by Andrew Brown
A clear smirk flashed on Svritsky’s face. The cold green of his eyes stopped Richard from saying anything further. The word ‘unsavoury’ lingered in the air like a stale smell. Once Bernberg was sure that Richard was not going to respond further, he bent down and rifled through his briefcase, displaying the bald patch on the back of his head. After a few deliberate moments he pulled out two pages of paper, stapled together.
‘This, my friend …’ – Bernberg paused for effect, waving the papers in front of Richard – ‘… is the missing witness statement.’ He paused again, refusing to release the papers from his podgy fingers.
Richard glowered but said nothing. The implication that he had somehow failed his client by allowing the State now to produce a proper witness statement was ridiculous.
‘The witness that the State has now found and intends to call to the stand this morning,’ Bernberg clarified.
Richard snatched the statement from Bernberg’s chubby hand and waved it at Svritsky in anger. ‘You changed attorneys just because the witness has been found? For God’s sake, Stefan, what are you thinking? How is this my fault? How the hell is this a reason to change legal representative at the last moment?’ Then it dawned on him that they were going to try to motivate for an adjournment of the trial. Richard turned on Bernberg with venom. ‘You bloody idiot. If you think changing lawyers now is going to get him a postponement, you’re a fool. There are no grounds for changing attorneys and certainly no grounds to postpone this trial any further. You know this magistrate as well as I do, Max. It isn’t going to happen.’
‘Richard, give me some credit,’ Bernberg whined back. ‘This has nothing to do with angling for a postponement. Take a look at the statement, then tell me who’s the bloody idiot.’
Richard glanced again at Svritsky, but he was unreadable. He returned to the document and cast his eye over the scrawled writing, flitting from phrase to phrase. It recorded that the witness had seen the collision occur, that the vehicle had seemed to lose control, that it had crossed onto the wrong side of the road, mounted the pavement and struck the deceased. It described how the driver had got out of the car and had kicked the deceased as he lay on the ground, that the driver had bent down and put his hand on the deceased’s neck, that he had kicked him again before driving off. The witness clearly described the green Ford Coupe, but there was no registration number recorded. Richard paused at the description of the driver: it certainly matched Svritsky, but there was undoubtedly room to cast doubt on the identification in cross-examination. There had not been any identification parade.
‘Okay, okay, so they have their witness. He makes it sound quite callous, but we can deal with that on the basis of different perceptions of reality. This isn’t a train smash: you … I … can cross-examine doubt into this ID pretty easily.’ He turned in frustration to Svritsky. ‘This witness can be challenged. If this is what’s made you jump ship then you’re a bloody fool, Stefan.’
‘Not quite, Richard,’ Bernberg responded. The colour of Svritsky’s smouldering eyes sharpened. ‘Have a look at the witness’s name. His real name.’
Richard looked back at the statement, reading the standard police introduction for the first time. He felt the blood leave his face. He wished that he could appear unfazed, but the growing realisation of his situation made his stomach weak. The passageway was spinning again and he thought he might collapse if he did not sit down. An involuntary gasp escaped his lips.
Bernberg gave him a grim smile. ‘You do know Mr Ifasen Obeyi, don’t you, Richard?’
Richard stared at him, aghast. ‘Are you mad?’ Bernberg flushed at the question but did not respond. ‘Are you both fucking insane?’ Richard asked again. ‘This is utter madness. The witness cannot be Ifasen Obeyi. Don’t be ridiculous. I consulted with him in prison only a few days ago.’ Even as he said it, he realised the depth of the pit into which he had fallen.
Bernberg nodded solemnly. ‘Yes, Ifasen Obeyi is your client, Richard. You were supposed to apply for bail for him, but he’s been released after doing a deal with the State. His freedom … for his testimony against your … former client. And that is precisely the problem. You are the attorney for the chief eyewitness for the prosecution. In fact, you represented both Mr Svritsky and Mr Obeyi at the same time. It’s a conflict of interest on a scale the likes of which I have not encountered before, in all my years of practice.’ Bernberg seemed to raise his short body a few inches taller as he spoke, puffing his cheeks at the seriousness of the situation.
