Jeffrey Archer - Sons of Fortune

‘Yes, I do,’ said Nat as he continued to dry his hands after removing the traces of black ink from his fingers.

‘I’ve talked to the chief,’ said Jimmy, ‘and he’s quite happy for you to go home, but you’ll have to appear in court at ten o’clock tomorrow morning to be formally charged. I shall apply for bail on your behalf, and there is no reason to believe it won’t be granted.’

‘Thank you,’ said Nat, his voice flat. ‘Jimmy, you’ll recall that before we began the takeover bid for Fairchild’s, I asked you to find me the best corporate lawyer available to represent us?’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Jimmy, ‘and you’ve always said that Logan Fitzgerald did a first-class job.’

‘He certainly did,’ said Nat quietly, ‘but now I need you to find me the Logan Fitzgerald of criminal law.’

‘I’ll have two or three names for you to consider by the time we meet up tomorrow. There’s a guy in Chicago who’s exceptional, but I don’t know what his diary’s like,’ he said as the chief of police walked over to join them.

‘Mr Cartwright, can one of my boys drive you home?’

‘No, that’s good of you, chief,’ said Tom, ‘but I’ll take the candidate home.’

‘You say candidate automatically now,’ said Nat, ‘almost as if it was my Christian name.’

On the journey home, Nat told Tom everything that had taken place while he was at Elliot’s house. ‘So in the end it will come down to your word against hers,’ commented Tom as he pulled up outside Nat’s front door.

‘Yes, and I’m afraid my story won’t be as convincing as hers, even though it’s the truth.’

‘We can talk about that in the morning,’ said Tom. ‘But now you need to try and get some sleep.’

‘It is the morning,’ said Nat as he watched the first rays of sunlight creeping across the lawn.

Su Ling was standing by the open door. ‘Did they for a moment believe...?’

Nat told her everything that had happened while he was at the police station, and when he finished, all Su Ling said was, ‘Such a pity.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Nat.

‘That you didn’t kill him.’

Nat climbed the stairs and walked through the bedroom straight on into the bathroom. He stripped off his clothes and threw them in a bag. He would dispose of the bag later so that he would never have to be reminded of this terrible day. He stepped into the shower and allowed the cold jets of water to beat down on him. After putting on a new set of clothes he rejoined his wife in the kitchen. On the sideboard was his election-day schedule; no mention of a court appearance on arraignment for murder.

Tom turned up at nine. He reported that the voting was going briskly, as if nothing else was happening in Nat’s life. ‘They took a poll immediately following the television interview,’ he told Nat, ‘and it gave you a lead of sixty-three to thirty-seven.’

‘But that was before I was arrested for killing the other candidate,’ said Nat.

‘I guess that might push it up to seventy-thirty,’ replied Tom. No one laughed.

Tom did his best to focus on the campaign and try to keep their minds off Luke. It didn’t work. He looked up at the kitchen clock. ‘Time for us to go,’ he said to Nat, who turned and took Su Ling in his arms.

‘No, I’m coming with you,’ she said. ‘Nat may not have murdered him, but I would have, given half a chance.’

‘Me too,’ said Tom gently, ‘but let me warn you that when we get to the courthouse it’s bound to be a media circus. Look innocent and say nothing, because anything you say will end up on every front page.’

As they left the house, they were greeted by a dozen journalists and three camera crews just to watch them climb into a car. Nat clung on to Su Ling’s hand as they were driven through the streets and didn’t notice how many people waved the moment they spotted him. When they arrived at the steps of the courthouse fifteen minutes later, Nat faced the largest crowd he’d encountered during the entire election campaign.

The chief had anticipated the problem and detailed twenty uniformed officers to hold back the crowd, and make a gangway so that Nat and his party could enter the building without being hassled. It didn’t work, because twenty officers weren’t enough to control the scrum of photographers and journalists who shouted and jostled Nat and Su Ling as they tried to make their way up the courtroom steps. Microphones were thrust in Nat’s face, and questions came at them from every angle.

‘Did you murder Ralph Elliot?’ demanded one reporter.

‘Will you be withdrawing as candidate?’ followed next, as a microphone was thrust forward.

‘Was your mother a prostitute, Mrs Cartwright?’

‘Do you think you can still win, Nat?’

‘Was Rebecca Elliot your mistress?’

‘What were Ralph Elliot’s last words, Mr Cartwright?’

When they pushed through the swing doors, they found Jimmy Gates standing on the far side, waiting for them. He led Nat to a bench outside the courtroom and briefed his client on the procedure he was about to face.

‘Your appearance should only last for about five minutes,’ Jimmy explained. ‘You will state your name, and having done so, you will be charged, and then asked to enter a plea. Once you’ve pleaded not guilty, I shall make an application for bail. The state is suggesting fifty thousand dollars at your own recognizance, which I’ve agreed to. The moment you’ve signed the necessary papers, you will be released and you won’t have to appear again until a trial date has been fixed.’

‘When do we anticipate that might be?’

‘It would normally take about six months, but I’ve asked for the whole process to be speeded up on account of the up-coming election.’ Nat admired his counsel’s professional approach, remembering that Jimmy was also Fletcher Davenport’s closest friend. However, like any good lawyer, Nat thought, Jimmy would understand the meaning of Chinese walls.

Jimmy glanced at his watch. ‘We ought to go in, the last thing we need is to keep the judge waiting.’

Nat entered a packed courtroom and walked slowly down the aisle with Tom. He was surprised by how many people thrust out their hands and even wished him luck, making it feel more like a party meeting than a criminal arraignment. When they reached the front, Jimmy held open the little wooden gate dividing the court officials from the simply curious. He then guided Nat to a table on the left, and ushered him into the seat next to his. As they waited for the judge to make his entrance, Nat glanced across at the state’s attorney, Richard Ebden, a man he’d always admired. He knew that Ebden would be a formidable adversary, and wondered who Jimmy was going to recommend to oppose him.

‘All rise, Mr Justice Deakins presiding.’

The procedure Jimmy had described took place exactly as he predicted, and they were back out on the street five minutes later, facing the same journalists repeating the same questions and still failing to get any answers.

As they pushed their way through the scrum to their waiting car, Nat was once again surprised by how many people still wanted to shake him by the hand. Tom slowed them down, aware that this would be the footage seen by the voters on the midday news. Nat spoke to every well-wisher, but wasn’t quite sure how to reply to an onlooker who said, ‘I’m glad you killed the bastard.’

‘Do you want to head straight home?’ asked Tom as his car slowly nosed its way through the melee.

‘No,’ said Nat, ‘let’s go across to the bank and talk things through in the boardroom.’

The only stop they made on the way was to pick up the first edition of the Courant after hearing a newsboy’s cry of ‘Cartwright charged with murder’. All Tom seemed to be interested in was a poll on the second page showing that Nat now led Elliot by over twenty points. ‘And,’ said Tom, ‘in a separate poll, seventy-two per cent say you shouldn’t withdraw from the race.’ Tom read on, suddenly looked up but said nothing.