Nothing Ventured

25

Sir Julian, Grace, and William each made their way to HMP Pentonville by different modes of transport: William by bus from Fulham — two changes; Grace by tube from Notting Hill — one change; and Sir Julian in a chauffeur-driven car from Shoreham in Kent.

They all met up in reception, where a prison officer signed them in.

‘Rainsford’s waiting for you,’ said the officer, before accompanying them to the interview room. Arthur Rainsford rose as they entered the glass cube and shook hands with his three visitors.

‘I don’t know how to thank you for your kindness, Sir Julian,’ he said. ‘I feel I already know your son because whenever Beth visits me, she talks of little else. Though I find it somewhat ironic that my daughter fell in love with a detective, as my experience of policemen hasn’t been particularly happy.’

‘I think you’ll find it was me who fell in love with her,’ said William, as the two men shook hands for the first time and took their seats around the table. ‘By the way, she sends her love, and is looking forward to seeing you on Saturday.’

‘Thank you,’ said Rainsford. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing her too.’

Up until that moment Sir Julian hadn’t spoken, although his eyes had never left the prisoner as he tried to make an assessment of the man, something he always did whenever he met a potential client for the first time. He knew from Rainsford’s charge sheet that he was fifty-three years old, almost six feet, and had a broken nose from his days as a college boxer. He suspected that Rainsford’s hair had turned gray since he’d been in prison. He looked fit, which suggested he spent his voluntary hour each afternoon in the gym rather than strolling around the yard smoking, and also that he avoided the usual prison diet of sausage, beans, and chips. He was softly spoken, clearly well educated, and certainly didn’t look like a murderer. However, Sir Julian had learned over the years that murderers come in all shapes and sizes, some with first-class honors degrees, others who had left school at fourteen.

‘I have, Mr. Rainsford—’ began Sir Julian.

‘Arthur, please.’

‘I have, Mr. Rainsford, read the transcript of your trial most carefully, examined the evidence presented by the Crown, considered your testimony from the witness box, and gone over your confession word for word. However, as this is the first time any of us have met you, I would like to hear your side of the story. Forgive me if I occasionally interrupt to ask you to clarify a point or ask a question.’

‘Of course, Sir Julian. I was born in Epsom, where my father was a GP, and from an early age he hoped I would follow in his footsteps. I did well enough at school to be offered a place to study medicine at University College Hospital, which pleased my father. But it didn’t take me long to realize I wasn’t cut out to be a doctor. So, much to his disappointment, I hung up my short white coat in exchange for a long black gown and transferred to the LSE to study economics, which I enjoyed from the opening lecture.

‘After I’d graduated, I joined Barclays Bank as a trainee, but once again I quickly realized I wasn’t by nature a corporate animal. So in the evenings I returned to the LSE and took a business degree, which was how I finally discovered my natural vocation. With too many letters after my name and too little income, I joined a merchant bank in the City.’

‘Which one?’ asked Sir Julian.

‘Kleinwort Benson. I began life in their small business division, and spent the next three years helping the bank’s customers to expand their companies. Nothing gave me greater pleasure than to see them become larger businesses.

‘I had two close friends at the time, Hamish Galbraith, an old school chum, and Gary Kirkland, whom I’d met at the LSE. Hamish joined John Lewis as a trainee manager after he left school. He had a natural flair with people, and the gift of getting the best out of them. Gary was far brighter than both of us, but spent most of his time as an undergraduate drinking and socializing. Frankly I was surprised he got a degree, let alone came out near the top of his year. He became an accountant in the City and enjoyed reading spreadsheets more than novels.

‘One Friday night when we’d all had a little too much to drink, Hamish suggested we should set up our own business. I spent the rest of the weekend wondering if he could be right. After all, I’d spent the past three years advising others on how to expand their companies, so perhaps I was ready to set up one myself. I prepared the same detailed proposal I would have expected from any prospective client, with myself as the salesman, Hamish as the company’s office manager, and Gary as the accountant. I then presented my thoughts to my would-be partners.’

‘With what result?’ asked Sir Julian.

‘They both naturally wanted to know what the company would do. I told them we should open a boutique investment business and take advantage of my knowledge of and contacts in the field of medicine. Some exciting discoveries were being made in that area at the time, which offered promising investment opportunities.

‘It was another six months before the three of us had the courage to hand in our resignations, and I might not have done so even then if my boss at Kleinwort’s hadn’t encouraged me, and offered to put up the initial seed capital in exchange for fifty percent of the company.’

Grace was busily taking notes; William wanted to ask several questions; while Sir Julian, sphinx-like, sat and listened impassively.

