Jeffrey Archer - Cometh the Hour

“And he did so?”

“Yes. When Mr. Bishara entered the green channel a few minutes later, I stopped him and inspected his overnight bag, the one piece of luggage in his possession.”

“And did you find anything unusual?”

“A cellophane package secreted in a side pocket of the bag containing thirteen ounces of heroin.”

“How did Mr. Bishara react when you found this package?”

“He looked surprised and claimed he had never seen it before.”

“Is that unusual, Mr. Collier?”

“I’ve never known a dealer admit to smuggling drugs. They always look surprised and behave impeccably. It’s their only defense should the case come to court.”

“What did you do then?”

“I arrested Mr. Bishara, cautioned him in the presence of a colleague and conducted him to an interview room, where I handed him over to an officer from the Drugs Squad.”

“Now, before my learned friend Mr. Gray leaps up to tell us all that a doctor has examined Mr. Bishara and found that there is no indication he has ever taken drugs in his life, can I ask you, with your twenty-seven years of experience as a customs officer, Mr. Collier, would it be unusual for a drug dealer not to be a drug user?”

“It’s almost unknown for a dealer to take drugs himself. They are businessmen who run large and complex empires, often using apparently legitimate businesses as a front for their criminal activities.”

“Not unlike a banker?”

Mr. Gray did leap up.

“Yes, Mr. Gray,” said the judge. “Mr. Carman, that was uncalled for.” Turning to the jury, Mr. Justice Urquhart added, “That last comment will be struck from the record, and you should dismiss it from your minds.”

Sebastian had no doubt that it would be struck from the record, but he was equally certain it would not be dismissed from the jurors’ minds.

“I apologize, my lord,” said Mr. Carman, who couldn’t have looked less apologetic. “Mr. Collier, how many drug smugglers have you arrested in the past twenty-seven years?”

“One hundred and fifty-nine.”

“And how many of those one hundred and fifty-nine were eventually convicted?”

“One hundred and fifty-five.”

“And of the four who were found innocent, how many were later—”

“Mr. Carman, where is this leading?”

“I am just trying to establish, my lord, that Mr. Collier doesn’t make mistakes. It was simply—”

“Stop there, Mr. Carman. Mr. Collier, you will not answer that question.”

Sebastian realized that the jury would know only too well what Mr. Carman was trying to establish.

“No more questions, my lord.”

When the court reconvened at two o’clock that afternoon, the judge invited Mr. Gray to begin his cross-examination. If he was surprised by the defense counsel’s opening remarks, he didn’t show it.

“Mr. Collier, I don’t have to remind a man of your professional standing that you are still under oath.”

The customs officer bristled. “No, you don’t, Mr. Gray.” The judge raised an eyebrow.

“I’d like to return to the tape recording, Mr. Collier.” The witness nodded brusquely. “Did you find your conversation with the anonymous informant somewhat unusual?”

“I’m not sure I understand the question,” said Collier, sounding defensive.

“Were you not surprised that he sounded like a well-educated man?”

“What makes you say that, Mr. Gray?”

“When replying to the switchboard operator’s question, ‘May I ask who’s calling,’ he said, ‘No, you may not.’” The judge smiled. “And didn’t you also find it interesting that the informant never once swore or used any bad language during the conversation?”

“Not many people swear at customs officers, Mr. Gray.”

“And did you get the feeling he was reading from a script?”

“That’s not uncommon. The pros know that if they stay on the line for more than three minutes we have a good chance of tracing the call, so they don’t waste words.”

“Words like, ‘No, you may not?’ And didn’t you find the caller’s expression ‘well known in the trade’ rather strange, given the circumstances?”

“I’m not sure I’m following you, Mr. Gray.”

“Then allow me to assist you, Mr. Collier. You have been a customs officer for the past twenty-seven years, as my learned friend kept reminding us. So I must ask you, under oath, with your extensive knowledge of the drugs world, have you ever come across the name of Hakim Bishara before?”

Collier hesitated for a moment, before he said, “No, I have not.”

“He wasn’t among the one hundred and fifty-nine drug smugglers you’ve arrested in the past?”

“No, sir.”

“And didn’t you find it a little strange, Mr. Collier, that the thirteen ounces of heroin were in a side pocket of his overnight bag and no attempt had been made to conceal them?”

“Mr. Bishara is clearly a confident man,” said Collier, sounding a little flustered.

“But not a stupid one. Even more inexplicable, to my mind, is the fact that the man who gave you the tip-off, the well-educated man, said, and I quote” — Gray paused to glance down at his yellow notepad — “‘He has thirteen ounces of heroin in his overnight bag.’ And thirteen ounces he had. Not fourteen. Not twelve. And, as promised, in his overnight bag.”

“Clearly the informant’s contact in Nigeria told him the exact amount of heroin he’d sold to Mr. Bishara.”

“Or the exact amount he’d arranged to have planted in Mr. Bishara’s bag?”

Collier gripped the sides of the witness box, but remained silent.

“Let me return to Mr. Bishara’s reaction when he first saw the package of heroin and remind you once again, Mr. Collier, of your exact words: ‘He looked surprised, and claimed he had never seen it before.’”

“That is correct.”

“He didn’t raise his voice, lose his temper or protest?”

“No, he did not.”

“Mr. Bishara remained calm and dignified throughout this extremely unpleasant ordeal.”

“No more than I would expect from a professional drug dealer,” said Collier.

“And no more than I would expect from a totally innocent man,” retorted Mr. Gray. Collier didn’t comment. “Allow me to end on a point that my learned friend was so keen the jury should know about, and indeed so am I. You told the court that during your twenty-seven years as a customs officer, you have arrested a hundred and fifty-nine people on drugs-related charges.”

“That is correct.”

“And during that time, have you ever made a mistake and arrested an innocent person?” Collier pursed his lips. “Yes or no, Mr. Collier?”

“Yes, but on only one occasion.”

“And — correct me if I’m wrong—” said Gray as he opened a separate file, “the man in question was arrested for being in possession of cocaine.”

“Yes.”

“And was he convicted?”

“Yes,” said Collier.

“What was his sentence?”

“Eight years,” said Collier, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Did this evil merchant of death serve out his full sentence?”

“No, he was released after four years.”

“For good behavior?”

“No,” said Collier. “In an unrelated trial some years later, a convicted drug dealer admitted he’d planted the cocaine on him during a flight from Turkey.” It was some time before Collier added, “The case still haunts me.”

“I hope, Mr. Collier, that this case won’t also come back to haunt you. No further questions, my lord.”

Sebastian turned to see that one or two members of the jury were whispering among themselves, while others were making notes.

“Mr. Carman,” said the judge, “do you wish to reexamine this witness?”