Both sides had agreed that it would not be wise to air any family grievances in public. Galbraith went as far as to admit that his client had a loathing of the press, and Munro had already warned Sir Nicholas that if their grievances were to be picked over in open court, his period in prison would end up covering far more column inches than any disagreement over his grandfather’s will.
Both sides also accepted that the case should be tried in front of a high court judge, and that his decision would be final: once judgement had been made, neither side would be given leave to appeal. Sir Nicholas and Mr Hugo Moncrieff both signed a binding legal agreement to this effect before the judge would agree to consider proceeding.
Danny sat at a table next to Mr Munro on one side of the room, while Hugo and Margaret Moncrieff sat alongside Mr Desmond Galbraith on the other. Mr Justice Sanderson was seated at his desk facing them. None of the participants was dressed in court garb, which allowed a far more relaxed atmosphere to prevail. The judge opened proceedings by reminding both parties that despite the case being heard privately in chambers, the outcome still carried the full weight of the law. He seemed pleased to see both counsel nodding.
Mr Justice Sanderson had not only proved acceptable to both sides, but was, in the words of Munro, ‘a wise old bird’.
‘Gentlemen,’ he began. ‘Having acquainted myself with the background to this case, I am aware just how much is at stake for both parties. Before I begin, I am bound to ask if every attempt to reach a compromise has been made?’
Mr Desmond Galbraith rose from his place and stated that Sir Alexander had written an uncompromising letter, making it clear that he wished to disinherit his grandson after he had been court-martialled, and his client, Mr Hugo Moncrieff, simply wished to carry out his late father’s wishes.
Mr Munro rose to state that his client had not issued the original writ, and had never sought this quarrel in the first place, but that like Mr Hugo Moncrieff he felt that it was imperative that his grandfather’s wishes were carried out. He paused. ‘To the letter.’
The judge shrugged his shoulders and resigned himself to not being able to achieve any form of compromise between the two parties. ‘Then let’s get on with it,’ he said. ‘I have read all the papers put before me and I have also considered any further submissions entered by both parties as evidence. With that in mind, I intend to state from the outset what I consider to be relevant in this case, and what I consider to be irrelevant. Neither side disputes that Sir Alexander Moncrieff executed a will on January seventeenth, 1997, in which he left the bulk of his estate to his grandson Nicholas, then a serving officer in Kosovo.’ He looked up to seek confirmation, and both Galbraith and Munro nodded.
‘However, what is being claimed by Mr Galbraith, on behalf of his client Mr Hugo Moncrieff, is that this document was not Sir Alexander’s last Will and Testament, and that at a later date – ’ the judge looked down at his notes – ‘November first, 1998, Sir Alexander executed a second will, leaving the entire estate to his son Angus. Sir Angus died on the twentieth of May 2002, and in his last Will and Testament he in turn left everything to his younger brother, Hugo.
‘Also offered in evidence by Mr Galbraith on behalf of his client is a letter signed by Sir Alexander stating his reasons for this change of heart. Mr Munro does not dispute the authenticity of the signature on the second page of this letter, but suggests that the first page was in fact drawn up at a later date. He states that although he will not be putting forward any evidence to support this claim, its truth will become self-evident when the second will is proved to be invalid.
‘Mr Munro has also made it known to the court that he will not be suggesting that Sir Alexander was, to use the legal term, not of sound mind at the relevant time. On the contrary, they spent an evening together only a week before Sir Alexander died, and after dinner his host soundly beat him at a game of chess.
‘So I am bound to say to both parties that in my opinion the only question to be settled in this dispute is the validity of the second will, which Mr Galbraith claims on behalf of his client was Sir Alexander Moncrieff ’s last Will and Testament, while Mr Munro states, without putting too fine a point on it, that it’s a fake. I hope that both sides consider this to be a fair assessment of the present position. If so, I will ask Mr Galbraith to present his case on behalf of Mr Hugo Moncrieff.’
