The Freedom Trap
Brunskill’s eyebrows lifted when he read it. ‘I know this number very well – he’s just the man to tackle your type of case. For a man who’s been in England less than a week you know your way around the fringes.’ He put the paper on one side. ‘I’ll let him know you’re here.’
My throat was dry from smoking too many cigarettes. ‘Another thing,’ I said. ‘I could do with a cup of tea.’
‘I’m afraid we can’t run to tea,’ said Brunskill regretfully. ‘Would a glass of water be all right?’
‘It’ll do.’
He went to the door, gave instructions, and then came back. ‘You people seem to think that we spend all our time in police stations drinking tea – running a continuous cafeteria for old lags. I can’t think where you get it from unless it’s from television.’
‘Not me,’ I said. ‘We have no TV in South Africa.’
‘Indeed!’ said Brunskill. ‘How curious. Now, about those diamonds. I think that …’
‘What diamonds?’ I broke in.
And so it went on. He shook me more than Jervis because he was trickier. He wasn’t stupid enough to lie about something I knew to be true, as Jervis had done, and was better at the wearing down process, being as persistent as a buzzing fly. The water came – a carafe and a tumbler. I filled the tumbler and drank thirstily, then refilled it and drank again. Brunskill watched me and said at last, ‘Had enough?’
I nodded, so he reached out and took the tumbler delicately in his fingertips and carried it out. When he came back he looked at me sorrowfully. ‘I didn’t think you’d fall for that chestnut. You know we can’t fingerprint you until you’re booked. Why did you let us have them?’
‘I was tired,’ I said.
‘Too bad,’ he said sympathetically. ‘Now, to get back to those diamonds …’
Presently Jervis came into the room and beckoned to Brunskill and they stood by the door and talked in low voices. Brunskill turned around. ‘Now, look here, Rearden; we’ve nailed you. We have enough evidence now to send you up for ten years. If you help us to get back those stones it might help you when the judge sentences you.’
‘What diamonds?’ I asked tiredly.
His mouth shut with a snap. ‘All right,’ he said curtly. ‘Come this way.’
I followed, the meat in a sandwich between Brunskill and Jervis. They escorted me to a large room occupied by a dozen men lined along one wall. Jervis said, ‘No need to explain what this is, Rearden; but I will because the law says I must. It’s a line-up – an identification parade. There are three people coming in to see you. You can insert yourself anywhere in that line, and you can change your position in the intervals if you like. Got it?’
I nodded and walked over to the wall, putting myself third in line. There was a pause in the action and then the first witness came in – a little old lady, someone’s darling mother. She went along the line and then came straight back to me and pointed at my chest. ‘That’s the one.’ I’d never seen her before.
They took her out, but I didn’t bother to change position. There wasn’t any point, really; they had me nailed just as Brunskill had said. The next one was a young man of about eighteen. He didn’t have to go all the way along the line. He stopped in front of me. ‘That’s ‘im,’ he said.’ ‘E did it.’
The third witness didn’t have any trouble either. He took one look at me and yelled, ‘This is the boyo. I hope you get life, mate.’ He went away rubbing his head. It was the postman – not nearly as dead as Jervis would have me believe.
Then is was over and Jervis and Brunskill took me back. I said to Jervis, ‘You’d make a good miracle-worker; you brought that postman back to life pretty smartly.’
He gave me a sharpish look and a slow smile spread over his face. ‘And how did you know that was the postman?’
I shrugged. My goose was cooked whichever way I looked at it. I said to Brunskill, ‘Who is the bastard of a nark that shopped me?’
His face closed up. ‘Let’s call it “information received”, Rearden. You’ll be charged tomorrow morning and you’ll go before a magistrate immediately. I’ll see that your solicitor is in attendance.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘What’s his name?’
‘By God!’ he said. ‘But you’re a cool one. Your solicitor is a Mr Maskell.’
‘Thanks again,’ I said.
Brunskill whistled up a station sergeant who put me in a cell for the night. I had a bite to eat and then stretched out and went to sleep almost immediately.
It had been a tiring day.
