Unravel a Crime - Tangle With Women

by Neil Wild

  “Let me go ahead. I’ll get ready. Come up in a few minutes.”

  Brakespeare could not look her in the eye, but nodded. With Mel out of action at least it looked as if he was going to get laid. But did he want to? The memories of sex with Sophie were distant now. While he was excited at the thought of the act, he felt no more desire for her as a person than he would for a hooker. He drained his glass. Well at least it was free.

  He went upstairs. Sophie was sleeping in the large double room opposite her parents bedroom. They must have been in on this. It was all too contrived.

  He knocked on the door. “Come in.” Sophie called.

  The room smelled of perfume. She was sitting on the bed in a basque, a thong and stockings. She had put her hair up, and a little too much make up on. He groaned inwardly. It was all so false. Did any men really like to have their women dressed up in this ridiculous way, or was it a woman’s idea of what men wanted?

  The bedroom had it’s own ensuite bathroom.

  “I’ll just go in here”, he indicated. Sophie nodded, and as he drew near her, held her lips out for a kiss.

  “Why not?” thought Brakespeare and went to kiss her.

  He was surprised when she put her tongue in his mouth and pressed him closer. She rolled back, pulling him with her. He lay on top of her. The whisky began to have the effect that she no doubt intended. He fondled her breasts, insofar as he could, because the cups of the basque protected as well as supported them.

  “Take it off me.” breathed Sophie.

  “Let me go to the bathroom” he said.

  “Don’t be long she smiled.

  He noticed that the bowl of the bidet was wet. She would be clean. He stepped into the shower and used the mint shower gel to refresh himself. It tingled.

  There was a clean towel, which had obviously been put out for him, and he dried himself. Sophie still lay on the bed. Her head lying back

  “I want you Jonny.” she said in a high voice. “I want you.”

  Sophie had never said anything like that in either their courtship or their marriage. She had always been the passive one; taking but not really giving. Still, he was here and she was there, and regardless as to whether or not they would get back together, there would be little harm done. He felt slightly self conscious at being naked, and he could see Sophie lifting her head to look at him. There wasn’t much to see at the moment, but that would change.

  Moving to the bed he slowly opened her legs and peeled the thong off. He was surprised to she that she had removed all body hair, what was it called? A Brazilian that was it. He had not seen one before. Sophie smiled at the expression on his face.

  Perhaps her sighs had not been feigned after all. She was very aroused.

  He put his head between her thighs. Cunnilingus was an acquired taste, but she was clean; very clean..

  “Rip it off” she had commanded and he tore off the basque; the fastenings popping open.

  “Yes, Jonny, yes,” she breathed after twenty minutes of foreplay.

  He lay her on her back and prepared to penetrate her.

  It was then that his passion waned. It had been fine until now, but he knew that if he took her now, it would affect his relationship with Mel – and Lisa. He would also be making the commitment that Sophie wanted. Was she was using any form of contraception? Another baby was the last thing he wanted.

  “What’s the matter, Jonny?” Sophie asked, as he hung over her, supporting himself on his arms.

  He shook his head, and fell on his side.

  “I can’t. I can’t do it.”

  Sophie looked at his body. “Don’t worry. It’ll come back.” and she snuggled next to him on top of the bed.

  But it didn’t come back. Sophie tried to arouse him again, without success.

  “Let’s get under the quilt”, she said. She tried snuggling up against him, her hands slowly exploring his body. Eventually, she turned onto her side away from him. Jonny could hear her sighing. Then she started sobbing.

  Brakespeare could do not more. In his heart of hearts he knew that it was really all over. He swung of the bed and found his clothes.

  “Sorry, Sophie.” he said. “I’d better go. Tell the kids that – well tell them what you feel best. Tell them Daddy says have a good party, and I’ll be seeing them soon. Sorry.”

