Cut_Throat Defence

by Olly Jarvis

  Katterman bedded Purley in gently, with questions about his age and background.

  Purley was nervous. For a man in his forties, however hardened, there was a lot to play for – the rest of his working life on the outside. He was a grim-faced cockney with a muscular frame. It was obvious to the lawyers in the courtroom that he was following advice, keeping his answers short and to the point.

  Katterman asked Purley about his previous convictions for criminal damage as a juvenile and for evading duty on cigarettes ten years ago. After a long run-up to the wicket, Katterman got to the real issue in the case – contact with Marpit. ‘Do you know a man called Carl Marpit?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘How well do you know him?’

  ‘Very well. We grew up in the same neighbourhood.’

  ‘Did you have any idea that he was involved in the supply of drugs?’

  ‘None at all. He would never have told me. He knew I despised drugs.’ Purley paused. ‘Because my younger brother died of a heroin overdose many years ago.’

  ‘Should anyone want to check that fact, Mr Purley, would you please give us his name and when he died?’

  ‘Gordon Purley, born the thirteenth of December nineteen seventy-two. Died on the twenty-first of March nineteen ninety-two at Charing Cross Hospital.’

  Purley shed a well-choreographed tear as a member of the prosecution team took a note of those dates and crept out to check Purley’s story.

  ‘Did it surprise you to hear that Carl Marpit was involved in drugs?’

  ‘To be honest? No, it didn’t really. Nothing about that man surprises me. He was into everything.’

  ‘What do you mean by “everything”?’ asked Katterman.

  Purley hesitated, pretending it was with a heavy heart that he would blacken the name of a childhood friend and co-defendant. ‘Crime. He was into all sorts.’

  Purley was convincing. Even Jack had to resist being drawn in. There was no point trying to object to this assassination of Marpit’s character. It was a cut-throat. All gloves were off. He turned to Lara, who whispered, ‘Where is he going with this? I don’t like it.’

  Katterman ploughed on. ‘We can see from the various schedules and the sequence of events that a mobile telephone number is attributed to you by the prosecution. Was that your telephone?’

  ‘Yes, it was.’

  ‘The prosecution allege that there were a number of calls between you and Marpit. Is that true?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘That begs the question – why were you in constant telephone contact with a prolific criminal?’

  ‘We were doin’ a deal together.’

  ‘Mr Purley, would you please tell the jury what sort of deal you were doing.’ Katterman looked towards the jury.

  ‘He was bringin’ in some fags from China, by boat. Non-duty-paid. I was going to buy some from him.’

  ‘For the benefit of the jury, is it correct that a large part of the price of cigarettes is the excise duty? And that, if cigarettes are imported into this country, when the duty is evaded, they can be sold on at a very considerable profit?’

  ‘That’s right. It’s big business.’

  ‘And how many cigarettes were you buying?’

  ‘One million cigarettes; fifty thousand packets of twenty.’

  ‘And how much was that going to cost?’

  ‘One pound a packet, so fifty grand in all.’

  ‘Now the jury have already heard mention of that figure in this trial, have they not?’

  ‘Yes, there was 50k in cash, in my attic.’

  ‘What was that for, Mr Purley?’

  ‘To buy the cigarettes.’

  Purley’s account was brilliant. By accepting some criminality, it was believable. The jurors didn’t appear to be sceptical of this tale, but were completely absorbed.

  Katterman continued. ‘So why were there so many telephone calls?’

  ‘The shipment was late. He kept telling me tomorrow, tomorrow, but it never arrived.’

  The jury chuckled, a little charmed.

  Purley was on a roll. ‘I’d borrowed from a lot of people to raise the 50k to buy the fags. They wanted to be paid back, either in cash or fags. Most of the calls were me, trying to find out more about what was going on, and him fobbin’ me off.’

  ‘What did you know of the details of the shipment?’

  ‘Not much, only that it was from China. Carl had sorted out the bill of lading and that the cigarettes were hidden in boxes, labelled as gardening equipment. He said I didn’t need to know any more.’

