“Do you wish to cross-examine this witness?” she asked.
“That won’t be necessary, comrade chairman. I am quite content with the evidence presented by the chief of police.” He sat back down.
The chairman turned her attention back to the colonel.
“I congratulate you, comrade colonel, on a thoroughly comprehensive piece of detective work,” she said. “But is there anything you would like to add that might assist us to make our judgement?”
“Yes, comrade. I am convinced that the prisoner is merely a naïve and gullible idealist, who believes that Babakov actually worked in the Kremlin. In my opinion he should be given one more chance to sign a confession. If he does so, I will personally supervise his deportation.”
“Thank you, colonel, I will bear that in mind. Now you may return to your important duties.”
The colonel saluted. As he turned to leave the room, he glanced briefly at Harry. A moment later he was gone.
That was the moment Harry realized that this was a show trial with a difference. Its sole purpose was to convince him that Anatoly Babakov was a fraud, so that he would return to England and tell everyone the truth, as it was being played out in that courtroom. But the carefully orchestrated charade still required him to sign a confession, and he wondered just how far they would go to achieve their aim.
“Comrade prosecutor,” said the tribunal chairman, “you may now call your next witness.”
“Thank you, comrade chair,” he said, before rising once again. “I call Anatoly Babakov.”
40
Giles sat down to breakfast and began to go through the morning papers. He was on his second cup of coffee by the time Sebastian joined him.
“How do they read?”
“I think a theatre critic would describe the opening day as having mixed reviews.”
“Then perhaps it’s a good thing,” said Seb, “that the judge instructed the jury not to read them.”
“They’ll read them, believe me,” said Giles. “Especially after the judge refused to let Trelford tell them what my mother had to say about Virginia in her will. Pour yourself a coffee and I’ll read it to you.” Giles picked up the Daily Mail and waited for Seb to return to the breakfast table before he put his glasses back on and began to read. “‘The remainder of my estate is to be left to my beloved daughters Emma and Grace to dispose of as they see fit, with the exception of my Siamese cat, Cleopatra, who I leave to Lady Virginia Fenwick, because they have so much in common. They are both beautiful, well-groomed, vain, cunning, manipulative predators, who assume that everyone else was put on earth to serve them, including my besotted son, who I can only pray will break from the spell she has cast on him before it is too late.’”
“Bravo,” said Seb when his uncle had put the paper down. “What a formidable lady. We could have done with her in the witness box. But what about the broadsheets, how are they reporting it?”
“The Telegraph is hedging its bets, although it does praise Makepeace for his forensic and analytical cross-examination of Emma. The Times speculates about why the defense rather than the prosecution is calling Fisher. You’ll see it under the headline ‘Hostile Witness,’” said Giles, sliding the Times across the table.
“I have a feeling Fisher won’t get mixed reviews.”
“Just be sure to keep staring at him while he’s in the witness box. He won’t like that.”
“Funnily enough,” said Seb, “one female member of the jury keeps staring at me.”
“That’s good,” said Giles. “Be sure to smile at her occasionally, but not too often in case the judge notices,” he added as Emma walked into the room.
“How are they?” she asked, looking down at the papers.
“About as good as we could have expected,” said Giles. “The Mail has turned Mother’s will into folklore, and the serious journalists want to know why Fisher is being called by us and not them.”
“They’ll find out soon enough,” said Emma, taking a seat at the table. “So which one should I start with?”
“Perhaps the Times,” said Giles, “but don’t bother with the Telegraph.”
“Not for the first time,” said Emma, picking up the Telegraph, “I wish I could read tomorrow’s papers today.”
“Good morning,” said Mrs. Justice Lane once the jury had settled. “Proceedings will begin today with a rather unusual occurrence. Mr. Trelford’s next witness, Major Alexander Fisher MP, is not giving evidence by choice, but has been subpoenaed by the defense. When Mr. Trelford applied for a subpoena, I had to decide if his evidence was admissible. On balance, I concluded that Mr. Trelford did have the right to call Major Fisher, as his name is mentioned during the exchange between Mrs. Clifton and Lady Virginia that is at the core of this case, and he may therefore be able to throw some light on the situation. You must not, however,” she emphasized, “read anything into the fact that Major Fisher wasn’t included on Sir Edward Makepeace’s list of witnesses.”
“But they will,” whispered Giles to Emma.
The judge looked down at the clerk of the court. “Has Major Fisher arrived?”
“He has, my lady.”
“Then please call him.”
“Call Major Alexander Fisher MP,” bellowed the clerk.
The double doors at the back of the courtroom swung open and in marched Fisher, with a swagger that took even Giles by surprise. Clearly becoming a Member of Parliament had only added to his considerable self-esteem.
He took the Bible in his right hand and delivered the oath, without once looking at the card the clerk held up for him. When Mr. Trelford rose from his place, Fisher stared at him as if he had the enemy in his sights.
“Good morning, Major Fisher,” said Trelford, but received no response. “Would you be kind enough to state your name and occupation for the court records?”
“My name is Major Alexander Fisher, and I am the Member of Parliament for Bristol Docklands,” he said, looking directly at Giles.
“At the time of Barrington Shipping’s annual general meeting that is the subject of this libel, were you a director of the company?”
“I was.”
“And was it Mrs. Clifton who invited you to sit on the board?”
“No, it was not.”
“So who was it who asked you to represent them as a director?”
“Lady Virginia Fenwick.”
“And why, may I ask? Were you friends, or was it simply a professional relationship?”
“I would like to think both,” said Fisher, glancing down at Lady Virginia, who nodded and smiled.
“And what particular expertise did you have to offer Lady Virginia?”
“I was a stockbroker by profession before I became an MP.”
“I see,” said Trelford. “So you were able to offer advice to Lady Virginia on her share portfolio, and because of your wise counsel, she invited you to represent her on the board of Barrington’s.”
“I couldn’t have put it better myself, Mr. Trelford,” said Fisher, a smug smile appearing on his face.
“But are you sure that was the only reason Lady Virginia selected you, major?”
“Yes, I am sure,” barked Fisher, the smile disappearing.
“I’m just a little puzzled, major, how a stockbroker based in Bristol becomes a professional advisor to a lady living in London, who must have access to any number of leading stockbrokers in the City. So perhaps I should ask how you first met.”
“Lady Virginia supported me when I first stood for Parliament as the Conservative candidate for Bristol Docklands.”