Cut_Throat Defence

by Olly Jarvis

  Bob glanced across sympathetically at Jack then got up to meet him. ‘She’s in there with Ken Dobkin. She wants to see you.’

  Jack walked down the corridor and stood outside Sarah’s door. A sign on it read ‘Head of Chambers’. He could hear raised voices. Dobkin’s wasn’t one of them. It was Simon Huntsman. ‘Please, Sarah, he just needs more time. I will help him.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Simon, we have to keep up certain standards at Century Buildings. That is why Ken is so generous to us with his instructions.’

  Jack was convinced that Simon was somehow involved in getting him instructed in Billy Birt’s bail application from Dobkin & Co. Bob was an impressive clerk, but his powers of persuasion alone couldn’t convince Ken Dobkin to trust someone like Kowalski with such an important repeat client.

  The door opened. Jack clocked Dobkin’s furtive glance as he walked past with Huntsman, who couldn’t look at his former pupil.

  Dobkin was a scrawny looking man in his late fifties. Years of smoking had given his face a greyish complexion. A strong Mancunian accent and down-to-earth working-class persona made him a popular choice of solicitor for the criminal glitterati of Manchester.

  ‘Come in, Jack,’ said Sarah Dale.

  He knew what was coming.

  Before she had a chance to shut the door, a cheer came from reception.

  Dobkin called out, ‘Come and watch this, Sarah.’

  She walked into reception with Jack following. A group of solicitors, clerks and barristers were already gathered round the television.

  A female journalist was standing outside the court, doing a piece to camera. ‘Yes, thank you, Rory. As you say, there were incredible scenes today at Manchester Crown Court. This was a pre-trial hearing before Monday’s trial of the alleged conspirators in the largest drugs importation ever uncovered in the UK. One of the defendants, Carl Marpit from London, sacked his legal team, which included top QC Daniel Rogers. He has now instructed a complete novice in legal terms, called…’ – the reporter held up her pad – ‘…Jack Kowalski, who managed to get his client bail, to the astonishment of onlookers.’

  Simon Huntsman and Bob stood, open-mouthed.

  The anchor then spoke. ‘Kate, do we know anything about this barrister, Jack Kowalski?’

  ‘Nothing really, Rory. We know he was called to the Bar as recently as last year, but we cannot find a chambers listing for him.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Kate. Other news…’

  Everyone gawped at Jack, speechless.

  ‘Go, Kowalski!’ said Rafe Gallimore, who was whooping with delight.

  ‘Who are your instructing solicitors?’ asked Bob, a typical clerk’s question.

  ‘Dobkin and Co.’

  As if on cue, two junior clerks from Owen’s house chambers wheeled in two trolleys piled high with boxes full of lever arch files. The older of the boys said to Jack, ‘With compliments of Mr Rogers, sir.’

  Jack turned to Dobkin. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Ken, but I had to give the court a guarantee that you would assign a fully qualified solicitor exclusively to this case ‒ to ensure that we could catch up with the other teams.’

  Dobkin continued to stare at the boxes being unloaded from the trolleys, hypnotized by their glorious volume. ‘I will put Lara on it,’ said Dobkin, feeling guilty about his earlier complaint.

  ‘Good idea,’ said Jack.

  Sarah Dale was lost for words.

  Chapter 17

  The clerks scanned the papers into the photocopier so that Jack could have everything on his laptop. Jack was not a tenant and didn’t have a room in chambers, so the clerks put the hard copy of the brief in the library.

  Jack walked round the long walnut table, every inch covered with boxes. Where to start? He pulled a few files out at random. One spine read, ‘Exhibits pages 2334–2912.’ It was overwhelming. The briefs he was used to were so thin they could be folded in half and tied with a piece of ribbon. Why did he tell the judge he would be ready on Monday? There wasn’t even time to read the brief, let alone prepare it for trial. He flicked through a few more bundles, reminding himself that an experienced barrister could digest vast amounts of material in a very short space of time. But not Jack Kowalski. He sat down, head in hands and closed his eyes.

  ‘Jesus! That’s some brief,’ said Simon Huntsman, surveying the table. ‘Must be at least ten thousand pages there.’

