by Peter James
‘I thought you’d also be pleased to hear that we are ready for the delayed award to be presented to your late colleague, DS Bella Moy. I know how much you valued and respected her, and just how upset you were by her death – just as we all were.’
‘I’m very pleased to hear that, ma’am. And I think DS Potting will be very grateful for this recognition.’
‘They were engaged to be married, weren’t they?’
‘Yes. I had been so happy for them both.’
‘Well, I’m very pleased to tell you the decision’s been made that both medals will be awarded at a ceremony in London, where they will be presented by HRH the Prince of Wales accompanied by HRH the Duchess of Cornwall – the date will be advised.’
‘Thank you, ma’am, it is very gratifying news.’
‘Perhaps DS Potting may wish to accept the medal on DS Moy’s behalf. Does she have any other close relatives?’
‘Her mother. I know she’s not been in good health, but I’m sure she will want to accompany Norman.’
‘Will you make the approaches?’
‘I will, ma’am. And thank you.’
As soon as the call ended, Grace sat, staring at his phone, all joy about the medal eclipsed by his fury at Pewe. That lying shit, he thought. His first reaction, which he reined in, was to call him and shout at him.
Then he thought, What the hell am I doing sitting in my office at 8 p.m. working for a boss who is a total wanker and a liar?
He left everything as it was, stormed out, slamming the door behind him and went down to the car park. As he fired up the Alfa’s engine, he had just one angry thought.
I will get even with you, Cassian. I promise you.
84
Thursday 23 May
Richard Jupp, robed and regal, entered as normal, carrying his laptop and several folders, and took his commanding position in his chair. The jury filed in and took their seats. The judge peered at the jury, as if counting and checking they were all present and correct, then addressed the defence counsel below him in the well of the court. ‘Please proceed.’
Primrose Brown stood up. ‘I call my first witness, the defendant, Terence Gready.’
Accompanied by a security guard, Gready momentarily disappeared from the glass-fronted dock before emerging from the rear. The guard left him to make his own way to the witness box, under the watchful eye of everyone in the court. Wearing a navy suit, white shirt and plain tie, and with an upright, but not too proud posture, as rehearsed with his team, he took the stand with a respectful air, already looking more a victim than a perpetrator.
Not remotely a believer, despite his former regular churchgoing with his wife to keep up appearances, Gready held the Bible and swore on it with true, passionate reverence to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
Meg stared at him with both surprise and contempt. Seeing him walk to the witness box, she realized how small he seemed, in every way. Five foot five at most, thin, with dark little eyes behind his tortoiseshell glasses and tiny, delicate hands. His lank, thinning hair, still mostly black, was neat and he was clean-shaven. Other than his glasses, he could have been a travelling sales representative or perhaps a ticket clerk. Neither ugly nor handsome, he was truly nondescript, Meg thought, although he did definitely have an attitude, an expression on his face that said: Don’t misread me, I’m not anyone’s pushover.
She was about to see how true that was.
Primrose Brown asked him, ‘Mr Gready, you are indicted on a number of counts relating to the importation of Class-A drugs and conspiracy to supply these drugs. Can you tell us your reaction to these allegations when they were first put to you?’
Gready seemed, in front of Meg’s eyes, both to grow in stature and at the same time let his demeanour soften into a warm, approachable man. He smiled politely, first at his defence counsel, then at the jury, clocking in particular the good-looking woman in the front row who was absolutely on his side but always avoided eye contact with him, then with the corpulent businessman in the row behind her, whom he was saving from bankruptcy.
He began speaking, addressing the jury as if they were the only people in the world he cared about. His voice was sincere, his tone that of a genuinely wounded innocent. ‘It was complete astonishment.’ He gave a derisory little laugh. ‘I mean, I thought it was mistaken identity – that they couldn’t possibly be charging me.’
Brown probed. ‘Anything else?’
Still totally zeroed-in on the jury, he opened his arms out. ‘I have been in court so many times, I’m a firm upholder of the law. It is what I have made my career in. I believe in the justice system and want every person to have their chance for justice.’
‘What do you say about the evidence you have heard over the last few days?’
‘Over the past ten days you’ve heard a litany of very convincing evidence against me, painting me as a complete monster. If I were any one of you jurors, based on what I’d heard to date, I would be wanting to lock me up and throw away the key. No question!’
His barrister cut him short. ‘Mr Gready, could you get to the point, please.’
He continued. ‘But what you have heard during these past ten days is a very elaborate and cleverly planned and orchestrated tissue of malicious lies.’
‘Can you tell us your reasons for believing this?’ Brown coaxed.
‘Yes, I can. These are lies perpetrated by someone – or some group – out to destroy my reputation, in order to further their commercial gains in the vile world of drugs importation and distribution they inhabit.’
‘But why you, Mr Gready?’
‘Unfortunately, as a criminal lawyer one makes a great number of enemies throughout one’s career. Some of these are people you have defended unsuccessfully, however hard you have tried. And of course, sadly, we legal aid solicitors all too frequently incur the wrath of the police themselves, who consider we are simply playing a game and that we do not care for the truth or for justice.’