‘Of course,’ he went on, ‘the court isn’t really concerned about your own conflict in the matter. It’s more about the rights of the accused. And those appear to have been irreconcilably compromised.’
For the first time Richard saw where the strategy was headed and he turned on Bernberg in fury. ‘Now just wait one fucking minute! Stefan’s rights have not been compromised in any manner whatsoever by anything that I have done. If you even try to suggest that, I will have you before the Law Society faster than you can say “guilty”. You little prick, don’t you even think of using me to get some sneaking victory for your new client. And if this is the way that you propose to practise, you can fucking well keep him as a client.’
Bernberg’s round face had turned red with indignation. ‘Now, Calloway, I realise you’re upset,’ he hissed back. ‘But don’t swear at me. I’ll report you for unprofessional conduct in a flash. I haven’t finished, so you’d better listen carefully before you call me the prick.’
Richard fought against the urge to punch the obnoxious man on the nose, but the growing smirk on Svritsky’s face made him wary. He was being set up, but he could not work out how the sting was going to operate.
‘Firstly, Calloway, representing both the accused and the chief witness most certainly compromises the rights of my client. Do you really think that the court will be happy with that situation? How can it possibly not utterly destroy the accused’s right to a fair trial? We will be bringing an application for the discontinuance of the trial on the grounds that Mr Svritsky’s rights have been irreparably undermined. It’s a bit like a recusal application, only the target is the legal representative of the accused, and the prejudice can never be remedied by simply appointing another representative. It is, we think, irredeemable. We think we’ll succeed.’ Bernberg smiled wanly.
Richard hated his use of the word ‘we’, but bit back the temptation to make any comment. The rush of adrenaline had added to his nausea and he felt he might start retching at any moment. The sweat was beading along the back of his neck and his armpits felt damp. He needed everything to stand still for a while so that he could collect his thoughts and focus on the unfolding disaster.
‘But of course, it gets worse,’ Bernberg said, heading for the kill. ‘Much, much worse. It brings us to the unsavoury bit.’
Richard frowned but said nothing. Bernberg had been looking at him directly throughout the tirade, but now his eyes dropped to halfway down Richard’s shirt. Bernberg also dropped his voice. ‘It brings us to your affair with Mr Obeyi’s wife.’
Richard had him by the throat before anyone could react. In his mind, he saw himself tearing the fat man’s throat from his neck, ripping it out like a garden hose, flailing and spraying blood. In reality, though, the man’s flesh was hideously thick and greasy to the touch, and Richard’s desire to throttle him was reduced to a slapping attempt to gain a handhold. Bernberg squealed like a schoolgirl, leaping backwards in terror. The two of them staggered towards the wall, Richard grappling to get a proper grip on his victim. Bernberg thumped into the wall across the passageway. Richard tried to heave him up, intending to hold him against the wall with his feet off the ground, but Bernberg was too heavy. Richard grunted with exertion as he closed his grip around the slippery neck. Then Svritsky charged at Richard from the left, lowering his shoulder to present a muscular battering ram. He caught his former lawyer full force in the ribs just below his armpit. The impact of the tackle was tremendous,
crushing Richard’s chest closed and sending him sprawling sideways. He tumbled to the ground, rolling over and over as he tried to suck air into his stunned lungs, his legs kicking in protest. Bernberg leant against the wall, panting in fright, his face and neck an unhealthy puce colour. Svritsky towered over Richard, his fists clenched and his weight distributed between his two stocky legs. Richard held out his hand weakly to fend him off while he tried to breathe.
‘What on earth is going on here?’ Magistrate Abrahams stood at the doorway of the court surveying the scene with alarm. Her face was screwed up in distaste as she looked from Bernberg to Richard. ‘Good grief, gentlemen. Is this what we have come to? Brawls in the corridors? I’ll see you two in my office.’ She turned her attention to the Russian. ‘And Mr Svritsky, in this building we try to behave like normal human beings, not animals. I would ask you to remember that.’ The courtroom door clicked closed behind her.
For a moment, none of them moved. Then Svritsky stepped back, coolly tapping out a cigarette from a soft box. Bernberg bent over and started coughing dramatically. Richard lifted himself up, his side bruised and aching. Bernberg glared at him but kept an appreciable distance between them.
