Nothing Ventured(95)

“No, he didn’t even cross-examine him. He’d obviously decided there was nothing to be gained from it.”

“And what was Faulkner like on the stand?”

“Impressive,” admitted William, “if not altogether convincing. He looked a little over-rehearsed and kept putting the blame on his wife.”

“Surely the jury won’t like that.”

“Booth Watson took Christina apart yesterday.” William immediately regretted saying “Christina,” and moved quickly on. “And Faulkner put the boot in today. He also made a promise that took us all by surprise, although I don’t think he has any intention of keeping it.”

“That he’d gift the Rubens to the Fitzmolean?”

“How did you know that?”

“I rang the gallery during the lunch recess, and Tim Knox told me that Booth Watson had phoned to tell him Faulkner would be donating the Rubens as soon as the trial was over.”

“That sounds to me distinctly like a bribe,” said William, as the bus came to a halt in the Fulham Road. “Surely the judge will be able to work that out?”

“Perhaps you should give Faulkner the benefit of the doubt for a change.”

“I fear that’s exactly what the jury might do. But it will take a lot more than that to convince me he hasn’t been in possession of the Renbrandt for the past seven years.”

“Do you think we’ll ever be able to go a whole day without discussing either case?”

“That will depend on whether your father is released and Faulkner is locked up for a very long time.”

“But what if it’s the other way around?”





32


“I’m the bearer of glad tidings,” said Booth Watson, as a waiter appeared by his side. “But let’s order breakfast first.”

“Just black coffee, toast, and marmalade for me,” said Faulkner. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

“I’ll have the full English breakfast,” said Booth Watson. He didn’t speak again until the waiter was out of earshot. “I’ve had an approach from the other side. They’re willing to drop the charge of intent to steal if you’ll plead guilty to the lesser offense of knowingly receiving stolen goods.”

“Bottom line?” asked Faulkner.

“If we accept their offer, you’ll probably get a couple of years, which means you’d be released in ten months.”

“How come?”

“As long as you behave yourself, you’d only serve half the sentence, with a further two months knocked off as it’s your first offense. You’d be out in time for Christmas.”

“Ten months in Belmarsh isn’t my idea of a generous offer, and more important, it would give Christina enough time to steal my entire collection.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” said Booth Watson, “because while you’re away, I’ll make sure Christina doesn’t get anywhere near any of your properties.”

Faulkner didn’t look convinced. “And if I don’t accept their offer?”

“If you’re found guilty of both offenses, theft and receiving, the maximum sentence is eight years, along with a hefty fine.”

“I don’t give a damn about the fine. I have a feeling Palmer knows he’s fighting a lost cause, and is hoping to save face. In any case, I think the jury’s on my side. At least two of them smiled at me yesterday.”

“Two’s not enough,” said Booth Watson, before pausing while a waiter refilled their coffee cups. “The foreman looks to me like a retired colonel or the headmaster of a prep school, who’s likely to believe that the punishment should fit the crime.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take, BW. So you can tell Palmer to get lost. Feel like a glass of champagne?”





THE CROWN V. RAINSFORD


“Call Detective Sergeant Bob Clarkson,” cried the clerk.

Grace didn’t take her eyes off Clarkson as he walked across the courtroom and entered the witness box. He delivered the oath with none of the swagger Stern had displayed.

An honest, decent copper, who’s easily led, and sometimes led astray, was one of the sentences Grace had highlighted after reading Clarkson’s personnel file.

Sir Julian sat patiently through the Crown’s cursory examination of Clarkson, which didn’t throw up any surprises. But then he’d never thought it would.

“Do you wish to cross-examine this witness?” asked Lord Justice Arnott.

Sir Julian nodded as he rose from his place. He had always intended that Stern should regard him as the enemy, but not Clarkson.

“Detective Sergeant Clarkson,” he began, his voice gentle and persuasive, “as a police officer you will know the consequences of committing perjury. So I want you to think most carefully before answering my questions.”

Clarkson didn’t respond.

“On the day Arthur Rainsford was arrested and charged with the murder of his business partner, Mr. Gary Kirkland, were you present at the scene of the crime?”

“No, sir. I was back at the station.”

“So you did not witness the arrest?”

“No, sir, I did not.”