TWO
Maskell was a short, stout man with shrewd brown eyes and an immense air of dignity. He was introduced to me just before the charge was laid and did not seem at all perturbed at the prospect of acting for a criminal. The law is a strange profession in which ordinary morality goes by the board; a well liked and generally respected barrister will fight like a tiger for his client, who may well be a murderer or a rapist, and will receive well-merited congratulations on an acquittal. Then he will go home and write a letter to the editor of The Times fulminating about the rise in crime. A schizophrenic profession.
I said as much to Maskell once when I knew him better. He said gently, ‘Mr Rearden, to me you are neither guilty nor innocent – the people who decide that are the twelve men in the box. I am here to find out the facts in a case and to present them to a barrister who will conduct the argument – and I do it for money.’
We were in court at the time and he waved his hand largely. ‘Who says crime doesn’t pay?’ he asked cynically. ‘Taking all in all, from the court ushers to his Lordship up there, there are at least fifty people directly involved in this case, and they’re all making a living out of it. Some, such as myself and his Lordship, make a better living than others. We do very well out of people like you, Mr Rearden.’
But at this time I didn’t know Maskell at all. It was a hurried introduction, and he said hastily, ‘We will talk in more detail later. First we must find what this is all about.’
So I was taken and charged. I won’t go into all the legal language but what it all boiled down to was robbery with violence – an assault on the person of John Edward Harte, an employee of the GPO, and the theft of diamonds, the property of Lewis and van Veldenkamp, Ltd, valued at £173,000.
I nearly burst out laughing at that. It had been a bigger haul than Mackintosh had expected, unless Mr Lewis and Meneer van Veldenkamp were trying to sting their insurance company. But I kept a straight face and when it was over I turned to Maskell and asked, ‘What now?’
‘I’ll see you in the Magistrates’ Court in about an hour. That will be a mere formality.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘There’s a lot of money involved here. Have the police recovered the diamonds?’
‘You’d better ask them. I know nothing about any diamonds.’
‘Indeed! I must tell you that if the diamonds are still – shall we say at large? – then it will be very difficult for me to get you out on bail. But I will try.’
The proceedings in the Magistrates’ Court were brief, lasting for about three minutes. They would have been even briefer but Brunskill got on his hind legs and argued against the granting of bail. ‘The diamonds have not yet been recovered, your Honour, and if the prisoner is released on bail I fear they never will be. Further, if the prisoner had not been apprehended last night he would have been in Switzerland this morning.’
The magistrate flapped his hand. ‘You think the prisoner will jump bail?’
‘I do,’ said Brunskill firmly. ‘And there is one thing more, the prisoner is in the dock on a charge of violence and he has a police record in which violence figures largely. I fear the intimidation of witnesses.’
He nearly overreached himself. ‘You think he will leave the country and intimidate witnesses?’ asked the magistrate with polite incredulity. ‘I doubt if his violent arm would reach so far. However, on the balance of evidence and especially in respect of the missing property I am inclined to agree with you. Bail is denied.’
Brunskill sat down and Maskell shrugged and stuffed some papers back into his briefcase. And so I was remanded for trial at the Central Criminal Court. I was going to see the inside of the Old Bailey, after all.
Maskell had a few words with me before I was taken away. ‘Now I can find out the strength of the police case against you. I’ll have a word with the prosecution and then you and I can sit down together and discuss this whole thing. If you want anything ask that I be informed, but I shall probably see you tomorrow, anyway.’
A prisoner on remand is theoretically an innocent man. Practically, he is regarded neutrally as neither guilty nor innocent. The food was good, the bed soft and there were no irksome restrictions – except one. I couldn’t get out of the nick. Still, you can’t have everything.
Maskell came to see me the following afternoon and we sat in one of the interviewing rooms. He regarded me thoughtfully, then said, ‘The case against you is very strong, Mr Rearden; very strong, indeed. Unless you can prove conclusively and without equivocation that you could not have committed this crime, then I fear you will be convicted.’
I was about to speak, but he raised his hand. ‘But we can go into that later. First things first. Now, have you any money?’
