Cut-Throat Defence: The dramatic, twist-filled legal thriller

by Olly Jarvis

  Rafe was happy to chat away through the meal about nothing in particular. Jack, on the other hand, was preoccupied with the thought of having to repeat an oath in front of all these people.

  To Jack’s left was a horsey-looking girl, Arabella Radley. She spent considerable time boasting to Jack how she had just been taken on at Paramount Chambers, widely accepted as the best in Manchester. It certainly had a huge amount of work and the most successful barristers, many of whom were in silk. Their Head of Chambers was none other than Lionel Katterman, QC, who ruled with a rod of iron.

  ‘They’ve been such sweeties at Paramount,’ she gushed. ‘They bought me a bouquet of lilies when they announced my tenancy. Of course it’s been very demanding, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Where are you in chambers, Jack?’

  He explained that he was at Century Buildings, but as yet had not been taken on.

  This new information caused Arabella’s eyes to glaze over and, in one dressage movement, she swivelled to her left and started chatting with someone of more consequence.

  Rafe was sitting to Jack’s right and was able to talk to him, when he wasn’t being buttonholed about what a super judge his father was.

  Opposite Jack was an obsequious character called Giles Little. Most people referred to him as ‘Windbag’. He spent hours talking, particularly to judges, about how good an advocate he was. Desperately ambitious, he had no perception of his limited ability. Windbag was studying Jack, like the cat that got the cream. Jack found it unnerving.

  ‘Looking forward to being called tonight, Kowalski?’ Windbag asked.

  Jack was puzzled. He dearly hoped there wasn’t anything afoot.

  The gavel banged again.

  Peter Rutherford, QC, leader of the Circuit, climbed to his feet, a little tipsy. ‘Are there any strangers here tonight?’

  ‘Aye!’ shouted the Circuiteers.

  ‘Well, let them be sworn.’

  After each name was called out and the nominating member of Circuit had declared himself, each young barrister stood and recited an oath from memory – which under no circumstances was to be read. Under the pressure of the moment some of the would-be Circuiteers stumbled over their words and were heckled. Rafe made only one or two minor mistakes, triggering only a few friendly interruptions.

  Jack’s turn came. He stood up, shaking.

  ‘Not you, the de-fen-dant!’ shouted a voice from the rabble, as others laughed and jeered.

  ‘Go on, Jack, show the bastards,’ encouraged Rafe.

  Jack recounted the oath. Word perfect. He sat down, triumphant.

  Everyone had been sworn and toasted. Jack poured himself a glass of wine, relieved at becoming a member of Circuit, having suffered only minor humiliation.

  Rafe patted Jack on the back, full of admiration for his resilience. ‘Well done, mate. Can’t have been easy with those tossers heckling?’

  The leader was handed a piece of paper. Tradition dictated that, as the most senior barrister on Circuit, he would read a speech that he had never seen before, written for him by someone else ‒ always full of double entendres, jokes and even rhyming couplets about various members of Circuit.

  He began,

  ‘Smith and Hanratty, QC,

  Just finished a case – what a fee!

  Though Smith did nothing for his leader

  The lazy little bleeder,

  He was kicked twixt the legs by Hanratty, QC

  Who shouted – that’s the only red bag you’ll get from me!’

  Rutherford continued in the same vein, his intoxication making it all the funnier.

  ‘Now there is a new boy called Jack,

  But I ask you to please watch your back.

  I wouldn’t call him a thief,

  Though he did poach a large brief.

  But, from what I hear of this Pole,

  He is a sneaky young soul,

  That soon will end up on the dole!’

  The leader appeared confused as he read it. Despite his inebriated state, it was apparent that he was becoming uncomfortable about the content. The Bar had modernized. They didn’t needle people or refer to nationality. He seemed uneasy as the laughter petered out. He moved on swiftly to propose a toast to Circuit, and sat down.

  ‘Who wrote that shit?’ said Rafe to those within earshot.

  Jack brushed it aside, pretending that he found it funny. He was mortified.

  Mess was over and everyone started to filter through to the bar. Jack was still in shock from the latest battering. Rafe went off to get some drinks.

