by Neil Wild
"Aren't they owned by the National Building Society?"
Mortimer paused to gauge Brakespeare’ s reaction to mention of the name. He could immediately see the young man tense up.
"It’s now the National Bank, they went public a year or so ago. The Chief Executive Clive Masters allegedly made a mint out of it. They say that now there’s American fingers in the pie"
He paused again, but Brakespeare just looked at him steadily. "You've read my C. V.“ he said. It was a statement and not a question
"Yes, I have - and that's another reason why we think that you'll fit the bill. We thought that you might like to try and get your own back. Can’t beat motivation. However, that's bye the bye. David worked for them and the patch he covered was Greater London. He lives in Malvern, which is about 10 miles over there." Mortimer pointed in a vague south westerly direction.
"I know, I've been there. A lovely place. "
"The partners in this firm own a little property company, which makes us some money on the side. David does unofficial surveys for us, for the price of a pint. "
What was he getting sucked into wondered Brakespeare. This sounded a little too close to home. Was there a connection between Newberry’s problem – whatever it was, and the firm. Is that why they selected him.?
"So one of your friends has got himself mixed up - in what?" Brakespeare made sure that his left eyebrow was quizzically raised.
Mortimer smiled to himself He rather liked the young man's combativeness. "Allegedly, mixed up. "
Both men smiled. They both knew the rules. If a client tells his lawyer that he is innocent, he must accept that, and fight for him to the best of his ability. Despite what he may suspect, a lawyer does not have to sit in judgement on his client.
“A multi million pound property fraud.” said Mortimer slowly.
chapter three
Mortimer led Brakespeare out of his office, and along a corridor that ran for the width of the old building. He turned left into a room similar to his own; with a big bay window also overlooking the Deansway. In the middle of the room was a large pine coloured executive desk facing the door. Against the opposite wall from the window was a similarly coloured wooden cabinet and in a corner, to the left of the desk, two large filing cabinets.
Round the walls were pictures of racing and sports cars, and several of a white Lotus Elan. Brakespeare walked up to one to examine it more closely.
"That's Gordon in his Lotus Elan", said Mortimer.
"He races?"
"Did. In sprints and hill climbs. Anyway here's your desk, and in here ..... " He opened a door to the right of the desk and next to the window which led into a small closet "... is all the evidence. "
Brakespeare went over and stood at the door. His heart sank as he looked at the stacks of boxes of papers.
"Has anyone looked at them"
"I'm afraid not, unless Lisa has. They arrived the day before Gordon collapsed. That’s why there's a bit of pressure on things I'm afraid. Ah, here's Margaret. "
Brakespeare turned round as a rotund middle aged woman in a royal blue two piece suit bustled in through the door. Her dark brown air was too dark to be natural for her age, and the uniform of an efficient secretary was completed by the dark rimmed pair of spectacles
"You must be Mr. Brakespeare. I'm Margaret Lynch. I'm so very pleased to meet you."
She came up to him and shook his hand enthusiastically while looking straight into his eyes. Her message was clear; that she was in charge, and was protecting her real master’s territory. Brakespeare didn't mind. This was just a temporary assignment. He put on his deepest charm, and gazed back at her.
"How do you do."
"Well, I’ll leave you both to sort things out. See you later Jonny." Bill Mortimer patted him on his back as he left.
"Let me take your coat" said Margaret, and closing the office door, hung the Cashmere on the coat hook behind it.
"Now if you'd like to sit down, perhaps we can go through what needs to be done urgently. Perhaps I may go through them with you?"
"Apart from the Newberry case?"
Margaret's face wrinkled with distaste. "Mr. Morrison seems to think that it was pretty hopeless from what Mr. Newberry told him. But I expect that you'll take a fresh look at it."
" I've been told that the case is my priority."
Margaret paused, choosing her words carefully.
"I am afraid that Mr. Mortimer has no real appreciation of the cases in this department, and so it is only natural that he sees Mr. Newberry as the priority." She quite clearly did not like Mr. Newberry. "However we do have other clients and so .... ?" Brakespeare nodded in submission. No point in getting into an argument at this stage. He sat down in the high backed leather chair, and Margaret perched on a chair on the opposite side of the desk.
On the left hand side of the desk were two large piles of files. On the floor were two others. In front of him was a an old fashioned ink blotter which quite clearly had had some use, and waiting for him on the blotter was a printed list of the files. He picked it up.
"As you see, I have summarised all the files, and indicated what I believe the action to be taken is.”
Brakespeare noted how precisely Margaret spoke. He nodded.
"If I may, I will take you through the notes in more detail". For the next half hour Margaret professionally explained the stage that each case had reached; what needed to be done, and the degree of urgency.
At the end of her tour de force, Margaret looked up at him. She smiled. "Not a lot is there?"
"Not a lot - plus Mr. Newberry?"
She avoided the question. "I'm sure that you'll cope. And now I expect that you'd like some tea. "
"I was wondering when." It was 9.45 and Brakespeare had had nothing to drink since his breakfast at 7.00.
"Cup or mug?"
"Mug, please. White, no sugar."