‘About a hundred and fifty pounds. But I haven’t paid my hotel bill – I wasn’t given the chance. I don’t want hotel bilking to be added to the charge sheet, so it’ll be nearer a hundred pounds I have to play around with.’
Maskell nodded. ‘As you may know, my own fee has been taken care of. But I am not the man who will fight your case in court; that will be done by a barrister, and barristers come even more expensive than I do, especially barristers of the calibre needed to win this case. A hundred pounds would come nowhere near the amount necessary.’
I shrugged. ‘I’m sorry; it’s all I’ve got.’ That wasn’t exactly true but I could see that even the best barrister in the business couldn’t get me out of this one and there wasn’t any point in throwing my money away.
‘I see. Well, there is provision for a case like yours. A barrister will be appointed by the Court to act for you. The trouble is that he will be not of your choice; yet I am not without influence and I will see if I have any strings to pull that will get us the best man.’
He took a folder from his briefcase and opened it. ‘I want you to tell me exactly what you did on the morning in question.’ He paused. ‘I already know you did not have breakfast at your hotel.’
‘I didn’t sleep well that night,’ I said. ‘So I got up early and took a walk.’
Maskell sighed. ‘And where did you walk to, Mr Rearden?’
I thought it out. ‘I went into Hyde Park and walked up as far as the Round Pond. There’s a famous building up there – Kensington Palace – but it was closed. It was very early in the morning.’
‘I shouldn’t imagine there would be many people in Hyde Park or Kensington Gardens so early. Did you speak to anyone – make enquiries – at Kensington Palace? Did you ask the time of opening, for instance?’
‘There wasn’t anyone around to ask.’
‘Very well; what did you do then?’
‘I walked back through the park to Hyde Park Corner and over into Green Park. Then up Bond Street into Oxford Street. I was doing a bit of window shopping, you see.’
‘And what time would this be?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Say, about nine fifteen. I was dawdling a bit. I had a look at a place called Burlington Arcade, then I went on up Bond Street looking at the shops, as I said. It’s marvellous – nothing like it in South Africa.’
‘And you didn’t speak to anyone at all?’
‘If I’d known I needed an alibi I would have,’ I said bitterly.
‘Just so,’ said Maskell. ‘So you arrived at Oxford Street – what did you do then?’
‘Well, I hadn’t had breakfast and I felt a bit peckish so I found a pub and had some sandwiches and a pint. I was chatting to the barman, an Irishman. He ought to remember me.’
‘And what time was this?’
‘It must have been after ten o’clock because the pub was open. Say, half past ten.’
‘That alibi comes a little late,’ said Maskell. ‘It’s not relevant.’ He consulted a sheet of paper from the folder. ‘I must tell you that the police version differs from yours substantially – and they have a great deal of evidence to show.’ He looked me in the eye. ‘Do I have to point out the dangers of lying to your lawyer?’
‘I’m not lying,’ I said indignantly.
He spoke gravely. ‘Mr Rearden, let me say that you are in deep trouble. I gather you want to enter a plea of not guilty at your trial, but I must warn you that, on the evidence now extant, you are likely to lose the case. Public concern about crimes of violence of this nature has been increasing and this concern is reflected by the heavy sentences imposed by the courts.’
He paused to collect his thoughts and then went on in measured tones. ‘Now, as your solicitor I cannot prejudge this case, but I would like to say this: If the diamonds were to be returned, and if you entered a plea of guilty, then the court would be inclined to leniency and, in my opinion, your sentence would be not more than five years and possibly as little as three years. With a remittance of sentence for good behaviour you could be out of prison in as little as two years.
‘On the other hand, if the diamonds are not returned and if you enter a plea of not guilty then your sentence is going to be very heavy – assuming you are convicted, an assumption which on the evidence I have is very likely. If I may use slang I would say that his Lordship is going to throw the book at you; he’ll lock you up and throw away the key. I doubt if you would get away with much under fourteen years, and I assure you that I have great experience in these forecasts and I do not speak lightly.’