  He left the house quietly.

  chapter forty one

  For reasons best known to the Court Service the actual hearing was at a Building known as The Borough in Pocock Street., a workaday street buried in South London off Blackfriars Road. The Hearing was at 10.30. That meant that Brakespeare had had to catch the 6.28 a.m. from Worcester to arrive in London just before 9.00. allowing him and Newberry an hour and a half to find it.

  Brakespeare was never at his best early in the morning. He was depressed by the events of the week end. He had not spoken with Sophie since the disaster of Saturday night. He had tried to find Mel, but realised that she had not told him where she was moving to. He wanted to talk to Lisa, but didn’t know how to find her. If men could cry easily, Brakespeare would have done so that weekend.

  For Newberry, even though his fate was not going to be decided that day, it was the day that he had been waiting for. He had been doing his own research among Surveyors literature, books and rules. Throughout the journey he insisted on making detailed technical points to Newberry who was neither in the mood to absorb them or indeed, do anything with the information. For the two and a half hours of the journey he was forced to concentrate sufficiently to contribute “yes” or “no” to the conversation in order to reassure Newberry that he had an attentive audience, when he really wanted to consider his own problems.

  The train was late, and the pair had to take a taxi to the Court at some expense, but at least it saved a long and stuffy journey by the Underground.

  The Court Building was of that totally uniquely horrible and unindividual design that many public service buildings are. They went through the main entrance where they were vetted and their bags examined and scanned before they were allowed into the precincts.

  “Is this normal?” asked Newberry.

  “Getting more and more so I’m afraid,. It’s the times we live in.”

  The entrance foyer was crowded with the usual bunch of Crown Court attendees. Defendants looking either surly or cocky; either not wanting to speak to anyone or else cracking jokes to their attendant wives and mistresses. Witnesses were looking bewildered and trying to find somewhere to hide away from the Defendants. Self important Court Ushers in black gowns were barking at people and ordering them where to go. Solicitors or their representatives, carrying bulging briefcases, were trying to find either their clients or their barristers, and barristers were parading up and down trying to find solicitors and clients.

  Brakespeare asked an Usher where the barristers’ robing room was. It was too minor a question to deserve a full answer, and he was given by a vague gesture towards the back of the building.

  Newberry’s constant chatter since the beginning of their journey had gradually subsided as they approached the Court, to the point where he simply looked nervous. He waved to a man across the foyer.

  When Brakespeare looked enquiringly at him, “Jonathan Levy” he explained.

  “I wonder what he’s doing?” mused Brakespeare.

  “Not Guilty.” volunteered Newberry.

  “How do you know, have you spoken to him?”

  “Yes, no reason not to.”

  “Have you told him what we’ve found?”

  “Yes”.

  “I haven’t heard anything from his solicitors.”

  “They think that they should have heard from you.”

  Newberry was now in aggressive mode.

  “Bugger that.” said Brakespeare. “I’m working for you, not Levy.”

  “Yes, but he was a client of your firm.”

  “Sorry.” Brakespeare stopped walking, and with pent up emotion flew at Newberry. “Are you
telling me that as your solicitor, you wanted me to work hand in glove with another Defendant’s solicitors? Don’t you realise that the charge against you is one of conspiracy. The last thing you do in a conspiracy charge is fraternise with the Co-Defendants. You need to put as much distance as you can between yourself and him.”

  Newberry looked shocked. “I think he expected us to help. I think he thinks that I got him into all this.”

  “But you didn’t, did you.”

  “No”

  “Then there’s no need to help him. It could equally be said that it was he who got you into this” Brakespeare said pointedly. “Ah, there she is.” He caught sight of Rosemary Lappin talking in the distance to another barrister. Both were wearing the garb originally worn as a token of mourning the death of Queen Anne in 1714.; wigs, gowns and white tabs at the collar. Brakespeare waited until she had finished her conversation, and then walked towards her.

