by Neil Wild
“That man’s an arsehole; a condescending arsehole.” Fumed Lisa as she stomped into Brakespeare’s office. “Will I know how to take him through the exhibits? Will I know what to look for?”
“What did you tell him?”
“That if he had any complaints ask Gordon. He won’t of course. He knows what Gordon will say.”
Brakespeare smiled to himself. “Well that’s alright. When’s he coming in?” “Tomorrow. I’ll see him in the Board Room, if that’s OK.”
“Well you can’t see him in here. I’ll use your office. You don’t need to take all the boxes out at one go. I don’t think it’ll take long. I’ suspect that a lot of the documents are irrelevant.”
“However short, it’s too long, with that man.”
The telephone bell prevented any other conversation. This anger was yet another side to Lisa that Brakespeare had not seen, and he was intrigued. It was as if she was opening up to him. Brakespeare reached the phone.
“Mr. Gargan, already?” Brakespeare asked rhetorically of Tracy the receptionist, as she announced the call. Gargan had wasted no time in acting. This was most unlike the slow shambling pseudo Irishman. He obviously had a point to prove.
“Hello again, Joe.”
“Hello again, my man. It’s your lucky day. I managed to catch our mutual friend Durkin straightaway. He says that there is a garage full of boxes at Old Hill Police Station and you’re more than welcome to go and see them at any time. He says that some toffee nosed woman from the C.P.S. in London had been up, and took what she wanted, and that must be what you have, but there’s a whole lot more left behind.” Joe paused for dramatic effect. “He says that he has all the files from both the National and Redshaw Linden and Steele. They were collected by the National and handed over to the Police.”
“Joe that’s great. I will go and have a look at those papers, but I’ll have to do it through proper channels – the C.P.S. in London. If you speak to Durkin again, tell him that.”
“That I will to be sure - and Jonny.”
“Yes”
“You’ll keep your old comrade in touch won’t you.”
“Of course, you want us to win don’t you Joe.”
“Put it this way, when Joe’s right, he likes to know he’s right.”
“Thanks Joe.”
“’Tis a pleasure Jonny.”
Lisa had been listening.
“Who’s Joe?”
“Well now we’re a team, I’d better let you know. He’s the man I said I had to make a telephone call to”. Brakespeare explained his connection with Joe but spared her too much detail. “Looks as if there is a whole stack of papers the Prosecution have not disclosed. When did that letter go?”
“About 3 days ago.”
“Can you give them a call to chase them. I want everything sorted as much as we can by the time we have our next conference.”
“Sure will. After Mr. Newberry, I could do with crossing swords with someone.”
After she had left the room, Brakespeare shut the door and then dialled the mobile telephone number that Newberry had given him. It was answered almost immediately.
“Martin.”
“Mr. Martin, my name is Jonny Brakespeare – David Newberry’s solicitor”.
“How can I be of at help?” The response was immediate.
“Can I briefly ask you about a witness statement you have made, producing a bundle of exhibits – Exhibit XS2?”
“Yes, but I know nothing about the bundle?”
“No?”
“No, it was put together by the Crown Prosecution Service from files that I had collected and handed to the Police. I just checked to see that the documents came from the file and signed the statement. I’ve never read them.”
“So did you know what files they came from.”
“Yes, there were two sets. I got hold of the original correspondence files both from the National and the surveyors.
“Did you put them together.”
“How do you mean? “
“Well I don’t know if you noticed, but XS2 contains copies of the original letters from both sides, so it looks as if someone has taken the originals of letters received by the National and put them with originals of the letters received from the National by the Surveyors.”
“Really. Do you know, I hadn’t really noticed.”
“But you did have the two sets of files.”
“Certainly, yes.”
“What did you do with them.”
“As I said, I handed them over to the Police, to a D.C. I can’t for the life of me think of his name.”
“Could it be Durkin”
“That’s the one. Funny name. I should have remembered it.”
“So he ought to have them?”
“Should do.”
“Mr. Martin, thank you very much.”
“Is that all?”
“For now, yes.”
“Let me know how you get on.”
“I’m sure that Mr. Newberry will, even if I don’t. Bye.”
Brakespeare put the telephone down. He just had to see those files. Someone appeared to have been both very selective and incompetent about the correspondence, or did they want to destroy their own case? He swung his chair round from his desk and stared through the window out at Deansway. It was something he now did of habit whenever he wanted to think. He had been in that position for a few minutes when Lisa re-entered.
“Christ, I do seem to be getting them today.”
Brakespeare swung round again.
“Meaning”
“I got through to this Enid Crawford woman. She had received our letter and was considering it. I told her that that wasn’t good enough, and that it was clear from Exhibit XS2 that there must be more correspondence between the National and Black which hadn’t been disclosed; that quite clearly Black was not the independent expert the prosecution alleged because he had been trying to find a buyer on behalf of the National and had been charging bloody extortionate fees for his valuations, and that unless we had a full disclosure of all the bloody documents in the possession or control of the Prosecution, that we would be making an immediate application to the Court.”
