Nothing Ventured

23

William arrived a few minutes early for his appointment at 31A Wimpole Street, and pressed the bell marked Dr. Ashton. He felt confident he would tick every box. After all, he ran two or three times a week, played squash regularly, and his new mantra of walking five miles a day had usually been achieved by the time he’d walked back to Fulham in the evening.

‘All you’ll have to do, laddie,’ Lamont had told him, ‘is touch your toes, do twenty press-ups, and cough when he grabs your balls, and you’ll be clear for another year.’

A buzzer sounded. William pushed the door open, walked up to the second floor, and gave the receptionist his name.

‘The doctor is with another patient at the moment, Mr. Warwick, but he’ll see you shortly. Please take a seat.’

William sat down in an ancient leather chair and examined the limited choice of reading material neatly laid out on the coffee table. Out-of-date copies of Punch and Country Life seemed to be obligatory in every doctor’s waiting room. The only other periodical on offer was a large selection of the Metropolitan Police’s fortnightly newspaper, The Job.

After he’d exhausted the wit and wisdom of Mr. Punch and admired the photos of several country houses he would never be able to afford, William gave in and turned to copies of the Met’s frayed newspapers. He flicked through several editions, only stopping when he came across a photograph of Fred Yates on an old cover. Turning to the editorial, the heroism of the mentor constable who’d saved his life stretched to four pages; William offered up another silent prayer in Fred’s memory. He was just about to put the copy back on the table when the front page headline from an earlier issue caused him to catch his breath: RAINSFORD SENTENCED TO LIFE FOR MURDERING BUSINESS PARTNER. TWO MET OFFICERS PRAISED FOR THEIR HANDLING OF THE CASE.

‘The doctor will see you now, Detective Constable Warwick,’ said the receptionist, before he’d had a chance to finish the article.

As predicted by Lamont, the examination was fairly cursory, although Dr. Ashton did check William’s resting heart rate a second time, as he thought it was quite high for a man of his age.

After a page of little boxes had been filled in with ticks, William was given a clean bill of health. ‘See you next year,’ said Ashton.

‘Thank you,’ said William as he zipped up his trousers.

Back in the waiting room, he picked up the Met newspaper and continued to read the article. If the murderer had been named Smith or Brown, he wouldn’t have given the coincidence a second thought, but Rainsford was not a common name. He dropped the newspaper back on the table and tried to dismiss the thought from his mind. But he couldn’t.

‘You’re an idiot,’ he said. The receptionist looked offended. ‘Sorry,’ said William. ‘Me, not you.’ But as he made his way toward the tube station, he couldn’t remove the possibility from his mind, and he knew the one person who could dismiss his fears.

William got off the tube at St. James’s Park and crossed the road as if it was a normal workday. He went straight to his desk and looked up the number. He was well aware that he shouldn’t be making a personal call from the office, but he had no choice.

‘SO Rose,’ said a voice.

‘Good morning, sir,’ said William. ‘It’s DC Warwick calling from Scotland Yard. You might not remember me. I—’

‘How could I forget you, constable. The sad man who supports Fulham. What can I do for you this time?’

‘I’m inquiring about one of your inmates, Arthur Rainsford, who’s in for murder.’

‘If Rainsford’s a murderer,’ said Rose, ‘I’m Jack the Ripper. Do you want to see him?’

‘No, sir. But I did wonder if Rainsford is expecting a visitor today.’

‘Hold on a jiff, and I’ll check.’ William could feel his heart pounding, and was only glad Dr. Ashton wasn’t checking his resting pulse at that moment. ‘Yes, Rainsford does have a visitor this afternoon. His daughter. She’s a regular. Adores her father, and of course she’s absolutely convinced of his innocence. But then they always are.’

‘And her name?’ asked William, his voice faltering.

Another pause. ‘Elizabeth Rainsford.’

‘Do you by any chance know where she works?’

‘Everyone who visits an A-cat has to register where they work.’ After another pause Rose added, ‘She works at the Fitzmolean Museum. And before you ask, I’d bet my pension she had nothing to do with stealing that Rembrandt.’

‘It’s not the Rembrandt I’m worried about.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘Thank you for your help, sir,’ said William, before putting down the phone.

He must have sat there for over an hour, trying to make some sense of it. He now understood why there were no photographs of Beth’s father in the flat. And when she had told him that she’d called her parents in Hong Kong just after he’d arrived back from Rome, she’d obviously forgotten that it would have been the middle of the night in the Far East. He now wished he’d looked at the back of those postcards. His thoughts were interrupted when the door opened and Hawksby looked in.

‘I saw a light under the door,’ he said, ‘and thought I’d just check.’