  ‘More like fifteen,’ replied Jack. ‘I’ve got the weekend to read the equivalent of fifty novels.’

  ‘Pull yourself together, lad. I taught you how to digest a brief quickly. Prioritize.’

  ‘OK, remind me, Simon, please?’

  Huntsman shook his head, ‘Christ, Jack. Firstly, you’ve got to clear your head of all the other stuff, so you can focus on preparing this case.’

  ‘I know, I know. I can’t think straight for worrying.’ He slumped back in his chair. Then, at last, ‘Interview! Start with his interview. The officers’ questions will tell me what evidence they’ve got and the answers will tell me Marpit’s defence.’

  ‘Hallelujah!’ exclaimed Huntsman, raising his arms to the heavens.

  ‘Oh, wait a minute,’ said Jack, losing his initial enthusiasm. ‘He went no comment.’

  ‘That’s a lucky break. Saves you a job.’ Huntsman took a seat across the table from his old pupil. ‘Have you got any instructions yet?’

  ‘Yes, but very basic.’

  ‘So where next?’

  ‘Areas of challenge?’ suggested Jack tentatively.

  ‘Good man. And they are?’

  ‘He says he was a participating informant. NCA deny it.’

  ‘NCA, eh? You really have landed a big one. Which officers does he say knew his status?’

  ‘His handler, a man called Wolfy. He doesn’t know his real name.’

  ‘That’s helpful. Anyone else?’

  ‘Yes. A senior officer – Finch. Marpit says Finch said his name when he was arrested at an airfield when the drugs were being unloaded.’

  ‘So, does Finch accept this conversation?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘So where do you look first for the answer?’

  ‘His witness statement,’ replied Jack, already reaching for the first volume of statements.

  ‘No! Always go to the primary evidence first. Then compare it with the witness statement. And the primary evidence is…?’

  Jack thought for a moment. ‘Sorry. Of course. The log.’

  ‘Right. Which will be in the…?’

  ‘Exhibits?’

  Huntsman shook his head. Even he was finding it hard to hide his concern. This case was way beyond Jack’s competence. ‘No, the prosecution never exhibit the logs. Come on, you know this. You’ll find them buried in the…?’

  ‘Unused material?’

  ‘Right. We got there in the end.’ Huntsman got up to leave, ‘Good luck, old chap.’

  ‘What? You’re not going are you?’

  ‘It’s your case, Jack. You’ve got to figure it out yourself. And besides, no one’s paying me to read it. Cheerio.’

  Jack stood up and surveyed the boxes of papers with renewed vigour. ‘Come on, Jack, get a grip,’ he said to himself. He removed his cufflinks, rolled up his sleeves and started going through the unused material.

  Chapter 18

  A knock on the door interrupted Jack’s preparation. It was Sarah. ‘Jack, I don’t know how you managed to get this brief. I don’t think I want to know. But you can stay in chambers for the time being. If you manage to get through this case in one piece, we will reassess things.’

  Relief – a reprieve. He was fond of Sarah, despite the fact that she wasn’t his biggest fan in chambers. She was a very determined woman who had survived and flourished at the Bar. When she started out female barristers were rare and she faced constant prejudice. Jack felt that was why she demanded so much from the pupils in chambers; her own route to establishing herself had not been easy. At Century Buildings since
pupillage, she loved the very bricks of it. Unmarried with no children, the Bar, and in particular Century Buildings, was her life. Sarah also sat as a recorder, a part-time circuit judge. The next step was a full-time appointment. She would take the job if the opportunity arose, but it would be a wrench to leave chambers. Jack was acutely aware that he was defending in a case far bigger than anything she had ever defended in thirty years at the Bar.

  ‘There are a lot of very happy people today, particularly in the clerks’ room,’ she said, before leaving Jack with his work.

  He thought of Bob who had always stood by him, despite repeatedly messing up.

  Jack could now hear Sarah exchanging pleasantries with Lara in reception. His heart fluttered as he went to meet her. ‘How was Marpit?’

  ‘Grateful, but paranoid. The route we took to the hotel was all round the houses. He made damn sure no one could have followed us. It was very convincing.’

  Jack took her through to the library. She was aghast at the size of the brief.