Brakespeare sat back in his seat, genuinely amazed.
“You said all that?
Lisa nodded.
“Bloody Hell. That must have gone down well. What did she say?”
“Well as soon as I finished I thought that I was going to get a blasting, but I didn’t. She just asked me my name – I told her that I was the Defence Solicitor’s Personal Assistant – and she said she would call me back as soon as possible.”
Brakespeare rose from his chair and wrapped his arms round her. He noted that there was no resistance, so kissing her on the forehead, he stood back from her with his hands on her arms and said, “Miss Barnes, that was terrific. I wouldn’t have dared do that.”
“You couldn’t. Solicitors are supposed to behave themselves. I‘m just a trainee and permitted to make mistakes – if necessary.”
“Long may you continue to make them. What did she sound like though.”
“Unsure of herself. Perhaps unsure of the case.”
“Well if we keep on launching missiles at her, she’s bound to become nervous.”
The telephone rang, and Brakespeare picked it up. Turning to Lisa he held out the receiver to her. “Well that didn’t take long. It’s your friend.”
Looking puzzled, Lisa took the receiver from him. ”Hello?”
She listened to the voice at the other end and a smile spread over her face.
“Pen and paper”, she whispered, and bent over Brakespeare’s desk, as she wrote a number down.
“Thank you. No, there’s no need to confirm it in writing. Sure, Goodbye.”
Triumphantly she handed the receiver back to Brakespeare who replaced it in it’s cradle.
“There you are. Call D.C. Durkin to make any arrangements. Here’s the number.”
Her fac
e was close to his. Gently she put her lips against his, and then pulled away from him.
“We’re not just a team, we’re a winning team Jonny Brakespeare.” she smiled. Brakespeare felt the same stirring in his loins that Mel produced in him.
chapter twenty one
That stirring was still with Brakespeare as he drove home for the weekend. Lisa had certainly grown in confidence with him, and had shed the politically correct feminist aura she had assumed when they first met.
It was above all her personality that had initially attracted him. Now there was now a chemistry between them, he had no doubt of it, but if she was as involved with Morrison as she said she was, she was still out of bounds. “She’s staff” as Mortimer had said.
Many men would have no scruples, and would try and bed her as quickly as they could. He did not know how long he would be with the firm, and the last thing he needed to do was to cause a problem in the office. If she was as unpopular as she claimed because of her relationship with Morrison, then if she was seen to be involved with him, it would do neither of them any good.
Could he have a relationship with two women? A cerebral, but possibly affectionate one with Lisa, and a purely sexual one with Mel? That might work, but then Mel was peripatetic and unreliable from that point of view. Would he be happy with that? Would it be fair on both. That didn’t matter did it, because neither of them need know about the other. Yes, that might work.
But Lisa had said that Morrison was dying. Would he be asked to stay on in the firm? Would he want to stay on a permanent basis? If he did so, what would happen to his relationship with Lisa? Would it blossom after Morrison’s death? He could just see Margaret turning up her nose if Lisa transferred her affections from Morrison to him. The idea of being a sexual successor was not appealing.
Why couldn’t things be straightforward? Well, thinking about it, nothing had been for years now! Mind you, the results he was getting on Newberry’s case were the most positive things that had happened to him in a long while. His instinct as a lawyer told him that there were too many cracks in the Prosecution case for it to succeed. Unfortunately, as he well knew, when cases go before a court, what transpires during the trial often bears no resemblance to the case that the lawyers have prepared. Holes suddenly appear in seemingly cast iron cases; and hopeless cases take on a life force of their own.
There were just too many questions about Newberry to allow a trial before a jury. God, what would the jurors make of his adulterous relationship with Mrs Potter – not to mention their illegitimate child. They would convict him on that alone!
Then there was the question of the discrepancies in Black’s valuations. You might get a jury of morons whose eyes would glaze over at the sight of a spreadsheet. They would simply assume that if matters had to be reduced to charts and diagrams, then Newberry must be guilty. The Judge might understand, but a jury might not. No, juries liked simple, straightforward human stories, just like they saw on television and where the goodies were good, and the baddies were bad. The best juries from a defence point of view were those that had bad experiences with an awful police force – and there were a lot of those about.
Then there was Newberry’s heart. Perhaps better not to think too much about that complication.
He had taken the Motorway home; it had been hard work concentrating on driving in a traffic queue proceeding at seventy miles per hour, but he was too excited at what Lisa had discovered to want a gentle cross country run. The high speed run had matched his mood.
He pulled onto the drive of the house in Furzton, and became excited at the thought that Mel might be home and what that entailed. Trevor’s car was there, but both he and Mel regarded the University geography lecturer as a nonentity. He opened the front door with his Yale key, and called out “Hello, anyone at home?”
“Hello Jonny”, Trevor replied as he came out of the kitchen.
“Mel about?” asked Brakespeare as innocently as he could.
His house-mate looked surprised. “Didn’t she tell you - she’s gone.”
