Law and Disorder

by Tim Kevan

  ‘Celebrating another settlement for TheBoss. He’s cashing in as many cases as possible at the moment in case he gets struck off.’

  ‘Hmm. Lucky you.’

  ‘Well it wasn’t so bad last night as I finally got to meet the mistress.’

  ‘He’s getting more reckless by the day.’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘So what was she like?’

  ‘Not at all what I expected. After everything I’ve heard about his high-maintenance wife, I thought she might be some meek, pouting solicitor pandering to his insecurities.’

  ‘And was she?’

  ‘Quite the opposite. Formidable would probably be the best word, and sturdy.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like the type to be impressed by a Ferrari.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Why on earth does he even get the time of day from her? He’s a walking disaster area,’ said Claire.

  ‘But the most interesting thing was that when she opened her mouth and the clipped vowels and overbearing opinions rolled forth, I suddenly realised that she was just an older version of BusyBody.’

  Thursday 22 February 2007

  Day 101 (week 21): TidySum

  ‘Hey, BabyB, do you fancy earning a bit of extra money on the side devilling?’ it was Worrier.

  ‘Er, satanic cults? Not really my bag, Worrier.’ I mean, I know she’s been having a hard time, but really.

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s a Bar tradition. It involves working for other barristers.’

  ‘But I thought we weren’t allowed to be employed by other barristers.’

  ‘True. But this is the loophole. Seems to slip by under the radar as “research”.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Worrier went on to explain that there’s a barrister who I’ll call TidySum who’s taken this to a new level with thirty little devils around the Bar all being paid a third of what he bills out. Out of curiosity I went along to his chambers in Gray’s Inn which has the nickname ‘Hell’s Kitchen’ for obvious reasons. The queue of pupils outside his room looked like that for a school tuck shop. I left with an advice to do by tomorrow which will apparently earn me £50, which will certainly come in handy.

  As for BusyBody, I walked in on her today as she was lying on the ground with her noticeably thick ankles held aloft. I wondered whether she’d fallen over and simply couldn’t right herself, though I thought it better not to ask.

  ‘Hello, BabyB,’ she said, without moving her legs. ‘I’ve officially given up all hope of getting taken on in chambers and decided instead to achieve inner peace and harmony through yoga . . .’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘. . . and bagging a rich barrister to keep me.’

  ‘Oh. You know TheBoss still holds a flame,’ I lied.

  ‘He’s a loser. I’m not tagging on to that mess. No. I’ve got my eye on a bigger prize. Much richer and, for what it’s worth, better looking. And with a wife and family at home, he’s not likely to be too demanding on my time.’

  I was to get no more details from her today,although OldSmoothie springs to mind as fitting her description.

  Friday 23 February 2007

  Day 102 (week 21): Scandal

  There’s nothing that makes a scandal more juicy than a bit of old-fashioned snobbery, and this had the snobs in a gossip frenzy this morning: BusyBody (allegedly) went home with one of chambers’ clerks last night.

  About twenty members of chambers had got together in a wine bar with a few friendly solicitors to launch a book written by a particularly boring member of chambers (and that’s saying something). Not exactly the height of glamour for a so-called book launch, but nevertheless the champagne was flowing. The clerks had all been invited along as has been chambers policy now for the last two years. Before that, only HeadClerk was ever allowed out to social functions and even then only to marketing events. Last night the worries over the mixing of barristers and clerks came to fruition and BusyBody drunkenly stumbled into a taboo. So far, no one quite knows what happened but she and FanciesHimself, one of the junior clerks, were certainly seen canoodling on the street as they waited for a cab.

  Poor BusyBody. Her head was bowed low today and she refused to talk to anybody. She’s already ruined any chances of getting taken on and she’s now gone and ruined her chances of bagging that rich barrister, too. Or at least one in these chambers.

