone other than the accompanying officers until he was back inside the prison walls. The possibility of another four years in Belmarsh was quite enough to concentrate the mind.

  Pascoe and Jenkins stood on either side of him, some way back from the mourners who surrounded the grave. Danny was relieved to find that Nick’s clothes might have been tailor-made for him – well, perhaps the trousers could have been an inch longer, and although he had never worn a hat before, it had the advantage of shielding his face from any curious onlookers.

  Father Michael opened the service with a prayer while Danny watched a gathering that was far larger than he had anticipated. His mother looked pale and drawn, as if she had been weeping for days, and Beth was so thin that a dress he well remembered now hung loosely on her, no longer emphasizing her graceful figure. Only his two-year-old daughter, Christy, was oblivious to the occasion as she played quietly by her mother’s side; but then, she had only ever come into contact with her dad briefly, followed by month-long intervals, so she’d probably long forgotten him. Danny hoped that the only memory of her father wouldn’t be of visiting him in prison.

  Danny was touched to see Beth’s father standing by her side, head bowed, and just behind the family, a tall elegant young man in a black suit, lips pursed, a look of smouldering anger in his eyes. Danny suddenly felt guilty that he hadn’t replied to any of Alex Redmayne’s letters since the appeal.

  When Father Michael had finished intoning the prayers, he bowed his head before delivering his eulogy. ‘The death of Danny Cartwright is a modern tragedy,’ he told his parishioners as he looked down at the coffin. ‘A young man who had lost his way, and so troubled was he in this world that he took his own life. Those of us who knew Danny well still find it hard to believe that such a gentle, considerate man could have committed any crime, let alone the slaying of his closest friend. Indeed, many of us in this parish,’ he glanced at an innocent constable standing by the entrance to the church, ‘have still to be convinced that the police arrested the right person.’ A smattering of applause broke out among some of the mourners encircling the grave. Danny was pleased to see that Beth’s father was among them.

  Father Michael raised his head. ‘But for now, let us remember the son, the young father, the gifted leader and sportsman, for many of us believe that had Danny Cartwright lived, his name would have echoed far beyond the streets of Bow.’ Applause broke out a second time. ‘But that was not the Lord’s will, and in His divine mystery He chose to take our son away, to spend the rest of his days with our saviour.’ The priest sprinkled holy water around the grave and, as the coffin was lowered into the ground, he began to intone, ‘May eternal rest be granted unto Danny, O Lord.’

  As the young choir softly chanted the ‘Nunc Dimittis’, Father Michael, Beth and the rest of the Cartwright family knelt by the graveside. Alex Redmayne along with several other mourners waited behind to pay their last respects. Alex bowed his head as if in prayer, and spoke a few words that neither Danny nor anyone else present could hear: ‘I will clear your name so that you may finally rest in peace.’

  Danny wasn’t allowed to move until the last mourners had departed, including Beth and Christy, who never once looked in his direction. When Pascoe finally turned to tell Moncrieff that they should leave, he found him in tears. Danny wanted to explain that his tears were shed not only for his dear friend Nick, but for the privilege of being one of those rare individuals who discover how much they are loved by those closest to them.

  36

  DANNY SPENT every spare moment reading and rereading Nick’s diaries, until he felt there was nothing left to know about the man.

  Big Al, who had served with Nick for five years before they were both court-martialled and sent to Belmarsh, was able to fill in several gaps, including how Danny should react if he ever bumped into an officer of the Cameron Highlanders, and he also taught him how to spot the regimental tie at thirty paces. They endlessly discussed the first thing Nick would have done the moment he was released.

  ‘He’d go straight up tae Scotland,’ said Big Al.

  ‘But all I’ll have is forty-five pounds and a rail voucher.’

  ‘Mr Munro will be able tae sort all that oot fur ye. Don’t forget that Nick said ye’d huv handled him far better than he did.’

  ‘If I’d been him.’

  ‘Ye ur him,’ said Big Al, ‘thanks to Louis and Nick, who between them huv done a brilliant job, so Munro shouldnae be too difficult. Just be sure that when he sees ye fur the first time—’

  ‘The second time.’