  Katterman appeared and beckoned Jack over to a secluded corner. ‘Jack, don’t worry about the speech. The new boys always get it between the eyes.’ He leaned forward. ‘Effiong told me about that robbery you defended today. Very impressive. Now listen. We’ve got so much work at the bottom end of chambers, we are thinking of taking on another new tenant. Interested?’

  Jack couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. ‘Of course I’m interested, but what about the rest of chambers. Would they have me?’

  ‘I am chambers, dear boy. You leave them to me.’ Katterman headed off towards the bar and then, seemingly as an afterthought, said, ‘Of course you will have to do the right thing and withdraw in Marpit. We can’t have you gallivanting around in the case with no defendant, making wild accusations against the NCA. It’s just not what we do at Paramount Chambers.’

  Jack found himself saying, ‘Oh of course, Lionel.’

  Rafe arrived, spilling a pint in each hand. ‘What did he want?’ he asked suspiciously.

  ‘He’s offered me a tenancy at Paramount!’

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘No offence, but why?’

  ‘Effiong prosecuted in that robbery today. He was impressed and told Katterman.’ Jack thought for a moment. He was not vain enough to ignore what Katterman had said about Marpit. ‘He has pretty much made it conditional on withdrawing in Marpit.’

  ‘Oh, I get it,’ said Rafe. It made more sense now. A big case with a lot of media attention – Katterman was desperate to be acquitted.

  Jack thought out loud, confirming Rafe’s suspicions. ‘With me in the case he will probably get off on this evidence. But with no one for Marpit, he will definitely get off. He is prepared to put up with me in his chambers if it guarantees victory.’

  Jack then asked Rafe the all-important question, ‘Would he go back on it, if I withdrew?’

  Rafe thought long and hard. ‘No. I don’t believe even Katterman would do that. You’re in, mate. Get him to offer it in writing in the morning. He will.’

  Jack still wasn’t happy. ‘Rafe, how can I accept a tenancy on the understanding I shaft my own client? It’s not right.’

  ‘Jack, this is a great opportunity. A career at the Bar in a top set. I would much rather you were at Century, but I’ll be straight with you, I don’t think they’ll take you. Anyway, you said to me earlier that you were probably going to withdraw, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘No buts, Jack. Paramount is a bonus. You created that luck for yourself. You can’t throw away this opportunity. You will always regret it if you do.’

  Jack nodded forcefully ‒ convinced. He had almost decided to withdraw before the offer anyway. He wouldn’t get a chance like this again and wasn’t going to let it go over a drug dealer who had deserted the case himself.

  But how was he going to tell Lara?

  Chapter 35

  It was late by the time Lara got to Romek’s. Most of the customers had left. The waiters were starting to sweep up to the sound of classical music ‒ a piano. She’d received Jack’s text, asking to meet up.

  Romek greeted her at the door. ‘He on piano. Very grumpy.’

  ‘I had no idea he could play, Romek.’

  ‘When he work for me, he play every night. Good pianist, bad waiter. Now he only play when grumpy.’

  �
��Who wrote this piece?’

  ‘Good Polish composer. Chopin.’

  ‘I thought Chopin was French?’

  Romek was outraged, and replied indignantly, ‘His father French but mother Polish. He grow up in Warsaw.’

  Jack stopped playing as she squeezed on to the stool next to him. He’d taken off his dinner jacket and bow tie. Without taking his eyes off the keys, he spoke. ‘I’m withdrawing.’

  Lara said nothing.

  ‘You might as well know, I was offered a tenancy at Mess tonight.’

  ‘Jack, that’s great. I’m really pleased for you. Where?’

  He couldn’t bear to say it. ‘Paramount.’

  Lara reached over and with one finger lifted his chin up, turning his face to hers.

  He loved the feel of her touch.

  She stared into his eyes. ‘Paramount?’

  Jack looked away.

  ‘Katterman has bought you out of the case with a tenancy.’

  No reply.

  ‘Hasn’t he?’

  ‘No! Paul Effiong prosecuted me in a sentence today,’ Jack protested. ‘I got a walk-out in a robbery.’

  Jack knew it sounded hollow. He paused for a moment and then answered truthfully, ‘Yes.’

  His head dropped.

  Lara got up to leave, before saying, ‘You’re not the man I thought you were.’

