Unofficial and Deniable

by John Gordon Davis

  That address by Charlie Benson was seen on television across the world. Most of the people who heard it were spellbound. Almost everybody, whether for or against Jack Harker, considered it brilliant, and many of those who had been convinced of Harker’s guilt were now either uncertain or persuaded of his innocence.

  In Pretoria, General Tanner snatched up his telephone and dialled the Royalton Hotel in Washington. ‘What do you think?’ he demanded.

  Dupont said: ‘Our legal advisor says he should get off. That nigger did a good job. But you never know with juries. It’s that lie Harker told about his Westminster shareholding that worries me.’

  ‘The stupid bastard, the jury’ll see that as cheating Josephine,’ General Tanner said angrily. He sighed. ‘Well, we’ve still got Plan B if he’s convicted. But Plan A would be much better. You’ve got all the bases covered?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Derek Clements watched Charlie’s speech in the saloon of a Grand Banks motor-yacht anchored off a remote island in the Bahamas chain. When the jury was escorted out to consider their verdict he picked up his telephone and dialled Felix Dupont but found the number engaged. He dialled another number and a Hispanic man called Ricardo, sitting in a car parked outside the Miami courthouse, answered. Two men sat in the back seat.

  ‘It looks like Plan A,’ Clements said. ‘One shot. That’s all you can afford. Then drive like hell. Fuck it up and you’ll fry.’

  ‘But if it turns out to be Plan B, when does the bait arrive?’

  ‘You’ll be advised, don’t worry.’

  ‘Look, a guy’s gotta sleep. And eat and shit and shower. Now Plan A can happen at any moment, any fucking moment the jury can walk back in. But all I know about Plan B is that it starts after midnight of fifteenth December. Day after tomorrow’s the fifteenth. When after midnight? One minute? One hour? One day? One week?’

  ‘Of course it won’t be one week, asshole. In a week on Death Row his nerve could go, he sings and we’re all in the shit. It’ll be sometime on December sixteenth. Daylight. Seventeenth latest. But make sure you get a good night’s sleep on the fifteenth.’

  Luke Mahoney telephoned Redfern from Beauty’s Paradise. Old Charlie sat down the far end of the long bar, closest to the stage, happily sucking gin through a straw while he watched the girls go through their bump-and-grind routine.

  ‘Yeah, Charlie was good,’ Redfern said, ‘told you he would be. There should be an acquittal. But if he’s convicted it should be a cinch on appeal.’

  ‘If he’s convicted it’ll be that damn-fool lie about Westminster that sinks him.’

  ‘Plus that damn bullet in the upholstery and that missing gun he failed to report to the police. And the fact he tried to skip the island. But that gun will be a problem for the jury. That’s the murder weapon if there is one, Luke,’ Redfern said. ‘That’s what the jury’ll think. And, frankly, it’s what I think – and if I secretly suspect he shot Josie with that gun, then the jury is very likely to suspect the same.’ He added, ‘Particularly after his lie about the shares which appears to give him a motive.’

  They were very long hours waiting for the jury’s verdict.

  Harker was accustomed to contemplating death, accustomed to the waiting before going into battle, accustomed to fear, but he never became cavalier about it. While you waited you could play cards maybe, watch a video, write a letter, but grow blasé about the prospect of battle? Never. But while you’re waiting you have the consolation that your fate is at least partly in your own hands because you’re a good soldier, highly experienced, a crack shot, you’re fit and for Chrissakes you intend to come out of this battle alive like you’ve done a hundred times. Think positively. High morale, that’s the biggest trick. But when you’re facing death at the hands of a jury, at the whim of twelve people out of the telephone directory, people who have not taken a single note of any scrap of the evidence, it is far, far worse than going into any battle.

  ‘Try to be calm,’ Luke said. ‘I really don’t think a reasonable jury can convict on this evidence. A judge wouldn’t.’

  ‘Then why are they taking all this time to decide?’

  ‘Because juries are like that, they haven’t got the experience to marshal facts and law rapidly.’

  Then why the hell are they sitting in judgement?’