Desmond Galbraith rose from his place. ‘My lord, my client and I for our part accept that the only disagreement between the two parties concerns the second will, which as you have stated we are in no doubt was Sir Alexander’s last Will and Testament. We offer the will and the attached letter as proof of our claim, and we would also like to present a witness who we believe will put this matter to rest once and for all.’
‘By all means,’ said Mr Justice Sanderson. ‘Please call your witness.’
‘I call Professor Nigel Fleming,’ said Galbraith, looking towards the door.
Danny leant across and asked Munro if he knew the professor. ‘Only by reputation,’ Munro replied as a tall, elegant man with a full head of grey hair walked into the room. As he took the oath, Danny thought that the professor reminded him of the sort of visiting dignitary who used to come to Clement Attlee comprehensive once a year to present the prizes – though never to him.
‘Please have a seat, Professor Fleming,’ said Mr Justice Sanderson.
Galbraith remained standing. ‘Professor, I feel it is important for the court to be made aware of the expertise and authority you bring to this case, so I hope you will forgive me if I ask you a few questions concerning your background.’
The professor gave a slight bow.
‘What is your present position?’
‘I am the Professor of Inorganic Chemistry at Edinburgh University.’
‘And have you written a book on the relevance of that field to crime, which has become the standard work on the subject and is taught as part of the legal syllabus in most universities?’
‘I cannot speak for most universities, Mr Galbraith, but that is certainly the case at Edinburgh.’
‘Have you in the past, professor, represented several governments to advise them on disputes of this nature?’
‘I would not wish to overstate my authority, Mr Galbraith. I have on three occasions been called in by governments to advise them on the validity of documents when a disagreement has arisen between two or more nations.’
‘Quite so. Then let me ask you, professor, if you have ever given evidence in court when the validity of a will has been called into question?’
‘Yes, sir, on seventeen separate occasions.’
‘And will you tell the court, professor, how many of those cases ended with a judgement that supported your findings.’
‘I would not for a moment suggest the verdicts given in those cases were solely determined by my evidence.’
‘Nicely put,’ said the judge with a wry smile. ‘However, professor, the question is, how many of the seventeen verdicts backed up your opinion?’
‘Sixteen, sir,’ replied the professor.
‘Please continue, Mr Galbraith,’ said the judge.
‘Professor, have you had the opportunity to study the late Sir Alexander Moncrieff ’s will, which is at the centre of this case?’
‘I have studied both wills.’
‘Can I ask you some questions about the second will?’ The professor nodded. ‘Is the paper on which the will is written of a type that would have been available at that time?’
‘What time is that precisely, Mr Galbraith?’ asked the judge.
‘November 1998, my lord.’
‘Yes it is,’ replied the professor. ‘It is my belief, based on scientific evidence, that the paper is the same vintage as that used for the first will, which was executed in 1997.’
The judge raised an eyebrow, but didn’t interrupt. ‘Was the red ribbon attached to that second will also of the same vintage?’ asked Galbraith.
‘Yes. I carried out t
ests on both ribbons, and it turned out that they were produced at the same time.’
‘And were you, professor, able to come to any conclusion about Sir Alexander’s signature as it appears on both wills?’
‘Before I answer that question, Mr Galbraith, you must understand that I am not a calligraphic expert, but I can tell you that the black ink used by the signatory was manufactured some time before 1990.’
‘Are you telling the court,’ asked the judge, ‘that you are able to date a bottle of ink to within a year of its production?’
‘Sometimes within a month,’ said the professor. ‘In fact, I would submit that the ink used for the signature on both wills came from a bottle manufactured by Waterman’s in 1985.’
‘And now I should like to turn to the typewriter used for the second will,’ said Mr Galbraith. ‘What make was it, and when did it first come on to the market?’
‘It is a Remington Envoy II, which came on to the market in 1965.’
‘So just to confirm,’ added Galbraith, ‘the paper, the ink, the ribbon and the typewriter were all in existence before November 1998.’
‘Without question, in my judgement,’ said the professor.
‘Thank you, professor. If you would be kind enough to wait there, I have a feeling that Mr Munro will have some questions for you.’
Munro rose slowly from his place. ‘I have no questions for this witness, my lord.’