  “Good morning Jonny, good morning Mr. Newberry. I’m afraid that there’s going to be e delay before we get before the Judge. Apparently a trial that was due to start today has collapsed. The Defendant has decided to plead “guilty”. The case was to have started after we had been heard, but now they’re going to take his plea and deal with the sentencing. We’re to be heard afterwards.”

  Newberry looked dejected.

  “Sorry about this Mr. Newberry. It sometimes happens. The best laid plans of mice and men and all that. They call us here for 10.30 and then mess us about. Never mind, I was just talking to Levy’s barrister. He’s not very happy with you, Jonny. He thinks that you should have told his solicitor what you found in the papers, and liaised with him. He wants a copy of my skeleton argument. You didn’t send it to him.”

  “No, I never thought to.”

  Newberry was looking pleased that his point about Levy seemed to have been made.

  “Good, you shouldn’t have. Levy’s solicitor had the same papers that you had. Seems he simply passed all the papers to Counsel, and left him to get on with it. Counsel has confessed that he hasn’t done any more than speed read them. Hasn’t even had a full conference with his client. You’re ahead of the game, Jonny. Always was.” she volunteered. She turned to Newberry..

  “So, Mr. Newberry, if you want to go for a walk in this delightful part of London, I suggest that you do so. Be back in an hour. “

  ”No, I think I’ll stay here, and refresh my memory with the papers.”

  “As you wish.” said Lappin “But do not under any circumstances talk to Mr. Levy or show him any of the papers Jonny has prepared.”

  “That’s a bit steep isn’t it. After all we were friends.”

  “More than that Mr. Newberry, you were business partners, and you are now co-defendants. If in the course of this case I found anything to distance you from anything that Mr. Levy did, I would use it, even if it were to Mr. Levy’s detriment. I am sure that Mr. Levy’s Counsel would do exactly the same; he wouldn’t be doing his job if he didn’t, so do not, I repeat not, give Mr. Levy the slightest opportunity which you might regret.”

  “But…” started Newberry.

  “No buts please Mr. Newberry, if I am to successfully represent you. Jonny can I have a word with you?”

  She led him away from Newberry, who found a bench at the side of the foyer to sit on, and read whatever was in his briefcase. If he had read the case papers once, he had read them a hundred times, but even though he would play no part in the day’s proceedings, it still seemed to help him to read them once more.

  “Jonny, is there something that you haven’t told me.”

  Brakespeare was alarmed. “No, what.”

  “Well as I said Newberry has been broadcasting his defence to Levy, and Levy to his solicitor. Did you know that your firm started this all off?”

  Panic struck Brakespeare.

  “They’re not my firm, it’s nothing to do with me.”

  Lappin looked at him shrewdly. “What’s the situation Jonny? We’ve known each other, what over ten years. You’ve just come back into my life after three years. I need to know the full picture. Last I heard of you was that you had been suspended by the Solicitors Regulation Authority. I hope that you haven’t been reduced to the role of bent solicitor? Look, there’s a cafeteria upstairs, come and have a cup of tea. I need to know everything.”

  She led him upstairs to a steamy tea room. It was divided into two sections; one for barristers and solicitors, and the other for the general public. Neither section was very salubrious; they were typical unsophisticated “tea and wedge” establishments, but the barristers section at least afforded them some privacy.

  They queued together at the counter where a large West Indian lady splashed tea into two cups, and over the surrounding counter, while at the same time carrying on a conversation in a broad Jamaican patois with an equally large colleague.

  Lappin insisted on paying for the tea, and having looked around to see that no-one representing either of the other two Defendants or the Prosecution were in the vicinity, she led him to a small table covered by a sticky plastic table cloth.

  She took her wig off and put it down; put her elbows on the table; picked up the hot cup with two hands, and took a sip.

  “Spill the beans, brother.”

  “There are no beans to spill.” Brakespeare recounted to her what had happened to him; how the job in Worcester was the one that ‘turned up’, and all that Mortimer had told him about the origins of Clearfield Limited after he had started work there.

  Lappin listened carefully while taking sips of tea, while Brakespeare’s went cold.