  ‘ – but he only saw Nick fur an hour, and he’ll be expecting tae see Sir Nicholas Moncrieff, not someone he’s never met before. The bigger problem will be whit tae dae efter that.’

  ‘I’ll come straight back to London,’ said Danny.

  ‘Then make sure ye keep away fae the East End.’

  ‘There are millions of Londoners who have never been to the East End,’ said Danny with some feeling. ‘And although I don’t know where The Boltons is, I’m pretty sure it’s west of Bow.’

  ‘So whit will ye dae wance yur back in London?’

  ‘After attending my own funeral and having to watch Beth suffer, I’m more determined than ever to ensure that she isn’t the only person who knows I didn’t kill her brother.’

  ‘Bit like that Frenchman ye told me aboot – whit’s his name?’

  ‘Edmond Dantès,’ said Danny. ‘And like him, I will not be satisfied until I have had revenge on the men whose deceit has ruined my life.’

  ‘Yur gonnae kill them aw?’

  ‘No, that would be too easy. They must suffer, to quote Dumas, a fate worse than death. I’ve had more than enough time to think how I’d go about it.’

  ‘Perhaps ye should add Leach tae that list,’ said Big Al.

  ‘Leach? Why should I bother with him?’

  ‘Because I think it wis Leach who killed Nick. I keep asking maself, why would he top hisself six weeks before he wis gonnae be released?’

  ‘But why would Leach kill Nick? If he had a quarrel with anyone, it was me.’

  ‘It was nae Nick he wis efter,’ said Big Al. ‘Don’t forget ye were wearing Nick’s silver chain, watch and ring while he wis in the shower.’

  ‘But that means—’

  ‘Leach killed the wrong man.’

  ‘But he can’t have wanted to kill me just because I asked him to return a library book.’

  ‘An ended up back in segregation.’

  ‘You think that would be enough to make him murder someone?’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ said Big Al. ‘But you cin be sure that Craig wouldnae’ve paid up fur the wrong tape. And I doubt if ye’re on Mr Hagen’s Christmas card list.’

  Danny tried not to think about the fact that he might have been unwittingly responsible for Nick’s death.

  ‘But don’t worry yersel, Nick. Once you’re oot ay here, a fate worse than death isnae whit I huv planned for Leach.’

  Spencer Craig didn’t need to look at the menu, because it was his favourite restaurant. The maitre d’ was used to seeing him accompanied by different women – sometimes two or three times in the same week.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ said Sarah as she sat down opposite him. ‘I was held up by a client.’

  ‘You work too hard,’ said Craig. ‘But then you always did.’

  ‘This particular client always makes an appointment for an hour and then expects me to clear my diary for the rest of the afternoon. I didn’t even have time to go home and change.’

  ‘I would never have guessed,’ said Craig. ‘In any case, I find white blouses, black skirts and black stockings quite irresistible.’

  ‘I see you’ve lost none of your charm,’ said Sarah, as she began to study the menu.

>   ‘The food here is excellent,’ said Craig. ‘I can recommend—’

  ‘I only ever have one course in the evenings,’ said Sarah. ‘One of my golden rules.’

  ‘I remember your golden rules from Cambridge,’ said Craig. ‘They’re the reason you ended up with a first while I only got a two-one.’

  ‘But you also managed a boxing blue, if I recall?’ said Sarah.

  ‘What a good memory you have.’

  ‘Said Little Red Riding Hood. By the way, how’s Larry? I haven’t seen him since opening night.’

  ‘Nor me,’ said Craig. ‘But then, he’s no longer able to come out and play in the evenings.’

  ‘I hope he wasn’t too hurt by those vicious reviews.’

  ‘Can’t imagine why he should have been,’ said Craig. ‘Actors are like barristers – it’s only the jury’s opinion that matters. I never give a damn what the judge thinks.’

  A waiter reappeared by their side. ‘I’ll have the John Dory,’ said Sarah, ‘but please no sauce, even on the side.’