‘You be very, very careful, Bernberg,’ Richard said. ‘I’m warning you right now. You stay away from me and don’t even think of mentioning …’ His voice trailed off as he tried to find the right word for Abayomi; that he could not find one confirmed the disastrous position into which he had been lured.
‘Well, as nice as that would be, Calloway,’ Bernberg replied, ‘I don’t see how we can keep her out of it. Truth is, you are having a torrid affair with the wife of the chief state witness. It seems that you are a bit close to the action in more ways than one. Who knows what pillow talk has taken place.’ Despite the bravado of the response, Bernberg retreated from Richard and the retort was delivered from halfway up the passage.
‘Bernberg, you lunatic! Can’t you see I’m being set up? Svritsky told me about her. He’s the one who put me in touch with her in the first place.’
‘No, Calloway. Stefan has already told me how this came about. He happened to have a massage with this lady. On one occasion. He thought she was quite good and suggested you give her a try. He has no connection to her. But you seem to have taken that a bit further, or lower, shall we say. Nasty coincidence for you.’
Bernberg took a few more steps back as Richard advanced. Svritsky intervened, pushing his barrel chest in Richard’s path. Bernberg carried on from behind the protection of his new client: ‘My client had no idea your morals were quite so … flexible. And I think the Law Society may be equally surprised to hear about your loose ethics.
‘One last thing, Calloway,’ Bernberg added. ‘Let’s just remember the little matter of attorney-client privilege. I think you’re in enough trouble without breaking that ethical rule as well. So whatever Svritsky might have told you, it all stays confidential.’ Richard started to protest but Bernberg held up his hand. ‘Look, my client doesn’t want to report you to the Law Society. But if you break the privilege, well then I don’t see my way clear to leaving them out of this.’ Bernberg smirked. ‘I think you’re pretty sewn up on this one.’
Richard walked seething into the magistrate’s office. Bernberg followed, positioning himself behind the safety of a chair. There was no need; Richard’s fury was doused by the look on Abrahams’s face. ‘Do you both want to be struck off, gentlemen?’ she asked. ‘Because I assure you that if I report what I just witnessed out there, that will be the end of it, certainly for you, Mr Calloway.’ Richard saw Bernberg make some gesture. Abrahams turned on him with venom. ‘Do not think, for one moment, Mr Bernberg, that you are innocent in this disgusting display. It is intolerable. Both of you ought to be ashamed. We might have to deal with the lowest of humanity in these courts, but God help us if we sink to those depths ourselves.’
Richard mumbled an apology, but Abrahams was not appeased. ‘I don’t want apologies, Mr Calloway. And I don’t want to know what’s going on between the two of you either. I am not your headmistress. Just sort it out and get it under control.’
Bernberg cleared his throat to speak, but Richard beat him to it. ‘Your Worship, I will have to withdraw as Mr Svritsky’s attorney and Mr Bernberg will be taking over as his legal representative. It is unfortunately unavoidable. I cannot give you an explanation for my withdrawal now. But I understand that Mr Bernberg will be launching various applications. I have no doubt that the nature of my compromised position will be apparent from the content of those applications.’
Abrahams’s eyes narrowed at this information and she looked first at Richard and then at Bernberg, slowly assessing the situation. ‘If you’re looking for a postponement, Mr Bernberg,’ she said thinly, already accepting his role as Svritsky’s legal representative, ‘then I suggest you rethink your strategy. Fundamentally.’
‘No, Your Worship,’ Bernberg squeaked obsequiously, as if such a tactic had never occurred to him. ‘To borrow your words, it is something more fundamental. We will be applying for a stay of prosecution. A permanent stay.’
Abrahams’s eyes became slits. ‘Indeed, Mr Bernberg. Indeed. I will see you in court in ten minutes then.’
Richard thanked her and turned to leave. ‘Mr Calloway, a moment of your time.’
