The Mask of Destiny (4 page)

Gerald screwed up his face. Life as a junior billionaire was confusing.

‘What if the jury says Green's not guilty?' he said. ‘What happens then?'

Ruby paused for a second to stab a cherry tomato in her salad. ‘Then Green walks free.'

Gerald dropped his head to the tabletop. ‘No wonder he's smiling.'

The courthouse cafeteria was crowded with lunchtime diners. Barristers in robes alongside freshly scrubbed defendants in suits smelling distinctly of mothballs.

Mr Prisk sipped his cup of tea. ‘I'm afraid, Gerald, Miss Valentine is correct,' he said. ‘The case against Sir Mason Green relies on the evidence of you three children.'

‘So?' Gerald said, his cheek flat to the table. ‘We're hardly going to make up a story as weird as this.'

‘What's not to believe?' Sam said, scooping the last of the lasagna into his mouth. ‘Three kids accuse one of England's richest men of nicking the most valuable diamond in the world and then ordering his evil henchman to kill an old woman because she won't reveal the location of a mysterious casket that contains an even more mysterious golden rod. And then he tries to kill Gerald and me in a Roman burial chamber that's been hidden in a cavern for a thousand years. And we track him to a lost city in India, where he murders a fortune-teller and escapes with another golden rod that has the power to turn Gerald into a gibbering idiot.' Sam took a sip of his drink. ‘I'd totally believe that.'

Gerald slid back into his chair and loosened his tie. The greasy surrounds of the cafeteria were a million miles from the adventures he and his friends had experienced in India. But now he was back in London, his parents had returned from their tour of Gerald's freshly inherited luxury estates and he was the star witness in what threatened to be a long and torturous court case—sitting in the same room as Sir Mason Green, sharing the same space, feeling those eyes drilling into his forehead.

‘He'll try to kill us again,' Gerald said. ‘If he gets off. The way he was looking at me before. There's something not right about him.'

‘Of course there's something not right about him,' Sam said. ‘He's barking mad.'

‘It's not that,' Gerald said, taking another sip of his drink. ‘He just seems—I don't know—too relaxed.'

‘You'll be fine,' Ruby said. She placed a hand on Gerald's forearm. He looked down at the fingers spread across his sleeve.

‘Uh, thanks,' he mumbled, his voice catching in his throat. Ruby gave Gerald a gentle smile.

‘At least Green is banged up for now,' Sam said.

‘That's another thing,' Gerald said. ‘Why would he give himself up to the police? You saw what he was like with the golden rod in the temple in India. It was like his life's quest had been fulfilled.'

‘That was a surprise.' Inspector Parrott joined them at the table, carrying a ham sandwich on a plate. ‘He turned up at the British Embassy in Madrid and said he wanted to clear his name. Not the actions of a guilty man, you might think. Still, if he is convicted, we can call off your police guard, Gerald.'

‘Good,' Gerald said. ‘Not that I don't appreciate it. But breakfast with Constable Lethbridge every morning isn't my idea of the best way to start the day.'

‘How is the constable, by the way?' Ruby asked. ‘Is he feeling better?'

Parrott shook his head. ‘He's as good as he'll ever be, I expect,' he said. ‘How he gets himself into these situations is beyond me. Mugged on a blind date! Extraordinary.'

Sam stifled a giggle. ‘Sounded pretty painful the way he described it.'

The inspector winced. ‘I'd assign him to desk duties but he's not too keen on sitting down at the moment.'

A dark-haired waitress in a tunic appeared and started stacking the lunch dishes and soft-drink cans onto a tray. Mr Prisk consulted his watch and pushed back his chair. ‘Time to move back in,' he said.

There was a logjam of people in the foyer waiting to get into the public gallery. Gerald noticed three burly police constables standing outside the entrance to the men's room, across to his left. Just then, Sir Mason Green emerged through the washroom door. He was wiping his hands on a paper towel. He handed the crumpled wad to one of the policemen, who took it with mild disbelief. Then Green set off—straight towards Gerald. Caught by surprise, the police pushed their way after him, but not fast enough. In the crush of bodies, Green managed to weave past Inspector Parrott and Mr Prisk, and the court security staff, straight by Sam and Ruby, until he was just inches from Gerald.

‘Mr Wilkins, what a pleasure to see you again.' Green towered over Gerald, like an avalanche about to happen.

His voice was cool.

Calm.

And completely menacing.

‘We really must have a bite together after this is over. It seems to be going terribly well for me, don't you think?'

Gerald stood frozen to the spot, unable to respond. The man who had tried to kill him was inviting him to lunch?

Gerald sensed that people were struggling to get to them. Mr Prisk was calling to the police for assistance; his mother was somewhere nearby, shouting.

But it was as if a glass dome had been lowered over Gerald and his tormentor. It was just the two of them. All the world could do was stand back and watch.

The old man gazed down at Gerald, malice in his eyes.

‘You don't scare me,' Gerald said, as convincingly as he could. ‘They'll find you guilty.'

‘Do you think so? I rather fancy I'll be dining at Simpson's in the Strand before the week is out.'

Gerald stared at Green in defiance, while trying to stop his knees from wobbling. ‘Nasty cold you've picked up,' Gerald said. ‘Bit chilly down in the cells, is it?'

Green cleared his throat and coughed lightly into a handkerchief. ‘Yes, I suppose I am a little rough. The conditions here aren't quite what I'm used to. Perfectly frightful.'