The judge did not react. However, the same could not be said of Galbraith, who stared at his opposite number in disbelief. Hugo Moncrieff asked his wife to explain the significance of Munro’s words, while Danny looked straight ahead, showing no emotion, just as Munro had instructed him to do.
‘Will you be presenting any other witnesses, Mr Galbraith?’ asked the judge.
‘No, my lord. I can only assume that my learned friend’s refusal to cross-examine Professor Fleming means that he accepts his findings.’ He paused. ‘Without question.’
Munro didn’t rise, in any sense of the expression.
‘Mr Munro,’ said the judge, ‘do you wish to make an opening statement?’
‘Briefly, if it so pleases your lordship,’ said Munro. ‘Professor Fleming has confirmed that Sir Alexander’s first Will and Testament, made in favour of my client, is indisputably authentic. We accept his judgement in this matter. As you stated at the beginning of this hearing, my lord, the only question which concerns this court is the validity or otherwise of the second will, which—’
‘My lord,’ said Galbraith, jumping up from his place. ‘Is Mr Munro suggesting to the court that the expertise the professor applied to the first will can conveniently be discounted when it comes to his opinion of the second?’
‘No, my lord,’ said Munro. ‘Had my learned friend shown a little more patience, he would have discovered that that is not what I am suggesting. The professor told the court that he was not an expert on the authenticity of signatures—’
‘But he also testified, my lord,’ said Galbraith, leaping up again, ‘that the ink used to sign both of the wills came from the same bottle.’
‘But not from the same hand, I would suggest,’ said Munro.
‘Will you be calling a calligraphy expert?’ asked the judge.
‘No, my lord, I will not.’
‘Do you have any evidence to suggest that the signature is a forgery?’
‘No, my lord, I do not,’ repeated Munro.
This time the judge did raise an eyebrow. ‘Will you be calling any witnesses, Mr Munro, in support of your case?’
‘Yes, my lord. Like my esteemed colleague, I will be calling only one witness.’ Munro paused for a moment, aware that, with the exception of Danny, who didn’t even blink, everyone in the room was curious to know who this witness could possibly be. ‘I call Mr Gene Hunsacker.’
The door opened, and the vast frame of the Texan ambled slowly into the room. Danny felt that something wasn’t right, then realized that it was the first time he’d seen Hunsacker without his trademark cigar.
Hunsacker took the oath, his voice booming around the small room.
‘Please have a seat, Mr Hunsacker,’ said the judge. ‘As we are such a small gathering, perhaps we might address each other in more conversational tones.’
‘I’m sorry, your honour,’ said Hunsacker.
‘No need to apologize,’ said the judge. ‘Please proceed, Mr Munro.’
Munro rose from his place and smiled at Hunsacker. ‘For the record, would you be kind enough to state your name and occupation?’
‘My name is Gene Hunsacker the third, and I’m retired.’
‘And what did you do before you retired, Mr Hunsacker?’ asked the judge.
‘Not a lot, sir. My pa, like my grand-daddy before him, was a cattle rancher, but I myself never took to it, especially after oil was discovered on my land.’
‘So you’re an oilman,’ said the judge.
‘Not exactly, sir, because at the age of twenty-seven I sold out to a British company, BP, and since then I’ve spent the rest of my life pursuing my hobby.’
‘How interesting. What, may I ask—’ began the judge.
‘We’ll come to your hobby in a moment, Mr Hunsacker,’ said Munro firmly. The judge sank back in his chair, an apologetic look on his face. ‘Mr Hunsacker, you have stated that having made a considerable fortune following the sale of your land to BP, you are not in the oil business.’
‘That’s correct, sir.’
‘I would also like to establish for the court’s benefit what else you are not an expert on. For example, are you an expert on wills?’
‘No, sir, I am not.’
‘Are you an expert on paper and ink technology?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Are you an expert on ribbons?’
‘I tried to remove a few from girls’ hair when I was a younger man, but I wasn’t even very good at that,’ said Gene.
