“I need to seek further instructions, Your Honor. Apparently, the director of public prosecutions is reviewing details of the case.”
“With what aim?”
“I’m not in a position to say at this point.”
“How long do you require?”
“If it pleases, Your Honor, perhaps we could re-list this matter for three o’clock this afternoon.”
The judge stands abruptly, causing a chain reaction in the courtroom. Shawcroft is already being led back downstairs. I look at Dave, who shrugs. Samira is watching us, waiting for an explanation. Outside, in the corridor, I look for Forbes, who seems to have disappeared, along with Softell. What on earth is happening?
For the next two hours we wait. Cases are called for different courts. Lawyers have meetings. People come and go. Samira is sitting with her shoulders hunched, still wearing her overcoat.
“Do you believe in Heaven?” she asks.
It is such an unexpected question that I feel my mouth fall open. Consciously, I close it again. “Why do you ask?”
“Do you think Hassan and Zala are in Heaven?”
“I don’t know.”
“My father believed we should live our lives over and over, getting better each time. Only when we’re completely happy should we get into Heaven.”
“I don’t know whether I’d like to live the same life over and over.”
“Why?”
“It would diminish the consequences. I already put things off until another day. Imagine putting them off until another life.”
Samira wraps her arms around herself. “Afghanistan is leaving me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am forgetting things. I cannot remember what sort of flowers I planted on my father’s grave. I once pressed the same flowers between the pages of his Koran and made him very angry. He said I was dishonoring Allah. I said I was praising Allah with flowers. He laughed at that. My father could never stay angry with me.”
We have afternoon tea in the cafeteria, avoiding the reporters whose ranks are starting to thin. Francis Hague and Shawcroft’s barrister still haven’t surfaced and neither has Forbes. Perhaps they’ve gone Christmas shopping.
Shortly before three, a Crown Solicitor finds us. Counsel wants to talk to Samira. I should come too.
“I’ll wait for you here,” says Dave.
We climb a flight of stairs and are shown through a door marked COURT STAFF ONLY. A long corridor is flanked by offices. A lone potted palm sits at one end alongside a rather annoyed-looking woman waiting on a chair. Her black-stockinged legs are like burned matchsticks sticking out from beneath a fur coat.
The solicitor knocks gently on a door. It opens. The first person I see is Spijker, who looks depressingly somber even by his standards. He takes my hand, kissing my cheeks three times, before bowing slightly to Samira.
Shawcroft’s barrister is at the far end of the table, sitting opposite Francis Hague. Beside them is another man, who seems pressed for time. It could be his wife waiting outside, expecting to be somewhere else.
“My name is Adam Greenburg, QC,” he says, standing and shaking Samira’s hand. “I am the deputy director of public prosecutions at the Crown Prosecution Service.”
He apologizes for the stuffiness of the room and almost makes a running gag of his Jewishness, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief.
“Let me explain my job to you, Miss Khan. When someone is arrested for a criminal offense, they don’t automatically go to court and then to prison. The police first have to gather evidence and the job of the Crown Prosecution Service is to examine that evidence and to make sure that the right person is prosecuted for the right offense and that all relevant facts are given to the court. Do you understand?”
Samira looks at me and back to Greenburg. An elephant is sitting on my chest.
The only person who hasn’t introduced himself is the man who entered the courtroom and interrupted the bail hearing. Standing by the window in a Savile Row suit, he has a raptor’s profile and oddly inexpressive eyes, yet something about his attitude suggests he knows a secret about everyone in the room.
Mr. Greenburg continues: “There are two stages in the decision to prosecute. The first stage is the evidential test. Crown prosecutors must be satisfied there is enough evidence to provide a realistic prospect of conviction against each defendant on each charge.
“The second stage is the public-interest test. We must be satisfied there is a public interest to be served in prosecuting. The CPS will only start or continue a prosecution when a case has passed both these tests no matter how important or serious it might be.”
Mr. Greenburg is about to cut to the chase. Spijker won’t look at me. Everyone’s eyes are fixed on the table.
“The CPS has decided not to proceed with the prosecution of Mr. Shawcroft because it does not pass the public-interest test and because he has agreed to cooperate fully with the police and has given certain assurances about his future conduct.”
For a moment the shock takes my breath away and I can’t respond. I look at Spijker, hoping for support. He stares at his hands.
“A case such as this raises serious moral and ethical issues,” explains Greenburg. “Fourteen infants, born as a result of illegal surrogacy, have been identified. These children are now living with their biological parents in stable loving families.
“If we prosecute Mr. Shawcroft these families will be torn apart. Parents will be charged as co-conspirators and their children will be taken into care, perhaps permanently. In prosecuting one individual, we risk destroying the lives of many many more.
“The Dutch authorities face a similar dilemma involving six children from surrogate mothers. The German authorities have identified four births and the French could have as many as thirteen.
“I am as shocked and appalled by this evil trade as anyone else, but we have to make decisions here today that will decide what legacy remains afterward.”
I find my voice. “You don’t have to charge the couples.”
“If we choose to proceed, Mr. Shawcroft’s counsel has indicated that she will subpoena all the couples involved who are legally and ethically raising children who belong to someone else.
“That is the situation we face. And the question we have to answer is this: Do we draw a line beneath this, or do we proceed and upset the lives of innocent children?”
Samira sits passively in her overcoat. She hasn’t stirred. Everything is done with such politeness and decorum that there is a sense of unreality about it all.
“He murdered innocent people.” My voice sounds hollow.
Mrs. Curillo protests. “My client denies all involvement in any such crimes and has not been charged in relation to any such event.”
“What about Cate and Felix Beaumont? What about Hassan Khan and Zala?”
Greenburg raises his hand, wanting me to be silent.
“In return for the dropping of all charges, Mr. Shawcroft has provided police with the whereabouts of Brendan Pearl, an alleged people trafficker and wanted felon, who is still on parole for offenses committed in Northern Ireland. Mr. Shawcroft has given a statement saying that he had no involvement in the deaths of the Beaumonts, alleging that Brendan Pearl acted alone. He also maintains that he played no part in the trafficking operation that led to the unfortunate deaths at Harwich International Port in October. A criminal gang took advantage of his naivete. He admits to commercial surrogacy, but says that Brendan Pearl and his associates took over the scheme and blackmailed him into participating.”
“This is ridiculous! He’s the architect! He forced women to get pregnant! He took their babies!” I can’t hear myself yelling, but no other voices are raised. Focusing my anger on Greenburg, I use words like “justice” and “fairness” while he counters with terms like “common sense” and “public interest.”
My language is disintegrating. I call him gutless and corrupt. Growing tired of my tantrum, he threatens to have me removed.