‘We set up RGK Ltd. in 1961, and rented a couple of rooms in Marylebone, but could only afford one secretary between the three of us. I traveled around the country visiting doctors and hospitals, while also attending medical conferences. The company just about broke even during our first five years, but all that changed overnight when I invested some of our clients’ money in a small pharmaceutical company not long before it developed beta blockers. The following year we made a fourteen percent profit for our backers, and suddenly we were flavor of the month, with potential investors as well as with researchers in need of capital.

‘We celebrated our tenth anniversary by buying back our fifty percent shareholding from Kleinwort’s and renting another floor in Marylebone.’

William now had several questions he was desperate to ask, but one look at his sister reminded him that it would be unwise to go down that path.

‘Over the next few years, Beth was the only thing that was growing faster than the company. Despite the economic uncertainties of the seventies, we still felt confident about the future. However, I didn’t see the problem coming, even when it was staring me in the face. I knew Gary’s marriage was in trouble, and shouldn’t have been surprised when it ended in an expensive divorce. In the years that followed I saw so many women come and go that I couldn’t always remember their names. But I didn’t say anything, even when his behavior in the office caused one of our young secretaries to resign, while another threatened to sue the company and we ended up having to settle out of court.

‘I was on the road five days a week drumming up business, so I didn’t realize the full extent of the problem until the night of the office Christmas party, when Gary got drunk and made a pass at my secretary, who was married. She resigned the following day, and the company gave her a generous settlement after she agreed to sign a nondisclosure agreement.

‘Hamish and I made it clear to Gary that if he stepped out of line again, he would have to resign. To be fair, we never had another complaint from that moment, and a couple of years later Gary announced that he was engaged to the love of his life, and was looking forward to getting married again, and finally settling down.

‘His fiancée, Bridget, was attractive and bright, and gave every impression of being devoted to him. But it turned out that she was only interested in his money, and it didn’t take her long to empty his bank account. She then broke off the engagement and went in search of her next victim, leaving Gary to pick up the pieces. Sadly, it wasn’t too long before the women in the office began once again to complain about his behavior, even when he was sober. But when Beth told me after a leaving party that she now understood why he was known in the office as “wandering hands,” I finally lost my temper and accepted that he had to go.

‘I would have demanded his resignation the next day if I hadn’t had an appointment in Coventry with a potential investor that had been in my diary for the past month. I called Hamish to let him know what I had in mind, and we agreed I should wait until I got back the following day, when we would issue Gary a joint ultimatum. Resign or be sacked.

‘I had a fruitful meeting with my potential new client, and invited him to lunch afterward. Over coffee, he mentioned the sum that he was considering investing in RGK, which was even more than I had anticipated.

‘But when I handed over my company credit card to pay for the meal, an embarrassed waiter returned a few minutes later and whispered that it had been declined. Not clever in front of a prospective investor. I paid with my personal card, but the damage had been done. I called my bank manager from the station and demanded an explanation. After all, the company had declared a profit of over a million pounds the previous year. He told me we’d exceeded our overdraft limit, and that he’d spoken to Mr. Kirkland about the situation several times.

‘I immediately rang Gary and he denied that there was any problem. He suggested I drop by on my way home, and he would explain everything. As soon as I got off the train at Euston, I took a cab to the office.

‘As I was opening the front door, a short, heavily built man, whom I thought I recognized, brushed past me and ran out into the street. I went up to Gary’s office on the first floor and found him lying spreadeagled on the carpet.

‘I rushed over to him, but I didn’t need a medical degree to realize he was dead. His jaw had been broken, and there was a deep gash on the back of his skull. I was about to call the police when I heard a siren in the street outside, and moments later half a dozen policemen burst into the room to find me kneeling over the body. The next thing I knew one of them was reading me my rights.’

‘Did you say anything at the time?’ asked Sir Julian.

‘Only that they’d got the wrong man. I assumed the whole matter would quickly be cleared up. I was driven to the nearest police station, and left alone in a cell for a couple of hours. Eventually I was taken to an interview room where two detectives were waiting for me.’

‘Would that have been DI Stern and DC Clarkson?’ asked Sir Julian.

‘That’s right. I told them exactly what had happened, but it was obvious they’d already made up their minds, and nothing was going to convince them otherwise. But they did let slip during the interview that they’d had a tip-off from an anonymous caller, which explained why the police had got there so quickly.’

Grace made a note, and pushed it across the table to her father, who studied it carefully.

‘And you pointed out during your trial that this was irrefutable proof that someone else must have killed your partner.’

‘Yes, I also suggested that the man who’d come running out of the building might have been the same man who phoned them, but they weren’t interested.’

‘And then what happened?’

‘Stern asked me if I was prepared to make a statement. Of course I was, as I had nothing to hide. He wrote down my words, and I double-checked each page before signing it, not least because I could smell alcohol on his breath.’

Grace made another note.

