Nothing Ventured

by Jeffrey Archer

  ‘And when you got back home, did you tell anyone about your experience?’

  ‘I had to share what I’d been through with someone, so I foolishly told Christina. I never thought she’d take advantage of it, and even lie under oath.’

  ‘And the gentlemen you’d met in Italy didn’t keep to their side of the bargain and return the picture to the Fitzmolean.’

  ‘The Camorra rarely stray beyond their own territory,’ said Faulkner. ‘I heard nothing for over a month, so I assumed the deal must be off.’

  The judge made a note.

  ‘But it wasn’t?’

  ‘No. The two thugs who I’d met at the airport turned up at my home in Monte Carlo in the middle of the night with the painting, and demanded their hundred thousand dollars. One of them was brandishing a knife.’

  ‘You must have been terrified.’

  ‘I was. Especially when they told me they would first slit the throats of the six Syndics, one by one, and then mine if I didn’t pay up.’

  The judge made another note.

  ‘You had a hundred thousand dollars cash on hand?’

  ‘Most people who want to sell me one of their family heirlooms, Mr Booth Watson, don’t expect to leave with a cheque.’

  ‘What did you do next?’

  ‘The following morning I rang the captain of my yacht and told him that a large crate would shortly be arriving at the dockside. He was to take it to Southampton and personally deliver it to the Fitzmolean Museum in London.’

  ‘And, Your Honour,’ said Booth Watson, ‘if the Crown so wishes, I can call Captain Menegatti, who will confirm that those were indeed the instructions Mr Faulkner gave him.’

  ‘I bet he will,’ muttered William, ‘if he wants to keep his job.’

  ‘You flew to Australia the following day, assuming that your orders would be carried out.’

  ‘Yes. I had hoped my wife would come with me, but she changed her mind at the last moment. It turned out she had an assignation with a younger man.’

  William clenched his fists to try and stop himself trembling.

  ‘But then she was well aware I had tickets for the Boxing Day Test in Melbourne,’ continued Faulkner, ‘which meant I wouldn’t be returning to England before the New Year.’

  ‘But you returned to England halfway through the match?’

  ‘Yes, Captain Menegatti called me at my hotel in Melbourne to tell me that my wife had turned up at the yacht, not with the single crate I’d told him about, but with my entire Monte Carlo collection. She then instructed him to take them all to Southampton, where she would meet up with him before going on to New York.’

  ‘How did you react?’

  ‘I caught the next plane back to London, and it didn’t take a twenty-three-hour flight to work out what she was up to. As soon as I landed at Heathrow, I took a taxi to my home in Hampshire, aware I didn’t have a moment to lose.’

  ‘Why didn’t you ask your driver to pick you up?’ asked Booth Watson.

  ‘Because it would have alerted Christina that I was back in the country, and that was the last thing I needed.’

  ‘And was your wife at home when you turned up?’

  ‘No, she wasn’t, and neither were my artworks, which I discovered were also on their way to Southampton. I only got there just in time to stop them being shipped off to New York.’

  ‘So you then boarded the yacht, and gave instructions for the artworks to be returned to your homes in Hampshire and Monte Carlo—’

  ‘With one notable exception,’ interrupted Faulkner. ‘I had always intended to return the Rembrandt to the Fitzmolean whatever the consequences.’ Once again he turned to face the jury, this time giving them his ‘sincere look’.

  ‘But before you could do that, the police charged on board, arrested you and accused you of having switched the labels on two of the crates so you could keep possession of the Rembrandt.’

  ‘That, Mr Booth Watson, is a farcical suggestion, for three reasons. Firstly, I was only on board the yacht for a few minutes before I was arrested, so it’s obvious my wife had already informed the police that the Rembrandt was still on board. Secondly, the label for the Fitzmolean must have been switched by her before the pictures were even loaded in Monte Carlo.’

  ‘But why would she switch the labels, and then tell the police that the Rembrandt was still on board?’ asked Booth Watson, innocently.

  ‘Because if I was arrested, there would be nothing to stop her sailing off to New York and stealing the rest of my collection, which she had clearly been planning to do while I was safely on the other side of the world.’

