Find Them Dead

46 Monday 13 May

Richard Jupp took some moments to adjust the mic in front of him, then the position of his water glass. Continuing to take his time, as if in doing so he was further asserting both his stamp of authority and his power over his domain, he peered around, observing who was here and staring for quite some while at the jury, to Meg’s discomfort. ‘I want to apologize that you have been kept waiting for this trial to begin properly until this morning. The reason for this is that I had to deal with a number of legal and evidential issues that needed to be discussed without you present. These have now been resolved and the trial can start.’

He paused for a few seconds, then went on. ‘Members of the jury, you may have seen in the media over the weekend reports regarding the tragic death of a man called Stuie Starr. I can tell you he is the brother of the co-defendant in this case, Michael Starr. You should not take any account of what you have read during this trial or when you make your deliberations. You will not discuss anything about this amongst yourselves or in the jury room.’

He then nodded at the prosecuting counsel. ‘Mr Cork, you may proceed.’

‘Thank you, Your Honour,’ Stephen Cork said very formally and gravely, rising to his feet and turning to the jury, and, as he did so, turning on the charm.

A slim man in his fifties, with horn-rimmed glasses which, combined with his wig and gown, gave him a distinctly learned look, he appeared completely at home in the grandeur — and formality — of this room. He exuded all the confidence of a lion in its natural habitat confidently stalking its prey. He leaned towards the jurors, addressing them in a warm and friendly tone. There was nothing patronizing about his manner, it was more in the style of a compere at the start of a stage variety performance.

‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this case is about conspiracy to smuggle and distribute millions of pounds’ worth of cocaine. My name is Stephen Cork and I will be presenting the case for the prosecution. I will be assisted by my learned friend, Mr Paul Williams.’ He turned briefly to look at the defence counsel, a wigged and gowned woman seated close by. ‘My learned friend Primrose Brown QC appears for the defendant, Terence Gready, assisted by Mr Crispin Sykes.’

He turned back to the jury, all smiles, theatrically removing his glasses, momentarily, so they could all see his kindly eyes, then replacing them. ‘Before we come to the evidence, it is my task to give you an outline of the prosecution case.’

He glanced down at the bundle of notes in front of him, then back up at the jury. ‘The counts you have heard represent conspiracy to import and distribute significant quantities of a Class-A drug. This first charge relates to conspiracy to import into the country drugs worth, at street level, up to six million pounds.’

He paused again, removed his glasses once more and then looked profoundly apologetic. ‘I’m afraid you may hear some rather disturbing information during the course of this trial, but I will endeavour to ensure that you only see what is strictly necessary in helping you to arrive at your decisions.’

He replaced his glasses. ‘Nearly six million pounds’ worth of cocaine weighs over 160 kilos. The method of importing it cannot be via a drugs mule or postal system. Something far more sophisticated must be deployed. Such as a 1962 Ferrari car. At approximately 4 a.m. on Monday November 26th of last year, such a car arrived on the Côte D’Albâtre ferry, transported in an enclosed car trailer from Dieppe to the Port of Newhaven. Nothing unusual about that.’ He smiled again. His trust me, I’m on your side smile.

‘You have before you a folder of documents. The counts on the indictment are behind Tab D. If you turn to Tab F of the bundle you will see a photograph of that car. You may know something about cars or not, but for this case, you do not need to know anything. The essential point is that, as with much of this case, not everything is as it seems. A genuine Ferrari of this type would be worth in the region of five to ten million pounds.’

Cork paused to let that fact sink in. ‘It may therefore be inferred that the last thing anyone would do is tear it apart and use it as a Trojan Horse, cramming as many packages of cocaine into every available nook and cranny. But that is exactly what was done. Because this car is a fake. It was designed to closely resemble a 1962 classic. But it is actually a confection of fibreglass laid on the chassis of a VW Beetle.’

He removed his glasses again and smiled at the jurors, as if to say, I know, incredible, I’m with you on that!

‘Rather fortuitously, the Border Force officer on duty had a particular specialist interest in classic cars. And unlike the Trojan Horse, there was no one to persuade him that everything was fine, or to allay his suspicions. If you could turn to Tab Z, please.’ He waited while they all did so, the rustle of pages turning the only sound in the courtroom for a brief while. Each folder was shared between two jurors. Meg shared hers with Maisy Waller.

‘There you will see images of the drugs in situ, and gradually being removed. This took some time.’ He smiled again, waiting for them to study the photographs.

‘None of this is in dispute,’ he went on. ‘We know when the fake Ferrari arrived, we know where it was loaded, we know the weight and value of the drugs. The question you need to consider, and the answer you need to be sure of is this: to whom did the drugs belong? We will ask you to be patient when we call the evidence of ownership, it is complex — and we say deliberately so. There are a number of shell companies and offshore holdings used to muddy the waters. The prosecution will call experts to help you navigate through them. But having done so, you will see there is clear evidence that the car and drugs were ultimately owned by the defendant, Terence Gready.’

Again, he smiled at the jurors. ‘I appreciate that what I’ve told you might sound a little dry, so I’m going to give you a flavour of what happened in the Port of Newhaven Customs shed at approximately 4.30 a.m. on Monday November 26th last year.’

He stated in detail the events that unfolded leading up to the search of the Ferrari.

Cork gave the jurors a theatrical gesture of shock with his arms. ‘But in the early stages of the examination of the vehicle, after suspicious packages were found concealed inside the car’s spare tyre, Michael Starr assaulted the Border Force officer by punching him in the face and breaking his glasses, as well as assaulting a second officer, and then ran off.’ He looked around the court, pausing for a moment. ‘You will hear shortly afterwards he was detained by the police, hardly The Great Escape!’

