Jeffrey Archer - A Prisoner Of Birth

"I don't think that was the number of times we made love," said Beth, before adding, "Let's hope it will be a brother for Christy."

"If it is, we can call him Bernie."

"No," said Beth, "we're going to call him-" The klaxon signaled the end of visits and drowned out her words.

"Can I ask you a question?" said Danny when Pascoe escorted him back to his cell.

"Of course," Pascoe replied. "Doesn't mean I'll answer it."

"You always knew, didn't you?" Pascoe smiled, but didn't reply. "What made you so sure that I wasn't Nick?" asked Danny as they reached his cell.

Pascoe turned the key in the lock and heaved open the heavy door. Danny walked in, assuming he wasn't going to answer his question, but then Pascoe nodded at the photograph of Beth that Danny had sellotaped back on to the wall.

"Oh, my God," said Danny, shaking his head. "I never took her photo off the wall."

Pascoe smiled, stepped back into the corridor and slammed the cell door shut.

Danny looked up at the public gallery to see Beth, now six months pregnant, looking down at him with that same smile he remembered so well from their playground days at Clement Attlee comprehensive and which he knew would still be there until the end of his days, however long the judge decreed his sentence should run.

Danny's and Beth's mothers sat on either side of her, a constant support. Also seated in the gallery were many of Danny's friends and supporters from the East End who would go to their graves proclaiming his innocence. Danny's eyes settled on Professor Amirkhan Mori, a foul-weather friend, before moving on to someone seated at the end of the row, whom he hadn't expected to see again. Sarah Davenport leaned over the balcony, and smiled down at him.

In the well of the court, Alex and his father were still deep in conversation. The Times had devoted a whole page to the father and son who would be appearing together as defense counsel in the case. It was only the second time in history that a high-court judge had returned to the role of barrister, and it was certainly the first occasion in anyone's memory that a son would lead his father.

Danny and Alex had renewed their friendship during the past six months, and he knew they would remain close for the rest of their lives. Alex's father came from the same growth as Professor Mori-a rare vintage. Both men were passionate: Professor Mori in the pursuit of learning, Sir Matthew in the pursuit of justice. The old judge's presence in the courtroom had made even practiced lawyers and cynical journalists think more carefully about the case, but they remained puzzled as to what had convinced him that Danny Cartwright could possibly be innocent.

Mr. Arnold Pearson QC and his junior were seated at the other end of the bench, checking over the opening for the Crown line by line and making the occasional small emendation. Danny was well prepared for the outburst of venom and bile that he was sure would come when Pearson rose from his place and told the court that not only was the defendant an evil and dangerous criminal, but that there was only one place the jury should consider dispatching him for the rest of his life.

Alex Redmayne had told Danny that he only expected three witnesses to give evidence: Chief Inspector Fuller, Sir Hugo Moncrieff and Fraser Munro. But Alex and his father already had plans to ensure that a fourth witness would also be called. Alex had warned Danny that whichever judge was appointed to try the case would do everything in his power to prevent that happening.

It came as no surprise to Sir Matthew that Mr. Justice Hackett had called both counsel to his chambers before proceedings began, to warn them to steer clear of any reference to the original murder trial, the verdict of which had been reached by a jury and later upheld by three judges at the court of appeal. He went on to stress that should either party attempt to place on record the contents of a particular tape as evidence, or mention the names of Spencer Craig, now an eminent QC, Gerald Payne, who had been elected to Parliament, or the well-known actor Lawrence Davenport, they could expect to face his wrath.

It was common knowledge in legal circles that Mr. Justice Hackett and Sir Matthew Redmayne had not been on speaking terms for the past thirty years. Sir Matthew had won too many cases in the lower courts when they were both fledgling barristers for anyone to be left in much doubt which of them was the superior advocate. The press were hoping that their rivalry would be rekindled once the trial was under way.

The jury had been selected the previous day, and were now waiting to be called into court so that they could hear the evidence before passing a final verdict in the case of The Crown versus Daniel Arthur Cartwright .

MR. JUSTICE HACKETT peered around the courtroom much as an opening batsman does when checking to see where the fielders have been placed to catch him out. His eyes rested on Sir Matthew Redmayne, who was at second slip, waiting for the opening ball. None of the other players caused the judge the slightest apprehension, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to relax if Sir Matthew was put on to bowl.

He turned his attention to the opening bowler for the home team, Mr. Arnold Pearson QC not known for taking early wickets.

"Mr. Pearson, are you ready to make your opening?"

"I am, m'lord," replied Pearson, rising slowly from his place. He tugged on the lapels of his gown and touched the top of his ancient wig, then placed his file on a little raised stand and began to read the first page as if he had never seen it before.

"Members of the jury," he began, beaming across at the twelve citizens who had been selected to pass judgment on this occasion. "My name is Arnold Pearson, and I shall be leading for the Crown in this case. I will be assisted by my junior, Mr. David Simms. The defense will be led by Mr. Alex Redmayne, assisted by his junior, Sir Matthew Redmayne." All eyes in the courtroom turned to look at the old man who was slouched on the corner of the bench, seemingly fast asleep.

"Members of the jury," Pearson continued, "the defendant is charged with five counts. The first is that he did wilfully escape from Belmarsh prison, a high-security establishment in southeast London, while in custody for a previous offense.

"The second count is that the defendant did steal from Sir Hugo Moncrieff an estate in Scotland, comprising a fourteen-bedroom mansion and twelve thousand acres of arable land.

"The third count is that he occupied a house, namely number twelve The Boltons, London SW3, which was not lawfully his.

"The fourth count relates to the theft of a unique stamp collection and the subsequent sale of that collection for the sum of over twenty-five million pounds.

"And the fifth count is that the defendant cashed checks on a bank account at Coutts in the Strand, London, and transferred money from a private bank in Switzerland, neither of which he was entitled to do, and that he profited by so doing.

"The Crown will show that all five of these counts are interlinked, and were committed by one person, the defendant, Daniel Cartwright, who falsely passed himself off as Sir Nicholas Moncrieff, the rightful and legal beneficiary of the late Sir Alexander Moncrieff's will. In order to prove this, members of the jury, I will first have to take you back to Belmarsh prison to show how the defendant was able to place himself in a position to commit these audacious crimes. To do that, it may be necessary for me to mention in passing the original offense of which Cartwright was convicted."

"You will do no such thing," interjected Mr. Justice Hackett sternly. "The original crime committed by the defendant has no bearing on the offenses that are being tried in this court. You may not refer to that earlier case unless you can show a direct and relevant connection between it and this case." Sir Matthew wrote down the words, direct and relevant connection. "Do I make myself clear, Mr. Pearson?"