  Monday 26 February 2007

  Day 103 (week 22): Hiring from below stairs

  It’s been like an episode of Upstairs, Downstairs today as the details of BusyBody’s activities have emerged. It seems that FanciesHimself cracked under cross-examination and believed the assurance of complete confidence given by OldSmoothie. Which was foolish in the extreme. OldSmoothie immediately emailed about ten people in chambers with a word-for-word account of what FanciesHimself had told him. Obviously, this was then forwarded to the rest of chambers and is probably still rattling its way around cyberspace. Suffice it to say that BusyBody fell for FanciesHimself’s not-too­subtle charms and for one beautiful evening they were a couple. As OldSmoothie’s email quoted: ‘You’ll never believe it, OldSmoothie, she went wild. Like a switch had flipped in her head. Telling me she hated pompous barristers and that she just wanted the simple life . . . Then she started bossing me around. One instruction after another. Like an air hostess preparing you for take-off . . .’

  Come the next morning, for once in his life, FanciesHimself was on the receiving end of the sort of rejection he was in the habit of inflicting on others. BusyBody apparently made it clear in no uncertain terms why things would be going no further. This has put FanciesHimself into unknown territory and it seems that he’s actually claiming to be quite hurt. According to OldSmoothie, this meant that he had to go on ‘a weekend bender’ just to get his mind straight. Apparently HeadClerk has said that he’s going to pretend it didn’t even happen as to do otherwise would just be too much to contemplate. HeadofChambers is also officially turning a blind eye for similar reasons.

  There was a flurry of emails around chambers following OldSmoothie’s revelations. One sums up what many were saying: ‘If you hire from below stairs, you can only expect below-stairs behaviour.’ Reminded me of Alan Clark’s wife, who once said, ‘If you bed people of below-stairs class, they will go to the papers.’ The email was basically a reference to BusyBody’s working-class roots. Whilst a scholarship to a south London day school had led her to cover up her south London drawl, it has noticeably returned in recent weeks as she has become increasingly stressed. Some people had already started mimicking her accent and this has now turned into a full-on game show complete with clerk story to boot. So much for New Labour’s New Britain.

  I overheard TopFirst getting stuck in, too, to another member of chambers.

  ‘You must have heard about BusyBody and FanciesHimself? . . . You haven’t . . . Yes, it was after the party last week. Disastrous for her, really. Still, can’t make a silk purse out of a pig’s ear. Class will always out.’

  Ouch. The cruelty not only surprised me but also left me relieved to discover that he has a weakness. Like a shark with the smell of a fellow pupil’s blood in the water, his instincts took over and for the first time he showed a reckless streak.

  All I have to do now is to work out how I can ultimately turn this against him.

  CHAPTER 6

  March: The Bait

  Hold out baits to entice the enemy.

  Sun Tzu, The Art of War

  Thursday 1 March 2007

  Day 106 (week 22): Instincts

  Spent some time with TheBoss today. He’s been asked to write a summary of his defence for the Bar Standards Board. Hmm. The question in effect boiled down to, ‘What do you have to say which can possibly mitigate your amending chambers’ records and fraudulently deceiving your solicitors that it was them and not you who had missed the limitation deadline for issuing a case?’ And the answer . . . ‘Not a lot.’ Poor Boss. If he’s found guilty, he’s extremely likely to get sus
pended for at least a year and maybe even permanently. It depends what he comes up with. My guess is that he’ll plead guilty and go for stress brought on by a wicked wife who had driven him into the arms of one of his instructing solicitors. The pressure was all just too much. Yeah, right. Let’s just hope there isn’t a woman sitting on the tribunal, for his sake. He will also almost certainly get kicked out of chambers. But if he keeps his sentence down, he may walk back into a lesser chambers which is desperate for the rent. He’s also likely to get the work back as solicitors are rarely aware of any barrister’s professional misconduct history. He’s even started to perk up, with the thought that a period of suspension would be a good time to sort out the divorce since any settlement would have to reflect his lack of earning capacity.