The jurors looked among themselves, unsure at this early stage if they should laugh. Meg glanced at the judge, who was not smiling.

Jupp, his voice heavily laced with sarcasm, said, ‘Mr Cork, I’d be grateful if you could reserve your jokes for when you are at the other kind of bar.’

Cork momentarily turned towards him. ‘I apologize, Your Honour, it just slipped out. It won’t happen again.’

As he turned back towards the jury, Meg watched the prosecutor’s face closely. There was something very measured about the man. She didn’t think he was the kind of person who would let anything just slip out. Everything he said would be for a reason. The joke, which he must have known would bring a reprimand, was clever. He was trying to win the jury over by showing them he was a regular guy beneath his wig and gown, that he had a good sense of humour. And she realized what he had just so cleverly done. By getting the big bad judge to chastise him for a seemingly harmless joke, he had got most of the jury on his side.

Cork continued. ‘The details of that run for freedom are that Starr made his move, two police officers attempted to apprehend him a short distance on and he assaulted both of them with a wheel brace, before hijacking a car and escaping. Following a high-speed pursuit, Starr was subsequently stopped and arrested just over an hour later.’ He paused again, glad to see that he had a reasonably attentive jury.

‘One important thing I would like you all to bear in mind is that throughout his interviews with the police, the defendant, Terence Gready, has strenuously denied that he had any connection with Mr Starr. He has denied that he had any knowledge of the classic car company, LH Classics, which had employed Mr Starr for nearly sixteen years. He has denied that at any time he has ever met Mr Starr. During the course of this trial I will be endeavouring to prove to you that not only had the defendant met Mr Starr, but that he actually employed Mr Starr! And to give you a further flavour of the denial by the defendant of having any knowledge of Mr Starr, I will be showing CCTV images of Starr actually entering the offices of Terence Gready, from which you can draw your own conclusions.

‘The two men worked together through a very cleverly set up chain of shell companies around the globe established for one reason and for one reason only, which was to put as much distance as possible between himself and LH Classics in an attempt to hide from the authorities the fact that he did actually own one hundred per cent of this company himself. And you will also hear about evidence seized by the police linking the defendant with Michael Starr and again you will be able to draw your own conclusions.’

Once more, Cork looked at the jury. ‘I suggest that the defendant, Terence Gready, who purports to the outside world to be a simple legal aid solicitor, is in fact an immensely cunning and dangerous man, the criminal mastermind behind a vast and highly lucrative major drugs importation business. We will show that for many years he has been methodically distributing Class-A drugs within Sussex. More recently that drugs network has been modelled on the so-called county lines drug supply network.

‘During the course of this trial I will endeavour to show you just how clever Terence Gready has been, and just how far-reaching the network of dealers he controls really is.’ He paused again.

‘However much you may have heard or read about the drug cocaine, it is classified as a Class-A drug and therefore I cannot overestimate the seriousness of this crime. Of course, if you are not sure on any of these counts, you must acquit. The learned judge will give you directions on the law in due course, but you may already know the prosecution brings this case and it is for the prosecution to prove each charge. The defendant does not have to prove anything. And for the prosecution to prove its case, you must be satisfied on the evidence so that you are sure of the defendant’s guilt and that he committed the acts described.’

Cork made eye contact again with the jury. Meg felt a shiver as his eyes bored into hers.

‘One thing that may surprise you during the course of this trial is that not all evidence will come from live witnesses. That makes for good television, but it is not how things work in reality. There are Admissions, facts which are not disputed. To keep this trial focused on the relevant issues, these have been agreed by the prosecution and defence.’

Meg was unsure what he meant by this. But there was no opportunity at this moment to question the statement.

‘There are the interviews with the defendant, who when questioned went no comment which he was entitled to do. You will be hearing from the police officers involved in the investigation and, finally, the financial experts, who will unpick the trail of ownership of the fake Ferrari, behind Tab X, to companies based in Panama, the Seychelles, the Cayman Islands and Liechtenstein, and finally back to the man before you in the dock today. Terence Gready.

‘You will also hear detailed evidence about items that were recovered from the defendant’s home address including a key to a safety deposit box with the company Safe Box Co. These items and documents provide extensive details to support the evidence against this defendant. The police, during these searches, also recovered a large quantity of cash.’

Meg, although listening intently, was thinking about her fellow jurors. If she was going to have to manipulate them, would she have more sway as just a straightforward juror or by being elected the foreperson? Before the start of the proceedings this morning, they had agreed between them that during the lunch break they would go out and get sandwiches, then return to discuss and decide on who it should be.

She would be up against Roberts. The retired cop had made it plain he felt he was best suited to the role. Hugo Pink also clearly believed he should do it, as did Harold Trout, the retired actuary who had turned up today in a bow tie.

Yesterday evening she was checking her jury list. She couldn’t remember most of their names, but she was able to visualize their faces. What a microcosm of Little England this bunch was, she thought.

Meg had always been a good salesperson and she knew one of her strengths was in being persuasive, something she had always relished in her senior account manager role at Kempsons. She could, when she wanted, be extremely forceful — something Nick had noted when he was her line manager, long before they had started dating. Over the coming days she was going to have to use that ability to maximum effect.

She would start this lunchtime, getting them to agree, come hell or high water, to giving her the foreperson role.