  ‘No wonder Ken’s just offered me a job.’

  Jack congratulated her.

  She sat down at the long table.

  Jack gave her a gloomy summary of the case: Purley and Rako were not arrested at the scene and the case against them was circumstantial, relying almost entirely on telephone traffic with Marpit. It was weak. Marpit, on the other hand, had been found at the scene and was pretty much screwed.

  Lara was determined to remain positive, knowing how much Jack would need her support. ‘So where do we start?’

  ‘I’ve started putting together a core bundle of relevant material,’ said Jack turning the pages in his file. ‘I found this in the unused. It’s the surveillance log created at the airfield when Marpit was arrested.’

  ‘OK. Any record of Marpit’s verbals?’

  ‘No, he’s arrested at 21.55 by an officer called Saunders. The next and last entry is twenty-one fifty-eight. “All suspects in vehicles”. So our case must be that the conversation took place during that three-minute gap. Finch just didn’t radio it in.’

  Lara was dubious. ‘But look at this entry at twenty-one fifty-five. Male four’s verbals are recorded in the officer’s pocket notebook.’

  ‘I know, it shows they were making a record of everything.’

  ‘Anything in Finch’s witness statement about Marpit?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘On the other hand, if someone tells you they are a major grass, you’re not going to broadcast it over your radio.’

  ‘Maybe, but there’s nothing in the log that shows Finch and Marpit were ever even in each other’s company.’

  So far, they had nothing.

  Lara could see Jack was completely shattered. ‘When did you last eat?’

  He didn’t need to reply.

  ‘Come on. Let’s get something. Things always seem better on a full stomach. Anyway, I owe you dinner. You did get me a job, after all.’

  ‘I know a great little Polish restaurant around the corner.’

  Chapter 19

  Romek saw them before they had even got through the door. He charged over from a table where he had been taking an order. He clasped his hands together, shaking them in a gesture of triumph. A short, thick-set man with a long face and strong jaw under a full head of black hair, Romek reminded Jack of a Spanish bull, mesmerized by the red table cloths as he went about his work. Paradoxically, there was an almost feminine quality to the way he danced his way around the tables.

  ‘Hello, Wujek,’ said Jack, anxious that Romek didn’t do or say anything that would embarrass him.

  ‘Janusz! Janusz! They told me. Everybody say. You on telly! I can’t believe. Your father, he always say you be great barrister. I thought he crazy. You too shy – like mouse.’ He then grabbed Jack and hugged him.

  Jack pulled away.

  Lara found it hilarious. Romek grinned at Lara and held out his hand, ‘Hello, my name Romek. Welcome to my restaurant.’

  Jack apologised for not introducing Lara sooner. ‘This is Lara, Wujek. She is working with me on the case.’

  ‘Of course you need help now, you big lawyer,’ he said, winking at Lara. ‘Come. You have best table in house.’ He took them to a quiet booth in the far corner of the restaurant. Some of the waiters patted Jack on the back as he passed; news travelled fast.

  ‘Why does he call you Janusz?’ Lara asked, once they were seated.

  ‘It’s my name. When I went to school the teachers called me Jack for some reason. It just stuck I suppose.’

  ‘And why do you call him Wujek?’ she said.

  ‘It means uncle. He is my father’s younger brother.’

  ‘It must be great, having such a close family?’ she asked ruefully.

  ‘Yes and no,’ he replied with enough of a smile to show that he knew its value. ‘Throughout my childhood I resented them all for not being Mancunian. What a fool I was,’ he confessed. ‘It’s only now that I realize what my parents and uncle did for me.’ He changed the subject, a little ashamed by his admission. ‘I can’t imagine how tough it must have been for you when you lost your parents.’

  Lara’s eyes bored into him. ‘It was a long time ago. I was very young. I don’t remember it,’ she lied.

  Jack could feel her loss. ‘Did you have any other family?’

  ‘Only my mother’s mother, but she was dead by the time I was twelve, so I went into care and various foster homes until I was sixteen.’

  Jack was still desperate to know more about her. ‘So why criminal law?’

