The Brief

by Simon Michael

  ‘It has been explained to you that it is felt that the presence of a solicitor might well hinder the recovery of the property stolen in the robbery. I therefore propose to interview you now. Where were you on the morning of 5th February 1960 at about 6.30 am?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘You are being given your chance to explain your side of the story. If you’re innocent, I am sure you’ll want to tell us where you were at that time.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Have you read about this robbery, or heard about it on the news?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘You must know that firearms were used.’

  ‘No comment.’

  Sands watched as the sergeant’s pen laboured its way across the ruled notepaper, recording every word spoken. The recording caught up with the interview and Franklin spoke again.

  ‘You realise also that a man has been very seriously wounded, and that he’s still in intensive care.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘At present you have only been arrested on suspicion of robbery, but there may well come a time when I shall arrest you for attempted murder. Are you sure that you wouldn’t like to take the opportunity of explaining what happened?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Do you know Derek Plumber?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘He’s done a number of jobs with you in the past, hasn’t he?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘And he’s the only one of your erstwhile colleagues at liberty – or alive in fact – at present, isn’t he?’

  ‘No comment.’

  Franklin looked at his superior officer. Wheatley looked up from the documents he had been reading and stared at Sands with a blank expression. He spoke slowly, as if measuring each word.

  ‘Before Sergeant Franklin terminates the interview, Mr Sands, you might like to think about this: we know you were there. We know you took part in this robbery. The Rover was stolen just around the corner from your digs. You left a plastic bag in the back of the van with a print on it. I shall allow you at a later stage to read the statement of the Fingerprint Officer if you wish. Derek Plumber has also been arrested, and I’ve interviewed him. He admits being on the robbery, but he says another person, a third person, took the shotgun without telling him, and used it without warning. I suspect that that person was you. Do you still wish to make no comment? This is your last chance to put your side of the story. As far as I am concerned, the robbery is open and shut and you’re just wasting everyone’s time. It is the gun aspect that concerns me.’

  ‘Still no comment.’

  ‘Very well.’

  Wheatley stood, hitched his trousers up, and collected the papers on the desk. ‘Take him back to the cells,’ he directed Franklin.

  ‘Yes, guv,’ replied the younger man. ‘Up you get.’

  Sands remained where he sat, staring at the table. Franklin looked across at Wheatley, who raised his hand commanding the DS to wait. After a while Sands looked up at Wheatley, and smiled. ‘Hang on a sec,’ he said.

  ‘Yes?’ asked Wheatley.

  ‘I’ve decided to talk,’ said Sands. Wheatley sat down again, and indicated that Franklin should do the same. ‘Well?’

  ‘There were three of us. I’m not gonna name the other man. All I’m gonna say is that neither I nor Derek Plumber knew that the third man was going tae carry a real gun.’

  ‘What part in the robbery did you play?’

  ‘I went in with Derek. He drove the Rover, I drove the van.’

  ‘You went into the depot?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You were one of the two men who used handguns to force the employees to lie down?’

  ‘Imitation guns, yes.’

  ‘What part did the third man play?’

  ‘He was the lookout.’

  ‘Did he enter the building?’

  ‘No.’

  Franklin put his hand on his superior’s arm and raised his eyebrows. He wanted to ask a question. Wheatley indicated to go ahead.

  ‘What vehicle did he arrive in, this third man?’

  Sands paused. He had not thought to agree that with Plumber. It would have to be the van or the Rover, but which? If he said one, and Plumber said the other…

  ‘I can’t… I refuse to answer questions about what either of the two other men did. I will answer questions only about what I did.’

  ‘Why then,’ asked Franklin, ‘did you volunteer that you and Derek went in?’ Sands did not reply. ‘Wasn’t it because you and he have made up this third man, and that one of you two shot the security guard?’

  ‘I’ve said everything I’m going tae say. I was part of the robbery but I had nothing tae do wi’ the shootin’.’

