Craven Conflict

by David Cooper

  “Oh God.” Craven finally spoke up. “I thought this was going to be some more nasty comments from a trainee in my department. Not the partners…”

  “Thought you’d be gobsmacked.” Shannon replied. “OK, the next thread starts here.” She leaned across and manipulated Wagstaff’s mouse once more. “Amazing, isn’t it. How the partners in this place get their kicks over the lunch hour.”

  Craven looked at what was now on the screen in front of him, in growing disbelief.

  ‘Wednesday 12 June, 13.08

  From: Tony Wagstaff

  To: Rufus Squire, Seb Finnie

  Subject: Recruitment

  Listen Rufus, next time can you make sure your job spec says the candidate must have a prick, not be a prick. And we don’t want anyone so antisocial that we need to serve an ASBO on him as soon as he sets foot in the door.’

  The replies had been thick and fast, and none of them had spared their vitriol.

  ‘Squire: Birmingham might no longer be a village, but it’s certainly not short of an idiot (hat tip Sheila)…

  Finnie: What might go on his next CV? Paul Craven - the potty swot from the grotty Potteries?

  Squire: God knows, but he’s going to need one soon (a CV, not a potty). Once he’s done Wayne his favour, and once we can find a half decent replacement, he’ll be out of this firm before he can say Jack Shit…

  Wagstaff: Don’t you mean Jack Robinson?

  Squire: I chose the phrase advisedly, Tony, by reference to what he evidently knows.

  Finnie: Maybe he’ll defect first. We should be so lucky.

  Wagstaff: Headline News: Craven Defects! Go on, Rufus, give us the next few lines.

  Squire: If you insist. Paul Craven has many defects. Being an Aspie, for a start. Inability to read and understand simple instructions without having to be hand held like a two year old…oh, I give up, it’s doing my head in. Just like him.

  Finnie: Thinking of two year olds, if only one of those fuckwit earth mothers would stop wallowing in maternal mayhem and come back to work. With a firm undertaking not to get pregnant again, of course.

  Squire: Keep away from them, then, you randy little sod.

  Finnie: Just make them share an office with the Rain Man. That might put them off it for life.’

  By now Craven was on the verge of tears. He gave Shannon a look of near despair.

  “I can’t believe this. They’re partners. They run the firm. They’re supposed to look after their staff and set a good example. This is terrible. What can I do?”

  “I’ll tell you in a moment.” Shannon replied. “Just read the rest. Not far to go now.”

  Craven apprehensively turned back to the screen.

  ‘Wednesday 12 June, 13.55

  From: Rufus Squire

  To: Tony Wagstaff, Seb Finnie

  Subject: Court Next Week

  Quick afterthought, Seb, Tony. We’re up in front of Mad Marian next week. We want her to embrace Mr Babbitt to her not inconsiderable bosom and lap up every word he says. As long as he sticks to the party line.’

  Stung by the further insult, and torn by conflicting thoughts over why Squire had been so insistent that he helped Avery in court, Craven was about to read on when Shannon interrupted.

  “Wonder who Mad Marian is?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the judge?”

  “That would be something. Just imagine a woman judge reading this lot.”

  Craven turned back to the screen.

  ‘Wednesday 12 June, 14.04

  From: Tony Wagstaff

  To: Rufus Squire, Seb Finnie

  Subject: Re: Court Next Week

  Maybe I should get Jake to sit there and hold up a red card with Fired on it if he goes off message? And flick it to green with Hired once he was toeing the line again?’

  Craven looked back at Shannon in anxiety.

  “I don’t follow this. I’m going to be a witness this afternoon. All my life I’ve known that witnesses in court are supposed to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. They told me it would be harmless if I said I couldn’t remember anything, as long as it helped Wayne. I can see the point of that, but…”

  Craven tailed off, lost in a maelstrom of confusion. Why would they have told him that helping Avery would boost his prospects at the firm, then speak about him as if they’d decided all along to be rid of him? Especially in such an offensive way?

