Gilly Gray didn’t speak to his wife over breakfast. He was not a moody man, but Susan had become used to longer and longer silences whenever a trial was drawing to a close, so she didn’t comment when he left the table and retreated to his study to prepare his closing remarks to the jury. When the phone rang in the hall, Susan rushed to answer it so he wouldn’t be disturbed.
“Members of the jury, is it credible that a man of Mr. Bishara’s standing could be involved in such a squalid crime? Would someone who had so much to lose entertain for a moment—”
There was a tap at the door. Gilly swung round, knowing that his wife would not have considered interrupting him unless …
“There’s a Mr. Barry Hammond on the line. He says it’s urgent.”
*
For Hakim Bishara, it was not a long weekend, but sixty-seven sleepless hours while he waited to be driven back to the court to learn his fate. He could only hope that when the foreman of the jury rose, he would deliver two words, not one.
While he was pacing around the prison yard on Sunday afternoon, accompanied by two bankers who would find it difficult ever to open an account again, several inmates came over to wish him luck.
“Pity one or two of them didn’t appear as witnesses in the trial,” said one of his companions.
“How would that have helped?” asked Hakim.
“Rumor on the block is that the drug barons are telling everyone you were never a dealer or a junkie, because they know their customers and suppliers better than any retailer. After all, they can’t advertise, and they don’t have a shop front.”
“But who would believe them?” asked Hakim.
37
SEBASTIAN ARRIVED AT the Old Bailey just after nine thirty on Monday morning. When he entered the court, he was surprised to find Arnold Hardcastle sitting alone on the defense counsel’s bench. Seb glanced across to see that Mr. Carman was already in his place, checking through his closing address. He looked as if he couldn’t wait for the starting pistol to fire so he could burst out of the blocks and head for the tape. There are no silver medals for barristers.
“Any sign of our esteemed leader?” asked Seb as he sat down next to Arnold.
“No, but he should be with us at any moment,” said Arnold, checking his watch. “When I rang earlier, his junior told me he wasn’t to be disturbed under any circumstances. Though I must say, he’s cutting it fine.”
Seb kept looking toward the doorway, through which court officials, lawyers, journalists and other interested parties were streaming, but Mr. Gray was not among them. 9:45 a.m., and still there was no sign of him. 9:50, and Mr. Carman began casting the occasional quizzical glance in their direction. 9:55, and Arnold was becoming quite anxious, as the judge would be certain to ask him where defense counsel was, and he didn’t know. 10:00.
Mr. Justice Urquhart entered, bowed to the court and took his seat on the raised dais. He checked that the defendant was standing in the dock and waited for the twelve jurors to be seated in the jury box. Finally, he looked down at leading counsel’s bench to see Mr. Carman sitting on the edge of his seat, impatient for proceedings to begin. The judge would have obliged him but he couldn’t see any sign of the defense counsel.
“I would call you, Mr. Carman, to deliver your closing address, but it appears that Mr. Gray is not among us.”
No sooner had Mr. Justice Urquhart uttered these words than the door on the far side of the courtroom was flung open and Gilbert Gray came charging in, gown flowing behind him as he readjusted his wig on the move. Once he had settled, the judge said, “Good morning, Mr. Gray. Do you have any objection to my calling Mr. Carman to present his closing address?” He made no attempt to hide his sarcasm.
“I do apologize, my lord, but I would beg your indulgence and ask if I can call a witness who has fresh evidence to present to the court.”
Mr. Carman sat down and closed his file with a thud. He leaned back and waited to find out who this witness could possibly be.
“And who is this new witness, might I ask, Mr. Gray?”
“I shall not be calling a new witness, my lord, but recalling Mr. Collier to the stand.”
This request clearly took everyone by surprise, including Mr. Carman, and it was some time before the chattering subsided enough to allow the judge to ask his next question. He leaned forward, peered down at the Crown’s silk and said, “Do you have any objection, Mr. Carman, to Mr. Collier being recalled at this late juncture?”
Carman wanted to say yes I most certainly do, my lord, but he wasn’t sure on what grounds he could possibly object to the Crown’s principal witness giving further testimony. “I have no objection, my lord, although I am curious to know what fresh evidence can have arisen over the weekend.”
“Let’s find out, shall we?” said the judge. He nodded to the clerk.
“Call Mr. David Collier!”
The senior customs officer entered the room and returned to the witness box. Nothing could be gleaned from the expression on his face. The judge reminded him that he was still under oath.