Grace made a note, and passed it to her father.
‘Where were you on the night the police raided the adjoining block, Block A?’
‘Havin’ a few jars at the Rose and Crown, with some mates.’
‘So you were unaware of the raid?’
‘At the time yes, but by the time I got home both buildin’s was surrounded by coppers. So many uniforms I thought the third world war must have broken out.’
One or two people in the court laughed, including a member of the jury.
‘You weren’t aware there was a drugs factory operating in the block next door?’
‘Heard rumours, of course. If it’s true, I hope the bastards get what’s comin’ to them,’ he said, staring directly at Rashidi.
‘Brilliant,’ whispered Grace. ‘A National Theatre player couldn’t have delivered that line more convincingly.’
‘I agree,’ said Sir Julian. ‘But let’s see what he’s like under cross-examination, when he doesn’t have a prepared script to rely on, with the occasional prompt from the wings.’
‘I’d like to move on to the day after the raid took place,’ said Booth Watson, ‘when the police obtained a warrant to search your apartment and came away with a number of your suits and shirts, and the photograph of your mother you have just identified.’
‘Not to mention the money that went missin’ from my safe.’
‘Some money went missing?’ said Booth Watson, feigning surprise while looking directly at the jury. ‘May I ask how much?’
‘A few bob short of seven hundred quid, which I’d intended to bank the next mornin’.’
This time it was Clare who made a note and handed it to counsel. Sir Julian nodded and added the question to his list.
‘I presume you made an official complaint to the police?’
‘What’s the point, when it was them what took it?’
Uproar broke out in the court, as the journalists began to pen a story they hadn’t anticipated. Booth Watson waited patiently for the chatter to cease before he put his next question. ‘Were you able to find out which officer was responsible for conducting the search of the apartment in your absence?’
‘Yep, I’ve got a mate who works in Brixton nick. He told me it wasn’t someone from our local patch, but an outsider from the other side of the river. Scotland Yard, no less.’
‘Did he give you a name?’
‘Sure did. Detective Inspector William Warwick.’
Several people turned around and stared in William’s direction. Only the journalists remained head down, scribbling away.
Sir Julian was on his feet at once. ‘I must protest, m’lud.’
‘Of course you must,’ said Booth Watson. ‘After all, he’s your son.’
Now the journalists had their banner headline, and it was still YOUR OWN CHILD. It was some time before the uproar had died down enough for anyone to be heard. Mr Justice Whittaker stared down at defence counsel.
‘That was uncalled for, Mr Booth Watson,’ he said, barely concealing his anger.
‘I apologize unreservedly,’ said defence counsel, giving the judge a slight bow. ‘However, m’lud, I should point out that I didn’t ask the witness who had stolen his money, only who had conducted the search.’
The judge was still seething, but managed to control his temper. ‘Very well. You may continue, Mr Booth Watson.’
‘Allow me to ask you once again, Mr Roberts, how long have you lived in your apartment in Block B?’
‘Just over ten years.’
‘And would you now look carefully at the man standing in the dock.’ The witness looked across at Rashidi. ‘Have you ever seen him before?’
‘No, never,’ said Roberts without hesitation.
‘Thank you, Mr Roberts,’ said Booth Watson, who turned to the judge and said, ‘I have no more questions for this witness, m’lud,’ before sinking back down into his place, well satisfied with his afternoon’s work.
Grace, who had remained outwardly calm during the bitter exchanges, leant across and whispered to her father, ‘Have you noticed that Roberts and Rashidi are wearing identical suits?’
Sir Julian took a closer look at both of them before saying, ‘You could be right. But I can’t do anything about it unless Rashidi gives evidence from the witness box, and I shouldn’t imagine BW will allow that.’
‘Do you intend to cross-examine this witness, Sir Julian?’ asked the judge.
‘I most certainly do, m’lud,’ said the Crown’s leading advocate, as he rose from his place.
‘Mr Roberts, if that is your real name,’ he began, looking directly at the witness.
‘What are you gettin’ at?’ said Roberts defiantly.
‘I only wondered if Tony Roberts was the name on your birth certificate. Think carefully before you answer the question, because I’m confident the judge will allow me a recess so I can visit the General Record Office to check the original document.’
‘OK, I was born Tony Burke. What of it?’
‘And when did you change your name to Roberts?’
‘Can’t remember the exact date.’
‘Could it have been about ten years ago?’
‘Might’ve been.’
‘Did you do so for any particular reason?’
‘Didn’t like being called a right berk, simple as that.’ The witness leant back, waiting for someone to laugh, but no one did.
‘I don’t think it can have been quite as simple as that,’ said Sir Julian, ‘because the initials sewn on the inside of your jacket...’
‘A.R., Anthony Roberts. My God-fearing mother never called me Tony. I only wish she was still alive today, then she could tell you ’erself.’
‘So do I,’ said Sir Julian, ‘because I could then have asked her some more questions about her son.’
‘Like what?’ said Roberts, defiantly.
‘If he knew the way to Savile Row.’
‘She’d have said yes.’
‘So when you leave your home in Brixton to visit your tailor for another fitting, which bridge do you cross?’
‘No idea. I always take a cab.’ He paused. ‘It’s somewhere in the West End, if I remember right.’
‘Somewhere in the West End,’ Sir Julian repeated, looking at the jury. ‘So let me ask you about a venue with which you appear to be more familiar, the Rose and Crown.’
‘My local.’
‘You told the court that on the night the police raided the drugs factory in Block A, you were “having a few jars at the Rose and Crown, with some mates”.’
‘Yes, and what’s more, I can name every one of them.’
‘I feel sure you can,’ said Sir Julian. ‘However, you went on to say that by the time you got home later that night, both blocks were surrounded by the police. You thought the third world war must have broken out, if I recall your exact words.’
‘At least you got somethin’ right.’
‘What time did you leave the pub?’
‘Just before ten. Don’t forget I own several newsagents so I have to be up early.’
‘And how far is it from the pub to your home in Napier Road?’
‘About half a mile.’
‘So it must have taken you ten, perhaps fifteen minutes to reach home?’
‘Sounds ’bout right.’
‘I must tell you it’s a matter of record that the police didn’t turn up in Napier Road until after ten thirty that night. So how do you account for the missing fifteen minutes?’
A worried look appeared on the witness’s face for the first time, before he blurted out, ‘Oh yeah, I forgot. I left the pub with one of my mates, and we stopped off at his place for another jar.’
‘Can you remember the name and address of that mate, Mr Roberts?’
‘Can’t say I do, but then it was more than six months ago.’
‘But only a few moments ago you told the court you could name every one of your mates who were in the pub that night.’