‘You claimed during the trial that your original statement was three pages in length, whereas the version read out in court was only two. So I have to ask, Mr. Rainsford, did you sign all three pages?’

‘Yes, I did. The first two with the initials AR, but I wrote my full name on the third page.’

‘Were the three pages numbered?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘How convenient. When the police submitted your statement as evidence before the trial, there were only two pages, clearly numbered one and two, and on the bottom of the second page, two of two, was your full signature, along with those of DI Stern and DC Clarkson. How do you explain that?’

‘The only explanation I can think of,’ said Rainsford, ‘is that someone must have removed the middle page and added the numbers later.’

‘The mystery man, perhaps?’ said Sir Julian. ‘What happened next?’

‘I appeared before a magistrate the following morning and my application for bail was refused. I was placed on remand and sent to Pentonville to await trial.’

‘Which took place five months later, while you remained in custody.’

‘Yes. But I was still confident the jury would accept that my statement had been three pages, and not two, because I was able to reproduce every word I’d written on the missing page.’

‘However, Mr. Justice Melrose would not allow you to submit your missing page as evidence. At the end of the trial, did you feel the judge summed up the case fairly, without bias or prejudice?’

‘I did. His summation was fair and well balanced, which only made me more convinced that the jury would come down in my favor.’

‘But they didn’t.’

‘No, they were out for four days, and even longer nights. On the fifth day, they found me guilty of murder by a majority of ten to two. The next morning, Mr. Justice Melrose sentenced me to life, with a recommendation that I should be eligible for parole after twelve years. I’ve now served two years of that sentence.’

Grace made another note and underlined the word ‘twelve,’ before passing it to her father.

‘Did you at any time consider changing your plea to guilty of manslaughter?’ asked Sir Julian. ‘Struck him in the heat of the moment, never meant to kill him, will regret it for the rest of my life?’

‘But I didn’t strike him, Sir Julian. My solicitor made the same suggestion at the time, and told me he was confident if I agreed to change my plea I’d only get four years, and be out in two, but I turned him down.’

‘Why?’

‘Because my solicitor, like you, didn’t believe I was innocent.’

‘But you can’t deny, Mr. Rainsford, that you lost your temper when you learned your daughter had been sexually harassed by Mr. Kirkland, and you became even more angry when you discovered that he had been embezzling money from the company to pay for his different women. So why should the jury believe that there were three pages in your statement and not two, and that the murder was committed by a mystery man who appeared out of nowhere and then conveniently disappeared into thin air, never to be seen again?’

‘Because it’s the truth, Sir Julian,’ said Rainsford. He put his elbows on the table and placed his head in his hands. ‘But of course I can understand why you don’t believe me.’

A long silence followed, while the other three waited for Sir Julian to pick up his Gladstone bag and disappear, also never to be seen again.

‘But I do believe you, Arthur,’ he said quietly. ‘I am now in no doubt that you did not murder your partner.’

Arthur looked up in disbelief to see the distinguished QC smiling at him.

‘What finally convinced you, Father?’ asked William, ignoring his sister’s gimlet eye.

‘Three things, completely unconnected, which, had the jury been made aware of at the time, might well have caused them to reach a different verdict.’ Sir Julian couldn’t resist pacing up and down before he delivered his closing statement. ‘In all my years at the Bar, I have never known a murderer who wouldn’t have settled for a plea of guilty to manslaughter and a reduced sentence.’

‘And the second reason?’ asked Grace.

‘The length of time before Arthur is eligible for parole.’

‘Twelve years,’ said William.

‘Precisely. Because Mr. Justice Melrose is known in the trade as “Life Means Life” Melrose. I checked his record last night, and he’s presided over twenty-four murder trials during his time on the Crown Court bench when the defendant was found guilty. Arthur is the only one he gave a minimum term of twelve years. Why would “Life Means Life” Melrose break the habit of a lifetime? Could it be that he also wasn’t convinced Arthur was guilty?’

‘And the third thing?’ asked Grace.

‘We have William to thank for that.’

Once again, Sir Julian couldn’t resist a brief perambulation around the room before sharing his thoughts. He pulled at the lapels of a gown he wasn’t wearing before he spoke.

‘You told me, William, that when you first mentioned Arthur’s name to SO Rose, his immediate response was, “If Rainsford’s a murderer, I’m Jack the Ripper.” In my experience, a senior prison officer would never admit, even in private, that any prisoner just might be innocent.’

‘So does that mean you’ll take the case, Father?’ asked Grace.

‘We already have, my dear. And with it, we take on the considerable task of uncovering fresh evidence to convince the DPP that they should order a retrial. Because if they don’t, our personal opinions are irrelevant.’

‘Not quite, Sir Julian,’ said Arthur, ‘because I’m delighted that my future son-in-law knows I’m innocent.’