AllFreeNovel
Share Us
* * *
When Don Pedro left 44 Eaton Square just after 9:30, he was greeted by a volley of flashbulbs that half blinded him as he sought the relative anonymity of a taxi.
Fifteen minutes later, when the cab arrived at Chelsea Magistrates Court, he was met by even more cameras. He barged through a scrum of reporters to court number 4, not stopping to answer any of their questions.
When he entered the courtroom, Mr. Everard walked quickly across to join him, and began to explain the procedure that was about to take place. He then went over the charges in detail, admitting that he wasn’t at all confident that either of the boys would be granted bail.
“Any news about Karl?”
“No,” whispered Everard. “No one has seen or heard from him since he left for Harrods yesterday morning.”
Don Pedro frowned and took a seat in the front row, while Everard returned to defense counsel’s bench. At the other end of the bench sat a callow youth dressed in a short black gown who was checking through some papers. If that was the best the prosecution could do, Don Pedro felt a little more confident.
Nervous and exhausted, he looked around the near-empty courtroom. To one side were perched half a dozen journalists, pads open, pens poised, like a pack of hounds waiting to feast on a wounded fox. Behind him, at the back of the court, sat four men, all of whom he knew by sight. He suspected they all knew exactly where Karl was.
Don Pedro turned his gaze back to the front of the court as some minor officials bustled around making sure that everything was in place before the one person who could open proceedings made an entrance. As the clock struck ten, a tall, thin man wearing a long black gown entered the courtroom. The two lawyers rose immediately from their places on the bench and bowed respectfully. The magistrate returned the compliment before taking his seat at the center of the raised dais.
Once he was settled, he took his time looking around the courtroom. If he was surprised by the unusual amount of press interest in this morning’s proceedings, he didn’t show it. He nodded to the clerk of the court, settled back in his chair and waited. Moments later, the first defendant appeared from below the courtroom and took his place in the dock. Don Pedro stared at Luis, having already decided what would need to be done if the boy was granted bail.
“Read out the charge,” said the magistrate, looking down at the clerk of the court.
The clerk bowed, turned to face the defendant and said in a stentorian voice, “The charge is that you, Luis Martinez, did break into and enter a private dwelling place, namely flat four, twelve Glebe Place, London SW3, on the night of June sixth, 1964, when you destroyed several items of property belonging to a Miss Jessica Clifton. How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?”
“Not guilty,” mumbled the defendant.
The magistrate scribbled the two words on his pad as defense counsel rose from his place.
“Yes, Mr. Everard,” said the magistrate.
“Your honor, my client is a man of unblemished character and reputation, and as this is a first offense, and as he has no previous convictions, we would naturally request bail.”
“Mr. Duffield,” said the magistrate, turning his attention to the young man at the other end of the bench. “Do you have any objections to this request by defense counsel?”
“No objection, your honor,” responded the prosecuting counsel, barely rising from his place.
“Then I’ll set bail at a thousand pounds, Mr. Everard.” The magistrate made another note on his pad. “Your client will return to the court to face charges on October twenty-second at ten o’clock. Is that clear, Mr. Everard?”
“Yes, your honor, and I am obliged,” said the lawyer, giving a slight bow.
Luis stepped down from the dock, clearly unsure what to do next. Everard nodded in the direction of his father, and Luis went and sat next to him in the front row. Neither of them spoke. A moment later, Diego appeared from below, accompanied by a policeman. He took his place in the dock and waited for the charge to be read out.
“The charge is that you, Diego Martinez, attempted to bribe a City stock broker and, in so doing, to pervert the course of justice. How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?”
“Not guilty,” said Diego firmly.
Mr. Everard was quickly back on his feet. “This, your honor, is another case of a first offense, with no prior criminal record, so once again, I have no hesitation in requesting bail.”
Mr. Duffield rose from the other end of the bench and even before the magistrate could inquire, announced, “The Crown has no objections to bail on this occasion.”
Everard was puzzled. Why wasn’t the Crown putting up a fight? It was all too easy—or had he missed something?
“Then I shall set bail at two thousand pounds,” said the magistrate, “and will be transferring this case to be heard in the High Court. A date will be fixed for the trial when a suitable time can be found in the court’s calendar.”
“I am obliged, your honor,” said Everard. Diego stepped out of the dock and walked across to join his father and brother. Without a word passing between the three of them, they quickly left the courtroom.
r /> Don Pedro and his sons pushed through the horde of photographers as they made their way out on to the street, none of them answering any of the journalists’ persistent questions. Diego hailed a passing cab, and they remained silent as they climbed into the back seat. Not one of them spoke until Don Pedro had closed the front door of 44 Eaton Square and they had retreated to the study.
They spent the next couple of hours discussing what choices they’d been left with. It was just after midday when they settled on a course of action, and agreed to act on it immediately.