  ‘You said there was a third reason, Mr Faulkner.’

  ‘Yes, there is, Mr Booth Watson. Commander Hawksby was accompanied by two other police officers. They had obviously been briefed by my wife that the Rembrandt was on board. What would have been the point of switching the labels when the harbour master had the authority to open every one of the crates? No, what Christina planned was that I would be arrested, and at the same time I’d lose my Rubens. She not only switched the labels, but knew she would be depriving me of my favourite painting.’

  ‘At least the Rubens has been returned to its rightful owner, along with the rest of your collection.’

  William noticed that Booth Watson gave his client a slight nod.

  ‘Yes, it has, Mr Booth Watson. Tim Knox, the director of the Fitzmolean, accepted that a genuine mistake had been made and kindly returned the Rubens to my home at Limpton Hall. However, after a few days, I began to have second thoughts. As you will know, the Fitzmolean’s collection of Dutch and Flemish paintings is second only to that of the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. I began to wonder if Rubens’ Christ’s Descent from the Cross had found its rightful home, and after much soul searching, I have decided to make a gift of the painting to the nation, so that others can have as much pleasure from it as I have had over the past thirty years.’

  Word perfect, thought Booth Watson, looking at the jury. He was now convinced that at least half of them were on his client’s side.

  ‘And finally, I must ask you, Mr Faulkner, if, before this recent regrettable misunderstanding, you have ever been charged with a criminal offence?’

  ‘No, sir, never. However, I must confess that when I was at art school, I once pinched a traffic policeman’s helmet and wore it to the Chelsea Arts Club ball. I ended up spending a night in jail.’

  ‘Did you indeed, Mr Faulkner? Let us hope you won’t be spending any more nights in jail. No further questions, Your Honour.’

  ‘What’s your point?’ asked Sir Julian as Grace laid out a set of large black-and-white photographs on the bench between them.

  ‘The photos show Stern leaving the court after you’d cross-examined him.’

  ‘I can see that. But what do they prove, other than that he’s enjoying the limelight?’

  ‘Not for much longer, I suspect. Take a closer look, Dad, and you’ll notice something Stern didn’t want us to see.’

  ‘I’m still none the wiser,’ confessed her father after he’d taken a second look at the photographs.

  ‘The leather jacket is Versace, and the shoes are Gucci loafers, top of the range.’

  ‘And the watch?’ said Sir Julian, catching on.

  ‘A Cartier Tank. And it’s not a fake, unlike the man.’

  ‘Stern certainly couldn’t afford those kinds of luxuries on a detective inspector’s pension.’

  ‘And there’s a bonus,’ said Grace, pointing to another couple of photos showing Stern climbing into an S-type Jaguar and driving away. ‘The car’s registered in his name.’

  ‘I think it’s time to apply to a judge in chambers, and find out if he’d be willing to allow us to inspect Stern’s bank accounts.’

  ‘Do you think the jury believed a word of that codswallop?’ asked William, after Mr Justice Nourse had called for a recess.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Hawksby. ‘But it doesn’t help that Mrs Faulkner was
so obviously planning to steal her husband’s art collection. So the jury will have the unenviable task of deciding which one of them is the bigger liar. How are things progressing in court twenty-two?’

  ‘I’m just on my way to see Beth and find out. By the way,’ he added, lowering his voice, ‘those files I left on the table in your office have proved most helpful.’

  When William entered court twenty-two, the first thing he saw was Arthur Rainsford disappearing down the dock steps to the cells below, accompanied by a policeman.

  ‘We’re finished for the day,’ said Beth, as William sat down beside her. ‘So we may as well go home.’

  William thought about having a word with his father, but noticed he was deep in conversation with Grace, so he decided not to interrupt them. Beth took his hand but didn’t say another word until they’d left the building and were out on the street.

  ‘Your sister was masterful in her examination of Professor Abrahams,’ said Beth as they walked across the road.

  ‘My father allowed Grace to examine the principal witness?’ said William in disbelief.

  ‘And Abrahams was so convincing that the Crown didn’t even bother to cross-examine him.’