William looked up at his boss, tears streaming down his face.

‘What’s wrong, William?’ asked Hawksby, sitting down next to him.

‘How long have you known?’

Hawksby didn’t reply immediately. ‘Since the theft of the Rembrandt, we’ve done regular background checks on everyone who works at the Fitzmolean, and her father’s name popped up. I discussed the problem with Bruce after you started seeing her, and we both assumed she must have told you about her father.’

‘I’ve only just found out.’

‘I’m very sorry,’ said Hawksby, placing a hand on his shoulder. ‘We all know how you feel about her, and Jackie warned us that it could be serious.’

‘I’ve just discovered how serious,’ said William. ‘Now I don’t know what to do.’

‘If I were advising you, I’d suggest you tell your father everything. He’s a shrewd and thoughtful man, and one thing’s for sure, he won’t just give you the answer you want to hear.’

‘Do you remember the case, sir?’

‘Not well, but I do recall the two officers involved, Stern and Clarkson. DI Stern retired soon after the trial ended, and frankly it wasn’t a day too soon. But now you know, what are you going to do about it?’

‘Go home and wait for Beth to get back from Pentonville.’

‘Why not go straight to the prison? Be there when she comes out, so you can take her home.’

William didn’t answer, just sat staring into the distance as if he hadn’t heard him.

‘And if you’re going to make it in time,’ added Hawksby, looking at his watch, ‘you’d better get a move on.’

‘Of course you’re right, sir,’ said William. He jumped up, grabbed his coat, and dashed toward the door, only turning back to say, ‘Thank you.’

Once he was out on the street, William hailed the first taxi he spotted.

‘Where to, guv?’

‘Pentonville prison.’

‘That’s all I need,’ mumbled the cabbie as William climbed in the back.

‘What’s the problem?’

‘There couldn’t be a worse journey for a cab driver.’

‘How come?’

‘If you take someone to Pentonville, you never get a return fare, because most of them are in for life!’ William laughed, which he wouldn’t have thought possible only a few minutes ago. ‘Are you checkin’ in or just visitin’?’

‘Picking up my girlfriend.’

‘I didn’t know there were women prisoners at Pentonville.’

‘There aren’t. She’s visiting her father.’

‘Nothing serious, I hope.’

‘Murder.’

The long silence that followed allowed William to compose his thoughts, and plan what he would say when Beth saw him standing outside the prison. She would be shocked at first, possibly unable to believe he wanted to share her problems, and not walk away.

The cab swung off the main road and headed down a side street toward a high brick wall that almost blocked out the sun. They came to a halt at a barrier, when the driver said, ‘This is as far as I’m allowed to go.’

William stared up at a vast wooden gate. A sign outside read HMP PENTONVILLE.

‘Will you be going in, guv?’

‘No, I’ll wait outside.’

‘Do you want me to drive you both back into town?’

‘Not possible, I’m afraid,’ said William after he’d checked the meter and handed over his last couple of pounds. ‘I’ve barely got enough to cover the bus ride back.’

‘Have this one on me, guv. I’ve got to go back in any case.’

‘That’s very generous of you, but it could be some time before—’

‘Not a problem. And it might make up for me not minding my own business.’

‘Thank you,’ said William, as a side door opened that allowed only one person at a time to leave the prison. A trickle of visitors began to emerge onto the street.

For many of those who had been visiting relatives or friends this was just another Saturday afternoon. But some crept away with their heads bowed, while others clearly wanted to escape as quickly as possible. Mothers, fathers, wives, girlfriends, some carrying babies, all of them with a story to tell. And then she appeared, looking drained, tears streaming down her face. When Beth first saw him she froze, clearly horrified that she’d been found out.

William walked quickly toward her and took her in his arms.

‘I love you,’ he said, ‘and I always will.’

He felt her body slump, and he almost had to hold her up.

Several visitors walked past them as she continued to cling on to him, like a prisoner who had just been released.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, not letting go of him. ‘I should have told you when we first met, but it became more difficult as each day passed. I didn’t plan to fall in love with you. Can you ever forgive me?’

‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ said William, taking her hand. He opened the cab door for Beth before joining her in the back.

‘Where to, guv?’

‘Thirty-two Fulham Gardens,’ he said as Beth rested her head on his shoulder.

‘When did you find out?’

‘This morning.’

‘I’d understand if you wanted to move out.’

‘I’ll say this once, Beth, and only once. You’re stuck with me, so get used to it.’

‘But—’

‘There are no buts.’

‘There is one but,’ she said quietly. ‘You have to understand that I’m in no doubt my father is innocent.’

That’s what they all say, William could hear SO Rose repeating. ‘It doesn’t matter to me,’ he said, trying to reassure her. ‘I don’t care either way.’

