‘We’re about to find out,’ said Craig. ‘It arrived in the morning post while I was in court.’ He ripped the envelope open and tipped its contents on to the blotting pad – a small cassette tape.
‘How did you get hold of it?’ asked Payne.
‘Better not to ask,’ said Craig. ‘Let’s just say I’ve got friends in low places.’ He smiled, picked up the tape and slotted it in the cassette player. ‘We are about to find out what Toby was so keen to share with the rest of the world.’ He pressed the play button. Craig leant back in his chair while Payne remained on the edge of his seat, his elbows on the desk. It was several seconds before they heard someone speak.
‘I can’t be sure which one of you will be listening to this tape.’ Craig didn’t recognize the voice immediately. ‘It could be Lawrence Davenport – but that seems unlikely. Gerald Payne is a possibility.’ Payne felt a chill shiver dart through his body. ‘But I suspect it’s most likely to be Spencer Craig.’ Craig showed no emotion. ‘Whichever one of you it is, I want to leave you in no doubt that if it takes me the rest of my life, I’m going to make sure that all three of you end up in jail for the murder of Bernie Wilson, not to mention my own unlawful incarceration. If you still hope to get your hands on the tape you were really looking for, let me assure you that it’s somewhere you’ll never find it, until you’re locked up in here.’
29
DANNY LOOKED AT himself in a full-length mirror for the first time in months, and was surprised by his reaction. Nick’s influence must have gone further than even he had realized, because he suddenly felt uncomfortably aware that a pair of designer jeans and a West Ham shirt might not be the most appropriate apparel for an appearance at the Royal Courts. He was already regretting having turned down Nick’s offer of a sober suit, shirt and tie, which would have been more in keeping with the gravity of the occasion (Nick’s words), as the disparity in their size was negligible (two words Danny no longer had to look up).
Danny took his place in the dock and waited for the three judges to appear. He had been driven out of Belmarsh at 7 a.m. in a large white prison van along with twelve other prisoners who were all due to appear at the appeal court that morning. How many of them would be returning that night? On arrival he’d been locked up in a cell and told to wait. It gave him time to think. Not that he would be allowed to say anything in court. Mr Redmayne had gone through the appeal procedure with him in great detail, and had explained that it was very different from a trial.
Three judges would have trawled through all the original evidence, as well as the transcript of the trial, and would have to be persuaded that there was fresh evidence that the judge and jury had not been privy to before they would consider overturning the original verdict.
Once he had heard the tape, Alex Redmayne was confident that doubt would be planted in their lordships’ minds, although he didn’t intend to dwell for too long on why Toby Mortimer was unable to appear as a witness.
It was some time before the door of Danny’s cell was unlocked, and Alex joined him. After their last consultation, he had insisted that Danny call him by his Christian name. He still refused, as it just didn’t feel right, despite the fact that his counsel had always treated him as an equal. Alex began to go over all the new evidence in great detail. Despite Mortimer taking his own life, they were still in possession of the tape, which Alex described as their trump card.
‘One should always try to avoid clichés, Mr Redmayne,’ Danny said with a grin.
Alex smiled. ‘Another year and you’ll be conducting your own defence.’
‘Let’s hope that won’t be necessary.’
Danny looked up to where Beth and her mother were seated in the front row of a gallery that was packed with the good citizens of Bow, who were in no doubt that he would be released later that day. He was only sorry that Beth’s father was not among them.
What Danny didn’t realize was how many more people were standing on the pavement outside the Royal Courts, chanting and holding up placards demanding his release. He glanced down at the press benches where a young man from the Bethnal Green and Bow Gazette sat with his notepad open and his pen poised. Would he have an exclusive for tomorrow’s paper? The tape might not prove to be enough in itself, Alex had warned Danny, but once it had been played in court, its contents could be reported in any newspaper in the land, and after that . . .