  Meanwhile, BattleAxe, his sturdy instructing solicitor and mistress, has remained faithful both in her affection and, luckily for TheBoss, in the work that she continues to provide. In fact, such is the disdain of the clerks for TheBoss at the moment that she is almost his only source of work.

  In the meantime, this week, TopFirst’s been trying to chum up to me. The only reason I can think of is that, like me, he’s realised that the other two are history and it’s a straight fight between the two of us. Plus maybe he figures that in a showdown, he’s not going to be second to draw. Not that I think he realises quite how the other two fell. But as OldRuin has often said, ‘instinct can be a powerful thing’. ‘Follow it, BabyB. It’s worth a hundred times more than the limited amount of evidence which ever makes it into a courtroom.’

  Friday 2 March 2007

  Day 107 (week 22): Porridge

  Today I was sent to jail. Only for an hour, but nonetheless . . .

  It all happened when I was accompanying Teflon to Maidstone County Court, which also happens to adjoin the criminal courts and, significantly as it turned out, the cells. Halfway through the morning a mobile phone went off and Teflon immediately turned to me and glared, after which the whole courtroom did the same. I reacted by checking my mobile phone, realising it had not been me and putting it back in my pocket. Whilst everyone was staring at me, I noticed Teflon quickly take his mobile from his pocket and switch it off. All well and good, were it not for the fact that the judge continued staring at me rather than Teflon.

  ‘Do you not know the rule against the use of mobile phones in this court?’

  ‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘But . . .’

  ‘But nothing, young man. It only makes it worse that you were aware of the rule.’

  ‘But, it . . .’

  ‘Young man, do not interrupt me when I am speaking. You are only making matters worse for yourself. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘You are presumably also aware about how I deal with such an offence to the dignity of this court?’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘Well you are about to find out. Please stand up.’

  I stood.

  ‘Young man, I hereby find you guilty of contempt of court and sentence you to one hour in the cell during which time you are to reflect on your lack of respect for the office of this court.’

  He then telephoned for a security guard who immediately came to collect me and led me down to the cells, smirking as he did so. I wanted to shout out, ‘It wasn’t me’, or as many clients call such a plea, after the song by that name, ‘Taking the Shaggy’. But I was so utterly stunned by the speed of events and the scale of the escalation that I was silenced. I looked over to Teflon but he was staring at his notes. ‘Save the Maidstone One!’ I also wanted to shout. But again, nothing. Not even anything half witty. Do not pass go, do not collect £200. And then I was doing porridge. Time inside. No longer a free man. Not that I saw any evidence of oatmeal or gruel. I was put in a holding cell where I was able to catch up on the latest from Phillip Schofield and Fern Britton on This Morning.

  I was collected by the security guard an hour later and led back to court and put behind Teflon. On the way, the guard told me that the judge had done this a few times. That I wasn’t to worry. Just ‘one of his foibles’. Some foible! When I arrived back, the judge made no further remarks. Worst of all, I never even got an apology from Teflon on the way back to chambers. Seems he’d decided to brave it out, figuring that I would decide that it wasn’t in my interest to tell tales around chambers or to make any challenge to the judge’s ruling. ‘Strange thing for the judge to do . . . funny little incident . . .’, was all that he said about it, before changing the subject. Well and truly stitched up. Though he was foolish. Even if I decide to let this one lie, he forgets quite how easy it is to cause trouble for barristers and their professional standing.

  My real worry is whether I might be under an obligation to report this to the Bar Standards Board as we have to tell them of pretty much all crimes other than traffic offences. For the moment, I figured quid pro quo is that Teflon will also be wanting to keep it under his non-stick wig in case I am forced to defend myself at his expense. I have therefore decided it’s better for me simply not to ask the Bar Standards Board than to risk what I might be told.