He cleared his throat. ‘Now, what do you say, Mr Rearden? What shall we do about this?’
‘The only diamonds I saw that morning were in the shop windows of Bond Street,’ I said distinctly.
He looked at me in silence for a long time then shook his head. ‘Very well,’ he said quietly. ‘I will go about my business – and yours – but with no great hope of success. I ought to warn you that the police have such evidence that will be very difficult for defence counsel to refute.’
‘I’m innocent,’ I said obstinately.
He said no more but collected his papers and left the room without a backward glance.
II
So there I was in the dock of the Central Criminal Court – the Old Bailey. There was much pomp and circumstance, robes and wigs, deferences and courtesies – and me popping up from the bowels of the earth into the dock like the demon king in a pantomime, the centre of attraction. Of course, I had competition from the Judge. It seems that when a man gets to sit on the Bench he feels that he’s entitled to be a licensed jester and he loves nothing more than to have the audience rolling in the aisles at his witticisms. I’ve seen worse music hall turns than a Criminal Court judge. Still, it does lighten the atmosphere – a court would be a pretty grim place without the comic bits – and the Chief Comic isn’t prejudiced; he aims his barbs at prosecution and defence alike. I found that I quite enjoyed it and laughed as much as anyone else.
Maskell was there, of course, but in a minor role; defence counsel was a man called Rollins. Maskell had tried again, just before the trial, to get me to alter my plea of not guilty. He said, ‘Mr Rearden, I want you to consider once more the consequences of losing this case. You will not only receive a long sentence but there are certain other implications. Long-term prisoners are invariably regarded as high-risk prisoners, especially those who are regarded as having financial backing. In the absence of diamonds to the value of £173,000 you would undoubtedly come into that category. A high risk prisoner is treated very differently from the ordinary prisoner and I understand that the circumstances can be rather unpleasant. I would think of that if I were you.’
I didn’t have to think of it. I hadn’t a hope in hell of getting the diamonds back and that was the crux of the matter. Even if I pleaded guilty I’d get a stiff sentence in the absence of the diamonds. The only thing to do was to put on a brave face and make the best of it. It struck me that Mackintosh was a very smart man and that maybe Mrs Smith was even smarter.
I said, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Maskell, but I’m innocent.’
He looked puzzled. He didn’t believe a word I said but he couldn’t figure out why I was keeping my mouth shut. But then a wintry smile came to his face. ‘I hope you don’t think the investment of so many years of your life is worth the money. Too much time in prison is apt to change a man for the worse.’
I smiled at him. ‘I thought you said you wouldn’t prejudge the case.’
‘I think you are a very foolish young man,’ he said. ‘But you have my best wishes in your unfortunate future.’
The trial got under way laboriously. First the jury details were settled and then the action began, the prosecution getting first crack. The prosecuting counsel was a tall, thin man with a face like the blade of a hatchet, and he fairly revelled in his job. He led off with a rather skimpy introduction and then began to lay on the prosecution witnesses, while Rollins, my counsel, looked on with a bored expression on his face. I had met Rollins only twice and he had been offhanded on both occasions. He knew this was one he wasn’t going to win.
The prosecution witnesses were good – very good, indeed – and I began to see why the prosecuting counsel was looking so cheerful despite the misfortune of his face. Expert police witnesses introduced photographs and drawings of the scene of the crime and, that groundwork laid, the pressure was applied.
There was the motherly old soul who had identified me at the police station line-up. ‘I saw him strike the postman,’ she testified, the light of honesty shining from her eyes. ‘I was standing in the corridor and saw the accused hit the postman with his fist, grab a yellow box from him, and push him into an office. Then the accused ran down the stairs.’
The prosecutor offered her a plan of the second floor. ‘Where were you standing?’
She indicated a place in the corridor and looked across the court straight at me as guileless as you please. The sweet old lady was lying like a flatfish, and she knew that I knew she was lying. She couldn’t have been standing in the corridor because I’d checked, and the details of her evidence were all wrong, anyway. There wasn’t a thing I could do about it, though.