  When he had finished, she sat back.

  “Can’t see anything there, but Levy’s Counsel seems to think there is. The trouble is that their defence really rests on Newberry. If Newberry’s valuations are right; then the prosecution case collapses and everyone is in the clear. If they are wrong – well.” she shrugged her shoulders.

  “So what are they saying.”

  “What they are saying is, and they is Levy and Simmons, although I haven’t spoken to Simmons Counsel yet, that Newberry was the prime mover in all this, aided and abetted in the early days by your Mr. Mortimer. If they are in the mire, then it’s down to Newberry. They say that they had no intentions of defrauding the National, or anyone. If the valuations were fiddled, then Newberry was on a frolic of his own, to use an old legal expression. In other words ‘Not me Guv,” and with the finger of guilt pointing firmly at Newberry – and Mr. Mortimer.”

  She sighed and sat back in her chair, and holding the handle of her empty tea cup and rattled it around in it’s saucer.

  “They thought that you were part of the whole set up and were really acting in the interests of the firm as well as Newberry. They had expected more co-operation from you.”

  “Should I have passed all that we found on?”

  Lappin looked up thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think so. From what Levy’s counsel said, they consider that Newberry is on his own in this. Therefore there is no point in giving them any information which they might use against him. You know,” she said emphatically. “That man’s a blithering idiot. He can’t see further than his own nose. All this business about taking his girlfriend and their son on a business trip. Who in their right mind would do that?”

  Brakespeare said nothing, but shrugged his shoulders.

  “Never mind, Jonny. At least I can go back and explain that you have been brought in as a locum, and have nothing to do with any of the background to this case. You’re your own man.” She smiled. “But you always were. Never in anyone’s pocket. That’s why you’re a good solicitor, Jonny.”

  “Thanks.” Said Brakespeare, not particularly gratefully.

  “Oh, and there’s something else. The Prosecution intend to amend the charge.” Lappin handed him a sheet of paper. The charge was still one of conspiracy, but read that Newberry:-

  ……….would ensure that the National Building Society accepted as security for any loans
that they might make, properties which would not represent the value attributed to them had the said properties been valued at a proper and fair market price.

  That where mortgage loans had been granted, that stage payments would be authorised in respect of developments that at the time that the said stage payment was authorised were not then properly due to be paid.”

  Brakespeare studied the text. “Well that makes things easier.” He said sarcastically. “They’ve dropped the allegation that he was involved with Clearfield. I couldn’t see how they could prove that. But this stage payments thing. There’s no evidence about this.”

  “No there isn’t but I understand that they’ve asked Mr. Black to look at the stage payments made on the properties that he’s said that they were over valued.”

  “But that haven’t served that evidence yet.”

  “No. But perhaps you can ask Mr. Newberry about this. As I understand the construction of a building, there are various stages such as putting in the foundations; building walls up, putting on roofs on etc., and it is generally accepted that each of these stages represents a percentage of the whole of the building work. In that case, all Black has to do is give the relevant percentages of his valuations for each stage.”

  Brakespeare looked puzzled. “But that doesn’t add anything to the case, does it?”

  Lappin shook her head. “I don’t think so. It’s smoke and mirrors. If Newberry was wrong on the final valuation then he must have been wrong on the intermediate stages. Simple. Sounds good. Impresses a jury. Doesn’t change the case.”

  “A sign of weakness?”

  Lappin nodded. “I suspect so. By the way where’s Miss Barnes?”

  “She saw no point in coming to this hearing as nothing’s going to happen.”

  “No bad blood been spilt?”

  “What, because you’ve filched her?”

  “I haven’t filched anybody Jonny.” Lappin looked at him sternly. “She’s a bright girl, but I expect you know that. Could you have put Newberry’s defence together without her?”

  “Can’t say that I could. Well not that quickly” he added. “I’d have had to count on my fingers, and I’m not very good at that.” He smiled.