  ‘I shall therefore end this interview here,’ said Wheatley. ‘I must however inform you that you’re now under arrest for the attempted murder of Mr William Wright. Do you wish to say anything? You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, but anything you say will be taken down in writing and given in evidence. Do you understand?’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Put him back in his cell.’

  Sands was taken back to his cell, puzzled. He’d prepared and planned for every line of questioning he could imagine, every trick, sleight of hand and beating he might receive at the hands of the police. But DI Wheatley playing it by the book? That was unfathomable.

  •

  Sands lay on his bunk, his hands behind his head, and stared at the single bulb in its caged recess in the ceiling. He had no way of telling how long he had been there – his watch and other personal belongings had been taken from him when he had arrived at the police station – but he calculated that it must have been around tea time; his stomach was growling. He had refused the greasy egg and chips offered to him for lunch. He knew Plumber was probably in a cell along the same corridor, but he dared not risk calling out. It wouldn’t have been the first time that police had waited in such situations for a careless word between cells. He just hoped that Plumber had had the sense not to attempt to make up unrehearsed details of the third man’s involvement.

  The iron gate that barred the end of the corridor clanged, and Sands heard footsteps approaching his cell. Tea? The door opened, and Wheatley stood on the threshold.

  ‘Stand up Mr Sands,’ he said. ‘This is a big moment for you. You’ve just graduated to the big time. Robert Reginald Sands, I must charge you that on the fifth day of February 1960, together with Derek Plumber, you did murder William Wright.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, Robbie. The guard just died. You are not obliged to say anything, but anything you do say will be written down and given in evidence.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Bow Street Magistrates Court was still a beautiful Victorian building, almost directly opposite the Royal Opera House and a stone’s throw from Covent Garden, but it was shabby and it smelt. The corners of the entrance hall were littered with rubbish and cigarette ends, and it stank of stale cigarette smoke and unwashed bodies. It had been raining hard since dawn, and the lobby was packed with defendants, witnesses, lawyers, policemen and reporters sheltering from the rain, and as Charles entered the lobby he was suddenly struck by a smell reminiscent of a damp sheep pen – wet wool.

  The lobby was heaving with people, far more than was usual for even a busy Friday. Charles recognised a colleague from chambers in Kings Bench Walk and pushed his way through to him.

  ‘Morning Brian. What’s this circus all about?’

  ‘Oh, hello Charles. It’s the committal of the Kray twins’ arson case. I’m trying to get my plea on before they’re brought up. What’re you here for?’

  ‘First remand of the Express Dairies murder.’

  ‘Lucky you. Oh – I can see my instructing solicitor! See you later.’

  Charles pushed his way through the crowd to the door leading down to the cells, pressed the bell, only once as the grubby notice pinned to the door
required, and waited. There was a long pause, and then in the distance, from the other side of the door, he heard the jangling of heavy keys. The wicket in the door opened and a face peered at him.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Counsel, to see…’ Charles paused, and looked down at his notebook where he had written his clients’ names, ‘… Plumber and Sands.’

  The gaoler closed the wicket, and Charles heard him fumbling with the keys. The door swung inward.

  ‘Come in, sir’, said the gaoler. ‘They’ve just arrived.’ He closed the door behind Charles, and led him to another constructed of heavy steel vertical bars. ‘I’m afraid both interview rooms are occupied sir, so you’ll have to speak to them in the cell.’

  ‘That’s alright, I shan’t be long.’

  ‘Down on the left,’ pointed the gaoler, ‘last door.’

  Charles led the way down the narrow corridor. The gaoler opened the cell door. ‘Counsel to see you,’ he said to the occupants. Plumber and Sands were seated on the bench opposite the door. Plumber stood.

  ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to lock you in sir,’ said the gaoler.

  ‘That’s alright,’ replied Charles. The door closed behind him.

  ‘You know where the bell is, don’t you?’ called the gaoler.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  Charles held out his hand to Plumber, who stood and shook it, and then to Sands, who shook it also but remained seated.