Munro waited for the laughter to die down before he continued. ‘Then perhaps you are an expert on typewriters?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Or even signatures?’
‘No, sir.’
‘However,’ said Munro, ‘would I be right in suggesting that you are considered the world’s leading authority on postage stamps?’
‘I think I can safely say it’s either me or Tomoji Watanabe,’ Hunsacker replied, ‘depending on who you talk to.’
The judge couldn’t control himself any longer. ‘Can you explain what you mean by that, Mr Hunsacker?’
‘Both of us have been collectors for over forty years, your honour. I have the larger collection, but to be fair to Tomoji, that’s possibly because I’m a darn sight richer than he is, and keep outbidding the poor bastard.’ Even Margaret Moncrieff couldn’t stifle a laugh. ‘I sit on the board of Sotheby’s, and Tomoji advises Philips. My collection has been put on display at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington DC, his at the Imperial Museum in Tokyo. So I can’t tell you who’s the world’s leading authority, but whichever one of us is number one, the other guy is certainly number two.’
‘Thank you, Mr Hunsacker,’ said the judge. ‘I am satisfied that your witness is an expert in his chosen field, Mr Munro.’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ said Munro. ‘Mr Hunsacker, have you studied both of the wills involved in this case?’
‘I have, sir.’
‘And what is your opinion, your professional opinion, of the second will, the one that leaves Sir Alexander’s fortune to his son Angus?’
‘It’s a fake.’
Desmond Galbraith was immediately on his feet. ‘Yes, yes, Mr Galbraith,’ said the judge, waving him back in his place. ‘I do hope, Mr Hunsacker, that you are going to supply the court with some concrete evidence for this assertion. By “concrete evidence”, I do not mean another dose of your homespun philosophy.’
Hunsacker’s jovial smile disappeared. He waited for some time before saying, ‘I shall prove, your honour, in what I believe you describe
in this country as beyond reasonable doubt, that Sir Alexander’s second will is a fake. In order to do so, I will require you to be in possession of the original document.’ Mr Justice Sanderson turned to Galbraith, who shrugged his shoulders, rose from his place and handed the second will across to the judge. ‘Now, sir,’ said Hunsacker, ‘if you would be kind enough to turn to the second page of the document, you will see Sir Alexander’s signature written across a stamp.’
‘Are you suggesting that the stamp is a fake?’ said the judge.
‘No, sir, I am not.’
‘But as you have already stated, Mr Hunsacker, you are not an expert on signatures. What exactly are you suggesting?’
‘That is clear for all to see, sir,’ said Hunsacker, ‘as long as you know what you’re looking for.’
‘Please enlighten me,’ said the judge, sounding a little exasperated.
‘Her Majesty the Queen ascended the British throne on February second, 1952,’ said Hunsacker, ‘and was crowned at Westminster Abbey on June second, 1953. The Royal Mail produced a stamp to mark that occasion – indeed I am the proud owner of a mint sheet of first editions. That stamp shows the Queen as a young woman, but because of the remarkable length of Her Majesty’s reign, the Royal Mail has had to issue a new edition every few years to reflect the fact that the monarch has grown a little older. The edition which is affixed to this will was issued in March 1999.’ Hunsacker swung round in his chair to look at Hugo Moncrieff, wondering if the significance of his words had sunk in. He couldn’t be sure, although the same could not be said of Margaret Moncrieff, whose lips were pursed, while the blood was quickly draining from her face.
‘Your honour,’ said Hunsacker, ‘Sir Alexander Moncrieff died on December seventeen 1998 – three months before the stamp was issued. So one thing is for certain: that sure can’t be his signature scrawled across Her Majesty.’
BOOK FOUR
Revenge
51
Revenge is a dish best served cold.
Danny placed Les Liaisons Dangereuses in his briefcase as the plane began its descent through a bank of murky clouds that hung over London. He had every intention of exacting cold revenge on all three men who had been responsible for the death of his closest friend, for preventing him from marrying Beth, for depriving him of being able to bring up his daughter Christy, and for causing him to be imprisoned for a crime he did not commit.
A Prisoner of Birth Page 32