Jeffrey Archer - Sons of Fortune

‘I’m flattered,’ said Su Ling as he helped her on with her jacket. As they walked out of the restaurant, Su Ling took his hand. ‘You’re really quite shy, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, I suppose I am,’ said Nat, as they continued walking towards the campus.

‘Not at all like your arch rival, Ralph Elliot.’ Nat didn’t comment. ‘He asked me for a date within minutes of meeting me.’

‘To be fair,’ said Nat, ‘I would have too, but you walked away.’

‘I thought I was running at the time,’ she said. He turned and smiled. ‘And even more interesting is how much action you actually saw in Vietnam to turn you into such a hero.’ Nat was about to protest when she added, ‘Answer, about half an hour.’

‘How do you know that?’ asked Nat.

‘Because I did some research on you, Captain Cartwright, and to quote Steinbeck, “you’re sailing under false colours”. I learned that quote today,’ she said, ‘just in case you might think I’m well read. When you jumped on the helicopter, you weren’t even carrying a gun. You were a requisition officer who shouldn’t have been on that aircraft in the first place. In fact, it was bad enough that you jumped on the helicopter without permission, but you also jumped off it without permission. Mind you, if you hadn’t, you might well have been court-martialled.’

‘True,’ said Nat, ‘but don’t tell anyone else, because it will stop me having my usual three girls a night.’

Su Ling placed a hand in front of her mouth and laughed. ‘But I did read on, and your action after the helicopter crashed in the jungle was that of an extremely brave man. To have dragged that poor soldier on a stretcher with half your leg blown away must have taken immense courage, and then to discover he had later died can only have left an irremediable scar.’ Nat didn’t reply. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said as they reached south campus, ‘that last remark was inconsiderate of me.’

‘It was kind of you to search for the truth,’ he said, looking down into her dark brown eyes. ‘Not many have bothered to do that.’

‘Members of the jury, in most murder trials it is the responsibility of the state, and rightly so, to prove that the defendant is guilty of homicide. That has not proved necessary in this case. Why? Because Mrs Kirsten signed a confession within an hour of her husband’s brutal killing. And even now, eight months later, you will have noted that her legal representative has not at any time during this trial suggested that his client didn’t commit the crime, or even challenged how she went about it.

‘So let us turn to the facts in this case, because this was not what could be described as a crime of passion where a woman seeks to defend herself with the nearest weapon to hand. No, Mrs Kirsten was not interested in the nearest weapon to hand, because she spent several weeks planning this cold-blooded murder, well aware that her victim would have no chance of defending himself.

‘How did Mrs Kirsten set about her task? Over a period of nearly three months, she collected several phials of curare from different drug dealers who reside in the shadows of Hartford. The defence tried to suggest that none of the dealers’ evidence could be relied upon, which might have influenced you had Mrs Kirsten herself not confirmed from the witness stand that they were all telling the truth.

‘Having collected the phials over several weeks, what does Mrs Kirsten do next? She waits until a Saturday night, when she knows her husband goes out drinking with his friends, and covertly pours the drug into six bottles of beer, and even replaces the tops. She then puts these bottles on the kitchen table, leaves the light on and goes to bed. She even places a bottle opener and a glass next to them. She does everything except pour out the drink herself.

‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this was a well planned and cleverly executed murder. However, if you can believe it possible, there was even worse to follow.

‘When her husband arrives home that night, he does indeed fall into her trap. First he goes to the kitchen, probably to turn off the light, and, seeing the bottles on the table, Alex Kirsten is tempted into having a beer before going to bed. Even before he has put the second bottle to his lips, the drug has begun to take effect. When he calls for help his wife leaves the bedroom and walks slowly down to the hall, where she hears her husband crying out in pain. Does she phone for an ambulance? No, she does not. Does she even go to his assistance? No, she does not. She sits on the staircase and waits patiently until his agonized cries have stopped and she can be certain he’s dead. And then, and only then, does she raise the alarm.

‘How can we be so sure this is what actually took place? Not just because the neighbours were woken by her husband’s haunting screams for help, but because when one of those neighbours came to the door to see if they could assist, in her panic Mrs Kirsten forgot to dispose of the contents of the other four bottles.’ He paused for several seconds. ‘When analysed, they contained enough curare to kill a football team.

‘Members of the jury, the only defence Mr Davenport has suggested for this crime is that Mrs Kirsten’s husband regularly beat her. If this was the case, why didn’t she inform the police? If this was true, why didn’t she go and live with her mother, who resides on the other side of the city? If we are to believe her story, why didn’t she leave him? I’ll tell you why. Because once her husband was out of the way, she would own the house they lived in and collect his pension from the company he worked for, making it possible for her to live in relative comfort for the rest of her life.

‘In normal circumstances, the state would not hesitate to call for the death penalty for such a horrendous crime, but we do not feel it is appropriate on this occasion. It is nevertheless, your duty to send a clear message to any person who believes they can get away with murder. Such a crime may be lightly regarded in some other states, but we don’t need one of those to be Connecticut. Do we want to be known as the state that condones murder?’

The attorney general lowered his voice almost to a whisper, and looked straight at the jury. ‘When you indulge yourself in a moment of sympathy for Mrs Kirsten, and indeed you should, if only because you are caring human beings, place that on one side of the scales called justice. On the other side, place the facts — the cold-blooded murder of a forty-two-year-old man who would still be alive today if it were not for the premeditated crime cunningly executed by that evil woman.’ He turned and pointed directly at the defendent. ‘The state has no hesitation in asking you to find Mrs Kirsten guilty, and sentence her according to the law.’ Mr Stamp returned to his place, the suggestion of a smile on his face.

‘Mr Davenport,’ said the judge, ‘I intend to break for lunch. When we return, you may begin your summing up.’

‘You look very pleased with yourself,’ said Tom as they settled down for breakfast in the kitchen.

‘It was an unforgettable evening.’

‘From that I assume consummation took place?’

‘No, you cannot assume anything of the sort,’ said Nat. ‘But I can tell you that I held her hand.’

‘You did what?’

‘I held her hand,’ Nat repeated.

‘That won’t do your reputation any good.’

‘I’m rather hoping it will ruin my reputation,’ said Nat as he poured some milk over his Wheaties. ‘And how about you?’ he asked.

‘If you are referring to my sex life, it is currently non-existent, though not through lack of offers, one even persistent. But I’m just not interested.’ Nat stared across at his friend and raised an eyebrow. ‘Rebecca Thornton has made it all too obvious that she’s available.’