Reluctant Consent

by Margaret Barnes

  ‘Now, young lady, I thought we might talk a bit about this case you’re defending. See if we can come to some solution. You don’t want to fight this, do you? I’m told your client will not be able to resist putting his foot in it.’ He waited for Cassie to respond, but she said nothing, her eyes steady.

  ‘I do have some sympathy with him. Lads coming in every day making a nuisance of themselves. Damaging his property, stealing from him. But he went a bit over the top. Lost his rag. I’d advise the CPS to take a plea to manslaughter, on the basis of provocation – or is it loss of self-control now? Sometimes I can’t keep up with all the changes.’ Cassie shook her head in denial at his comment. He was a good lawyer. He continued, ‘I don’t know if they’ll accept it, but I think I can persuade them.’

  ‘Got another case to go to then?’

  ‘Oh, Cassie, when did you become so cynical?’

  ‘Come on, either you have something else you’d rather do, or you think you’ll lose the case. Montgomery has a good defence.’

  ‘Maybe he does, but you know how even the best conducted cases can go wrong, particularly with a difficult client.’

  She smiled at him. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Yes, you will, and your best is very good.’ He leant over and patted her hand, and then looked at his watch. ‘Didn’t realise that was the time. I’m dining at the Garrick, summoned by one of Her Majesty’s High Court judges, and I’m late already.’ He drained his glass and vanished through the crowded bar, leaving Cassie sitting alone with most of the contents of the bottle of wine.

  ‘Drinking alone?’ Cassie looked up and saw Stephen Burnett. They were good friends who had obtained their tenancies at 3 Burke Court at the same time and now their careers were following similar tracks. Cassie was sure that if Stephen was not so nonchalant about his cases he would be treated more seriously by the clerks, but she assumed he was not dependent on his income from the Bar.

  ‘No. Marcus Pike has left me for a better date. Meeting some High Court judge at the Garrick. I’m not quite in that league,’ she said and laughed. ‘Not sure I want to be, bit stuffy for me. Anyway, I assume it’s a men only club. Sit down and help me finish the bottle.’

  Stephen settled onto the chair Marcus Pike had vacated and stretched his long legs out, revealing yellow socks below the trousers of his dark grey suit. He was curious about Marcus Pike and the Montgomery case, and Cassie told him Marcus had indicated he would accept a plea to manslaughter. They discussed the pros and cons of taking that course, although Cassie was certain her client would not want to plead guilty to anything.

  Cassie poured the last of the wine into their glasses. When she turned her attention back to Stephen, he was looking across the room towards a group of young men; one of them was their junior clerk, Hamish, and with him was Roger Hales. She waved at them. Hamish nodded in reply, but Roger turned away.

  ‘Clerks,’ said Stephen. ‘I sometimes wonder what they do. I’m sure they’re behind with fee notes. I don’t seem to have been paid for ages. Changing the subject – that wrap Roger found. I heard a little whisper that whoever bought it, and I’m not at liberty to say who, got it from somewhere off Ladbroke Grove, Cotburn Mews?’

  ‘Isn’t that where Oscar lives?’

  Stephen looked away. ‘Is it? Somewhere … Talk of the devil.’

  Cassie looked in the same direction as Stephen. Oscar Davenport was leaning against the bar and standing next to him was Roger Hales. Hamish was not with them. She watched them as Stephen continued talking. ‘It seems harder to earn a decent living out of crime these days.’

  She saw Davenport hand something to Hales. ‘What did you say? Oscar has …’

  ‘Roger’s brought Oscar’s brief,’ Stephen said. As he spoke, Cassie saw Davenport pick up a set of papers from the top of the bar and push them into his holdall.

  ‘Sorry, I was …’

  Stephen reiterated that he was finding it more difficult to sustain a reasonable income.

  ‘What are you thinking of, committing an armed robbery?’

  ‘You know what I mean. Legal Aid being cut. Even I can see there’s an argument for looking after the pennies.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘You don’t sound very sure. You’re usually quite keen on keeping a proper check on where our rent is going. Although we all know the clerks cost us a tidy packet. Some people are struggling with paying the rent as well.’ Stephen looked across the bar to where Oscar and Hales were standing.