  Purley then added an explanation for his scant knowledge of the details. ‘In Carl’s line o’ work everything is on a need-to-know basis. It minimizes the chances of grasses rattin’ on ya.’

  ‘Do you think Marpit was a participating informant, a CHIS, in the way suggested by Mr Kowalski?’

  ‘Course he wasn’t. He’d been graftin’ for years.’

  ‘What do you mean by grafting, Mr Purley?’

  ‘Oh, sorry. Committing crimes.’

  Lara jabbed Jack in the back. ‘You can see why Katterman has put his form in,’ she whispered. ‘It supports his defence! He’s got a conviction for the same thing.’

  Katterman was moving on. ‘Now, Mr Purley, do you know Mr Rako?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Have you ever met him in person?’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘Spoken to him on the phone?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Mr Purley. The jury will see from the observations that, at around the time of the importation, not only were you meeting with Marpit, but so was Mr Rako.’

  ‘Yes, I accept that, but never at the same time.’

  ‘Do you have any knowledge of what Marpit and Rako were associating about?’

  ‘None whatsoever. Whatever they had goin’ on, it was nothing to do with me.’

  Bingham, twisting round and leaning over the bench behind him, was whispering loudly to his junior.

  Lara pulled Jack’s gown and directed him towards the commotion with her eyes.

  Katterman had unilaterally changed the tactics of their defences. Rako’s involvement with Marpit now cried out for an explanation – but again, it was too late. Bingham had been double-crossed by Katterman. Had he known that this was to be Katterman’s defence, he would undoubtedly have called Rako.

  ‘Please wait there, Mr Purley, there will be some more questions,’ said Katterman, satisfied.

  The judge consulted the clock. It was almost one. ‘That seems to be a convenient moment. Two-fifteen.’

  Jack gathered up the papers he would need over the luncheon adjournment.

  Lara prodded him, ‘Hurry up, Jack. Get up to the robing room. I think it’s going to kick off.’

  He could see Bingham, Katterman and their juniors leaving the courtroom. Jack tagged along at a safe distance. When he entered the robing room, the leaders were already locking horns. Their juniors were flapping around them nervously, willing the conflict to end. Bingham was shouting, almost foaming at the mouth. It was a shock to see such a measured individual completely blow his top. ‘You gave me an assurance, Lionel, counsel to counsel, that you were not calling him.’

  ‘My first duty is to the client, Humphrey,’ responded Katterman evenly. ‘There was a last-minute change of heart, moments before coming into court. I thought it best to just get on with things.’

  Jack knew that was a lie, bearing in mind Katterman had told Sarah Dale he intended to put Purley in the witness box. But there was no way Jack was going to get involved.

  Bingham shook his head at Katterman in disgust. ‘So this is how you do things in Manchester, is it? Purley’s account makes Rako look guilty. I’ve put nothing before the jury to deal with it. You misled me!’ With that he stormed out, followed by his anxious junior.

  Jack disrobed as inconspicuously as he could.

  But, to no avail. Katterman was staring at him with piercing eyes
. ‘What are you looking at?’ he demanded.

  Katterman’s junior, Paul Effiong, was thoroughly embarrassed.

  Jack left without uttering a word.

  Chapter 61

  Purley was brought back into the witness box by a prison officer. He had lost some of his colour, evidently having just spent an hour and a quarter doing nothing but worry about the imminent cross-examinations.

  It was Bingham’s honour to go first. ‘No questions.’ Although he wanted to crucify Purley as revenge for his betrayal by Katterman, he knew it was in Rako’s interests to leave Purley alone and for the jury to believe him. Bingham would never put his own vanity before the client.

  Jack’s turn. He needed to be short and sweet. He could rely on Otterwood to carry out a detailed, workmanlike cross-examination, leaving no stone unturned.