  She strode out of the restaurant.

  He shouted after her, ‘I was going to withdraw anyway!’ He followed her out into Spinningfields. The hordes of business people that crossed the square in daylight hours had long since departed. It was a clear night and the stars were out, reflected in the glass-sided office buildings which cradled Lara as she marched across the open space. ‘Besides, how come you care so much?’

  She stopped and turned to face Jack, who was catching up. ‘I don’t. I just want to do the right thing.’

  He knew there was more.

  ‘I don’t want to give up on a man who refuses to abandon his daughter.’ She sat down on one of the concrete benches that littered the square.

  Jack sat beside her. ‘Why didn’t you tell me your father was at the Bar?’

  ‘You were bound to find out sooner or later.’ She wondered whether to go on. ‘He was at Paramount.’

  Jack tried to make her smile. ‘Poor bloke. He must’ve known Katterman?’

  She didn’t smile. ‘According to my late grandmother, they were friends. They did pupillage together.’

  ‘Did he stay in touch with you, after your parents died?’

  ‘You must be joking. It was like the Panassais never existed. Apparently he was very angry with Dad, because of the accident. He couldn’t forgive him. Because Mum died. It was Dad’s fault. I’m sure you’ve heard already – he was driving.’

  ‘No, I hadn’t heard that part. I’m sorry.’

  Feeling embarrassed at the disclosure she got up and set off again.

  Jack called out, ‘I owe this to my father, my uncle, everyone that has helped me. I can’t turn this down. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I wish you luck, Jack.’

  Chapter 36

  In the sober light of day, Jack was still convinced he was right to withdraw, regardless of Katterman’s offer. He had wrestled with his conscience and hardly slept a wink. Putting on his bands in the robing room, he couldn’t deny feeling a sense of relief that this case was finally going to be behind him. He might even get some sleep.

  As he walked down the concourse that ran alongside the courtrooms, he saw Katterman making a beeline for him.

  ‘Morning, Jack,’ he said, handing him an envelope. ‘Thought we ought to make you a formal offer. Tell Sarah today. You can be with us for tea.’

  As Jack gazed in wonder at the envelope, Katterman became distracted. ‘Lovely little filly, your instructing solicitor.’

  Jack saw Lara walking towards the courtroom.

  ‘Wouldn’t mind putting a saddle on that.’

  Jack winced. ‘Actually, Lionel, I think you used to know her father, Michael Panassai?’ The name hardly seemed to register.

  ‘Oh yes, he was in chambers. Copped it in a car crash. As I recall, I was more interested in his wife. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t give me the time of day.’

  Jack disliked this man more each time he laid eyes on him. His phone rang. Caller unknown. ‘Excuse me, Lionel,’ he said, grateful for an excuse to end the conversation.

  ‘Hello, is that Jack Kowalski?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘Do you know why barristers still wear wigs and gowns in court?’

  ‘What?’ replied Jack.

  ‘It’s so they don’t get recognized on the street by all the criminals they come across.’

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘But I know what you look like, Jack.’

  ‘How did you get my number?’

  ‘Pull out of the case – or you’re a dead man.’ The caller hung up.

  Jack was shaken, frightened. Who was it? Someone from The District? But the accent was Mancunian. Probably just some nutter. Huntsman had told him all sorts of loonies try to contact the defence barrister when a case is featured on the television news. Another reason he was glad to be saying goodbye to Marpit & Others. He decided not to tell Lara. She might mistakenly think cowardice was why he was withdrawing.

  The court was assembled without the jury so that the judge could be updated about Marpit’s absence.

  Jack avoided eye contact with Lara as he passed her row to get to his own.

  ‘All rise!’

  Mr Justice Skart came into court with his customary air of authority. After everyone was seated, Otterwood rose to his feet. ‘My Lord, unfortunately, despite our best endeavours to locate Mr Marpit, we have been unable so to do.’

  His Lordship was disappointed. ‘Mr Kowalski? Do you have any news?’

  ‘I am afraid not, My Lord.’

  ‘And what of your own position?’

  ‘My Lord, I…’ He couldn’t get the words out. No point feeling guilty about it. Leaving the case was the right thing to do, for everyone. A whole career was waiting for him at Paramount. He glanced across at the expectant faces – other counsel, the press box, and then the public gallery.