Green swatted at something on his neck. ‘And to top it off, blasted mosquitoes,' he said. ‘Nothing worse than an irksome pest that won't go away.' He inspected his fingers, then sprinkled the debris over Gerald's head. ‘Still,' Green's voice narrowed to a flint-like sharpness, ‘so much more satisfying when you catch them…and kill them.'

Two policemen appeared from the crush behind Green. Hands slapped onto his shoulders and he was hauled back through the crowd towards the courtroom door. Sir Mason didn't take his eyes off Gerald the entire way.

‘Gerald, are you all right?' Ruby took him by the elbow and spun him around. Gerald sucked in a lungful of air. He hadn't realised that he'd stopped breathing.

Mr Prisk appeared on his other side. ‘That is well out of order,' he said. ‘Sir Mason shouldn't be talking to witnesses. What did he say to you, Gerald?'

Gerald tightened his jaw. ‘It was nothing,' he said, a little too loudly. ‘Can we just go inside?'

By the time they were back in their chairs, Sir Mason Green was once again seated in the witness box. Gerald ignored Ruby's whispered questions and tried to concentrate on what was going on. Green gazed out across the courtroom, straight at Gerald.

The prosecuting counsel resumed his battle. ‘Sir Mason, let us turn to the theft of the Noor Jehan diamond,' Mr Callaghan said. ‘You have told the court that you spent the evening in question at the opera. That is correct?'

There was a long silence. Green did not respond.

‘Sir Mason?'

Every eye in the court turned to the figure seated in the witness box. Green stared at Gerald, unblinking.

Total silence.

The judge shifted in his chair. ‘The accused will answer the question.'

Nothing.

The clerk of the court stood up from his desk; his chair scraped across the floorboards. He approached the stand and peered up at the man seated there.

‘Sir Mason?' he said. ‘Are you all right?'

After a second, the clerk's face went pale. He turned to the judge.

‘I—I think he's dead!'

Chapter 3

B
edlam. The courtroom erupted.

Reporters rushed from the press gallery, sending chairs tumbling as they made a dash for the door, stabbing at their mobile phones as they went. The usher bustled the jury out through a side exit; some jurors were on the verge of tears.

The defence counsel and his team surrounded the witness box, all talking at once. The judge and the Crown prosecutor were at the bench, heads together in a hushed conference. Beneath them, all was confusion. A police constable cleared a path for a paramedic carrying resuscitation equipment. Somewhere in the tangle of bodies, the accused was lying on the floor. Court staff tried to clear the public gallery. People were standing. But no one was leaving.

The only person still in his seat was Gerald Wilkins.

Sir Mason Green was dead?

Sir Mason Green—threat, presence, shadow—
dead
?

Someone was pulling on Gerald's arm, tugging hard on his sleeve.

‘Gerald! Did you hear that?'

Ruby's voice penetrated the fog that had smothered his brain. Gerald was suddenly aware of the clamour around him. The judge was on his feet, leaning over the side of the bench.

‘Are you sure?' he was saying to the clerk.

The clerk looked back at the judge, ashen-faced. ‘I think it's his heart.' The paramedic emerged from the scrum around the witness box. He was shaking his head.

‘You're safe, Gerald!' Ruby was shouting in his ear, barely able to contain herself. Her eyes shone. ‘He can't get you now!'

Sam appeared at his other arm and pulled him to his feet. He punched him on the shoulder again and again.

Gerald looked at his friends as if he'd never seen them before. Who was this pretty girl holding him so tight, tears rolling down her cheeks? And why was this boy thumping him on the arm? Again and again? Why were they jumping up and down, pulling him into this strange celebration dance? The world had switched to slow motion. All was mayhem—a muffled stage play where the actors were continuing their parts even though the curtain had fallen.

Gerald looked at his mother. At the end of the row, Vi was staring into a pocket mirror and reapplying her lipstick. Satisfied with the result, she dropped her make-up into her handbag and snapped it shut. With it, Gerald's world jolted back to normal.

‘Well, that opens up the afternoon,' Vi said. ‘Time for a decent cup of tea.'

For Gerald, the days following the death of Sir Mason Green went past in a blur.

Constable Lethbridge and his colleagues returned to normal duties, being no longer required to guard Gerald in his home. The media frenzy subsided as other news events sprouted and blossomed. There was an obituary in
The Times,
naturally. A full page. It went into great detail about Sir Mason's long and respected business career, his generosity and the many charitable committees on which he served. The only mention the article made of the murder trial was about some ‘unproved allegations from a nouveau-riche Australian which failed to sully the reputation of a truly great Englishman'. Ruby was outraged—‘those stupid, pig-ignorant, ill-informed, melon-headed…'—but Gerald didn't care what the papers said about him. Sir Mason Green was gone. That was all that mattered.

A flurry of activity overtook life in the Chelsea townhouse. Gerald's mother, even busier than usual, was organising a party. ‘There's no use having a ballroom if you don't use it,' Vi said to Gerald. ‘Now that your father and I have returned to London, it's the perfect opportunity to make our presence felt.' Invitations had gone out. More than two hundred guests were expected. Decorations had been ordered, flowers arranged, menus planned.

In the days leading up to the big night, Gerald's father did his best to keep out of the way, spending most of the time at the cricket at Lord's. Gerald was keen to follow his father's example. So when the telephone rang the morning of the party and it was Ruby, he was happy to accept any suggestion that would get him out of the house. Even—