“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.”
34
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.
“Would you please state your name for the record?” said Mr. Gray after Hakim had taken the oath.
“Hakim Sajid Bishara.”
“And your profession?”
“Banker.”
“Would you care to elaborate?”
“I was chairman of Farthings Bank in the City of London.”
“Mr. Bishara, can you take us through the events that led to you appearing before us in the witness box today?”
“I had flown to Lagos to attend a meeting with the Nigerian oil minister to discuss the funding of a proposed new port to cope with large oil tankers.”
“And what was your particular role in this operation?”
“The Nigerian government had invited Farthings to be the lead bank.”
“For a layman like myself, what does that mean?”
“When sovereign governments need to borrow large capital sums, in this case, twenty million dollars, one bank will take the prime position and supply the largest portion, possibly as much as twenty-five percent, and then other banks will be invited to make up the shortfall.”
“And what would your bank charge for heading up such an operation?”
“The standard fee is one percent.”
“So Farthings stood to make two hundred thousand dollars from this deal.”
“Yes, if it had gone through, Mr. Gray.”
“But it didn’t?”
“No. Soon after I was arrested, the Nigerian government withdrew their offer and invited Barclays to take our place.”
“So your bank lost two hundred thousand dollars?”
“We have lost considerably more than that, Mr. Gray.”
“Don’t get angry,” Seb whispered, although he knew Hakim couldn’t hear him.
“Are you able to estimate just how much your bank has lost because you are no longer its chairman?”
“Farthings shares have fallen by almost nine percent, knocking more than two million pounds off the value of the company. Several major clients have closed their accounts, along with a lot of smaller customers who followed in their wake. But far more important, Mr. Gray, our reputation, both in the City and with our customers, may never recover unless I clear my name.”
“Quite so. And following your meeting with the oil minister in Lagos, you returned to London. On which airline?”
“Nigeria Airways. The Nigerian government had organized my entire trip.”
“How much luggage did you take on board?”
“Just an overnight bag, which I placed in the compartment above my seat.”
“Was anyone seated next to you?”
“Yes, Mrs. Bergström. Although I didn’t know her name at the time.”
“Did the two of you speak?”
“No. When I took my seat she was reading. I was exhausted and just wanted to sleep.”
“And when you eventually woke, did you speak to her?”
“No, she was still reading, and I could see that she only had a few pages of her book to go, so I didn’t interrupt her.”
“Quite understandable. Did you take anything out of your bag during the flight?”
“No, I did not.”
“Were you aware of anyone tampering with it at any time?”
“No. But then I was asleep for several hours.”
“Did you check the contents of your bag before you left the plane?”
“No, I just grabbed it. I wanted to be among the first off the plane. I didn’t have any other luggage so there was nothing to hold me up.”
“And once you’d been cleared by passport control, you headed straight for the green channel.”
“I did, because I had nothing to declare.”
“But you were stopped by a customs officer and asked to open your bag.”
“That is correct.”
“Were you surprised to be stopped?”
“No, I assumed it was just a routine check.”
“And the customs officer has told the court that throughout that check, you remained calm and polite.”
“I had nothing to hide, Mr. Gray.”
“Quite. But when Mr. Collier opened your bag, he found a cellophane package containing thirteen grams of heroin, with a street value of twenty-two thousand pounds.”
“Yes, but I had no idea it was there. And of course I was completely unaware of its street value.”
“That was the first time you’d seen it.”
“It was the first time and only time in my life, Mr. Gray, that I’ve ever seen heroin.”
“So you can’t explain how the package came to be there?”
“No, I cannot. In fact, for a moment, I even wondered if I had picked up the wrong bag, until I saw my initials on its side.”
“Are you aware, Mr. Bishara, of the important difference between being caught with heroin and being caught with, say, marijuana?”
“I wasn’t at the time, but I have since been informed that heroin is a Class A drug, whereas marijuana is Class B, and its importation, while still illegal, is regarded as a less serious offence.”
“Something a drug smuggler would have—”
“You’re prompting the witness, Mr. Gray.”
“I apologize, my lord. But I am keen for the jury to realize that having been charged with smuggling a Class A drug, Mr. Bishara could be sentenced to fifteen years in jail, whereas a much lower tariff would be imposed had he been found in possession of marijuana.”
“Did I hear you correctly, Mr. Gray?” interrupted the judge. “Are you admitting that your client has at some time smuggled drugs into this country?”
“Certainly not, my lord. In fact, the exact opposite. In this case we are dealing with a highly intelligent, sophisticated banker, who regularly closes large deals that need to be calculated to the last decimal point. If Mr. Bishara was also a drug smuggler, as the Crown is trying to suggest, he would have been well aware that the consequences of being caught with thirteen ounces of heroin in his possession would have put him behind bars for the rest of his working life. It beggars belief to imagine that he would have taken such a risk.”