Bernberg raised his eyebrows and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Abrahams softened and offered Richard a chair. He sat down gratefully. ‘Richard, you are a good lawyer. You have always had the respect of this bench. I don’t know what happened today, but you look terrible. And your career almost hit a wall this morning out there. Don’t throw away what you have worked so hard to create.’ She looked at him almost tenderly and Richard had to suppress the urge to burst into tears.
‘Thank you, Your Worship. I deeply regret what happened this morning. And I appreciate your words. Perhaps sometime I will be able to explain to you … but unfortunately that day will have to wait. It seems that despite all my experiences in the criminal courts, I have remained naive. People have turned out to be far more devious than I had ever imagined.’
‘In my experience, they almost invariably are, Richard.’ She smiled. ‘I am sorry to lose you in this case, but I’m sure that I’ll see you again soon enough in others.’
Richard thanked her and stood up slowly. He still felt dizzy and he waited for a moment before walking to the door. Bernberg and Svritsky were standing in discussion in the corridor.
‘So?’ Bernberg queried as Richard walked past them.
Richard waved his hand dismissively at the lawyer and turned to Svritsky. ‘You really are a piece of work, Stefan. I don’t know how you wangled this one, but I plan to find out. You have lied to me from the beginning: about how the accident happened, about Bernberg, about Aba … the massage lady, everything.’
Svritsky did not move, his hands on his hips and his top lip raised in an ugly sneer. ‘Why you think that you are not a player, huh? Why are we all players, but you … somehow you are above this? You are bigger than this, yes? More important? Mr Calloway, the big lawyer, hey? Fuck you, you are also a player in this.’
Svritsky jabbed a stiff finger into his former lawyer’s chest. Richard’s bruised ribs smarted at the contact. ‘You, Richard,’ Svritsky said, ‘you have been number one player since the start. Welcome to the game, my friend.’
TWENTY - TWO
RICHARD’S SLK PURRED while he sat undecided in the front seat. The street was quieter than when he had picked up Abayomi during the daytime. Occasionally, someone entered the foyer of the building, casting a curious eye in his direction. The southeast wind was blowing hard, and packets and leaves swirled around, skittering off the cement gutter and scattering back into the road. He could hear the particles of sand, blown up from the beachfront a block away, bouncing against the glass of the windscreen. Grit collected along the rubber edge of his wipers and dulled the shine of the bonnet. He switched off the engine and killed the h
eadlights. The darkness was startling and he realised that the streetlights were off; instead an eerie light from the fluorescent tubes in the foyer was cast over the road and pavement. A man emerged from the building, immediately throwing a hood over his head as the wind blasted him with litter and grime. He walked out of the light, stooped down against the force of the wind.
Richard burned with frustration, but still could not focus his emotions on any particular subject. The absence of a clear perpetrator dissipated his fury and left him feeling weak. It was a lethargy born of a sense of unfairness; the world had turned against him, but he did not have the will to fight back. The exoticism of the world he had touched upon had exhilarated him. Now it left him feeling suspicious and persecuted. The leather of the steering wheel felt greasy and he wiped his hands along the sides of his trousers. He had not been home since his failed court appearance and he smelt of smoke and old sweat. His side ached where Svritsky had rammed into him. He longed for a cold beer, perhaps a swim in the pool. Just the thought of the tingle of cool water on his body made him close his eyes.
The sound of footsteps broke his reverie. A male figure passed close to the car and then crossed over the road towards the building. As the light caught him, Richard saw that it was Ifasen.
By the time Richard had reached the foyer, he could hear Ifasen’s slow footfall in the stairwell, already two or more flights above him. He waited for the sound to recede before he started climbing after him. The stairwell reeked of overcooked vegetables and seeping damp. Graffiti had been sprayed over the flaking paint and cracked cement of the walls. The railings were rusted and the side struts were missing in most places. The top rail may once have been wood, but it had long since been ripped off, leaving the bolts exposed, standing up like lost soldiers along the metal rim. Bags of rubbish met him at every landing, some torn open and spilling their foul contents onto the ground. On the third-floor landing the smell was so powerful that he had to cover his nose with his shirt to avoid gagging. He reached the sixth floor and rested for a short while, trying to regulate his breathing before pushing the stairwell door open and walking into the passageway.
