Sign of the Cross Read Free

6 November last year, the defendant, Mr Harrington, registered with an online company seeking volunteers to crew a yacht between the Caribbean and Montenegro. Having been allocated the position of first mate on The Restless Wave , Mr Harrington flew to St Martin in the expectation of an enjoyable holiday during which he might improve his sailing skills. He had not met the other crew members; they had not met each other. The yacht was subjected to a routine search on departure from St Martin; on bunkering in Gibraltar, however, a sniffer dog alerted our customs officers, who uncovered a small fibreglass compartment hidden in the hold. Inside lay eighteen slabs of uncut cocaine. My client has always denied any knowledge of the drugs, and feels, not to put too fine a point on it, that he and the other crew members have been set up.’
    Spike looked over at the dock. Three months in Her Majesty’s Prison, Gibraltar, had done a good job of bleeding out the rich yachtsman’s tan with which Piers Harrington had arrived on the Rock. His hair remained sun-bleached only at the tips, which now spilled over his ears. His long grey face stared ahead, hollow-eyed.
    ‘No connection,’ Spike went on, looking back at the magistrate, ‘has ever been found between Mr Harrington and the owner of the yacht, a man about whom little is known other than the fact that he is a Serbian national. My client’s lengthy stay in prison has apparently been necessitated by the painstaking work performed by forensics in London, who have sought to determine if Mr Harrington’s DNA could be connected to the drugs or the secret compartment. As Your Worship can now see from the report, no such DNA link has been established. We request, therefore, not that Mr Harrington be granted bail, but that all charges against him be dropped.’
    ‘Mr Stanford-Trench?’ the magistrate said. ‘Are you in a position to join us now?’
    ‘Absolutely, Your Worship. It has recently emerged that the yacht owner, a Mr . . .’ Stanford-Trench peered down – ‘Radovic, purchased The Restless Wave through a shell company incorporated here in Gibraltar. Though Interpol are yet to trace his whereabouts, the paper trail is starting to hot up and –’
    ‘Starting to hot up?’ the magistrate interrupted. ‘You’ve had ninety days to penetrate this mystery while Mr Harrington has been languishing in prison.’
    ‘Your Worship,’ Stanford-Trench said, ‘I respectfully submit that a colleague had charge of the case at that time, and as she is now on maternity leave, it has fallen to me to –’
    ‘Enough, Mr Stanford-Trench. Sit down.’ The magistrate turned to the dock. ‘Mr Harrington?’
    Spike looked over at his client, making an upwards motion with his fingers. Harrington blinked his sunken eyes and stood.
    ‘Mr Harrington,’ the magistrate resumed, ‘I regret that you have been held without bail for so long, but the trafficking of twenty-two kilograms of cocaine is a very serious offence. I understand that you have recently retired to Sotogrande after a long and unblemished career in the City of London. What was supposed to be the start of an exciting new chapter of your life has therefore turned into something of a nightmare. The court of Gibraltar hereby drops all charges against you. The prosecution will no doubt reserve the right to revert to you at a later date for further questioning, but for now you are free to go.’
    Piers Harrington turned to Spike, who smiled back, gesturing at the door. Finally understanding, Harrington bowed at the magistrate, then exited with his custody officer.
    The clerk began calling out details from the next docket. Alongside him on the bench, Spike heard Drew Stanford-Trench give a long, slow sigh as he packed away his papers.
    2
    ‘Cheer up,’ Peter Galliano said. ‘It’s another win.’
    ‘On the facts.’
    ‘But you’re going great guns. Top earner this month at Galliano & Sanguinetti.’
    Given that there were