‘You want the jury to believe the police are fitting you up?’
‘During the course of my career I have on many occasions after doing my duty, trying to ensure fair play for a suspect, had police officers tell me to my face that they are going to get me one day.’
He paused to let this sink in. ‘One police officer just a couple of years ago told me that, if anyone appears in court charged with an offence, it is because they are guilty – that the Crown Prosecution Service won’t charge anyone who is not guilty as hell – in his words. I’d just got a suspect, whom he’d arrested, acquitted. The officer was waiting for me outside the court and called me a money-grabbing little parasite.’
‘The point you are trying to make, Mr Gready, is what exactly?’
‘I’m not saying this because I have anything at all against the police. They do a vital job. I’m telling you this because I need you to understand the hatred some officers have for lawyers like myself.’
He paused to make eye contact with the jury. ‘I’ve no doubt you have been amazed at some of the things you’ve heard during this trial. Frankly, so am I. The internet today is highly dangerous. Anyone can make it seem that someone else is doing something wrong. Anyone with the right skills – or with the money to hire those skills – can alter phone records, bank accounts and any kind of personal record held on a database.’
‘And how is that relevant here, Mr Gready?’
He glanced at his notes. ‘Any of you, any one of you on this jury, with just the most basic of computer skills, could gain access to the phones and computers of almost anyone you choose and doctor their records – even those of one of your fellow jurors, if you really wanted to. You could give your best friend a criminal record, you could plant all kinds of incriminating evidence in their computer files without their knowledge.’
Brown signalled to him. ‘Do go on.’
He looked at them imploringly. ‘I’m just like you – like any of you. What has happened to me could happ
en to any of us. Someone sees an opportunity to frame a totally innocent person.’ He paused, as if having trouble with his emotions, his voice quavering. ‘But in my case, they have taken it even further, they have done something utterly disgusting, utterly depraved, something almost beyond human comprehension in their efforts to put me on trial for offences I have never committed. Something that threatens the whole life I’ve built with my wife and children, who have been here in court every day supporting me – it’s as though I am being punished for no other offence than trying to be a decent, upright citizen in a world that is becoming increasingly violent and crooked.’
He paused for a moment, looking around the court as if to ensure he had everyone’s attention. He needn’t have worried. Continuing calmly, he was sounding every inch the rational man.
Meg was battling with her own emotions. She so sorely wanted to stand up and expose the creep for the liar he was. She wanted to demand, in front of this entire court, why he was threatening to murder her daughter if he was so damned innocent? But she kept quiet, seething inside as he went on, sounding increasingly pious.
Gready’s QC interjected. ‘Mr Gready, can you tell the court why you think Michael Starr is doing this to you?’
‘I can’t tell you whether Michael Starr is a man operating on his own or is the front for a criminal syndicate – the latter, I strongly suspect. But if you believe me, and I sincerely hope you will, as my whole future life and reputation depend on it, I’m going to tell you something that I know you all will find utterly shocking, utterly vile and almost beyond comprehension.’
He paused, looking dreadfully hurt. ‘I believe it is very probable that Stuie was murdered by someone in an attempt both to implicate me and to give credence to the quite astonishing and incredibly inventive pack of lies that you heard from Mr Starr yesterday.’
Primrose Brown again interjected. ‘Mr Gready, the court has already heard that Mr Starr has admitted his guilt. Can you explain that?’
‘Yes, he’s a desperate man with nothing to lose, facing a very long prison sentence.’
He fell silent for a few seconds before speaking again with the utmost sincerity in his voice. ‘I would like to take this opportunity now to offer my condolences over Stuie Starr’s tragic death.’
He then spent the next two hours denying anything at all to do with the financial records and maintained he had no links to the overseas accounts. He told the court he had not been involved in any importation of drugs, using classic cars or distributing drugs within Sussex.
Brown turned to him. ‘Finally, you believe you have been framed by Starr and his associates?’
‘I am a completely innocent man being framed by the police, Starr and others.’
He went on to inform the court that the reason he had answered no comment in his police interviews was that the charges were nothing to do with him and were part of the overall conspiracy to frame him.
‘Finally, Mr Gready, why should the jury believe you?’ Primrose Brown asked.
‘I have sworn on oath to tell the truth, I am a legal professional and the prosecution has produced no compelling evidence to show I’m guilty of what they allege. I am an innocent family man, and I would ask every member of the jury to believe what I have just shared. I am an innocent man.’
‘Please wait there,’ Brown said to her client.
Cork rose to his feet. ‘Mr Gready, you are positing a somewhat hard to believe theory as to who might have murdered Stuie Starr. You suggest that Michael Starr gave evidence against you because he thinks it is you who killed his brother.’
‘That is the truth he would like this court to believe,’ Gready responded calmly. ‘A truth that is a very elaborately planned and executed fiction.’
‘We heard yesterday,’ Cork continued, ‘Mr Starr is claiming to have been the General Manager of your classic car dealership. And we have evidence from the SD card and USB sticks showing your relationship, drug dealing and foreign account activity over many years. Yet you are maintaining that you never met him and that he never worked for you?’