  ‘Mr Kowalski?’

  Jack felt sick. His first ethical problem as an advocate. Deep down, he knew that he had to make the right decision.

  At last, and at one with himself, he answered. ‘My Lord, I do not consider the defendant’s absence to be a withdrawal of my instructions. I will continue to act for him.’

  He could feel Lara’s presence burning a hole in his back but he didn’t look round. Nor did Katterman. Jack was trembling. The familiar fear was back. But now he knew he could live with it.

  His Lordship gave a nod that demonstrated the merest hint of respect for the young barrister.

  Paul Effiong, Katterman’s junior, sitting next to Jack, passed him a note that he had scribbled on a piece of paper ripped from his notebook. It read, ‘There is no richer man than one who has no price.’

  Chapter 37

  Humphrey Bingham, QC, counsel for the first defendant, addressed the judge first. ‘My Lord, before the jury are brought in, perhaps we should all be told whether Mr Kowalski’s disclosure requests have borne any fruit. It seems to me, we all need to know where we stand.’

  ‘Yes, quite so, Mr Bingham.’ His Lordship acknowledged this efficient piece of housekeeping. ‘Mr Otterwood?’

  Prosecution counsel, John Otterwood, QC, got to his feet. ‘My Lord, I can say with confidence that there is not a shred of evidence that Mr Marpit was ever an informant or a participating informant, registered or otherwise, with the National Crime Agency nor, I should add, so far as we are aware, with any other state agency.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Otterwood,’ said His Lordship. ‘I think that makes the position clear.’

  ‘Perhaps I should also add for completeness, My Lord, Mr Kowalski was kind enough to supply the prosecution with a telep
hone number. This was, the defence assert, the mobile telephone number of the handler to which Marpit says he was providing information. We have made enquiries about that number. It relates to a pay-as-you-go mobile phone. As I’m sure My Lord is aware, NCA officers use contract mobile telephones, issued by their employers.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mr Otterwood. Bring in the jury.’

  All eyes were on the jurors as they were escorted into the courtroom. Some seemed slightly overawed by the occasion. Once they had all taken their places, the judge addressed them. ‘Members of the jury, you will not have failed to notice that there are three men in your charge, but only two men appear in the dock. There is no secret about it, Mr Marpit has absented himself from the trial. You will not, however, hold that against him. You will try him, as with the other defendants, on the evidence.’

  The judge then turned to prosecution counsel. ‘Mr Otterwood?’

  Otterwood stood and faced the jury, a copy of his opening note resting on his lectern, slightly in front and to the side of him. He began by introducing counsel in the case. A hint of surprise showed on the faces of some of the jurors when he introduced Mr Kowalski as acting alone for the absent Marpit; he was obviously so much younger than the other counsel in the case.

  Jack was sure he blushed as he heard his name.

  Otterwood moved on to outline the facts, as alleged. ‘Members of the jury, this case involves a conspiracy to import drugs into this country, on a grand scale. The conspiracy was uncovered following a covert surveillance operation conducted by officers of the National Crime Agency. The intention of these and other defendants, who have already pleaded guilty, was to flood the streets and homes of the North of England with cocaine.’

  Otterwood’s speech continued in this vein, giving the press the quotes they had come for. He moved on to deal with each of the defendants in turn.

  Eventually he reached the final defendant – Marpit. ‘Carl Marpit, members of the jury, was caught red-handed unloading the drugs from the plane, as were the other defendants about which you have heard, who pleaded guilty. Marpit was a trusted lieutenant in this conspiracy, which we can see from his telephone contact with Rako and Purley.’ Otterwood leaned forward towards the jury and lowered his voice, ‘Members of the jury, caught in this situation there is only one possible excuse he can put forward – that he, Carl Marpit, was working for the National Crime Agency! You will hear Mr Kowalski suggest to officers of the NCA, as it is known, that not only was he working for them, but now the NCA are denying it. It’s ingenious, members of the jury, but unfortunately for Mr Marpit, completely untrue. It is only on that aspect of his case that we disagree. Greed was his employer, members of the jury, not the NCA.’