  ‘Yes, you’re probably right.’ Chambers’ finances were a distraction. She would have to think over the information about the wrap of cocaine.

  Chapter 18

  Cassie arranged to meet James Callan at Shepherds Bush Tube station before the conference with Montgomery at his solicitor’s office. She’d worked at home in the morning and, as it was a sunny day, she decided to walk. James, she knew, was at Kingston Crown Court and would make his own way there. He had texted her when he had completed the plea in mitigation for his client to reassure her he would not be late. By the time she arrived at the entrance to the station he was already waiting for her and they strolled along the north side of the Green past the array of independent shops, a French patisserie, then a shop selling hardware where piles of plastic crates spilled out onto the pavement, a clothes shop with vivid-coloured saris in the window, tucked in between the usual high street names. A couple of hundred metres along the Uxbridge Road was the solicitor’s office in a former shop, the interior screened by venetian blinds across the plate-glass window.

  Inside, the receptionist, a well-built woman with a Welsh accent, whose complexion indicated to Cassie she clearly liked a drink or more, ushered them into Tim Durrant’s room. He was standing up listening to someone on the phone. On the shabby desk was a half-eaten sandwich surrounded by an accumulation of files, and a computer that had been swivelled round so the screen was visible. The screen saver was of two young girls, twins, who Cassie assumed were Tim’s daughters. The lights were on even though it was sunny outside, and they illuminated the dust on the rows of dark grey filing cabinets lining one wall of the office.

  Tim Durrant was one of her most supportive professional clients; he had instructed her in a number of serious cases and had made clear how much he admired her abilities. During that time, however, he had disclosed very little about his personal life. She knew he was married, rather unhappily she thought; he rarely mentioned his wife. The family lived somewhere in Kent and from time to time arrangements for conferences had been changed to enable him to go to a parents’ evening at the twins’ school. There did not seem to be any question of the girls’ mother going alone.

  Tim waved at two upright chairs as he continued to listen to whoever was on the other end of the phone. From time to time he interjected, saying either yes or no, and rolling his eyes up to the ceiling, stained as a result of clients who insisted on smoking however much Tim objected. As he put the phone down, an intercom buzzed and the receptionist said Montgomery had arrived. He swept the remains of the sandwiches from his desk, and explained he had been delayed in West London Magistrates Court. ‘When I got back there was a long list of telephone calls to make and I’ve managed to speak to about three,’ he said.

  Montgomery was directed into the room by the same receptionist, who smiled at Cassie as if they shared a secret, and then she closed the door behind him. He took a couple of paces towards Tim, who had come out from behind his desk, his hand out to welcome his client. Montgomery ignored him, but nodded at Cassie, and then said, ‘Who’s this?’ waving his hand towards James. Tim introduced James Callan to his client, who said, ‘I suppose you’ll do.’

  ‘Mr Callan is very able. You’re lucky he was available at such short notice,’ Cassie said. She had to remind herself to be polite. She knew he was under a great deal of stress and she tried to make allowances, but Montgomery was repugnant. Whatever she said or did, she must not get the sack.

  Tim directed Cassie towa
rds his office chair behind the desk. She would be the one asking the questions and directing the conference, while Tim and James made notes. She liked to begin a conference by getting the client to talk about their personal circumstances, hoping it would ease any tension before they came to the evidence in the case.

  She asked Montgomery about his life in the navy. He wouldn’t say too much at first, but after a few questions he said, ‘Travelled the world … nowhere like home. Always saw England as, well, cosy. What was it that prime minister said – cricket on the village green, old ladies cycling on country lanes, warm beer? Thought Dad would sell the shop and we’d go, him, me and Val, and live in a quiet village – Norfolk, Suffolk. Go down the pub with my mates, talk about football – but costs too much now. Stuck in this dirty noisy city.’