Brakespeare was stunned. His expression must have shown his bewilderment, because Trevor continued.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Funny girl. Yes, she popped in one evening this week with a big black man, and took her things. She said she had spoken to the Landlord, and given him a months rent in lieu of notice, so he was happy to let her go.”
“Where has she gone?” Brakespeare tried to pull himself together. Trevor was clearly blind to his relationship with Mel.
Trevor shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t worry though. I’ve found someone to replace her. A colleague of mine from the O.U., Martin, is going to move in this weekend.” He paused. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t know where you were, and Martin was desperate for somewhere to live. It has saved Mel some rent.”
“Martin?”
“Well, yes.” said Trevor, looking a little uncertain. “It’s better don’t you think. Women can be distracting.”
“Yes, of course.” said Brakespeare slowly. “Right, I’m glad to know that you’ve managed to sort things out so quickly. Well, I look forward to meeting your friend Martin.?”
He went upstairs to his room and opened the bedroom door. A tatty brown envelope was behind it, partly caught under the bottom of the door.
It was simply addressed to ‘Johnny” in a spidery hand. He knew instinctively that it was from Mel. Inside was a message written on a sheet of lined paper torn from a notepad.
“Dear Johnny
It is best I do it this way. I feel for you more than I let on. However it can’t work between us, but you’ve shown me what I’ve been looking for. I’m going to give up dancing and go back to my husband, Dwight, and my kids, Cleveland and Chelsey.. It won’t be the same as with you, but I’ve got to try and make the best of it. I will always remember you; you made me feel a woman again and gave me my self respect back.
Love,
Melanie”
Brakespeare sat on the edge of his bed and wished that he could cry. The note raised more questions than it answered. He had persuaded himself that his relationship with Mel was purely sexual, and shouldn’t feel this way.
He suddenly realised that Mel had been the one good thing in his life, and he had not recognised it. He could have done more for her than he did.
He felt sad and lonely. The euphoria over the case evaporated. He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.
chapter twenty two
Back at work Brakespeare was thankful that he was occupied enough not to think of Mel. In the evenings, a dark cloud blanketed him when he thought of her disappearance. He was not sure whether she had been more important to him than he had realised, or whether he was exaggerating her importance.
Lisa was more warm and friendly towards him than she had ever been. The fact that he had accepted her relationship with Morrison without question or censure seemed to have reassured her. A shared confidence brings people together.
Now she was at his side in the passenger seat of the Fiat, a Street Atlas of the West Midlands on her lap, as she navigated him through the maze of former villages that was the Black Country.
“Right, we’re on the Halesowen Road, and the Police Station is on the corner of Court Street, next to the Magistrates Court on our left. Here we are. Turn left, and pull into the yard at the back of the Station.”
It had not taken any effort to arrange to meet D.C. Durkin at the Station. He had seemed anxious for the company. Brakespeare was pleased that Lisa had agreed to come with him. She had been through all the exhibits with Newberry, but had not found anything of significance. “No comment” was a bored Newberry stock answer to each sheet of paper. All that they had established was that the properties had been valued, mortgaged and bought. When Lisa had explained this to Brakespeare, it seemed to them both that the stack of exhibits had been included to literally add physical weight to the Prosecution case, because they advanced it no further.
What was missing were the complete
files that must have existed covering Black’s attempts to act as selling agent for the properties. If Martin was to be believed they would be here in this dingy part of the Black Country. The correspondence that Lisa had discovered had obviously included to try and demonstrate in some way that Black’s valuations had arisen out of the normal course of business and were not a forensic exercise for the benefit of the case.
Whoever had made the decision to include them was either blind or foolish.
Old Hill Police Station had been built by the Staffordshire Constabulary, at some time in the late 19th century, long before the West Midlands County Council and it’s Police had been formed. Jonny had regularly come out here to prosecute when working in Birmingham; it meant profitable travel and subsistence expenses which he did not get in Birmingham, where he was but a short walk from the Victoria Law Courts. It also was a refreshing change of scenery.
The Magistrates Court was immediately next door, and had the words ‘Police Court’ written over the door. That was the Victorian way of thinking. The Court was there to deal with those who had been arrested by the Police. In the days when a Defendant could not give evidence in his defence, he probably stood little chance of the local worthies who comprised the Magistrates Bench disbelieving the Police Sergeant who ran the Court.
It had probably been a fine building when it was first built, but years of industrial grime now made it look distinctly downmarket. Jonny suspected that it would not be long before it was closed, and such policing as now existed would probably be carried out from one of the nearby large towns in the name of efficiency. Old Hill would rarely see a copper.
Brakespeare pulled into the yard at the rear, as Lisa had directed. He was sorry that the journey was over. It had been an enjoyable journey and the conversation had flowed easily.
“Right here we are; let’s see what the world has in store for us now.” he announced as he pulled the handbrake on. They left the car and went round to the front of the Station. It was dark and dank. There seemed little sign of life as Brakespeare pressed the button in response to the invitation ‘Please ring for attention’ on the counter.