  ‘My name’s Charles Holborne. Mr Cohen has asked me to come down and represent you on the remand.’ Charles drew a deep breath, and then wished he hadn’t. As his practice had grown, he did Magistrates’ Court cases less than he used to, and he had forgotten the smell of the cells. There was no other like it on earth, an extraordinary blend of fried food, sweat, urine, faeces and fear. The last was the most pungent ingredient – bitter, sharp and completely unmistakeable. Charles had noted that for some reason the cells in Crown Courts did not have quite the same smell; perhaps because by the time he had reached the Crown Court an accused man had worked out his defence, had met his barrister, and was at least prepared for his trial. The prisoners at Magistrates’ Courts on the other hand had often come straight from their interrogations, in some cases had been taken straight off the streets; they still smelt of the chase, animals at bay.

  This cell smelled particularly bad, and Charles peered into the lavatory bowl set into the floor in the far corner. It was full.

  ‘We’ve asked them twice tae flush it,’ said Sands, seeing Charles’s expression. ‘They’re too busy.’

  ‘I’ll give it a try,’ said Charles. He pressed the button on the wall, and shouted through the door. ‘Gaoler!’

  There was a pause, and then a voice called: ‘Are you finished sir?’

  ‘No, but would you please flush this toilet?’

  There was no reply. A few seconds later the toilet flushed, operated by the gaoler from outside.

  ‘Okay,’ continued Charles. ‘Mr Cohen rang me and gave me very brief details. This is the first time up, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ answered Plumber.

  ‘No application for bail?’ asked Charles for confirmation.

  ‘Hah!’ snorted Sands with a smile.

  ‘I didn’t think so,’ said Charles. ‘It’d be a waste of time, at least until we’ve seen the prosecution statements. When we know the strength of the case, then we can reconsider.’

  ‘So what’re you doin’ here, then?’ asked Sands. ‘PR?’

  Charles smiled. ‘Frankly, yes. Just holding your hands – ’

  ‘And making sure we dinnae sign up with another solicitor,’ interrupted Sands.

  Charles grinned, not upset. ‘It just so happens that I do have Legal Aid forms here for you to fill in. Of course, you’re free to nominate any solicitor you like. I understood that Mr Plumber has been with Cohen in the past…’

  ‘Yeh, I was, and very happy I was too,’ said Plumber turning to Sands.

  ‘Ach, it’s no skin off my nose,’ said Sands, stretching out on the bench and putting his hands behind his back.

  ‘Mr Sands, I shall be quite happy to represent Mr Plumber alone, and get the duty solicitor for you, if you like.’

  ‘No. Sign me up – at least for the present. We’ll get a silk in, in any event, won’t we?’

  ‘You’re entitled to a Q.C. on a murder charge, yes, but I’m afraid you may not find one at the Magistrates’ Court today.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Sands. ‘Gi’ us the form, and show me where tae sign.’

  ‘Just a few questions first,’ said Charles, opening the document. ‘Is there room for me to sit down for a moment?’ Sands swung his legs down, and Charles sat. ‘Okay. You first, Mr Sands. From the top: full name of applicant.’

  •

  Charles pulled open the door of the public telephone booth on the corner of Bow Street. The wall in front of him was plastered with pictures of scantily-clad women offering massage and escort services. Most were in Soho, less than a two-minute walk from where he stood. He smiled, fished in his pocket for some pennies, and dialled Cohen and Partners. He waited for the receptionist to say “Hello?” and pressed button A. He listened for the coins to drop and then spoke.

  ‘Hello, this is Mr Holborne at the Magistrates’ Court for Mr Cohen senior please.’

  ‘Please hold, Mr Holborne, and I’ll connect you.’

  The solicitor came on the line almost immediately.

  ‘Hello Charles. Have fun?’

  ‘God, I’d forgotten how revolting Magistrates’ Courts are.’

  ‘I thought you’d enjoy it – can’t have you getting too big for your boots. What do you think?’

  ‘Well I’ll fill you in when I get back to Chambers, but have you met them yet?’