  ‘That’s the law.’

  ‘Some fucking law.’

  Harker paced across the conference room, haggard. ‘But people don’t understand about proof beyond reasonable doubt. They believe any gossip. Like housewives over the backyard fence. Like troopers in their pub. You should hear the crap those guys talk – nice guys, but they’d believe just about anything I told them because I was their commanding officer.’ He looked at Luke, fear in his eyes. ‘People are fools And this bunch of fools wants to convict me.’

  ‘Not true.’

  Harker snorted. ‘There’re five blacks, they all deeply dislike my South African military background, very suspicious, you can see it in their eyes. Josephine was as American as apple-pie, and I’m a goddam Rhodesian who fought for the South Africans – which they think means fighting for apartheid. Where’s Charlie?’

  ‘Down the road,’ Luke said, ‘in Beauty’s Paradise; unwinding. I’ve come over to see if you’d like something to eat.’

  Harker paced. ‘A bottle of rum, but as I can’t have that I need a big, rare hamburger.’

  ‘Onions? Relish? Fries?’

  ‘The works. And a king-size cup of Coca-Cola made up of fifty per cent rum.’

  ‘You got it,’ Luke said.

  As the lawyer turned to leave, Harker said, ‘One question.’

  Luke stopped. ‘Yes?’

  Harker waved a hand. ‘That witness, Mr Mayton, from Manufacturers Life Insurance – he said the law is that nobody can be permitted to benefit from his crime. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Luke said.

  Harker said worriedly, ‘I can understand that about the life insurance, but does it also apply to Josephine’s other assets, like her shares and her royalties and apartment, et cetera?’

  Luke looked at him. ‘Yes.’

  ‘So if I am convicted I get absolutely nothing under her will?’

  ‘Correct,’ Luke said stonily.

  ‘Then who inherits her estate?’

  Luke said guardedly, ‘In principle, Josie’s estate would be distributed according to the laws of intestacy. I’m not sure about American law on this point but as she has no siblings, it seems her father will probably get most of it.’

  ‘Her father.’ Harker sighed bitterly. ‘But if I’m acquitted I’ll inherit “everything under her will – unconditionally?’

  Luke looked at his cousin, trying to keep the stoniness out of his eyes. ‘Yes, except for the insurance monies. The insurance company can resist your claim in a civil court if they can prove – on “a balance of probabilities”, instead of “beyond reasonable doubt” – that you murdered Josephine.’

  Harker stared at him. ‘You mean that if I’m acquitted, I could have to go through this all over again in a civil trial over the life insurance?’

  ‘Yes,’ Luke said.

  Harker closed his eyes. He dragged his hands down his face. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he groaned.

  Luke looked at him narrowly. ‘What’s so surprising about that?’

  Harker took a deep breath, and turned away. He paced. ‘Nothing, I suppose,’ he said. Then: ‘It’s just that I’m wondering how the hell I’m going to pay poor old Charlie and Redfern if I’m convicted.’

  Luke dearly wanted to believe the answer was genuine.

  He said, ‘I’ll go’n get your hamburger.’

  It was almost seven o’clock that evening when the messenger came into Beauty’s Paradise to announce that the jury had reached their verdict. Simultaneously another messenger entered the Regency Bar where Vance and his team were refreshing themselves. All the lawyers hurried back to the courthouse. Old Charlie arrived five minutes after everybo
dy else, because he had to swallow one last gin. Harker was already seated at the defence table when Charlie slumped down beside him, exhaling alcoholic fumes. Across the world people saw him beam at Harker and whisper something to him.

  ‘Why the fuck didn’t you tell me about them Westminster shares, you cowboy?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Charlie smiled. ‘Not as sorry as your ass is gonna be if they offer you a sit-down in Old Sparky.’ Then he relented. ‘But I’ll get you off on appeal. Here,’ Charlie slopped a big shot of his gin-water into Harker’s empty glass. ‘Indulge in some of this.’

  Harker took a big swallow and millions of people across the world saw his eyes widen as he almost choked. ‘Christ …’

  There was a rap on the door and the orderly shouted, ‘All rise.’