  ‘Once again I’ve underestimated the old man,’ said William. ‘But was Grace able to prove there was a missing page?’

  ‘By the time Professor Abrahams had left the witness box, even the Crown’s leader accepted there were three pages,’ said Beth as they joined a bus queue.

  ‘That’s good news. But what about the judges? After all, they’re the only ones whose opinions really matter.’

  ‘There’s no way of knowing. Like seasoned poker players, they reveal nothing.’

  ‘Who’s next up to be demolished by my father?’ asked William once they’d boarded the bus.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Clarkson, Stern’s former partner.’

  ‘He’s a weaker character than Stern, so might well crack under pressure.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I wish you could have seen Hawksby when he was in the witness box,’ said William. ‘Even the judge was impressed.’

  Beth got the message and followed his lead. ‘But didn’t Booth Watson give him a hard time?’

  ‘No, he didn’t even cross-examine him. He’d obviously decided there was nothing to be gained from it.’

  ‘And what was Faulkner like on the stand?’

  ‘Impressive,’ admitted William, ‘if not altogether convincing. He looked a little over-rehearsed and kept putting the blame on his wife.’

  ‘Surely the jury won’t like that.’

  ‘Booth Watson took Christina apart yesterday.’ William immediately regretted saying ‘Christina’, and moved quickly on. ‘And Faulkner put the boot in today. He also made a promise that took us all by surprise, although I don’t think he has any intention of keeping it.’

  ‘That he’d gift the Rubens to the Fitzmolean?’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘I rang the gallery during the lunch recess, and Tim Knox told me that Booth Watson had phoned to tell him Faulkner would be donating the Rubens as soon as the trial was over.’

  ‘That sounds to me distinctly like a bribe,’ said William, as the bus came to a halt in the Fulham Road. ‘Surely the judge will be able to work that out?’

  ‘Perhaps you should give Faulkner the benefit of the doubt for a change.’

  ‘I fear that’s exactly what the jury might do. But it will take a lot more than that to convince me he hasn’t been in possession of the Rembrandt for the past seven years.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll ever be able to go a whole day without discussing either case?’

  ‘That will depend on whether your father is released and Faulkner is locked up for a very long time.’

  ‘But what if it’s the other way round?’

  32

  ‘I’M THE BEARER of glad tidings,’ said Booth Watson, as a waiter appeared by his side. ‘But let’s order breakfast first.’

  ‘Just black coffee, toast and marmalade for me,’ said Faulkner. ‘I’ve lost my appetite.’

  ‘I’ll have the full English breakfast,’ said Booth Watson. He didn’t speak again until the waiter was out of earshot. ‘I’ve had an approach from the other side. They’re willing to drop the charge of intent to steal if you’ll plead guilty to the lesser offence of knowingly receiving stolen goods.’

  ‘Bottom line?’ asked Faulkner.

  ‘If we accept their offer, you’ll probably get a couple of years, which means you’d be released in ten months.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘As long as you behave yourself, you’d only serve half the sentence, with a further two months knocked off as it’s your first offence. You’d be out in time for Christmas.’

  ‘Ten months in Pentonville isn’t my idea of a generous offer, and more important, it would give Christina enough time to steal my entire collection.’

  ‘That shouldn’t be a problem,’ said Booth Watson, ‘because while you’re away, I’ll make sure Christina doesn’t get anywhere near any of your properties.’

  Faulkner didn’t look convinced. ‘And if I don’t accept their offer?’

  ‘If you’re found guilty of both offences, theft and receiving, the maximum sentence is eight years, along with a hefty fine.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn about the fine. I have a feeling Palmer knows he’s fighting a lost cause, and is hoping to save face. In any case, I think the jury’s on my side. At least two of them smiled at me yesterday.’

  ‘Two’s not enough,’ said Booth Watson, before pausing while a waiter refilled their coffee cups. ‘The foreman looks to me like a retired colonel or the headmaster of a prep school, who’s likely to believe that the punishment should fit the crime.’

  ‘That’s a risk I’m willing to take, BW. So you can tell Palmer to get lost. Feel like a glass of champagne?’