Danny was no longer alone. Alex, Nick, Big Al and of course Beth were the generals in what was fast becoming a small army. Alex had admitted that he was still hopeful a second witness might come forward to confirm Mortimer’s story. If Toby Mortimer had been willing to confess, wasn’t it possible that either Gerald Payne or Lawrence Davenport might, after more than two years of having had to live with their consciences, want to set the record straight?
‘Why don’t you go and see them?’ Danny had asked. ‘They might just listen to you.’
Alex had explained why that wasn’t possible, and went on to point out that even if he bumped into one of them socially he could be forced to withdraw from the case, or face a charge of unprofessional conduct.
‘Couldn’t you send someone else in your place, and have them get hold of the evidence we need, the way Big Al did?’
‘No,’ said Alex firmly. ‘If such an action were traced back to me, you’d be looking for a new barrister and I’d be looking for another job.’
‘What about the barman?’ Danny asked.
Alex told him that they’d already carried out a background check on Reg Jackson, the barman of the Dunlop Arms, to find out if he had any previous convictions.
‘And?’
‘Nothing,’ said Alex. ‘He’s been arrested twice in the past five years for handling stolen goods, but the police didn’t have enough evidence to be sure of a conviction, so the charges were dropped.’
‘What about Beth?’ Danny asked. ‘Will they give her a second chance to testify?’
‘No,’ replied Alex. ‘The judges will have read her written testimony as well as the transcript of the trial and they’re not interested in repeat performances.’ He also warned Danny that he couldn’t find anything in the judge’s summing up which suggested sufficient prejudice to seek a retrial. ‘The truth is, everything rests on the tape.’
‘What about Big Al?’
Alex told him that he had considered calling Albert Crann as a witness, but had decided that it might do more harm than good.
‘But he’s a loyal friend,’ said Danny.
‘With a criminal record.’
As ten o’clock struck, the three judges trooped into the courtroom. The court officials rose, bowed to their lordships and then waited for them to take their places on the bench. To Danny, the two men and one woman who held the rest of his life in their hands appeared somewhat shadowy figures, their heads covered in short wigs and their everyday clothes masked by full-length black gowns.
Alex Redmayne placed a file on a small lectern in front of him. He had explained to Danny that he would be alone on the front bench, as prosecuting counsel didn’t have to be present at appeals. Danny felt he wouldn’t miss Mr Arnold Pearson QC.
Once the court had settled, the senior judge, Lord Justice Browne, invited Mr Redmayne to begin his summation.
Alex opened by reminding the court of the background to the case, trying once again to sow doubt in their lordships’ minds, but from the looks on their faces he clearly wasn’t making much of an impression. In fact, Lord Justice Browne interrupted him on more than one occasion to enquire if there was going to be any new evidence presented in this case, as he stressed that all three judges had studied the court transcripts of the original trial.
After an hour, Alex finally gave in. ‘Be assured, m’lord, that I do indeed intend to present important new evidence for your consideration.’
‘Be assured, Mr Redmayne, that we are looking forward to hearing it,’ was Lord Justice Browne’s response.
Alex steadied himself and turned another pa
ge of his file. ‘My lords, I am in possession of a tape recording that I should like you to consider. It is a conversation with a Mr Toby Mortimer, a fellow Musketeer who was present at the Dunlop Arms on the night in question, but was unable to give evidence at the original trial as he was indisposed.’ Danny held his breath as Alex picked up the tape and placed it in a cassette player on the table in front of him. He was just about to press the play button, when Lord Justice Browne leant forward and said, ‘One moment please, Mr Redmayne.’
Danny felt a shiver go through his body as the three judges whispered among themselves. It was some time before Lord Justice Browne asked a question to which Alex had no doubt he already knew the answer.
‘Will Mr Mortimer be appearing as a witness?’ he asked.
‘No, m’lord, but the tape will show—’
‘Why will he not be appearing before us, Mr Redmayne? Is he still indisposed?’
‘Unfortunately, m’lord, he died quite recently.’