  Cassie didn’t know what to say. She loved London; it was a city of opportunity, a city where the unexpected was a certainty, the city where she had found success.

  ‘Small villages have their downside too,’ Tim said. ‘Nosy parkers and mud.’

  His comment broke the tension and they spent the rest of the afternoon reviewing the evidence for the prosecution. Montgomery seemed largely indifferent, apart from calling the witnesses ‘lying bastards’, or ‘those black buggers’.

  She knew she had to tell him about her conversation with Marcus Pike; it was her duty to do so, despite being worried he would sack her on the spot.

  ‘I saw the QC who’s prosecuting this case the other night. He did say to me that he had every sympathy with your position.’

  ‘Quite right too. He ought to stop them prosecuting me.’

  ‘I don’t think that was what he had in mind. He suggested, if you pleaded guilty to manslaughter, he would try to persuade the Crown Prosecution Service to accept that.’

  She was about to explain what that meant, but Montgomery got to his feet and said, ‘Tell the fucking prosecution I’m not pleading guilty to anything. They were stealing from me. The silly nigger got what was coming to him.’

  Tim tried to calm him down, but Montgomery turned on him and said, ‘I’m not staying any longer to hear this shit. Stupid buggers.’ With that he rushed out of the office. The three lawyers sat in silence for a moment before Tim said, ‘I’m sorry to land you in this. He’s an impossible client.’

  ‘At least he didn’t sack us,’ Cassie said. ‘I hope he’ll be a little less excitable on Wednesday. If he goes on like that he’ll be convicted. As you say – an impossible client.’ She began to gather her papers together but some of them fell from her grasp towards the floor. James leant forward to pick them up. She struggled to grasp them as he handed them to her. He kept hold of them and touched her hand, letting it linger there. She acknowledged his help with a faint smile.

  ‘Was he so aggressive when you saw him earlier?’ James said.

  ‘No, he wasn’t. I suppose it’s getting to him. Hanging over his head. Although I don’t know why I’m making excuses for him. He’s a very offensive man.’

  There were a few moments’ silence. Cassie contemplated the trial ahead and then shrugged her shoulders. ‘Will we see you on Wednesday?’ she said to Tim.

  ‘No. I have a major fraud case at Mansion House Magistrates. Privately paid so I need to be there. I’ll send a clerk along to sit behind you.’

  ‘Any idea who?’

  ‘Not yet, probably some out-of-work actor.’

  Cassie was a little surprised Tim didn’t know who the outdoor clerk would be. Most solicitors had a circle of people who were happy to have this kind of casual employment, and would have sorted out who was covering a murder trial at the Old Bailey by the Friday before the trial was due to begin.

  Once outside, James said he wasn’t surprised Montgomery had rejected his previous legal advisers. ‘I’m not sure I really want to represent him.’

  ‘We don’t have a choice. That’s the deal. However unpleasant the defendant or the offence alleged against him, he is entitled to have a lawyer defend him. But this guy is his own worst enemy.’

  Chapter 19

  Alex attended another meeting of the drugs squad with Chris Dundy. Each of the team reported on the further interviews with the men and women who had been found in possession of the contaminated drugs. There had been no solid information on which they could rely. Some said they had bought the drugs in a nightclub called Peaches, which was under the Westway, others talked about a café on the Portobello Road. The only common thread was the area. DCI Saltburn asked Mel Haskins if there was any other information coming from the woodentops.

  ‘No, nothing from uniform. But … although on the face of it the drugs seem to be spread around West London, most of those arrested had been to Peaches within a day or two of them being caught.’

  ‘Are you suggesting the club is where the drugs are sold?’

  ‘Possibly. But not where they’re cut and bagged. That has to be somewhere else. It stands to reason it’s somewhere near the club.’

  ‘Any ideas?’ said the DCI. Everyone shook their heads. ‘Ok. Let’s keep digging. Something’ll turn up.’

  Alex decided to ring Cassie and see if she had any further information about Hales and the wrap of cocaine. She tried Cassie’s mobile but it was turned off. She saw the time was two thirty. Of course, Cassie would be in court. She would have to wait until after four at the earliest.

