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“Once the deal was closed and Mr. Heath had been paid—and we will produce the cash as evidence—he drove back to London, from where he was immediately taken, in the highest secrecy, to a safe house, because Mr. Faulkner was unaware that Adrian Heath was a police informant.”
Booth Watson made his first note—agent provocateur.
“Later that evening,” continued Sir Julian, “the police raided Mr. Faulkner’s home in the country and despite a desperate attempt to hide the evidence, thanks to an outstanding piece of police work by a young detective sergeant, the drugs were discovered inside a statue—” he paused—“a statue of Mr. Faulkner himself.”
One or two members of the jury couldn’t resist a smirk.
“The Crown,” Sir Julian continued, “will not only produce the twelve grams of cocaine, and the eight hundred pounds Mr. Faulkner paid to the dealer, but Mr. Heath himself will confirm the role he played on this occasion. And as if that were not enough to condemn this man,” he said, pointing to the defendant, “the Crown will also call two expert witnesses, namely Superintendent Lamont, the head of the elite drugs squad at Scotland Yard…”
Booth Watson made a second note, Why not Warwick?
“… and Dr. Ruth Lewis, an eminent member of the government’s Advisory Council on the Misuse of Drugs.” Looking somber, Sir Julian turned to face the jury and said finally, “The Crown is confident, members of the jury, that after you have heard all the evidence in this case, you will find there is only one possible verdict, namely that the defendant, Miles Faulkner, is guilty on both counts.”
Faulkner looked more closely at the jury as Sir Julian resumed his seat. They were all staring at the Crown’s representative, and had they been asked to deliver a verdict there and then, the expression on their faces rather suggested Faulkner would have been hanged, drawn, and quartered before dawn. Booth Watson had warned him the worst moment of a trial for any defendant is immediately following the Crown’s opening submission.
“Thank you, Sir Julian,” said Mr. Justice Baverstock. “Perhaps this would be a suitable time to take a short break, after which you may call your first witness.”
He then rose from his place, bowed, and left the court.
“Where’s Heath?” demanded Sir Julian before he’d even sat back down.
“Under police protection in a cell on the ground floor,” said Grace. “I’ll pop down and warn him he’ll be on shortly.”
“And his girlfriend?”
“As soon as Heath is on the stand she’ll be driven to the airport. A car is standing by to take Heath there to join her the moment he steps down.”
“I think the case might well be over by stumps this evening,” said Sir Julian. “Once Heath has spelled out the details of what took place in Faulkner’s home that night, I suspect Booth Watson will do his damnedest to make a plea bargain on behalf of his client.”
“And how will you respond?” asked Grace.
“My junior has already prepared a rather uncompromising statement that I shall deliver word for word.”
* * *
“Well, that was lethal,” said Faulkner, leaning down from the dock to talk to his silk. “Sir Julian Warwick looked as if he couldn’t wait to get Heath on the stand.”
“Nor can I,” said Booth Watson. “He’s a flawed individual, and I intend to take him apart limb by limb. I remain confident of getting you off the more serious charge of supplying, although possession will still be a problem.”
“The police planted the gear as revenge for their abject failure in the missing Rembrandt case,” said Faulkner.
“I won’t be mentioning the Rembrandt case,” said Booth Watson. “It would only enable the Crown to inform the jury that you’re serving a four-year suspended sentence for fraud. They’re not allowed to mention any previous convictions unless we raise the subject first. However, three of your dinner guests are willing to swear under oath that no one was offered so much as a joint, and a fourth will testify that he’s never known you to take a drug in your life.”
“Then he can’t have known me very long,” said Faulkner.
* * *
“You may call your first witness, Sir Julian,” said Mr. Justice Baverstock, after he’d returned from the short recess.
“Thank you, m’lud. I call Mr. Adrian Heath.”
Booth Watson studied the Crown’s star witness with interest as he entered the court. He was smartly dressed, looking more like a City whiz kid than a reformed drug addict. Heath gave William a nervous smile as he made his way to the witness box, but he didn’t even glance at Faulkner as he passed him in the dock. He delivered the oath with enough confidence for Booth Watson to be reminded that it wasn’t the first time he’d been in a courtroom.
Sir Julian greeted him with a warm smile. “For the court’s record, Mr. Heath, would you please state your full name and your current address?”
“Adrian Charles Heath, 23 Ladbroke Grove, London W10.”
Booth Watson suspected that was his mother’s address.