‘May I enquire what was the cause of death?’
Alex cursed. He knew that Lord Justice Browne was well aware of the reason Mortimer couldn’t be in court, but was making sure that every detail was on the record. ‘He committed suicide, m’lord, after taking an overdose of heroin.’
‘Was he a registered heroin addict?’ continued Lord Justice Browne relentlessly.
‘Yes, m’lord, but fortunately this recording was made during a period of remission.’
‘No doubt a doctor will appear before us to confirm this?’
‘Unfortunately not, m’lord.’
‘Am I to understand that a doctor was not present when the tape recording was made?’
‘Yes, m’lord.’
‘I see. And where was the tape recording made?’
‘In Belmarsh prison, m’lord.’
‘Were you present at the time?’
‘No, m’lord.’
‘Perhaps an officer of the prison was on hand to witness the circumstances in which this tape recording was made?’
‘No, m’lord.’
‘Then I am curious to know, Mr Redmayne, exactly who was present on the occasion.’
‘A Mr Albert Crann.’
‘And if he is not a doctor or a member of the prison staff, what was his position at the time?’
‘He is a prisoner.’
‘Is he, indeed? I am bound to ask, Mr Redmayne, if you have any proof that this recording was made without Mr Mortimer being coerced or threatened.’
Alex hesitated. ‘No, m’lord. But I’m confident that you will be able to make such a judgement concerning Mr Mortimer’s state of mind once you have listened to the tape.’
‘But how can we be sure that Mr Crann wasn’t holding a knife to his throat, Mr Redmayne? Indeed, perhaps his very presence would have been enough to put the fear of God into Mr Mortimer.’
‘As I have suggested, m’lord, you might feel better able to form an opinion once you have heard the tape.’
‘Allow me a moment to consult with my colleagues, Mr Redmayne.’
Once again the three judges whispered among themselves.
After a short time, Lord Justice Browne turned his attention back to defence counsel. ‘Mr Redmayne, we are all of the opinion that we cannot allow you to play the tape, as it is clearly inadmissible.’
‘But, my lord, may I refer you to a recent European Commission directive—’
‘European directives do not yet constitute law in my court,’ said Lord Justice Browne, but quickly corrected himself, ‘ – in this country. Let me warn you that if the contents of this tape were ever to become public, I would be obliged to refer the matter to the CPS.’
The one journalist on the press benches put down his pen. For a moment he had thought he had an exclusive, as Mr Redmayne would surely pass over the tape at the conclusion of the hearing so that he could decide if his readers might be interested, even if their lordships were not. But that would no longer be possible. If the paper published one word of the tape following the judge’s directive, it would be in contempt of court – something even the most robust editors draw the line at.
Alex shuffled some papers around, but he knew that he wouldn’t be troubling Lord Justice Browne again.
‘Please carry on with your submission, Mr Redmayne,’ the judge offered helpfully.
Alex continued defiantly with the little new evidence he had left at his disposal, but he could no longer call on anything that caused Lord Justice Browne even to raise an eyebrow. When Alex finally resumed his place, he cursed himself under his breath. He should have released the tape to the press the day before the appeal was due to be heard, and then the judge would have had no choice but to consider the conversation to be admissible as fresh evidence. But Lord Justice Browne proved too wily a customer to allow Alex even to press the play button.
His father had later pointed out that if their lordships had heard so much as one sentence, they would have had no choice but to listen to the whole tape. They hadn’t heard one word, let alone a sentence.
The three judges retired at twelve thirty-seven, and it was only a short time before they returned with a unanimous verdict. Alex lowered his head when Lord Justice Browne uttered the words, ‘Appeal dismissed.’
He looked across at Danny, who had just been condemned to spend the next twenty years of his life in jail for a crime Alex was now certain he did not commit.