  “Only a few more.” Shannon replied. “Keep going.”

  “OK, let me get to the end.” Craven read on.

  Squire: Serious point, Tony, I’m convinced now that Babbitt should come down and watch me. I’d better get him back on side. His Master’s Voice?

  Wagstaff: Or the Sorcerer and his intellectually challenged Apprentice?

  Squire: The Sorcerer. You flatter me, Tony. Now here’s a thought. I could wave my magic wand and make that Rutherford bitch disappear. Or turn her into a slug and pour salt all over her…Right, back to the grindstone.

  “That’s really nasty.” Craven pointed at the very last comment. “Speaking about a woman like that.”

  “Come on, Paul, think about yourself for once. Look what they’ve been saying about you. Bear with me. I’m going to print off some copies.”

  “Copies? Won’t that just make it worse?”

  Shannon laughed.

  “Listen, Paul, if they try to sack you, you’ll welcome some insurance. And if you don’t have the copies, you’ll miss out for ever. This lot will disappear off the IT systems faster than a rat up a drainpipe.”

  “But it’s the partners…”

  “Yes, behaving worse than trainees or juniors. Just imagine this lot on the managing partner’s desk. Or the senior partner’s. Or on the front page of the Evening Mail.” Shannon made Craven’s mind up for him and leaned across to make a number of Print commands. “Give me two minutes. The printer’s outside. Mustn’t let these fall into the wrong hands.”

  Shannon disappeared from sight. Craven found himself struggling to take everything in. He looked away from the screen and noticed a lever arch file of papers on Wagstaff’s desk. The court action title marked on the outside of the file was ‘Ripple Birmingham v Avery and Wave Recruitment’. He realised that it was a copy of the trial bundle. It reminded him that his request for a prior look at the bundle, to familiarise himself with the wider issues in the dispute, had been brushed aside as unnecessary.

  Craven picked it up and skimmed through the contents page. Glancing at his watch, and realising that he would not have the time to read the complete bundle then and there, he found the copy of his own statement. He reached the end of the first page, only to stop and stare in confusion.

  “That’s not right…”

  He turned the page and saw his signature beneath the date and the formal Statement of Truth. There was nothing out of place or incorrect. But the previous page was wrong…

  “OK then, here we are.” Shannon had returned. She handed over the promised set of copies. “One complete can of worms. Keep this lot under lock and key until the time’s right. Looks as if someone’s been after you.”

  “What do you mean?” As he folded the copies and placed them in his inside pocket, Craven was startled to hear Shannon’s comment.

  “Don’t worry, it’s nothing to do with our little discovery, only a message about this afternoon. Looks like you’re needed at quarter past two, earlier if possible.” Shannon handed over a slip of paper. “I’ll come down with you.”

  “To court?”

  “No, downstairs to reception, you prat. I might need to speak up for you…”

  Shannon’s prediction was correct. As they neared the exit, the receptionist called out.

  “Mr Craven, where’ve you been? Mr Squire wanted to have a word with you before he was needed in court. I was told you’d gone up to Mr Wagstaff’s office, and I tried to put him through…”

  “Oh, was that who I hung up on?” Shannon replied, not troubling to disgu
ise her indifference.

  “Shannon, that’s one of the new partners you’re talking about…”

  “Am I bothered?” The receptionist was lost for words at Shannon’s dismissive response, as she opened the door and patted Craven on the shoulder. “Good luck. Don’t let the bastards grind you down.”

  Craven looked at his watch before pulling out a train timetable. He set off at a brisk pace for the Five Ways station, with two desperately important tasks nagging away at him. He needed to return to the office and find the copy of his signed statement that he had made before sending the original back to Wagstaff. And he needed to tell either Wagstaff or Squire about the anomaly that he had just discovered in the trial bundle. Any idea of speaking to them or to HR about the offensive emails that Shannon had found for him would have to go on hold…

  “Oh, damn…”

  He had expected to be waiting only five minutes for the next local train back to New Street Station. But it had been cancelled, and the next one would not be arriving for another twenty minutes. Trying desperately not to panic, he set off on another brisk walk up to Five Ways Island and down Broad Street in the direction of the city centre, reckless to the option of a bus or a taxi as he occasionally broke into a trot.