  ‘I wanted to be a family lawyer, specializing in local authority care work. You know, kids, guardianship. That’s what I was trained in at Dobkin and Co., but that sort of work has dried up lately. It’s all criminal work now. Beggars can’t be choosers.’ She thought for a moment. ‘But crime is growing on me.’

  Romek’s arrival, with a telephone in his hand, interrupted the intimacy of the moment. ‘Janusz, your father,’ he said, thrusting the phone in Jack’s face.

  Jack spoke in English, mainly out of courtesy to Lara.

  Romek winked at her.

  ‘OK, Tata I will… Yes, I will… Tata, it’s not go get ’em cheetah, it’s go get ’em tiger… No that’s not what you said… OK… you know I won’t be able to visit you on Saturday. I’ve got to work on the case… I know, I know, OK, bye.’ Jack handed the phone back to Romek, blushing as Lara watched him.

  ‘OK, kids, what you having drink and eat? Two Polish beers? Soup, or just meat pierogi? Fresh of course, Lara,’ added Romek with pride.

  ‘Sounds good,’ she said.

  No sooner had Romek left the table than Rafe Gallimore came in with Simon Huntsman. Rafe spoke first. ‘Well, looky here. The two poachers skulking in the corner.’

  ‘Hello, Rafe, Simon,’ said Lara.

  ‘Well, they always taught us to save our best weapon till last,’ said Rafe. ‘He certainly couldn’t have left it any later,’ he added, winking at Lara.

  Huntsman chipped in, ‘Just remember, watch your backs. Lawyers are all sharks.’

  ‘Otterwood seems OK though,’ replied Jack.

  ‘Take nothing for granted,’ said Huntsman. ‘Come on, Rafe, let’s leave them to discuss the case. The calm before the storm.’

  ‘I didn’t know you knew Rafe?’ asked Jack, once his friends were out of earshot.

  ‘Oh, yes. He does all Ken’s rubbish. He’s not short on confidence.’

  Jack hoped her comment was a way of telling him there wasn’t anything between them.

  The food, as always, was excellent. Jack couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed himself so much. Strangely, he had forgotten that he was a few days away from defending in a cut-throat, and the biggest trial in the country. When he did remember, it was obvious to Lara.

  ‘You’re panicking again,’ she said.

  It was uncanny how she could read him so well after knowing him for less than twenty-four hours. He needed to get back to the papers. />
  ‘You get some rest, Lara. I’ll see you in chambers tomorrow morning.’ As he got up to leave Lara took out her purse. ‘No, it’s OK. I’ve been coming here all my life. He has never let me or my guests ever pay for a meal. Just as well, really – I’ve never had any money.’

  They moved out into the open air. The storm had long since passed. Only the sound of car tyres splashing through puddles.

  ‘Anything you want done first, by tomorrow?’ asked Lara.

  ‘Yes. Find out what you can about the NCA. Might as well know who we’re up against.’

  ‘Will do.’ There was something else Lara was curious to know. ‘I’ve heard about you, Jack, from other barristers. About how nervous you get in court.’

  He had dreaded this coming up in conversation.

  ‘I just wondered… what made you want to be a barrister? What made you stick it out?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ He’d never really discussed it with anyone before. He took a deep breath, then exhaled. ‘Smell that air,’ he said enthusiastically.

  ‘What?’ replied Lara. ‘Stale piss and rubbish bins?’

  ‘No, that damp, cold, smoky, city-centre smell. Manchester. It’s exciting.’ He laughed. ‘I want to be a part of this city. I have a right to be someone in this city.’ Then with vulnerability in his voice, ‘I need to prove I’m worthy. That I belong, I guess.’

  ‘But why the Bar?’

  ‘It’s all about using words, isn’t it? In English. I want to show people I can talk. That I have something to say.’

  ‘I had no idea you were so fucked up!’ she said with a smile.

  ‘Oh, yes. Just wish I wasn’t such a coward.’

  ‘Coward?’ she said, surprised. ‘No, quite the opposite. You’re terrified – every day – but something makes you get up each morning and face your demons. Crazy maybe, but not a coward.’

  They stood looking at each other for a while. Then, as they walked away from the restaurant in opposite directions, Lara shouted back over her shoulder, ‘You did good today, Janusz.’

  She understood him.