  ‘Steak for me, so rare that the blood is almost running,’ said Craig. He handed the menu to the waiter and turned his attention back to Sarah.

  ‘It’s good to see you after all this time,’ he said, ‘especially as we didn’t part on the best of terms. Mea culpa.’

  ‘We’re both a little older now,’ Sarah replied. ‘In fact, aren’t you being tipped to be among the youngest QCs of our generation?’

  The cell door swung open, which surprised Danny and Big Al because lock-up had been called over an hour before.

  ‘You put in a written request to see the governor, Moncrieff.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Pascoe,’ said Danny, ‘if that’s possible.’

  ‘He’ll give you five minutes at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.’ The door slammed without further explanation.

  ‘Ye sound mer like Nick every day,’ said Big Al. ‘Carry on like this and I’ll soon be saluting and calling ye sir.’

  ‘Carry on, sergeant,’ said Danny.

  Big Al laughed, but then asked, ‘How come ye want tae see the governor? Ye’re no changing yer mind?’

  ‘No,’ said Danny, thinking on his feet. ‘There are two young lads in education who would benefit from sharing a cell, as they’re both studying the same subject.’

  ‘But cell allocation is Mr Jenkins’s responsibility. Why not huv a word wi’ him?’

  ‘I would, but there’s an added problem,’ said Danny, trying to think of one.

  ‘And whit’s that?’ asked Big Al.

  ‘They’ve both applied to be the librarian. I was going to suggest to the governor that he appoints two librarians in future, otherwise one of them could end up back on the wing as a cleaner.’

  ‘Good try, Nick, but ye dinnae expect me tae believe that load of bullshit, dae ye?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Danny.

  ‘Well, if yur gonnae try and bluff an auld soldier like me, make sure you’re no taken by surprise – always have yer story well prepared.’

  ‘So if you’d been asked why you wanted to see the governor,’ said Danny, ‘how would you have replied?’

  ‘Mind yer own business.’

  ‘Can I give you a lift home?’ asked Craig, as the waiter handed him back his credit card.

  ‘Only if it’s not out of your way,’ said Sarah.

  ‘I was hoping it would be on my way,’ he replied, delivering a well-honed line.

  Sarah rose from the table but didn’t respond. Craig accompanied her to the door and helped her on with her coat. He then took her by the arm and led her across the road to where his Porsche was parked. He opened the passenger door and admired her legs as she climbed in.

  ‘Cheyne Walk?’ he asked.

  ‘How did you know that?’ asked Sarah as she fastened her seatbelt.

  ‘Larry told me.’

  ‘But you said—’

  Craig turned on the ignition, revved up for several seconds then suddenly shot off. He swung sharply round the first bend, causing Sarah to lurch towards him. His left hand ended up on her thigh. She gently removed it.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Craig.

  ‘Not a problem,’ said Sarah, but she was surprised when he tried the same move as he rounded the next corner, and this time she removed the hand more firmly. Craig didn’t try again during the rest of the journey, satisfying himself with small talk until he drew up outside her flat in Cheyne Walk.

  Sarah unclipped her seatbelt, expecting Craig to get out and open the door for her, but he leant across and attempted to kiss her. She turned her head away so that his lips only brushed against her cheek. Craig then wrapped an arm firmly round her waist and pulled her towards him. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, and he placed his other hand on her thigh. She tried to push him away, but she had forgotten how strong he was. He smiled at her and attempted to kiss her again. She pretended to give in, leant forward and bit his tongue. He fell back and shouted, ‘You bitch!’

  This allowed Sarah enough time to open the door, although she quickly discovered just how difficult it was to get out of a Porsche. She turned back to confront him. ‘And to think I was living under the illusion that you might have changed,’ she said angrily. She slammed the door, and didn’t hear him say, ‘I don’t know why I bothered. You weren’t that good a lay the first time.’

  Pascoe marched him into the governor’s office.

  ‘Why did you want to see me, Moncrieff ?’ asked Barton.