‘That is correct.’
‘And beyond the occasion, some eighteen years ago now, when you used your – ah – influence in some way to get him acquitted, you are maintaining you have never had any dealings or communications with Mr Starr?’
‘That is correct.’
‘You have suggested to this court that if any calls had originated from Michael Starr, they would have been connected to your role as a solicitor and nothing more sinister. And yet, you also say you have never met the man.’
Gready made no comment.
Cork persisted. ‘Is this correct?’
‘I believe there were some calls to the office from Starr many years ago. Back at the time when I was able to get the case against him quashed, I subsequently became very uncomfortable, believing he had not told me the truth. As you would well know from your days as a defence barrister, if you have reasons to doubt the veracity of a client you are obliged by the Law Society to cease acting for that person. This was my situation, which Mr Starr refused to accept, and he did hound me with calls for a time – calls which my office deflected.’
‘In that case, Mr Gready, why, when there are dozens and dozens of solicitors like yourself practising criminal law, did Mr Starr not just approach another firm?’
‘It’s very simple,’ Gready said with poker-faced confidence. ‘Because everyone knows I’m the best.’
There were some smiles around the court. Only the judge sat stony-faced.
‘Let us now address the issue of the safety deposit box in your name, Mr Gready. As we heard from evidence given by DS Alexander, a key was discovered very cleverly concealed in the false bottom of a spray canister in the garden shed of your home in Onslow Road, Hove. This key was for a private safety deposit box, in your name, on the premises of a company, Safe Box Co, on the Hollingbury Industrial Estate. It was opened under warrant and found to contain foreign currency totalling £392,000, along with six USB memory sticks. You accept that, don’t you?’
‘I believe that is what they say.’
‘Well then, where did this substantial sum come from?’
Gready shook his head. ‘I’m afraid it must have been all part of Mr Starr’s clever plot to frame me. I can only assume he planted the key in the shed and the money in the deposit box. If I had that substantial sum I can assure you I would have treated my wife and family to something considerably more exotic than our annual fortnight’s holiday in a timeshare cottage in Appledore in Devon.’
Cork paused, frowned and said, ‘Do I have this right? You are suggesting Mr Starr opened a safety deposit box in your name, hid a huge sum of cash, together with damning evidence against you, inside it, then placed the key in an aerosol inside a shed on your property, on the off-chance that if caught he could point the finger at you?’
‘Yes, he must have,’ Gready replied.
‘Are there fairies at the bottom of your garden as well?’ Cork challenged.
Jupp immediately instructed the court to disregard the previous comment and said, ‘Mr Cork, you should know better than that.’
‘Of course, I’m sorry, Your Honour.’ The prosecuting counsel paused and then continued. ‘You refused to answer questions from the police about the details of the information found?’
‘I was under no obligation to answer any questions. They have nothing to do with me.’
‘Interestingly, that content showed details of four further importations through Newhaven Port using classic cars involving large quantities of drugs. These runs coincided with large deposits being made through LH Classics into the overseas bank accounts.’
‘They are nothing to do with me. You should be asking Michael Starr. He’s the drug baron, not me. He’s admitted it to this court!’
Cork persevered. ‘I suggest to you, Mr Gready, you refused to answer any questions because you had no plausible reason for having this damning evidence which shows your c
riminality, and this is something for the jury to take into account.’
‘I knew I was being set up so decided to keep quiet at that stage. I have explained to the court this morning that I am innocent and had nothing to do with any of this.’
Stephen Cork continued to question him at length, but the defendant steadfastly maintained his innocence.
‘Finally, Mr Gready,’ Cork said pointedly, ‘I put it to you that you are a thoroughly dishonest drug-dealing criminal and have made millions of pounds from the misery you inflict. You have been careful to hide your involvement but of course you didn’t consider that your loyal colleague, Michael Starr, would turn against you.’
‘The jury know I’m telling the truth,’ Gready said, confidently and directly.
Primrose Brown stood up, adjusting her gown. ‘My learned friend, Mr Cork, asked you about a key to the deposit box in your name and you denied owning it, is that correct?’
‘Yes, nothing to do with me. The key was found in my garden shed and it would be easy for anyone to access it.’
‘I would like you to look at the prosecutions exhibit JA/17, the form that was completed at the time the safety deposit box was rented back in 2004. I have copied the document for the benefit of the court.’ She then handed a bundle of copies to the court usher, David Rowland, for distribution.
‘Mr Gready, is that your signature on the document?’
‘It looks like mine and it is signed Terence Gready, but it is definitely not my signature. As I have said before, I know nothing about the deposit box.’
Brown then addressed the court. ‘No more questions, Your Honour, thank you.’
Terence Gready was escorted back to the dock.
Brown proceeded to hand a document to the prosecution counsel. ‘You have heard evidence from the defendant that he believes he has been framed by Mr Starr. My next witness will be a person recognized as the UK’s leading forensic handwriting expert, Professor Geoff Shaw of Magdalene College, Cambridge.’
Cork jumped up. ‘Your Honour, this is the first time I have heard about this witness, I must object.’