30
SEVERAL OF THE GUESTS were on their third or fourth glass of champagne by the time Lawrence Davenport appeared on the staircase of the crowded ballroom. He didn’t move from the top step until he was satisfied that most of them had turned to gaze in his direction. A smattering of applause broke out. He smiled and waved a hand in acknowledgement. A glass of champagne was thrust into his other hand with the words, ‘You were magnificent, darling.’
When the curtain fell, the first-nighters had given the cast a standing ovation, but that would not have come as a surprise to any regular theatregoers because they always do. After all, the first eight rows are usually filled with the cast’s family, friends and agents and the next six with comps and hangers-on. Only a seasoned critic would fail to rise the moment the curtain fell, unless it was to leave quickly so that they could file their piece in time to catch the first edition the following morning.
Davenport slowly looked around the room. His eyes settled on his sister Sarah, who was chatting to Gibson Graham.
‘How do you think the critics will react?’ Sarah asked Larry’s agent.
‘They’ll be sniffy,’ said Gibson, puffing away on his cigar. ‘They always are when a soap star appears in the West End. But as we’ve got an advance of nearly three hundred thousand pounds and it’s only a fourteen-week run, we’re critic-proof. It’s bums on seats that matter, Sarah, not the critics.’
‘Has Larry got anything else lined up?’
‘Not at the moment,’ Gibson admitted. ‘But I’m confident that after tonight there will be no shortage of enquiries.’
‘Larry, well done,’ said Sarah as her brother walked over to join them.
‘What a triumph,’ added Gibson, raising his glass.
‘Do you really think so?’ asked Davenport.
‘Oh yes,’ said Sarah, who understood her brother’s insecurities better than anyone. ‘In any case, Gibson tells me that you’re almost booked out for the entire run.’
‘True, but I still worry about the critics,’ said Davenport. ‘They’ve never been kind to me in the past.’
‘Don’t give them a thought,’ said Gibson. ‘It doesn’t matter what they say – the show’s going to be a sell-out.’
Davenport scanned the room to see who he wanted to talk to next. His eyes rested on Spencer Craig and Gerald Payne, who were standing in the far corner, deep in conversation.
‘It looks as if our little investment will pay off,’ said Craig. ‘Doubly.’
‘Doubly?’ said Payne.
‘Not only did Larry clam up the moment he
was offered the chance to appear in the West End, but with an advance of three hundred thousand, we’re certain to get our money back, and possibly even show a small profit. And now that Cartwright has lost his appeal, we won’t have to worry about him for at least another twenty years,’ Craig added with a chuckle.
‘I’m still worried about the tape,’ said Payne. ‘I’d be far more relaxed if I knew it no longer existed.’
‘It’s no longer relevant,’ said Craig.
‘But what if the papers got hold of it?’ said Payne.
‘The papers won’t dare to go anywhere near it.’
‘But that wouldn’t stop it being published on the internet, which could be every bit as damaging for both of us.’
‘You keep worrying yourself unnecessarily,’ said Craig.
‘Not a night goes by when I don’t worry about it,’ said Payne. ‘I wake up every morning wondering if my face will be plastered across the front pages.’
‘I don’t think it would be your face that ended up on the front pages,’ said Craig as Davenport appeared by his side. ‘Congratulations, Larry. You were quite brilliant.’
‘My agent tells me that you both invested in the show,’ said Davenport.
‘You bet we did,’ said Craig. ‘We know a winner when we see one. In fact, we’re going to spend part of the profits on the Musketeers’ annual bash.’
Two young men came up to Davenport, happy to confirm his own opinion of himself, which gave Craig the opportunity to slip away.
As he circulated around the room, he caught a glimpse of Sarah Davenport talking to a short, balding, overweight man who was smoking a cigar. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. He wondered if the man puffing away on the cigar was her partner. When she turned in his direction, Craig smiled at her, but she didn’t respond. Perhaps she hadn’t seen him. In his opinion she had always been better looking than Larry and after their one night together . . . He walked across to join her. He would know in a moment if Larry had confided in her.