A Prisoner of Birth

"Alex will be delighted," said Beth. "He never stops saying, 'If only I had a second chance.' "

"Well, he's about to be given one. And I can tell you, Beth, I can't wait for that meeting, because it will make me free for the first time in years." Danny leaned across and kissed her gently on the lips. As she slipped out of her nightdress, he placed a hand on her thigh.

"This is something else you're going to have to go without for the next few months," whispered Beth, as a noise like a clap of thunder reverberated from the floor below.

"What the hell was that?" said Danny, switching on the bedside light. He heard the sound of heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs. He swung his legs out of bed as three police officers dressed in flak jackets and carrying batons burst into the bedroom, with three more following close behind. The first three grabbed Danny and threw him to the floor, although he hadn't made any attempt to resist. Two of them pressed his face into the carpet while the third held his arms behind his back and snapped a pair of handcuffs on him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just see a policewoman pinning a naked Beth against the wall, while another handcuffed her.

"She's done nothing!" he shouted as he broke away and began to charge toward them, but before he'd taken a second step, the full force of a baton landed on the back of his skull and he collapsed to the floor.

Two men leaped on top of him, one pressing a knee into the middle of his spine while the other sat on his legs. When Inspector Fuller walked into the room, they yanked Danny to his feet.

"Caution them," Fuller said as he sat on the end of the bed and lit a cigarette.

Once the ritual had been completed, he stood up and strolled across to Danny.

"This time, Cartwright," he said, their faces only inches apart, "I'm going to make sure they throw away the key. And as for your girlfriend, no more Sunday afternoon visits, because she's going to be safely locked away in a prison of her own."

"On what charge?" spat out Danny.

"Aiding and abetting should fit the bill. The usual tariff is about six years, if I remember correctly. Take them away."

Danny and Beth were dragged downstairs like sacks of potatoes and out through the front door where three police cars, lights flashing, back doors open, awaited them. Bedroom lights all around the square were flicking on as neighbors whose sleep had been interrupted peered out of their windows to see what was going on at number 12.

Danny was thrown into the back of the middle car, to be sandwiched between two officers, just a towel covering him. He could see Big Al suffering the same treatment in the car in front of him. The cars drove out of the square in convoy, never breaking the speed limit, no sirens blaring. Inspector Fuller was pleased that the whole operation had taken less than ten minutes. His informer had proved reliable right down to the last detail.

Only one thought went through Danny's mind. Who would believe him when he told them that he'd had an appointment with his barrister later that morning when he had intended to give himself up before reporting to the nearest police station?

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

"YOU HAVEN'T ARRIVED a moment too soon," she said.

"That bad?" said Alex.

"Worse," replied his mother. "When will the Home Office realize that when judges retire, not only are they sent home for the rest of their lives, but the only people they have left to judge are their innocent wives."

"So what are you recommending?" asked Alex as they walked into the drawing room.

"That judges should be shot on their seventieth birthday, and their wives granted a royal pardon and given their pensions by a grateful nation."

"I may have come up with a more acceptable solution," suggested Alex.

"Like what? Making it legal to assist judges' wives to commit suicide?"

"Something a little less drastic," said Alex. "I don't know if his lordship has told you, but I sent him the details of a case I'm currently working on, and frankly I could do with his advice."

"If he turns you down, Alex, I won't feed him again."

"Then I must be in with a chance," said Alex as his father strolled into the room.

"A chance of what?" the old man asked.

"A chance of some help on a case that-"

"The Cartwright case?" said his father, staring out of the window. Alex nodded. "Yes, I've just finished reading the transcripts. As far as I can see, there aren't many more laws left for the lad to break: murder, escaping from prison, theft of fifty million dollars, cashing checks on two bank accounts that didn't belong to him, selling a stamp collection he didn't own, traveling abroad on someone else's passport, and even claiming a baronetcy that should rightfully have been inherited by someone else. You really can't blame the police for throwing the book at him."

"Does that mean you're not willing to help me?" asked Alex.

"I didn't say that," said Mr. Justice Redmayne, turning around to face his son. "On the contrary. I'm at your service, because of one thing I'm absolutely certain. Danny Cartwright is innocent."

BOOK FIVE. Redemption

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

DANNY CARTWRIGHT SAT on the small wooden chair in the dock and waited for the clock to strike ten so the trial could begin. He looked down into the well of the court to see his two counsel deep in conversation as they waited for the judge to appear.

Danny had spent an hour with Alex Redmayne and his junior in an interview room below the court earlier that morning. They had done their best to reassure him, but he knew all too well that although he was innocent of murdering Bernie, he had no defense to the charges of fraud, theft, deception and escaping from prison; a combined tariff of eight to ten years seemed to be the general consensus, from the barrack-room lawyers of Belmarsh to the eminent silks plying their trade at the Old Bailey.

No one needed to tell Danny that if the sentence was added to his original tariff, the next time he came out of Belmarsh would be for his own funeral.

The press benches to Danny's left were packed with reporters, notepads open, pens poised as they waited to add to the thousands of column inches they had already written over the past six months. The life story of Danny Cartwright, the only man ever to escape from Britain's top-security prison, who had stolen more than fifty million dollars from a Swiss Bank after selling a stamp collection that didn't belong to him, and had ended up being arrested in The Boltons in the early hours of the morning while in the arms of his fiancee (The Times), sexy childhood sweetheart (The Sun). The press couldn't make up their minds if Danny was the Scarlet Pimpernel or Jack the Ripper. The story had fascinated the public for months, and the first day of the trial was taking on the status of an opening night in the West End, with queues beginning to form outside the Old Bailey at four o'clock that morning for a theater that seated less than a hundred and was rarely full. Most people agreed that Danny Cartwright was more likely to spend the rest of his days in Belmarsh than The Boltons.

***

Alex Redmayne and his junior, The Rt. Hon. Sir Matthew Redmayne KCMG QC, could not have done more to help Danny during the past six months, while he had been reincarcerated in a cell little bigger than Molly's broom cupboard. They had both refused to charge a penny for their services, although Sir Matthew had warned Danny that if they were able to convince the jury that the profits he'd accrued during the past two years belonged to him and not to Hugo Moncrieff, he would be presenting a hefty bill plus expenses, for what he called refreshers. It was one of the few occasions during that time when all three of them had burst out laughing.