  Everybody stood. In walked Judge Ludman. He stalked to his bench, then he nodded to the bailiff. The bailiff went to the door leading to the jury room. Everybody remained standing. There was a rap on, the door; it opened and in filed the jury.

  They walked self-consciously across the silent courtroom to their stand, and filed into it. They stood at their seats until everybody was in place. They looked at Judge Ludman, who then solemnly took his seat. Everybody sat.

  The court clerk intoned: ‘Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?’

  ‘We have,’ the foreman with the bald pate and wire-rimmed spectacles said. He handed a folded slip of paper to the bailiff.

  The bailiff walked across the courtroom with it and passed it up to the judge.

  The judge read it. He glanced at the lawyers expressionlessly. Harker’s heart was pounding. Judge Ludman cleared his throat, then said:

  ‘The verdict is … Guilty.’

  A murmur ran through the courtroom. Harker stood, staring blankly. His head was swimming. He gripped the edge of the table. Judge Ludman sat forward and looked at him.

  ‘Mr Harker, you have been convicted of murder in the first degree. As regards sentence, that means –’

  Harker blurted huskily: ‘I did not murder Josephine. You are sentencing an innocent man, your honour.’

  Judge Ludman made a note.

  There was a ringing in Harker’s ears. He went on, ‘I’d like to consult my attorney, please …’

  51

  Charlie sat at the table in the conference room, a cigarette poised in front of his mouth, astonishment all over his face.

  ‘Jesus Christ …’ he said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’

  Harker paced. ‘How could I? I’d already told the police in Tortola that I didn’t know what happened; if I changed my story nobody would believe anything I said ever again.’ He took a deep breath and turned to Luke. ‘And anyway, if I told the truth I would be prosecuted for the Long Island murders.’

  Charlie was astounded. ‘What Long Island murders?’

  Harker slumped down at the table and held his face. ‘Tell him, Luke.’

  Luke Mahoney clasped his hands on the table and looked at Charlie. ‘You’re not going to like this. But I couldn’t tell you because, firstly it would have placed you in an unethical position, and secondly because Jack forbade me to tell you.’

  ‘Forbade you to tell me what, for Chrissakes?’ Charlie demanded.

  Luke sighed again. ‘Okay …’ He briefly summarized the facts concerning the Long Island massacre.

  Charlie stared at the table throughout the narrative. Then:

  ‘Jesus Christ …’

  Harker said: ‘But the CCB was officially disbanded five years ago. And I bought out all the CCB’s shares in Harvest – first the shares I nominally owned on behalf of the CCB, then Westminster’s shares which were indirectly owned by the South African army. That’s why I thought it best to lie about my Westminster purchase, so I didn’t have to explain who I bought Westminster from. I didn’t want to open a can of worms.’

  Old Charlie shook his head in exasperated wonder. ‘Jesus Christ, you can say that again. And again …’ He banged his hand on the table. ‘And so these bastards who boarded your yacht pretending to be pirates were really CCB hit-men who intended to kill you?’

  ‘And intended to kill Josephine,’ Harker said. ‘Then steal the yacht and sink it to make it look like the work of drug-runner pirates.’

  Charlie shook his head. ‘Jesus Christ, now you tell me …’ He took an exasperated breath. ‘But when you finally got to the British Virgin Islands, why didn’t you just tell the police that you were attacked by common-or-garden pirates, whom you’d never seen before and would never recognize again?’

  Harker was holding his ashen face.

  ‘Because,’ he breathed into his hands, ‘I shot three of the bastards. Dead. And I did recognize them. Two were American CIA agents who had worked with the CCB for years – one I only knew as Fred, or Froggy Fred. The other I only knew as Beauregard. Two tough bastards. I pulled their balaclavas off after I shot them. I knew that if their bodies were found by the US Coast Guard they would be identified and definitely not mistaken for pirates, and if I had confessed to shooting them with my .38 – or to shooting any so-called pirates – the cat would have been out of the bag. The Coast Guard would have wondered why I described well-known CIA agents as pirates, why they were aboard my boat – and the whole CCB connection would have begun to emerge.’ Harker ran his hand over his chin. ‘It was much safer just to weight their bodies, heave ’em overboard and say I simply found Josie missing.’