  ‘I’ve known Derek Plumber for years. I represented him on his first driving offence twenty-five years ago. I’ve not met Sands. I just got a call from the nick asking if I’d like a murder case, and if so, get down to the Court.’

  ‘Blimey. What does that arrangement cost the firm?’

  Cohen laughed. ‘We’re on a rota, but I do know the desk sergeant at the police station quite well. I think he said the first couple of numbers he tried were engaged. So we were lucky I guess.’

  ‘OK. Plumber is straightforward enough, and my sense is that this is well out of his league. Sands on the other hand – quite a character. Reckons he’s a hard bastard.’

  ‘Is he?’

  ‘Probably. Can you get his CRB record and we’ll check his previous? Anyway, I had a chat with the officer in the case and he gave me the general position. They’ve both admitted the robbery, both denied the shooting.’

  ‘They’ve got a run then?’

  ‘It gets more interesting. They both claim a third man was with them, and he carried the sawn-off shotgun.’

  ‘What’s the police view of that?’

  ‘They think it’s a con, but I’m not sure they can prove it.’

  ‘Where does that leave our clients then?’

  ‘If the jury are sure one of them did it, but can’t make up their minds which one, they both have to be acquitted.’

  ‘Both?’

  ‘Of course. To convict, they must be satisfied so that they’re sure – beyond reasonable doubt. If it could have been either, they can’t be sure beyond reasonable doubt which one is guilty. You know, “It’s better to let ten guilty men go free than to convict one innocent man”, and all that stuff.’

  ‘I see,’ said Cohen. He digested the information. ‘What if it’s a joint charge?’

  ‘Ah, that would be different. If they can be proven to have agreed to the carrying of real weapons and to their use if necessary, I suppose the Crown might prove a joint enterprise in relation to the shooting. But that doesn’t look likely in these circumstances. There were, after all, two imitation guns, and from what I can remember of the statements I was shown, our clients were both seen inside the depot with one each. It does tend to support their story o
f a third man with the real gun.’

  ‘Okay. It looks as if this could be quite an interesting case. Any ideas for a leader?’

  ‘A leader? I thought I was doing this one solo,’ laughed Charles.

  ‘Sorry Charles; next time perhaps,’ joked Cohen. ‘We’ll need a silk on this. What was the name of that lady you were talking about recently?’

  ‘Barbara Whitlam. She’s excellent. Unfortunately, she’s now a judge.’

  ‘Oh. Any other ideas?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll make a few calls and let you know. For the present, you’ll no doubt be glad to know that Legal Aid was granted subject to their means being within the limits.’

  ‘You mean their declarable means, excluding the £138,000,’ joked Cohen.

  ‘Correct. Remanded for seven days.’

  ‘Get your clerks to put the return date in the diary. I don’t expect you to do it – do you think there will be a pupil available?’

  ‘I should think so. If there’s a problem, I’ll give you a call.’

  Charles ended the conversation, and dialled Chambers. Stanley picked up almost immediately.

  ‘Stanley? It’s Charles Holborne.’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘I’m on my way back, but could you get me the number of Mr Michael Rhodes Thomas? He’s somewhere on King’s Bench Walk. Number 5 I think, or maybe 7.’

  ‘Do you want to speak to the clerk or to Mr Rhodes Thomas himself, sir?’ answered Stanley.

  ‘Well, if he’s in, I’ll speak to Mr Rhodes Thomas. Back in 15.’

  Charles hung up, pulled his collar up, and stepped out of the phone box. The heavy rain had given way to a thick drizzle. He splashed his way through the puddles and broken paving stones towards the Aldwych. Fifteen minutes later he was back in the Temple, hanging his saturated coat on the back of his door, when it opened slightly and Sally put her head in.

  ‘Afternoon sir,’ she said. ‘The clerk to Mr Rhodes Thomas is on the line for you. And I thought you might like this.’ She had a mug of steaming tea in her hand.

  ‘You’re an angel, Sally,’ said Charles. ‘Can you put it on my desk?’