  Monday 5 March 2007

  Day 108 (week 23): Laughing stock

  I was wrong about Teflon. He is stupider than I thought. Not only did he fail to keep quiet about the fact that I was sent to jail, he has deemed it fit to broadcast to chambers in a mass email entitled ‘Pupillage just got tougher’, in which he has taken the picture of me on the chambers website and added a wig along with a black-and-white-striped jailbird top and some fake prison bars. Cheap courtroom big lie tactic. If he hits me hard enough some of it will stick and any suggestion that fault lies elsewhere will fall on deaf ears. By now, he’ll have deleted the records on his phone and without getting full details from his mobile company (no chance), there will be no way for me to prove it was him. So I’m left just to grin and bear it and hope the embarrassing episode passes by as quickly as possible. Needless to say it has led to many an amused look from members of chambers. Worst of all, I am the laughing stock of the library community of pupil skivers, who have been rattling their keys whenever I pass by their tables. Very funny, I must say. Forget the art of war, more like the art of making a complete prat of yourself. Something I seem to have mastered rather well.

  Thankfully, at least HeadClerk called me in this afternoon and told me not to worry. He told me he’d once had to bail out one of his barristers from a local police station after a long and very boozy lunch which had ended in the barrister standing on the steps of the High Court in full court dress and suggesting an end to judicial tyranny and a call to revolution, before mooning for a TV camera which had been waiting for some big case or other to finish. OK, so they’ve got some perspective on the matter. Nevertheless, Teflon has damaged my chances of tenancy and he will pay. I haven’t told anyone that he dropped me in it. That way, when I strike, no one will suspect other than (possibly) him, who will, of course, be unable to point the finger without at the same time incriminating himself. So far, I have set up Hotmail and Yahoo accounts in his name. I also have his home phone number, home address, date of birth and obviously his work address. Enough to be getting on with.

  Identity fraud is so very easy.

  Tuesday 6 March 2007

  Day 109 (week 23): At what cost?

  TopFirst came round to gloat today.

  ‘So what was it like spending time in jail?’ he asked with a smug grin.

  ‘Oh, you know . . .’

  ‘Must have been really cool. Did they give you a bowl of porridge?’

  ‘Yeah, and black-and-white-stripey pyjamas as well. You’d just never believe it.’

  ‘No, but seriously, did they take your fingerprints, add you to the national crime database and all that?’

  ‘Only after they took me off the “most wanted” list, TopFirst.’

  Once again, I only hope that he gets up other people’s noses as much as he does mine. As I’ve noted before, he has a tendency to jump the gun when the smell of
blood is in the air. That he becomes a gossip when it can damage a fellow pupil is not in the least unusual. That he becomes breathless with the exhilaration of it might be fatal. Vanity. Hubris, even. Enough for me for now. But planning will be essential – and, ultimately, a little luck.

  After that, Worrier also came for a visit.

  ‘Hi, BabyB. How do you like my new deadly weapon for my first day in court?’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘My new glasses, silly.’

  ‘Oh. But I didn’t know you needed glasses,’ I answered, looking at the thick-rimmed pair that now adorned her face.

  ‘I don’t,’ she said in the tone of one of those dandruff ads.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Don’t you get it? They’re great. They’re just filled with plain old glass.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Well, not only do they make me look more intelligent, kind of Lois Lane style, but they’re also going to work a treat when I cross-examine and spin them around and about.’ She took them off and gave me a lingering and slightly mad stare as she rabidly spun the glasses around in her left hand. I think I must have looked just a tiny bit sceptical.

  ‘According to my life coach, taking off the glasses and spinning them around will not only intimidate the witness but also distract them from their story.’

  Suddenly I had a vision of armies of Worriers entering the courts up and down the land wearing the same silly glasses and brandishing them at anyone who got in their way like a Worrier sword. But then it got worse.

  ‘He’s a genius, BabyB. I’d highly recommend him. Made me realise that my little difficulty with HeadofChambers is simply an opportunity for me to show my character by turning the situation on its head.’

  Well she’s certainly losing her head. Sounding more and more each day like a member of a cult. ‘You know, I can now see that the reality is that pupillage is a gift,’ she went on. ‘I love it the way they challenge our patience. Despite first impressions, it’s all a wonderful, life-enhancing experience.’