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“Are you aware, Mr. Bishara, of the important difference between being caught with heroin and being caught with, say, marijuana?”
“I wasn’t at the time, but I have since been informed that heroin is a Class A drug, whereas marijuana is Class B, and its importation, while still illegal, is regarded as a less serious offence.”
“Something a drug smuggler would have—”
“You’re prompting the witness, Mr. Gray.”
“I apologize, my lord. But I am keen for the jury to realize that having been charged with smuggling a Class A drug, Mr. Bishara could be sentenced to fifteen years in jail, whereas a much lower tariff would be imposed had he been found in possession of marijuana.”
“Did I hear you correctly, Mr. Gray?” interrupted the judge. “Are you admitting that your client has at some time smuggled drugs into this country?”
“Certainly not, my lord. In fact, the exact opposite. In this case we are dealing with a highly intelligent, sophisticated banker, who regularly closes large deals that need to be calculated to the last decimal point. If Mr. Bishara was also a drug smuggler, as the Crown is trying to suggest, he would have been well aware that the consequences of being caught with thirteen ounces of heroin in his possession would have put him behind bars for the rest of his working life. It beggars belief to imagine that he would have taken such a risk.”
Sebastian turned to look at the jury. One or two of them were nodding, while others were taking notes.
“Have you ever taken even recreational drugs in the past? Perhaps when you were a student?”
“Never. But I do suffer from hay fever, so I sometimes take antihistamine tablets during the summer.”
“Have you ever sold a drug to anyone, at any time in your life?”
“No, sir. I can’t imagine anything more evil than living off the proceeds of other people’s misery.”
“No more questions, my lord.”
“Thank you, Mr. Gray. Mr. Carman, you may begin your cross-examination.”
“What do you think, Arnold?” Seb whispered, as the prosecution counsel gathered up his papers and prepared himself for the main event.
“If the jury were asked to return their verdict now,” said Arnold, “I have no doubt Hakim would be acquitted. But we don’t know what the prosecution has up its sleeve, and George Carman doesn’t have a reputation for abiding by the Queensberry Rules. By the way, have you noticed that Adrian Sloane is sitting in the public gallery, following every word?”
35
MR. CARMAN ROSE slowly from his place, adjusted his well-worn wig and tugged at the lapels of his long black gown before opening the thick file in front of him. He raised his head and peered at the defendant.
“Mr. Bishara, do you consider yourself to be a risk taker?”
“I don’t think so,” Hakim replied. “I am by nature fairly conservative, and I try to judge every deal on its merits.”
“Then allow me to be more specific. Are you a gambler?”
“No. I always calculate the odds before I take any risk, especially when I’m dealing with other people’s money.”
“Are you a member of the Clermont Club in Mayfair?”
Mr. Gray was quickly on his feet. “Is this relevant, my lord?”
“I suspect we’re about to find out, Mr. Gray.”
“Yes, I am a member of the Clermont.”
“So you are a gambler, at least with your own money?”
“No, Mr. Carman, I only ever take a risk when I’m confident the odds are in my favor.”
“So you never play roulette, black jack or poker?”
“No, I do not. They are all games of chance, Mr. Carman, in which the banker inevitably ends up the winner. On balance, I prefer to be the banker.”