  Eleven thirty that morning

  When the courtroom door opened, during the unexpected break that had followed the fruitless attempts to trace Avery’s missing paralegal witness, everyone expected the new arrival to be Rufus Squire. But the casually dressed individual who came in holding a notebook, and glanced around before approaching Collins and initiating a conversation, was clearly not Squire. Two minutes later, he walked up to Soraya.

  “Do you mind if I take your details?”

  Soraya gave him a curious look.

  “I don’t wish to sound rude, but may I ask who you are and what your business is here?”

  “Tom Ritchie. Freelance court reporter, mainly for the Post and Mail.”

  Noticing Karen’s look of concern as she overheard the exchange, Lennie stood up and beckoned the journalist towards him.

  “Leave this to me. No point in complaining.” He quickly explained to Ritchie who the members of Karen’s legal team were. “Would you mind telling me what’s brought you here? There’s only two witnesses left. It’s only a boring commercial dispute anyway. Nothing for the papers.”

  “Not from what I’ve been told. I’ve had a hot tip. Local interest. More to it than meets the eye.”

  Without a further word, Ritchie retreated to the row behind Karen and Lennie and sat down half way along the bench. Karen was not minded to mince her words as she turned to Lennie.

  “I can’t believe it. That devious little swine must have done this deliberately. What the hell’s Squire going to be saying about me now?”

  “God only knows.” Lennie replied. “If it’s any comfort, just remember that the judge stopped it going too far when you were on the stand.”

  Karen nodded glumly. The door to the courtroom then opened once more and Squire entered. He paused to look around, drew himself up to his full height in an almost aristocratic manner, and introduced himself to Collins as if he was a long lost friend. Half a minute later, with Soraya looking pointedly in their direction, Collins gestured towards the row behind, leaving both Soraya and Lennie in little doubt that his last comment to Squire was ‘mustn’t be seen to collude’.

  “Fat chance.” Lennie whispered to Karen. “Knowing Wagstaff, Squire’s probably had chapter and verse from day one. Not that we could prove it.”

  At the opposite end of the courtroom, Squire eased himself onto the bench behind Collins, where Wagstaff greeted him.

  “Thought you were going to bring Craven. Hasn’t he finished with my expert yet?”

  “No idea. I tried to call him and find out, but someone hung up on me.” Squire replied.

  “Jesus Christ. I bet it was that bloody Shannon. Stupid bimbo. I did leave a message that Craven needed to get down here earlier. Thought he’d have taken the hint and shifted himself.”

  The loud knock announcing Judge Banks’ return to court interrupted the conversation in mid flow, and Squire was soon sworn in. Lennie had advised Karen to avoid any eye contact with Squire, and to stay as emotionless and indifferent as possible when Squire was giving his evidence. Karen had promised Lennie that she would do her best, but it took all her reserves of self control when Squire had cast a deliberately condescending glance in her direction as he strode to the witness stand.

  “Any further examination in chief, Mr Collins?” Judge Banks asked once Squire had formally verified his statement.

  “One minor issue, Your Honour. I am mindful of the thoughts you expressed about this particular matter when Miss Rutherford was undergoing cross-examination, so it will be sensible for me to clear it up now as succinctly as I can.”

  Karen winced in anticipation. Judge Banks gave Collins a meaningful look.

  “Very well. But please bear in mind that the issue at the heart of this case is whether Mr Avery was in breach of contract.”

  “Indeed I will.” Collins turned to Squire. “In your statement, Mr Squire, you confirm that you were determined never to deal again with Miss Rutherford’s agency Ripple Birmingham?”