‘But it does matter to me,’ said Beth, ‘because I’m determined to clear his name if it’s the last thing I do.’

They sat in silence for some time before William said, ‘Can I ask one thing of you?’

‘Anything. I’ve always assumed you’d leave me the moment you found out about my father. So anything.’

‘As you know, my father is one of the leading barristers at the Criminal Bar.’

‘And I foolishly fell in love with his son.’

‘If I were to ask him to review the case and give an unbiased opinion, would you be willing to accept his judgment?’

Beth didn’t respond immediately, but after some thought she said, ‘That’s the least I can do.’

‘And would you also be willing to move on if it’s not what you wanted to hear?’

‘That might be a little more difficult.’

‘Well, at least it’s a start,’ said William. ‘If you’ll come to lunch with my family tomorrow, you can tell my old man why you’re so convinced your father is innocent.’

‘I’m not quite ready for that,’ said Beth, taking his hand. ‘The day after I’ve visited my father is almost worse. Sometimes I just cry all day, and can’t wait for Monday when I can get back to work. One step at a time, please. When we get home, I’ll tell you the whole story, but it might be some time before I can face your father’s judgment.’

‘But you’ll have to meet him eventually, whatever he decides, because my parents will want to meet the woman I’m going to marry.’

Most proposals are followed by joy and celebration; Beth wept.

When the cab drew up outside their home, William got out and thanked the cabbie.

‘My pleasure, guv, and I have to admit, that’s the first time someone’s proposed in the back of my cab.’

He made William laugh for a second time.

William opened the front door and stood aside to let Beth in. The first thing she did was go straight to the study and take down all the postcards from the mantelpiece, tear them into bits, and drop them in the wastepaper basket. She then opened the bottom drawer of the desk, took out a photograph of her parents, and placed it on the mantelpiece.

‘No more secrets,’ she said, as they went through to the kitchen. ‘In future, only the truth.’

William nodded, leaned across the table, and took her hand as she began to tell him how and why her father had been convicted of murder and sentenced to life imprisonment.

He occasionally interrupted to ask her a question, and by the time they went to bed, he also wanted to believe that Arthur Rainsford just might be innocent. But he knew his father would be far more demanding and skeptical when considering the facts of the case than an inexperienced detective constable and a young woman who obviously adored her father unreservedly. They both agreed to abide by Sir Julian’s judgment.

On Sunday morning, after a sleepless night, William had far more questions than answers to consider as he prepared to face his father. When he left for the station after breakfast, neither he nor Beth was in any doubt about what was at stake.

Although William sat gazing out of the carriage window, he was unaware of the countryside rushing by. When he got off at Shoreham, he decided to walk the last couple of miles to Nettleford so he could compose his thoughts and go over what he planned to say, aware that he would be facing not just his father but one of the leading advocates in the land.

When the thatched cottage in which he had been brought up came into sight, he began to walk more slowly. He opened the front door, knowing it would be on the latch, and found his father sitting in his study by the fire, reading the Observer.

‘Good to see you, my boy,’ he said, putting down the paper. ‘Have you found that Rembrandt yet?’

‘Father, I’ve met the woman I’m going to marry.’

‘That’s wonderful news. Your mother will be delighted. So why isn’t the young lady joining us for lunch?’

‘Because her father’s serving a life sentence for murder.’

Sir Julian Warwick QC sat at the head of the table and listened attentively to his son as he told the family how his life had changed in the last twenty-four hours.

‘I can’t wait to meet her,’ said his mother. ‘She sounds very special.’

Sir Julian didn’t offer an opinion.

‘Do you remember the case, Father?’ asked Grace when William had come to the end of his story.

‘I have a vague recollection of the trial, but no more than that. Rainsford condemned himself when he confessed to the crime in the presence of two senior police officers.’

‘But—’ began William.

‘However, I will read the court transcripts, and if I can see even a smidgen of doubt, I’ll visit Rainsford in Pentonville and listen to his side of the story. But I have to warn you, William, that the DPP will not agree to a retrial unless there is fresh evidence to suggest a miscarriage of justice may have taken place. It’s rare, but not unknown. So I’m glad to know that Beth has agreed to move on, if I consider her father’s case not worth challenging.’

‘Thank you, Father. I couldn’t have asked for more.’

‘If you visit Mr. Rainsford,’ said Grace, ‘can I come with you?’

‘For what purpose, may I ask?’

‘Because if you consider he might be innocent, and if new evidence were to come to light, and if—’

‘If, if, if. Where is all this leading?’

‘If you decide to take on the case, and it comes before the high court, you’ll need a junior.’