  One last burst of energy. ‘Mr Purley,’ Jack began. ‘Do you have any documentation to prove the existence of this shipment from China?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I was only interested in when I would get my cigs. It wasn’t as if I’d parted with any dough.’

  ‘So all we have is your word?’

  ‘Yes. And before you say it, sir, I know it’s not worth much.’

  Some of the jurors smiled warmly.

  ‘Mr Purley, the jury have already heard that you did not answer questions in your police interview, as is your right.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A defence statement was also submitted to the court, some months later, purporting to set out your defence. There is no mention of cigarettes. The first time we have heard about that is today, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why wasn’t that detail in your defence statement? It would have given the prosecution a little time to check out your story, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘There were loads o’ reasons. I didn’t want to admit I was involved in a crime with a drug dealer. I thought the jury would think I must be involved in drugs as well. I was scared of dropping Carl in it about the cigarettes. When I found out two days before the trial that he was going to pretend he was working for the NCA, and that I was involved in the drugs conspiracy, I realized I had to tell the truth; wanted to tell the truth.’

  He had an answer for everything.

  ‘Mr Purley, this is all just a story you have invented to try and explain the telephone contact, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, it ain’t, Mr Kowalski, sir. ’Ave you actually asked Carl if he was doin’ the fags with me?’

  The question was devastating. Jack had never asked Marpit. How could he have known? It sounded like a lawyer’s question. Surely, Jack thought, Katterman wouldn’t suggest questions and answers to Purley?

  After an embarrassing pause, the judge came to the rescue. ‘Mr Purley, you are here to answer the questions, not ask them.’

  ‘I’m sorry, My Lord,’ he said, full of remorse.

  Jack’s disastrous cross-examination finished with a few general suggestions that Purley was lying. There was no real substance to it, because the instructions that Marpit had given before absconding had no real substance, either.

  Otterwood followed on with a laborious cross-examination, questioning Purley about the content of every telephone call and observation. He made some good points, but Purley was well rehearsed. In truth, or in lies, he had survived the witness box. It seemed to all that he was home and dry. Katterman didn’t even bother to re-examine.

  Jack glanced at the clock as Purley was escorted back to the dock. It was 4.15. Katterman would close his case and then Jack would have to open and close his, all in about five seconds. He could not ask for another adjournment based on ifs and maybes.

  Katterman addressed the judge. ‘My Lord, there is one character witness from London who can attest to the defendant’s charity work with deprived children. Unfortunately, he cannot be here until Monday morning. In the circumstances, I wonder if I could close my case then?’

  His Lordship wasn’t going to argue. After Katterman’s five-minute character witness on Monday morning, they would be on speeches.

  Jack was surprised. Purley had done so well in the box he thought Katterman would have been eager to close his case and thus force Jack to close his, but for the sake of one character witness, he had left the door open for further evidence. Such was the self-confidence of the man.

  * * *

  Jack threw his wig on to the seats outside court. The most demanding week of his life. All the other teams had already left. Jack wanted to take Lara across the square to The Alchemist for a drink, to apologize properly. ‘Will you wait for me while I get changed?’

  ‘Sorry, Jack. I’ve got to meet someone.’

  Without thinking: ‘Who? Your sugar daddy?’ He regretted it immediately.

  ‘What’s happening to you, Jack?’

  He rubbed his forehead. ‘I’m sorry, it’s fatigue.’ He turned to walk away.

  She grabbed his arm and pulled him back. ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘Really? Try me.’

  ‘I don’t know where I’d be, if it wasn’t for Matthew. I had nothing, no one. He helped me. I owe him everything.’

  ‘Even a shag?’

  She slapped him.

  He pulled her close and kissed her.

  For a moment she didn’t resist, then she pulled away, confused.

  ‘Lara…’

  ‘Go home, Jack. Get some sleep.’

  Chapter 62

  As Jack crossed the square, he could see Katterman holding court with some local Circuit judges. Katterman’s former pupil-master, His Honour Judge Finlay, was among them. As a former member of Paramount, he helped old friends, which meant bringing them into powerful circles. Katterman was being even louder than usual, his ego inflated by the successful examination of Purley. Some of the most important members of the legal profession in Manchester were hanging on his every word.