  “That is correct.” Squire’s response was almost unduly formal.

  “And you put this down to ‘a past incident of a personal nature that I would rather not dwell upon, but will if necessary’?”

  “That is again correct.”

  “For the record, what was that past incident? Please be brief.”

  Squire paused and deliberately looked to the ceiling for a few moments, knowing full well that he was prolonging Karen’s agony. When he dropped his gaze, he caught the journalist’s eye before turning to the judge.

  “Last summer I broke off a short lived and very ill advised affair with Miss Rutherford. A week later, I found that she had visited my home address and vandalised my car. When my mechanic turned up, he thought at first that she had covered it in red paint…”

  Lennie sensed that Karen was on the verge of exploding, and he laid a restraining hand on Karen’s shoulder. Karen somehow managed to remain silent, and limited herself to writing ‘LIES AND EXAGGERATION!’ on her notepad.

  “…but it turned out to be something far less noxious, and I only ended up having to pay for a professional valeting job. It hurt me a lot more to have to explain the incident to my wife and family.”

  This time, Karen’s unspoken response was ‘YOU STARTED IT, YOU BASTARD!’

  “Did you ever have any dealings with Ripple Birmingham from then on?” Collins fed Squire another soft question.

  “No, absolutely not. But I was coincidentally introduced to Mr Avery a week or so earlier, and he finished off my last ever dealings with Miss Rutherford’s agency. So at least some good did come of it.”

  Collins nodded and sat down. Soraya knew that he and Squire had carefully managed to place Squire’s evidence on an even more solid platform than his statement had already enabled. Rising to her feet, she knew she had her work cut out to probe for weaknesses.

  “Mr Squire, your statement does not appear to confirm the exact date upon which you interviewed Mr Craven. For the record, when do you say this was?”

  Without prompting, Squire looked down the index to the court bundle until he found the page reference for his letter to Craven.

  “If you read the letter dated twenty first March, young lady, you will see that it begins ‘further to today’s interview’.”

  Soraya was stung by Squire’s disdainful comment, which obscured the lack of a direct answer to her question. She was not to know that Squire had carefully rehearsed the entire response.

  “Mr Squire, please don’t patronise me. I am well aware that you have many years of experience in the legal profession, many more than I have, but it does not entitle you to speak in those terms.”

  “I agree. That was unworthy of you, Mr Squire.” Judge Banks intervened. “
Let’s try to keep personal feelings out of this.”

  “Your Honour, I apologise profusely. I fear that I may have thought that the letter rendered the question superfluous.”

  “The twenty first of March, for the record?”

  “Just as the letter states, Your Honour.”

  “Thank you, Mr Squire.” Soraya resumed as the judge made a note of Squire’s answer. “Do you accept the possibility that the letter may have been erroneously dated, and sent to Mr Craven a week later than the interview?”

  “I would consider that somewhat unlikely. I should just explain, however, that this is all three months ago. On my side of the profession, I sign many letters on a daily basis. I am not going to claim perfect recall for anything that simply crosses my desk and may never be relevant to my working routines again. But I am not the kind of person to miss an incorrect date, and nor is my secretary.”

  Squire’s sweeping answer left little scope to search for a further line of attack based on the letter alone. She decided to switch to another flank.

  “OK, the twenty first. When did you first contact Mr Avery about your vacancy?”

  There was another long pause.

  “Let me see now…I’d had two interviews with candidates from other agencies, and both of them said no, so I was in a bit of a pickle…that’s right, now I remember, Mr Avery actually made contact with me just after he’d set up, maybe on a Tuesday? That sounds about right.”

  “So only two days later, you were interviewing someone he had introduced?”

  “It’s not unusual. Mr Craven was not in employment at the time, and he was available for an immediate interview. He was keen to come in as soon as I could see him.” Squire paused again, evidently deciding whether to add to his answer, and finally did so. “This was a specialist vacancy, and he sounded like a suitably specialist candidate.”