Archer, Jeffrey - Hidden in Plain Sight

Booth Watson found his client seated on the end of the bed, clearly impatient to see him. He was still dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing at the party on Saturday night but he now looked tired, dishevelled and badly in need of a shave.

‘Get me out of here,’ Faulkner mumbled, before his counsel had spoken a word.

‘Good morning, Miles,’ said Booth Watson, as if this was a normal consultation taking place in his Middle Temple chambers. He sat down on the other end of the bed, placed his briefcase to one side and an overnight bag on the other.

‘I’ve spent the night in this hell-hole,’ said Faulkner, not displaying his usual bravado. ‘I’ve already been booked in, fingerprinted and questioned. So I’m bound to ask, what’s the point of you?’

‘Did they question you under caution?’ asked Booth Watson, ignoring the outburst.

‘Yes. But as I didn’t say a word, all they’ve got is a lot of questions, and no answers.’

‘Good,’ said Booth Watson, pleased his client had carried out his instructions to the letter.

‘What happens now?’

‘We’re up in front of the magistrate tomorrow afternoon, when I’ll be making an application for bail on your behalf.’

‘What are my chances?’

‘Depends who’s on the bench. If it’s a local councillor who’s looking for fifteen minutes of fame, you’ll be placed on remand. However, if it’s one of the more experienced JPs, you’re in with a chance. We’ll find out soon enough.’

‘And if the application fails?’

‘I’m afraid you’ll be detained in prison while the Crown prepares its case.’

‘How long could that take?’

‘Six or seven months, but don’t waste any time worrying about that. Just try to focus on your bail application.’

‘What will I be expected to do once I’m in the magistrates’ court?’

‘Not a lot, other than to state your name and address.’

‘That’s it?’

‘Not quite. It’s important that you look like a decent law-abiding citizen, and not as if you’ve just emerged from a drunken orgy. So I took the liberty of picking up a change of clothes from your home that I felt would be more appropriate for the occasion.’ He opened the overnight bag and laid out on the bunk a dark blue suit, white shirt, a pair of pants and socks, and an old Harrovian tie. He finally placed a monogrammed washbag by the side of the toilet.

‘I’m going to need a damn sight more than that if I end up inside.’

Booth Watson didn’t tell him that he’d already packed a larger suitcase for that eventuality, which he’d left in his office.

‘The next time you’ll see me, Miles, will be in court,’ said Booth Watson as he stood to leave. ‘If the magistrate should ask you anything, don’t forget to call him sir.’ He banged on the door, which didn’t have a handle on the inside, and waited for it to be opened to allow one of them to escape.

‘I have to be in court by two o’clock,’ said William, as he sat down opposite his father and began unloading his tray.

‘Faulkner’s bail application?’ asked Sir Julian, picking up his knife and fork. ‘I wouldn’t want to put money on which way that will go.’

‘He ought to be safely locked up until the trial takes place.’

‘Possibly, but unfortunately you won’t have any influence on that decision, whereas Booth Watson will.’

‘More’s the pity,’ said William. ‘That man should be sharing the same cell as Faulkner.’

‘Behave yourself. Try to remember you’re lunching at Lincoln’s Inn, where we’re all meant to treat each other as brothers.’ William had to smile. ‘By the way, when you were at Limpton Hall, were you able to establish if Faulkner’s art collection are still all originals, or has he replaced them with copies as his wife fears?’

‘All I can tell you is that while my colleagues were searching Faulkner’s home for drugs, I took a close look at as many of the paintings as I could.’

‘And?’

‘I’m not an expert, but I’d say every one was an original. They must be worth a small fortune.’

‘That’s good to hear, because along with the house and the flat in Eaton Square, they’re due to be handed over to my client as part of her divorce settlement. Mrs Faulkner told me that, with one exception, she’ll be putting the entire collection up for auction as soon as the decree absolute has been granted. She’s convinced that Miles will want to buy them all back for far more than he’d be willing to pay her.’

‘Cunning woman,’ said William.

‘To do her justice,’ said Sir Julian, ‘which is difficult at times, Mrs Faulkner has agreed to donate a Vermeer to the Fitzmolean. The museum has Beth to thank for that.’

‘Another cunning woman.’

‘Which reminds me,’ said Sir Julian. ‘Your sister will be representing the Crown at the magistrates’ court this afternoon, and opposing Faulkner’s bail.’

‘Does that mean she’ll get the main gig?’

‘If you’re referring to the trial, my boy, not a chance. They’ll want a QC of equal standing to take on Booth Watson and cross-examine Faulkner. In fact, the Department of Public Prosecution rang me this morning and asked if I’d consider representing them on this occasion. Desmond Pannel reminded me that I owed him a favour, so I told him I’d sleep on it.’

‘If you agreed to take the case, you could appoint Grace as your junior.’

‘Not if I want to win.’

‘Father, they’re already talking about her becoming a QC.’

‘I don’t approve of women QCs.’

‘Wait until you come up against her, then you might change your mind.’

The magistrates’ court at Guildhall, which usually dealt with drunk and disorderlies, shoplifters, and the occasional application for a liquor licence, was packed long before Mr Joseph Lanyon OBE JP and his two colleagues took their places on the bench that Monday afternoon.

Mr Lanyon looked down into the well of the court and feigned not to be intimidated by the presence of some of the most distinguished barristers in the land, along with their solicitors, a bevy of Fleet Street reporters and a public gallery so packed that the clerk had informed him there’d been a queue outside the courtroom when he’d arrived that morning.

The magistrate looked across at the defendant standing in the dock. A tall, handsome man with a fine head of wavy fair hair that added to the film-star looks the press so often referred to. He was dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and navy-blue tie with thin white stripes, making him look more like a successful stockbroker than a man facing a serious drugs charge.

Mr Lanyon nodded to the court bailiff who turned to face the defendant and said firmly, ‘Will the prisoner please stand?’

Faulkner rose unsteadily from his place and gripped the rails of the dock.

‘For the record, will the defendant please state his full name and current address?’

‘Miles Adam Faulkner, Limpton Hall, Hampshire, sir,’ he said, looking directly at the magistrate, with an assurance that belied his true feelings.

‘You may sit down.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Faulkner, having delivered the seven words Booth Watson had prescribed.

‘No doubt you wish to apply for bail, Mr Booth Watson,’ said the magistrate, turning to face the defendant’s legal team.

‘I do indeed, sir,’ said Booth Watson, heaving himself up from the bench. ‘I would like to begin by reminding the court that my client has an unblemished record—’

‘Forgive me for interrupting you so early in the proceedings, Mr Booth Watson, but am I not right in thinking that your client is currently serving a four-year suspended sentence for a previous fraud charge?’