  When she did make contact with her friend, she thought Cassie was a little reluctant to talk. Alex asked if she had spoken to Hales again or not.

  ‘No. I haven’t. I can’t … I don’t want to get involved in this. I feel I’m betraying my colleagues. No one will admit taking cocaine to me.’

  ‘I realise it’s hard for you, but my governor’s breathing down our necks to get this investigation wrapped up. I promise no one will know you told me anything.’

  ‘Cotburn Mews. I’ve been told that’s where the drugs were bought.’

  ‘Nothing more?’

  Alex heard Cassie take a deep breath. ‘One of the tenants lives in the mews and …’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’ve seen him and Hales in some transaction in a pub. It was probably completely innocent.’

  ‘The name of the tenant.’

  ‘Oscar Davenport. But, Alex, please don’t ask me anything anymore.’

  Alex thanked her and rang off.

  Back at home Alex turned on her computer and found the website for 3 Burke Court. It didn’t take long to find the name of Oscar Davenport amongst the tenants. She recognised the face as the man she had seen on the staircase when she visited Cassie. She tapped the name into the search engine and found entries in the legal directories. From those she discovered he was twenty-seven, a graduate of LSE. He hadn’t been qualified long enough to figure in the top echelons of his chosen profession, but the set headed by Richard Jago was in the top twenty for crime and commercial fraud. She found his Facebook page. There were a number of posts of what appeared to be parties in a country house – girls in ballgowns and young men in dinner jackets. The sort of events her mother had encouraged her to attend. She printed one of the photographs having edited it to show Davenport clearly. What was it Cassie had said about not moving in the same circles as some of her fellow lawyers? Alex pondered if it was a coincidence Davenport went to the same club as Hales. Peaches was in North Kensington and was popular with the residents of the expensive flats in the area as well as the social housing. It could just be a coincidence.

  Alex reported her conversation with Cassie to DCI Saltburn, keeping her promise not to reveal who had told her about Cotburn Mews. To her relief, he didn’t push her on the source of the information.

  ‘You’re local, do you know it?’

  ‘Yes, I do. It’s to the south of Cotburn Square. It’s a large garden square, big properties and behind them on the south side are mews cottages converted from what were the coach houses. I’m not sure if there are any garages left, but I think there are a couple of offices or workshops.’

&
nbsp; ‘I suppose it’s a long shot but it’s the best we’ve got. There’ve been too many seizures of contaminated drugs. We’ve got nowhere with interviewing the other buyers.’ DCI Saltburn tapped his fingers on the table. ‘I’m not authorising any overtime, but if you get the opportunity to wander up there … you’re still investigating street robberies, aren’t you? It’s probably worth a look.’

  The next day, Alex walked to Cotburn Mews. The street was cobbled and just wide enough for vehicles to be parked on one side without blocking access along it. There were about forty properties in the cul de sac; most of the cottages were painted in ice-cream colours. Some retained the original garage doors, although Alex guessed they weren’t used for cars.

  She walked a little way into the mews, wondering which one Oscar Davenport lived in, before choosing one of the houses and knocking on the door. Early evening was not the best time to visit homes inhabited by young professionals who worked long hours. There was no reply at the first door she knocked on and she moved a couple of houses along. As she waited by the door, she noticed a young woman dressed in a black leggings and orange running shoes pushing a stroller.

  ‘Can I help?’ the woman said.

  ‘I’m DC Seymour from Notting Hill. I’m making enquiries about some kids making a nuisance of themselves in the area.’

  ‘I can’t say I’ve noticed anything.’

  ‘Nothing unusual? Lot of noise at night? Anything like that?’

  The woman shrugged and repeated she’d heard nothing of any concern. The child began to sob and the women bent over and put a dummy in his mouth. While she was distracted Alex pulled two photographs out of her pocket. ‘Do you know either of these two men?’

  The woman laughed. ‘Of course. That’s Oscar. He lives …’ She pointed to a blue-painted house about three doors way.