Margaret got up to leave. As she did so the room door opened and a girl came in. From the way that Margaret nodded politely at her, but otherwise ignored her it was clear that people clearly came in two shades for Margaret; bad and good, and that she no more approved of the girl than she did of Mr. Newberry.
"Hi", said the girl, extending a hand. "I'm Lisa." There was a transatlantic twang to her otherwise standard English accent.
Brakespeare stood up from his seat, and walked round to the other side of the desk to greet her.
"Hello, I'm Jonny".
Lisa saw a thirty something man; medium build with mousy hair and blue eyes. Pleasant looking without being handsome. She liked the way his face crinkled when he smiled, but he looked, well, sort of world weary she thought. He also seemed very tense.
Brakespeare saw a slight figure with long dark black hair, parted in the centre and curtaining the sides of her face. She wore a loose flowery blouse, and a long dark skirt and flat shoes, so that it was impossible to gauge her figure. She seemed, well, dreamy; the sort of girl who’d rather like to be a lawyer, rather than the aggressive type of person that a lawyer needs to be. He’s always found the best female lawyers to be bovine in nature.
She was probably in her mid twenties; attractive but not obviously so. What he did seize upon were her eyes; large, dark and expressive. He immediately knew that he liked her.
"You're the paralegal "
"Yeah, I've been working with Gordon. He's great." she said with enthusiasm.
"Aha", thought Brakespeare, detecting an attraction, but said only, "And you have a degree, from where?"
"West Country University, Bristol"
Brakespeare must have looked puzzled and the girl picked up his thoughts.
“I have dual nationality; British and U.S. I was born and raised in the States. My father’s American – from Ploughskeepie – New York State. My mother came from Bristol, and father met her while she was working as a secretary in New York”.
The statement sounded as if it had been well rehearsed, and Lisa looked directly at him, as if cha
llenging him to ask more. Brakespeare simply nodded and noted that her background would be something to possibly explore later in the chatting up process.
"And you couldn't get a solicitors training contract?" he asked, continuing the conversation.
"No, I only got a lower second, and when you're up against people with first class honours degrees from the major universities, you don't stand a chance of getting one.” She rattled of the sentence quickly, as if that was another rehearsed statement.
"Well I'm afraid that the solicitors' profession is a little overcrowded. There was a pause, and Lisa moved her gaze to the floor and back again into his eyes, and smiled determinedly. "I'll make it, don't you worry." There was another pause as she looked at him.
"Well, anyway," she said." Here I am, ready willing and able to help."
"I'm not sure what you can do at the moment until I plough my way through this pile of files, and I’m supposed to get on top of those boxes in the cupboard."
"OK, well call me if you need me. I'm just down the corridor and up the stairs. I've a pile of files just like yours, but my tasks are merely clerical - and they make me do my own typing."
With a smile she swung round on her heels, and waltzed to the door.
"She’s nice" was Brakespeare’s automatic thought, wondering if there was an opportunity there, and he sat down at the desk. Apart from the brown girl, he had had no involvement with the opposite sex since his divorce, and was now beginning to regret it. It would be nice to find someone who would be a soul mate; to fall in love with – no that’s a girl thing.
The sex that he did have was purely recreational, although he sometimes fantasised that with Mel it could be more than that. With a big sigh he reached for the first file, just as Margaret brought in the tea.
chapter four
Dick Ridley came into the office. Perhaps in his late thirties or early forties he was the dullest of men. His concern was domestic conveyancing; the buying and selling of houses. A journeyman solicitor, thought Brakespeare. His dark green suit was crumpled and shiny, but it was the woollen waistcoat that spoke volumes about him.
He seemed slightly nervous and unsure of himself. Brakespeare found conversation with him to be hard work, as Ridley needed to pause for thought before he spoke; clearly not a lawyer who made regular appearances in Court, and who has to think seconds ahead of his mouth. That was no doubt why Ridley stuck to the desk job of conveyancing.
After about 5 minutes of polite platitudes, there was an even longer pause, and then the reason for the visit came out.
"I don't suppose by any chance that you've been able to look at the Newberry papers. "
“I’m afraid not, although I understand that they're pressing. "
A pause. Brakespeare decided to take the initiative.
"How come you're interested - I mean you don't deal with litigation, do you." Ridley seemed to have found a mental accelerator, and came back immediately.
"No, no, of course not, but David introduced a lot of work to this firm through his contacts, and well, quite frankly, since all this mess started, it's dried up."
"So your interest is purely mercenary?" Brakespeare regretted saying it before he had finished the sentence.
A deep frown filled Ridley's face, and mildly, but in what for him would be a serious tone, he said "I say, that's a bit steep. I know David well, and I am interested in his welfare also. "
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. Was he a key player?"
"A key player?"
"Did a lot of work come from him?"
"An awful lot, yes.
"And you're a partner in the property company?"
Ridley looked surprised. "Bill Mortimer told you about that?”
"Yes"
"Well then, yes I am."
"So really this firm has a lot hanging on the result of the case?"
Ridley looked uncomfortable. "Well, yes, I suppose that you could say that, yes.”
