‘What’s he up to?’ said Hawksby as Booth Watson heaved himself to his feet.
‘My Lord, may I request that my client’s bail be extended until that date?’
‘I will allow that,’ said Mr. Justice Nourse, ‘on the condition that he hands in his passport to the court. And I am sure, Mr. Booth Watson, that you will spell out the consequences to your client should he fail to appear before me in this courtroom next Tuesday morning.’
‘I will indeed, Your Honor.’
‘Mr. Booth Watson and Mr. Palmer, would you be kind enough to join me in my chambers.’
‘What’s he up to?’ repeated the commander.
The courtroom was packed long before Lord Justice Arnott and his two colleagues made their entrance at ten o’clock the following morning.
Lord Justice Arnott placed a red folder on the bench in front of him and bowed to the court. He then took his place in the center chair, rearranged his long red gown, and adjusted his spectacles before opening the folder and turning to the first page.
The courtroom had fallen so silent that he had to look up to make sure they were all in attendance. He peered down at the expectant faces and then at the prisoner in the dock before delivering his final judgment. He felt sorry for Rainsford.
‘I have in my life as a judge presided over many cases,’ Arnott began, ‘and in each one I have attempted to remain detached and emotionally uninvolved, so as to ensure that justice is not only done, but seen to be done.
‘However, I fear that in this case, I did become emotionally involved. It became clear to me after hearing Mr. Stern’s evidence, that an injustice might have been done. That feeling was reinforced when Professor Abrahams brought his expertise to bear on this case. I and my colleagues were finally persuaded of this during the cross-examination of Detective Sergeant Clarkson, whose frank and honest evidence was a credit to his profession.
‘Although the real perpetrators of this crime may never be apprehended, I am in no doubt that Arthur Edward Rainsford was falsely charged with the murder of Gary Kirkland, his friend and business partner. I therefore order that the verdict of the original trial be overturned.’ A cheer went up, which only died down when the judge frowned, making it clear he hadn’t finished. ‘A judgment of this type should never be taken lightly,’ he continued. ‘I do not consider the jury at the original trial is to blame for the verdict it reached, as they took a detective inspector’s word at face value, and because of that man’s duplicity, they were never allowed to consider the missing page from the statement Mr. Rainsford gave to the police on the evening of his arrest, with the result that a grave injustice was done to an innocent man. It gives me considerable pleasure not only to release the prisoner, but to make it clear that there never was, and never should have been, a stain on this man’s character. Mr. Rainsford, you are free to leave the court.’
Beth and Joanna Rainsford were among the first to leap in the air and applaud as the curtain finally came down. However, the gesture that Arthur would remember long after all the fury of battle had subsided came when Mr. Llewellyn left his place on the Crown’s bench, walked across to the dock, and shook hands with the defendant. Arthur had to bend down to hear his words above the clamor of the crowd.
‘For the first time in my life, sir,’ whispered Llewellyn, ‘I am delighted to lose a case.’
Mr. Justice Nourse took off his gown, discarded his wig, and was pouring himself a glass of malt whiskey when there was a knock on the door.
‘Enter,’ he said. The door opened, and Booth Watson and Palmer joined him in his den.
‘While I’m doing the honors, can I get you anything, BW, Adrian?’
‘No, thank you, Martin,’ said Booth Watson as he took off his wig. ‘I know you won’t believe this, but I’m still trying to lose weight.’
‘Adrian?’
‘Yes, please, judge,’ said Palmer. ‘I’ll join you in a malt if I may.’
‘Do sit down, both of you,’ said the judge as he handed prosecuting counsel his drink. He took a sip of whiskey, and waited for them both to settle before he spoke again. ‘I wanted a private word with you, BW, but I felt Adrian should be present so that no misunderstanding could arise at a later date.’
Booth Watson raised an eyebrow, which he would never have considered doing in court.
‘I’m curious to know if your client is serious about his intention to donate his Rubens to the Fitzmolean?’
‘I have no reason to believe he isn’t,’ said Booth Watson. ‘But if you feel it’s important, I could certainly find out and let you know.’
‘No, no. I was simply curious. And while you’re here, allow me to congratulate you both on the way you conducted your cases. I think you could fairly describe the result as a score draw.’
‘I don’t think my client sees it that way,’ said Booth Watson.
‘Perhaps he should have accepted my offer,’ said Palmer, draining his glass.
‘Dare I ask?’ said the judge.
‘The Crown would have dropped the charge of theft if he’d pleaded guilty to receiving.’
‘So the jury got it right,’ said Nourse, before taking another sip. ‘The other half, Adrian?’
‘Thank you, judge.’
‘And you, BW, are you sure I can’t tempt you?’
‘No, thank you, Martin. I have a consultation with my client in a few minutes’ time, so I’d better be on my way.’
‘Yes, of course, BW, see you on Tuesday morning.’
Booth Watson rose from his chair and turned to leave.
‘And perhaps you could let me know if your client hands over the Rubens to the Fitzmolean, as he said he would under oath,’ he paused, ‘before Tuesday.’
Booth Watson nodded, but didn’t comment.
Palmer took another sip of whiskey and waited for the door to close before asking, ‘Did I just witness a subtle bit of arm twisting?’
‘Certainly not,’ said the judge, raising his glass. ‘I have already decided Mr. Faulkner’s fate, although I confess that should he show the slightest sign of remorse, there is one concession I just might be willing to consider. But then, on the other hand, I might not.’
‘Why do you think he asked you that?’ said Faulkner.
‘Judges have been known to make concessions at the last moment, but only if they sense genuine remorse.’
‘How genuine?’
‘If you were to hand over the Rubens to the Fitzmolean before Tuesday, I have reason to believe his lordship might consider that a genuine act of contrition.’
‘And what could I expect in return?’
‘Nourse is far too shrewd to give anything more than the suggestion of a hint, but it’s in his power to decide between the maximum tariff for the offense, of four years, or the minimum, of six months. There’s even the possibility of a suspended sentence and a fine of ten thousand pounds — but it’s only a possibility, so don’t get your hopes up.’
‘As you know, BW, I don’t give a damn about the fine. But if I had to spend even six weeks in jail, heaven knows what havoc Christina could cause in my absence.’
‘Does that mean you are willing to donate the Rubens to the Fitzmolean?’
‘It means I’ll think about it.’
‘Before Tuesday.’
Arthur fell asleep at ten o’clock, which was slightly embarrassing for the rest of the family as they were all enjoying a celebratory dinner at San Lorenzo, his favorite restaurant, where he was welcomed as if he’d never been away.
‘Lights out at ten,’ he explained. ‘After nearly three years, it’s not an easy habit to break.’
‘What’s the first thing you’ll do when you wake up tomorrow morning?’ asked Grace.