  ‘It’s a delicate matter,’ Danny replied.

  ‘I’m listening,’ said the governor.

  ‘It concerns Big Al.’

  ‘Who, if I remember correctly, was a staff sergeant in your platoon?’

  ‘That’s right, sir, which is why I feel somewhat responsible for him.’

  ‘Naturally,’ said Pascoe. ‘After your four years in this place, Moncrieff, we know you’re not a nark and will have Crann’s best interests at heart. So out with it.’

  ‘I overheard a heated row between Big Al and Leach,’ said Danny. ‘Of course, it’s possible that I’m overreacting, and I’m confident I can keep the lid on it while I’m still around, but if anything were to happen to Big Al after I left, I would feel responsible.’

  ‘Thank you for the warning,’ said the governor. ‘Mr Pascoe and I have already discussed what we should do about Crann once you’ve been released. While you’re here, Moncrieff,’ continued the governor, ‘do you have a view on who should be the next librarian?’

  ‘There are two lads, Sedgwick and Potter, who are both well capable of doing the job. I’d split the role between them.’

  ‘You’d have made a good governor, Moncrieff.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that I lack the necessary qualifications.’

  It was the first time Danny had heard either man laugh. The governor nodded, and Pascoe opened the door so that he could accompany Moncrieff to work.

  ‘Mr Pascoe, perhaps you could remain behind for a moment. I’m sure Moncrieff can find his way to the library without your help.’

  ‘Right, governor.’

  ‘How much longer has Moncrieff got to serve?’ asked Barton after Danny had closed the door behind him.

  ‘Ten more days, sir,’ said Pascoe.

  ‘Then we’ll have to move quickly if we’re going to ship Leach out.’

  ‘There is an alternative, sir,’ said Pascoe.

  Hugo Moncrieff tapped his boiled egg with a spoon while he considered the problem. His wife Margaret was sitting at the other end of the table reading the Scotsman. They rarely spoke at breakfast; a routine that had been established over many years.

  Hugo had already sifted through the morning post. There was a letter from the local golf club and another from the Caledonian Society, along with several circulars which he put on one side, until he finally came across the one he was looking for. He picked up the butter knife, slit the envelope open, extracted the letter and then did what he always did, checked the signature at
the bottom of the last page: Desmond Galbraith. He left his egg untouched as he began to consider his lawyer’s advice.

  At first he smiled, but by the time he had reached the last paragraph he was frowning. Desmond Galbraith was able to confirm that following Hugo’s brother’s funeral, his nephew, Sir Nicholas, had attended a meeting with his solicitor. Fraser Munro had called Galbraith the following morning, and did not raise the subject of the two mortgages. This led Galbraith to believe that Sir Nicholas would not be disputing Hugo’s right to the two million pounds that had been raised using his grandfather’s two homes as security. Hugo smiled, removed the top from his egg and took a spoonful. It had taken a lot of persuading to get his brother Angus to agree to take out mortgages on both the estate and his London home without consulting Nick, especially after Fraser Munro had advised so firmly against it. And Hugo had had to move quickly once Angus’s doctor confirmed that his brother had only a few weeks to live.

  Since Angus had left the regiment, single malt had become his constant companion. Hugo regularly visited Dunbroathy Hall to partake of a wee dram with his brother, and he rarely left before they’d finished the bottle. Towards the end, Angus was willing to sign almost any document placed in front of him: first a mortgage on the London property he rarely visited, followed by another on the estate, which Hugo was able to convince him was in dire need of repair. Finally Hugo persuaded him to end his professional association with Fraser Munro, who in Hugo’s opinion had far too great a sway over his brother.

  To take over the family’s affairs Hugo appointed Desmond Galbraith, a lawyer who believed in abiding by the letter of the law, but took no more than a passing interest in its spirit.

  Hugo’s final triumph had been Angus’s last Will and Testament, which was signed only a few nights before his brother passed away. Hugo had it witnessed by a magistrate who just happened to be the secretary of the local golf club, and the local parish priest.