Jeffrey Archer - Cometh the Hour

“I have only one question, my lord. Mr. Collier, how old were you when you made that unfortunate mistake?”

“I was thirty-two. It was almost twenty years ago.”

“So you’ve only made one misjudgment in one hundred and fifty-nine cases? Considerably less than one percent.”

“Yes, sir.”

“No more questions, my lord,” said Carman, resuming his seat.

“You may leave the witness box, Mr. Collier,” said the judge.

Sebastian watched the senior customs officer as he made his way out of court. He turned to glance at Hakim, who managed a thin smile. Seb then looked at the jury, who were talking among themselves, with the exception of one man who didn’t take his eyes off Mr. Collier.

“Are you ready to call your next witness, Mr. Carman?” asked the judge.

“I am indeed, my lord,” said the prosecution’s standard-bearer, as he rose slowly from his place. Mr. Carman tugged at the lapels on his long black gown and adjusted his wig before turning to face the jury. Once he was confident that every eye in the courtroom was on him, he said, “I call Mrs. Kristina Bergström.”

Chattering broke out in the court as an elegant, middle-aged woman entered the room. Mr. Gray swung around to see that his client had been taken by surprise, although he clearly recognized her immediately. He turned back to look more closely at the woman everyone had been searching for, for the past five months. He grabbed a new yellow pad, unscrewed the top of his pen and waited to hear her evidence.

Mrs. Bergström took the Bible in her right hand and read from the card with such confidence you would not have known English was her second language.

Mr. Carman didn’t attempt to remove the Cheshire cat grin from his face until he’d asked the witness his first question.

“Mrs. Bergström, would you be kind enough to state your name for the record.”

“Kristina Carla Bergström.”

“And your nationality?”

“Danish.”

“And your occupation?”

“I am a landscape architect.”

“Mrs. Bergström, so as not to waste everyone’s time, yours included, do you recognize the prisoner standing in the dock?”

She looked straight at Hakim and said, “Yes, I do. We were seated next to each other on a flight from Lagos to London some four or five months ago.”

“And you are certain that the man you sat next to is the man in the dock?”

“He’s a handsome man, Mr. Carman, and I remember being surprised that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.”

One or two smiles greeted this statement.

“During the flight, did you strike up a conversation with the defendant?”

“I thought about it, but he looked exhausted. In fact, he fell asleep within moments of the plane taking off, which I envied.”

“Why did you envy him?”

“I’ve never acquired the knack of being able to sleep on a plane, and have to pass the time watching a film or reading a book.”

“Which was it on this occasion?”

“I’d read half of Watership Down on the flight to Lagos, and I intended to finish it on the way back to London.”

“And did you?”

“Yes, I turned the last page a few moments before the captain told us we were about to begin our descent into Heathrow.”

“So you were awake for the entire journey?”

“Yes.”

“Did you at any time see another passenger, or a member of the crew, open the luggage compartment above you and place something in Mr. Bishara’s bag?”

“No one opened it during the entire flight.”

“How can you be so sure of that, Mrs. Bergström?”

“Because I’d closed a major deal when I was in Lagos, to landscape the oil minister’s garden.” Hakim wanted to laugh. So that’s why he’d been kept waiting for five hours. “And to celebrate I bought a Ferragamo handbag in duty-free. I’d placed it in the same overhead locker. If anyone had opened it I think I would have noticed.”

Mr. Carman smiled at the women on the jury, one of whom was nodding.

“Was there any time during the flight when you were not sitting next to Mr. Bishara?”

“After the captain announced that we were about half an hour from Heathrow, I went to the washroom to freshen up.”

“And Mr. Bishara was in his seat at the time?”

“Yes, he’d just been served with breakfast.”

“So while you were gone he would have been able to check and see if anyone had opened the hold above him and interfered with his bag.”

“I would presume so, but only he can answer that.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bergström. Please remain in the witness box, as I’m sure my learned friend will want to question you.”

When he rose, Mr. Gray certainly didn’t look as if he wanted to question anyone. “My lord, I wonder if I might request a short break, as I need some time to consult with my client.”

“Of course, Mr. Gray,” said Mr. Justice Urquhart. He then leaned forward, placed his elbows on the bench and turned to the jury. “I think this would be a convenient time for us to break for the day. Would you please all be back in your places by ten o’clock tomorrow morning when Mr. Gray can cross-examine this witness, if he so wishes.”

“Let me first ask you, Hakim,” said Gray once they were settled in the privacy of one of the court’s consultation rooms, “is that the woman you sat next to on the flight from Lagos?”

“It certainly is. She’s not someone you’d easily forget.”

“Then how did Carman get to her before we did?”

“He didn’t,” said Arnold Hardcastle. “Carman was only too happy to tell me that she’d read about the case in the press and immediately contacted her company lawyer.”

“Read about the case?” said Gray in disbelief. “In the Copenhagen Gazette, no doubt.”

“No, the Financial Times. ”

“We’d have been a lot better off if she hadn’t,” muttered Gray.

“Why?” asked Hakim.

“Without her evidence I might have been able to sow some doubt in the jury’s minds about the role she played in this whole affair, but now...”

“So you’re not going to cross-examine her?” asked Arnold.

“Certainly not. That would only remind the jury what a convincing witness she is. No, everything now rests on how Hakim comes over.”

“He’ll come over as what he is,” said Sebastian. “A decent, honest man. The jury won’t be able to miss that.”

“I wish it were that simple,” said Mr. Gray. “No one can ever be sure how a witness, especially one who’s under so much pressure, will perform once they step into the box.”

“Perform?” repeated Ross.

“I’m afraid so,” said Mr. Gray. “Tomorrow will be pure theatre.”

As 10 a.m. struck, Mr. Justice Urquhart entered the court. Everyone rose, bowed and, after the judge had returned their salutation, waited for him to be seated in his high-backed red leather chair at the center of the dais.

“Good morning,” he said, smiling down at the jury. He then turned his attention to defense counsel. “Mr. Gray, do you wish to cross-examine Mrs. Bergström?”

“No, my lord.”

Carman stared at the jury, a feigned look of surprise on his face.

“As you wish. Mr. Carman, will the prosecution be calling any further witnesses?”

“No, my lord.”

“Very well. In that case, Mr. Gray, you may call your first witness.”

“I call Mr. Hakim Bishara.”

Everyone’s eyes followed the defendant as he stepped out of the dock and made his way to the witness box. He was wearing a navy-blue suit, a white shirt and a Yale tie, just as Mr. Gray had recommended. He certainly didn’t look like a man who had anything to hide. In fact, Sebastian was impressed by how fit he looked. He might have just flown in from a holiday in Lyford Cay, rather than having spent the past five months in prison. But then, as Hakim had explained to Seb on one of his many visits to HMP Wandsworth, he spent an hour in the gym every morning, then walked around the exercise yard for another hour in the afternoon. Besides which, he was no longer eating business lunches, and the prison didn’t have a wine cellar.