A Prisoner Of Birth

'Elizabeth Wilson was released on bail that morning, and was later given a six-month suspended jail sentence.'

'And Albert Crann?'

'He was on license at the time, and was sent back to Belmarsh to complete his original sentence.'

'Thank you, chief inspector. I have no more questions for you at the present time.'

'Thank you, Mr. Pearson,' said the judge. 'Do you wish to cross-examine this witness, Mr. Redmayne?'

'I most certainly do, m'lord,' said Alex as he rose from his place.

'Chief inspector, you told the court that it was a member of the public who volunteered the information that made it possible for you to arrest Daniel Cartwright.'

'Yes, that is correct,' said Fuller, gripping the rail of the witness box.

'So it wasn't, as my learned friend suggested, a single-handed piece of police ingenuity?'

'No. But as I'm sure you appreciate, Mr. Redmayne, the police rely on a network of informers, without whom half the criminals currently in jail would be on the streets committing even more crimes.'

'So this gentleman, as you described your informant, called you at your office?' The chief inspector nodded. 'And you arranged to meet him at a mutually convenient place the following day?'

'Yes,' replied Fuller, determined not to give anything away.

'Where did that meeting take place, chief inspector?'

Fuller turned to the judge. 'I would prefer, m'lord, not to have to identify the location.'

'Understandably,' said Mr. Justice Hackett. 'Move on, Mr. Redmayne.'

'So there would be no point in my asking you, chief inspector, to name your paid informant?'

'He wasn't paid,' said Fuller, regretting the words the moment he said them.

'Well, at least we now know that he was an unpaid professional gentleman.'

'Well done,' said Alex's father in a loud stage whisper. The judge frowned.

'Chief inspector, how many officers did you find it necessary to deploy in order to arrest one man and one woman who were in bed at two o'clock in the morning?' Fuller hesitated. 'How many, chief inspector?'

'Fourteen.'

'Wasn't it more like twenty?' said Alex.

'If you count the back-up team, it might have been twenty.'

'Sounds a little excessive for one man and one woman,' suggested Alex.

'He may have been armed,' said Fuller. 'That was a risk I wasn't willing to take.'

'Was he, in fact, armed?' asked Alex.

'No he was not…'

'Perhaps not for the first time-' began Alex.

'That's quite enough, Mr. Redmayne,' said the judge, interrupting before he could finish the sentence.

'Good try,' said Alex's father, loud enough for everyone in the courtroom to hear.

'Do you wish to make a contribution, Sir Matthew?' snapped the judge.

Alex's father opened his eyes like a jungle beast that had been woken from a deep sleep. He rose slowly from his place and said, 'How kind of you to ask, my lord. But no, not at this juncture. Possibly later.' He slumped back in his place.

The press benches were suddenly jolted into action as the first boundary was scored. Alex pursed his lips for fear he would burst out laughing. Mr. Justice Hackett could barely restrain himself.

'Get on with it, Redmayne,' said the judge, but before Alex could respond, his father was back on his feet. 'I do apologize, m'lord,' he said sweetly, 'but which Redmayne did you have in mind?'

This time the jury burst out laughing. The judge made no attempt to reply, and Sir Matthew sank back in his seat, closed his eyes and whispered, 'Go for the jugular, Alex.'

'Chief inspector, you told the court that it was after you had seen Miss Wilson enter the house that you became convinced that it was Daniel Cartwright and not Sir Nicholas Moncrieff who was living there.'

'Yes, that's correct,' said Fuller, still gripping the side of the witness box.

'But once you had taken my client into custody, chief inspector, didn't you have a moment's anxiety about whether you might have arrested the wrong man?'

'No, Mr. Redmayne, not after I'd seen the scar on his…'

'Not after you'd seen the scar on his-'

'-checked his DNA on the police computer,' said the chief inspector.

'Sit down,' whispered Alex's father. 'You've got everything you need, and Hackett won't have worked out the significance of the scar.'

'Thank you, chief inspector. No more questions, m'lord.'

'Do you wish to reexamine this witness, Mr. Pearson?' asked Mr. Justice Hackett.

'No, thank you, m'lord,' said Pearson, who was writing down the words not after I'd seen the scar on his… and trying to work out their significance.

'Thank you, chief inspector,' said the judge. 'You may leave the witness box.'

Alex leaned over to his father as the chief inspector made his way out of the courtroom and whispered, 'But I didn't get him to admit that the 'professional gentleman' was in fact Craig.'

'That man was never going to name his contact, but you still managed to trap him twice. And don't forget, there's another witness who must also know who reported Danny to the police, and he's certainly not going to feel at home in a courtroom, so you should be able to corner him long before Hackett works out what your real purpose is. Never forget we can't afford to make the same mistake as we did with Lord Justice Browne and the unplayed tape.' Alex nodded as Mr. Justice Hackett turned his attention to counsel's bench. 'Perhaps this would be a good time to take a break.'

'All rise.'

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

ARNOLD PEARSON WAS deep in conversation with his junior when Mr. Justice Hackett said in a loud voice, 'Are you ready to call your next witness, Mr. Pearson?'

Pearson rose from his place. 'Yes, m'lord. I call Sir Hugo Moncrieff.'

Alex watched Sir Hugo carefully as he entered the courtroom. Never prejudge a witness, his father had taught him from the cradle, but Hugo was clearly nervous. He took a handkerchief out of his top pocket and mopped his brow even before he had reached the witness box.

The usher guided Sir Hugo into the box and handed him a Bible. The witness read the oath from the card that was held up in front of him, then looked up toward the gallery, searching for the person he wished was giving evidence in his place. Mr. Pearson gave him a warm smile when he looked back down.

'Sir Hugo, would you just for the record state your name and address?'

'Sir Hugo Moncrieff, the Manor House, Dunbroath in Scotland.'

'Let me begin, Sir Hugo, by asking you when you last saw your nephew, Nicholas Moncrieff.'

'On the day we both attended his father's funeral.'

'And did you have an opportunity to speak to him on that sad occasion?'

'Unhappily not,' said Hugo. 'He was accompanied by two prison officers who said that we were not to have any contact with him.'

'What sort of relationship did you have with your nephew?' asked Pearson.

'Cordial. We all loved Nick. He was a fine lad, whom the family considered had been badly treated.'

'So there was no ill feeling when you and your brother learned that he had inherited the bulk of the estate from your father.'

'Certainly not,' said Hugo. 'Nick would automatically inherit the title on his father's death, and along with it the family estate.'

'So it must have come as a terrible shock to discover that he had hanged himself in prison, and that an impostor had taken his place.'