  Charlie groaned. ‘Now he tells me …’

  ‘For Christ’s sake,’ Luke said, ‘if he’d told you upfront about this you couldn’t have defended him ethically. You’d have had to tell him to get another lawyer.’

  Charlie said: ‘I assure you I don’t want to continue defending him now!’ Then he closed his eyes. ‘Sorry, I take that back. I’m just shell-shocked.’ He looked at Harker. ‘So how did you get the wounds to your hip and arm?’

  Harker said: ‘The arm wound was caused by Fred when he tried to stab me in my bunk. I fended the blow off and he got my arm. We wrestled for the knife, I butted his nose, I grabbed my Smith & Wesson pistol, he staggered down the corridor, I shot, missed, he stumbled up into the wheelhouse. I then shot him in the chest, he staggered to the transom and collapsed. Beauregard sprang at me and I shot him dead. Another bastard jumped at me, I shot him dead too. I saw an inflatable. boat out in the darkness, at least two people in it, I fired at it – it sped away. Then I saw a big motor yacht about a mile away – the inflatable was heading towards it. I looked for Josie. Nowhere. I dashed below. Nowhere to be seen. Panic. I dashed topsides. Nowhere. I dashed below again and got my hunting rifle –’

  ‘What fucking hunting rifle?’ Charlie demanded incredulously.

  Harker sighed. ‘I should have told you. Anyway, I had a high-powered, telescopic hunting rifle, because if you’re going on the high seas, around the world, you’re going to need at least one rifle to deal with trouble. So I bought one in Fort Lauderdale when I bought the boat. I hid it under the deck-boards and so it arrived in Nassau when the yacht was delivered, without any trouble. Anyway, I ran below and got this rifle and blasted off at the motor yacht to intimidate it – I was frantic. Meanwhile my yacht was steaming on into the tradewinds on automatic pilot.’ Harker sobbed once into his hands.

  Charlie waited. ‘Then?’

  Harker wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist. ‘Eventually I went down to the body at the transom. I pulled his balaclava off his face, saw it was Froggy Fred, CIA. I weighted him and threw the bastard overboard. That bloodstain? It’s his, not Josie’s. The motor-yacht and the inflatable had disappeared. I then checked the other body – it was Beauregard, also CIA. I then looked at the third bastard. And it was Ferdi Spicer. He was one of my men who disappeared shortly before Josie and I left New York. I thought he intended to run to the Truth Commission to get amnesty for the Long Island murders, then turn prosecution witness for the DA when we were prosecuted – that’s one of the factors that made
me decide to buy the boat and disappear.’

  ‘So you threw all the bodies overboard. Then?’

  ‘I turned the yacht around, to look for Josie. Threw the life-rings and life-raft over the side.’

  Charlie sighed and stood up. He began to pace.

  ‘So the CCB tried to murder you – and succeeded only in murdering Josie. They tried to kill you to stop you confessing to the Long Island murders to this Truth Commission.’

  ‘You know about the Truth Commission, and its amnesties?’

  ‘I’ve read about it.’

  ‘Tell him, Luke,’ Harker sighed grimly.

  Luke briefly summarized the legal situation. He ended: ‘The amnesty cut-off date is midnight tomorrow night, South Africa time.’

  ‘But,’ old Charlie said, ‘did you intend to confess to the Truth Commission and apply for amnesty?’

  ‘No. Because I would be prosecuted in America. But those CCB bastards thought I would confess to the Truth Commission, thought I would make a deal with the New York DA to testify for the prosecution in exchange for immunity, and drop them in the shit.’ Harker dragged his hands down his face. ‘But now that I’m about to be sentenced to death, do you think I should confess to this judge? At least there’s no death sentence in New York.’ He looked at Charlie, then at Luke. ‘What do you advise?’