Another highlight was a man from Fortnum and Mason who testified to having sent a packed picnic basket to a certain hotel. The order was telephoned in by a Mr Rearden. Questioned by the defence he said he couldn’t be certain that the Mr Rearden who ordered the basket was the accused.
A hotel employee testified that the accused stayed at his hotel and that a basket had been delivered addressed to Mr Rearden. Asked what had happened to it he said he didn’t know but presumably the accused had collected it. There was a bit of argument about that and part of his answer was struck out.
A detective produced a picnic basket in court and testified that he had found it in the office of Kiddykars Ltd. It had been identified as coming from Fortnum’s. Another police witness testified that the basket was liberally covered with the accused’s fingerprints, as were other items in the room; to wit – an electric kettle, a coffee pot and several pieces of crockery and cutlery.
The jury drew its own conclusions.
Then there was the police witness who said he had been interested in tracking down the ownership of Kiddykars Ltd. Apparently it was a genuine company but not doing any business. The lines of ownership were very tangled but he had finally cracked it with the helpful assistance of the South African police. The owner proved to be a Mr Joseph Aloysius Rearden of Johannesburg. No, he had no means of knowing if the Joseph Aloysius Rearden of Kiddykars was the Joseph Aloysius Rearden who stood in the dock. That would be taking him further than he was prepared to go.
Again the jury drew its conclusions.
The postman gave his evidence fairly. I had hit him and he had recovered consciousness in the Kiddykar office. There was nothing in that which contradicted the perjured evidence of Old Mother Hubbard. The third eye-witness was the office boy from Betsy-Lou; he said he saw me lock the office door and run downstairs. I remembered him vaguely as the person who had walked behind me at that time. But I hadn’t run downstairs – that was his imagination working overtime.
Brunskill was a star witness.
‘Acting on information received I went, with Detective-Sergeant Jervis, to see the accused at his hotel. His answers to my questioning were such that I arrested him on suspicion of having been concerned in this crime. Subsequently I obtained his fingerprints which matched prints found in the office of Kiddykars Ltd. Further enquiries were made which resulted in three witnesses coming forward, all of whom identified the accused. More extensive enquiries led to the further evidence that has been presented to the Court relating to the picnic basket and the ownership of Kiddykars Ltd.’
The prosecutor sat down with a grin on his face and Rollins bounced to his feet for cross-examination.
Rollins: You spoke of ‘information received’, Inspector. How did this information come to you?
Brunskill: (hesitantly) Must I answer that, my Lord? The sources of police information may be prejudicial to …
Rollins: (quickly) This goes to the malice of a person or persons unknown which may prejudice the case for the accused, my Lord.
Judge: (in Churchillian tones) Mr Rollins; I don’t see how your case can deteriorate much further. However, I am inclined to let the question go. I am as interested as anybody. Answer the question, Inspector.
Brunskill: (unwillingly) There was one telephone call and one letter.
Rollins: Both anonymous?
Brunskill: Yes.
Rollins: Did these communications indicate that the accused had committed this crime?
Brunskill: Yes.
Rollins: Did they indicate where he was to be found?
Brunskill: Yes.
Rollins: Did they indicate that the basket found in the Kiddykar office had been purchased by the accused at Fortnum and Mason?
Brunskill: er … Yes.
Rollins: Is it a crime to purchase foodstuffs from that eminent firm of retailers?
Brunskill: (sharply) Of course not.
Rollins: Did these anonymous communications indicate that the firm of Kiddykars Ltd was owned by the accused?
Brunskill: (uncomfortably) Yes.
Rollins: Is it a crime to own such a firm as Kiddykars Ltd?
Brunskill: (with ebbing patience) No.
Judge: I am not so sure. Anyone who so maltreats the English language as to arrive at so abominable a name ought to be treated as a criminal.
(Laughter in court)
Rollins: Inspector, would you not say it was true that all your work had been done for you in this case? Would you not say it was true that without these malicious communications the accused would not be standing in the dock at this moment?
Brunskill: I cannot answer that question. He would have been caught.
Rollins: Would he? I admire your certitude.
Brunskill: He would have been caught.