  THE CROWN V. RAINSFORD

  ‘Call Detective Sergeant Bob Clarkson,’ cried the clerk.

  Grace didn’t take her eyes off Clarkson as he walked across the courtroom and entered the witness box. He delivered the oath with none of the swagger Stern had displayed.

  An honest, decent copper, who’s easily led, and sometimes led astray, was one of the sentences Grace had highlighted after reading Clarkson’s personnel file.

  Sir Julian sat patiently through the Crown’s cursory examination of Clarkson, which didn’t throw up any surprises. But then he’d never thought it would.

  ‘Do you wish to cross-examine this witness?’ asked Lord Justice Arnott.

  Sir Julian nodded as he rose from his place. He had always intended that Stern should regard him as the enemy, but not Clarkson.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Clarkson,’ he began, his voice gentle and persuasive, ‘as a police officer you will know the consequences of committing perjury. So I want you to think most carefully before answering my questions.’

  Clarkson didn’t respond.

  ‘On the day Arthur Rainsford was arrested and charged with the murder of his business partner, Mr Gary Kirkland, were you present at the scene of the crime?’

  ‘No, sir. I was back at the station.’

  ‘So you did not witness the arrest?’

  ‘No, sir, I did not.’

  ‘But you were the junior officer who signed the statement Mr Rainsford made later that evening.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I was.’

  ‘Did that statement, written by DI Stern and witnessed by you, consist of three pages or two?’

  ‘Originally I thought it was three, but DI Stern assured me the following morning that it was only two, and I accepted his word.’

  That wasn’t the answer Sir Julian had been anticipating. He paused for a moment, aware that his next five questions were redundant, before asking for confirmation of what he’d just heard.

  ‘So you originally believed the statement was three pages and not two, as Mr Stern claimed?’

  ‘Yes, s
ir, and having studied yesterday’s court report I accept Professor Abrahams’ findings without question.’

  ‘But that would mean you also accept that Mr Stern must have removed a page from the original statement?’ said Sir Julian.

  ‘Yes, I do, sir. And I regret not challenging him at the time.’

  ‘Did you challenge him about the possibility of there being a mystery man, the man who Mr Rainsford stated ran past him as he entered the office block, and who he has always claimed could have been the murderer?’

  ‘Yes, I did, but DI Stern said he was just a figment of Rainsford’s imagination, and we should dismiss it for what it was worth.’

  ‘What about the anonymous telephone call informing the police of Mr Kirkland’s murder? Was that also a figment of Mr Rainsford’s imagination?’

  ‘No, sir. We did receive a call from a man with a foreign accent, who told us he’d been passing the block at the time, when he heard the sound of two men shouting, followed by silence, and moments later, a man came running out of the building onto the street, which was the reason he’d phoned the police immediately.’

  ‘Did he give you his name?’

  ‘No, sir, but that’s not uncommon in such cases.’

  ‘As recorded on the missing page of Mr Rainsford’s statement, the police arrived at RGK’s offices only a few moments after he did.’

  ‘That’s what a guilty man would say if he wanted to put the blame on someone else,’ said Clarkson. ‘So I didn’t bother to follow it up, not least because chasing anonymous calls is a thankless task, and usually ends up being a complete waste of time.’

  ‘So you never discovered who the mystery man was?’

  ‘Yes, I did, sir,’ said Clarkson.

  Sir Julian was once again taken by surprise. He took a step into the unknown.

  ‘Please tell the court in your own words, detective sergeant, how you found out who this mystery man was.’

  ‘A couple of days after Rainsford had been charged, a black cab driver turned up at the station and told us he’d seen the story on the evening news. He said he’d picked up Rainsford from Euston on the afternoon of the murder, and dropped him outside an office block on Marylebone High Street. He’d only just turned on his For Hire sign when a man came rushing out of the building and asked to be taken to the Admiral Nelson pub in West Ham, but after he’d travelled about a hundred yards the man told the driver to stop. He got out, and ran into a nearby phone box. He returned a few minutes later when the cabbie continued on his journey to West Ham.’