  As Jack passed the group he could feel them watching him. He could just hear Katterman saying, ‘Dreadful cross-examination. Quite dishonest.’

  Jack shuddered at the thought of the damage Katterman was doing to his reputation.

  Bob didn’t bother to look up as Jack walked into the clerk’s room. ‘Are you winning, sir?’

  ‘No, Bob. I’m going to come second. Any bookings?’

  ‘Not today, sir. She’s in her room.’ Bob had an uncanny knack of knowing what his barristers were thinking.

  Jack knocked on Sarah’s door.

  ‘Come.’

  He opened it but didn’t stray in too far.

  Without looking up from her papers she addressed him – or more accurately, dressed him down. ‘I’ve already heard. You decided to cross-examine but the defendant made a complete fool out of you. Shut the door on your way out.’

  Chapter 63

  ‘Good evening, madam. Do you have a reservation?’ asked the maître d’.

  Lara’s eyes scanned the restaurant as she replied. ‘Yes. Thank you. I’m meeting someone. Oh, it’s OK, I can see him.’

  She was late. Matthew was already at the table.

  ‘Sorry. Have you been here long?’

  ‘Not too long,’ Matthew replied in a voice that conveyed his irritation without having to spell it out. He didn’t like to be kept waiting.

  ‘How was the match?’ she asked.

  ‘Good. Three nil. You should’ve come.’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. I can’t concentrate on anything. Not until the case is over.’

  The maître d’ arrived at the table in full sucking-up mode. Matthew had that effect on people. ‘Mademoiselle. Sir. Your daughter is quite exquisite. You must be very proud,’ he creeped in his faux French accent.

  ‘She’s not my daughter. She’s my lover,’ replied Matthew, smiling at Lara.

  The maître d’ was embarrassed. ‘Ah, I beg your pardon, sir.’

  ‘It’s quite all right. A bottle of the 2000 Château Beaumont, please.’ He leaned across to La
ra. ‘It’s only a Cru Bourgeois, but I love it. Very oaky.’

  The maître d’ was grateful for a reason to depart. ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘Why did you say that?’ asked Lara, unimpressed. ‘You embarrassed him – and me.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I just don’t care who knows any more.’

  ‘I see. So you’ve decided you want to tell everybody. What about what I want?’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Lara. I love you.’

  He took a small velvet box out of his jacket pocket and slid it across the table. Still smiling confidently, he said, ‘Marry me?’

  Lara stared at him and then the box, trying to take it all in.

  ‘Go on, open it.’

  It was a diamond ring. A marquise set in platinum. Lara was unmoved.

  He went on, full of enthusiasm, ‘I’ll retire. I’ve had enough of crime. We can get a house together – or travel. Whatever you want.’

  ‘Matthew, I wasn’t expecting this. I need time to think.’

  Her answer didn’t compute. He wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted. His gushing tones changed to anger. ‘What do you mean you need time? No one will ever love you like I do. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘I know, I know,’ replied Lara.

  ‘You must know that. After everything I’ve done for you.’ He reached over and touched her hand. ‘Come on, let’s celebrate. I’ll order some champagne.’ He picked up the wine list.

  ‘You’re not listening to me, Matthew. I need time to think about this. I have a mind of my own.’

  Her response had surprised him. ‘Lara! This is not like you.’ He paused. ‘It’s Jack, isn’t it. He’s turned your head.’

  ‘No! Of course not. It’s you! You can’t bully me into accepting your proposal. I’m not sixteen any more!’ She pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘I’ve got to go. I can’t think.’ She made for the exit, brushing past the maître d’ carrying the Château Beaumont.

  Matthew called after her to no avail.

  Wisely, the maître d’ did not speak. He poured one glass and retreated.

  Matthew put the glass to his lips and sipped.