He looked at the floor for a few moments, nodding to himself as he thought. Then he looked up, half smiled, and left.
After dictating on a few files in order to give Margaret some work to do, Brakespeare felt able to look at the boxes of files. He soon found that the task of coming to grips with the case was not going to be as bad as he had first anticipated. In one box was a list of witness statements and the statements themselves. The remaining boxes consisted of reams of documents being produced as prosecution exhibits, and to which Brakespeare avoided doing anything other than noting that they were there.
As was usual in a conspiracy case, the Prosecution had included everything that they appeared to have in their possession from David Newberry's working files, to the Developers working files; the Developer’s solicitors working files - everything and anything.
None of the documentation seemed to go to the heart of the prosecution case. At first blush, from the statements, it seemed a little vague to Brakespeare as to what they were trying to prove. However as the picture painted by the prosecution became clearer, he began to experience that familiar feeling of dread that his forensic antennae always generated - mission impossible
The first document he looked at was the conspiracy charge itself and it's complicated particulars drawn in the old fashioned language that lawyers seem to be unable to avoid:-
"David Newberry conspired together with Jonathan Levy and Simon Simmons to dishonestly defraud the National Building Society by agreeing with the said Jonathan Levy and Simon Simmons that he would ensure that the said National Building Society accepted as good and valuable security for any loans that they might make, properties which did not represent the value attributed to them, had the said properties been valued at a proper and fair market price, and in doing so he failed to inform the said National Building Society of his financial interest and/or personal involvement in the company known as Clearfield Properties Limited controlled by the said Jonathan Levy, it's subsidiaries or associated companies"
Brakespeare blinked. What on earth did this gobbledeygook mean? Levy must be the builder and Clearfield Properties his company. Newberry was supposed to have a financial interest in the company? It wasn’t the company the partners were involved in was it?
Was that it?! Were they a hairs breadth of being involved in the conspiracy?!
His thoughts were interrupted when Mortimer came into the room without knocking, something Brakespeare would soon learn was a non endearing trait.
“Cracked it yet?” he asked jovially, but clearly with deadly purpose.
“I don’t suppose that you can explain this case to me in simple English, can you?”
Mortimer looked at him with a slightly worried look.
“Just to save some time? The charge is as clear as mud.”
“Yes, of course”, and Mortimer quickly helped himself to a chair on the opposite side of the table. Another non endearing trait, Brakespeare would learn, was that Mortimer loved an audience.
"So what's it all about - in a nutshell?" asked Brakespeare.
Mortimer relaxed in his chair, and started to enjoy himself.
“As I said, David is a Surveyor, and in fact he was, or technically still is, the head of National Surveyors Greater London region. He has about 30 other staff surveyors working under him.
"Did he work in London - and live in Malvern?"
"Yes. His was mainly a desk job. Anyway, before the National Bank converted from a Building Society, a couple of years ago, but - and this may be important, - according to David, after the decision to change had been taken in principal…,” Mortimer spoke slowly to emphasise his point, “Your friend Masters apparently decided that the Society needed grow rather rapidly, and so they decided to become involved in commercial lending to raise the profitability. This is where we think the Americans came in. Masters led them to believe that there were some fast bucks to be made out of the conversion to a Bank.
So, according to David, there was an all out push in this direction, and he, by introduc
tion, met a London property developer, called Jonathan Levy. Apparently Levy specialised in buying up old Victorian Houses in West London, and converting them into flats. He had been doing this in a small way, but was quite successful, and in order to expand, he needed more capital.
David came up with a scheme, which he says was fully approved by the National, to agree 80 percent mortgages based on the estimated final value after the conversion work had been completed, and to be loaned initially as to 80% of the purchase price when the property was bought, and the balance in stage payments as the conversion gradually took place. "
"That sounds slightly risky, if I may say so."
"Possibly. It meant that the National was financially exposed far more than the developer, but this was at the time when property prices were rising quite fast, and according to David, his estimates of the final value were conservative."
"His estimates"
"Yes, David carried out some of the surveys for the National himself. Only a small number, he says. "
"So he both found the borrower and carried out the valuations?"
Mortimer smiled once more at the young man. "Yes, sounds odd doesn't it, but remember that the National were keen to acquire this business. David himself didn't approve the lending applications, and the National were charging high rates of interest to reflect the speculative lending. Like all banks, as we now know, they were taking risks."
"So what went wrong."
"Initially nothing. Apparently about several dozen transactions went through without a problem, and National made quite a lot of money; more than they would have done if they had been lending on ordinary domestic properties. However, as you probably know, after the boom, came the Northern Rock fiasco, and the credit crunch, and the property market slowed right down. "
"And the converted flats didn't sell?"
"Correct, and of course National was exposed."
" I expect that there was quite a fair bit of capital owed to National. "
"As I said this is a multi million pound case; I'm not sure how much. I'm sure that the precise figure is somewhere in the boxes. The National found itself with a sizeable chunk of money outstanding on what was supposed to be short term lending. A decision was taken to repossess the properties and sell them. They had to sell them off for less than was owed, although David says that the sale prices were higher than they were originally valued, but there was a substantial shortfall. "
