Law and Disorder

by Tim Kevan

  As for TopFirst, he asked Ginny for a photo of herself today which means that I need to find someone to play her, fast. The problem is, from where? I hardly want to go round ringing those numbers you see posted in phone boxes.

  Wednesday 28 March 2007

  Day 125 (week 26): Up to your neck

  Had a meeting with TheBoss today. He’s decided to go on the counter-offensive against his firm of solicitors.

  ‘You’re in up to your neck in this, you realise,’ he told me.‘If I go down, you go with me.’

  This was the last thing I needed to hear.

  ‘I don’t think so. All I did was to keep quiet about seeing that set of papers.’

  ‘That may be so, BabyB, but it looks far worse than that now, and you know it. You knew everything about the plan itself and then even worse for you is that you’ve since officially denied knowing anything about it. You’d better start realising that soon.’

  ‘So what do you want from me? Why would you want to implicate your pupil?’

  ‘Well, since you’re asking . . .’

  He then went on to explain that he’d heard rumours about the firm of solicitors that is attacking him. He said that there’s been some suggestion that they’re involved in a fake claims scam but he knows nothing more. He wants me to investigate. ‘You’ll be my spy, BabyB.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ was all I could reply.

  Afterwards I told Claire about my predicament.

  ‘The problem is, the more I try to get out of trouble, the worse it gets. The loan company, tampering with chambers’ computer records and now this.’

  ‘But if you do nothing, BabyB, then I’ve got no doubt that he’ll carry out his threat, just to spite you.’

  ‘So what do you think I should do?’

  ‘It’s not good, BabyB, but I think you’re going to have to try and get something on the solicitors. I mean it’s not such a bad thing to do if they really are involved in fraud. You know the other thing you need to do? Help him to fight his case more effectively.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Well you could start by telling him to get his own computer expert to examine the original hard disk and challenge the other side’s evidence.’

  Thursday 29 March 2007

  Day 126 (week 26): Cab Rank Rule

  My first case in court is on Monday and the papers arrived today. It’s a plea in mitigation and all I have is the charge sheet and a few lines of instructions from the solicitor, which read as follows:

  Instructing Solicitors apologise for the scant nature of the paperwork. Suffice to say that the client is no average scumbag or petty thief caught with his hands in the till, though this is what he is being charged with. Counsel will see what Instructing Solicitors mean when he meets the client at court. He is hereby instructed to enter whatever plea in mitigation he sees fit.

  Sounds cryptic and not a little peculiar. Out of curiosity, I Googled my client’s name. The instructions then started to make a little more sense. Seems he’s not only a tealeaf but a notorious football hooligan with the Chelsea Headhunters. Worse than that though was a story I stumbled across in which he had been convicted for beating up his own lawyer. Just what I needed on my first day in court. I wondered if there was any way to get out of the case on the basis of this past form.

  I phoned the Bar Council anonymously to seek their guidance. No way out, they said. Cab Rank Rule. Like a black cab, if your light is on and you’re available for work then you’re not allowed to pick and choose between the jobs you take. Even so, why do I have to be the one doing it? And on my first day, too?

  In my irritation I decided to check out this so-called Cab Rank Rule and hailed a black cab.

  ‘Can you take me to the top of Chancery Lane, please?’ I asked in my best barrister voice.

  ‘But that’s only fifty yards away, mate. Just over there. You don’t need a cab.’

  ‘Yes, but I’d like to travel in a cab.’

  ‘Just not worth the hassle, mate. Have you seen the traffic jam I’d get caught in over there?’

  ‘What about the Cab Rank Rule? Don’t you have to take me wherever I want?’

  ‘Oh.I get it.You’re another of those barristers.I hate ’em.Always reminding me of that stupid rule. Well forget it, mate. Taking the mickey. Report me if you like.’

  And with that he drove off.

  Friday 30 March 2007

  Day 127 (week 26): MoneyMatters

  At lunch today I overheard OldSmoothie asking Worrier what area

  of law she wants to do when she grows up.

  ‘Criminal defence,’ the answer came back.

  ‘Oh, that’ll change,’ replied OldSmoothie. ‘You’ll struggle to push it above two hundred doing that.’

  ‘Two hundred pounds a day doesn’t sound so bad,’ replied Worrier.

  ‘Such a lot to learn, young lady. Two hundred grand and that’s in a year. It’s the absolute bare minimum if you’re going to maintain any sort of middle-class life in this town. And that’s assuming your kids get scholarships and that you can put up with living in some grotty terrace in south London.’

  Whilst we’re on the subject of finance, I’ve returned to TheBoss and agreed to investigate the firm of solicitors. Let’s call them FakeClaims&Co. I also gave him Claire’s suggestion of obtaining his own computer expert evidence and he seemed genuinely grateful. With all this goodwill going my way I realised that there may have been an opportunity for assistance in funding my Ginny project against TopFirst. I therefore asked him how much he was going to pay me. He didn’t flinch.‘£1,500 to start investigating and £1,500 for any evidence which will implicate them,’ he replied.

  Should be enough to be getting on with.

  CHAPTER 7

  April: First Days in Court

  To secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but the opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself.

  Sun Tzu, The Art of War

  Monday 2 April 2007

  Day 128 (week 27): BullDog

  I seriously considered calling in sick over the weekend after someone whispered that this was one way of getting around the Cab Rank Rule and avoiding having to represent the less enticing of clients. The problem was, no one would have believed me and the damage I’d have done my tenancy chances would be just too much. So I trotted off to the salubrious surroundings of Brent Magistrates’ Court where I met my first ever client, a short, bald, very fat man in his late forties whom I shall politely call BullDog.

  ‘So you’re my brief are ya?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  He then looked at me a little more closely and came out with one of the two questions I had been dreading most.

  ‘How old are ya, mate?’

  ‘Twenty-seven,’ I lied, my voice rising an octave in the process and my prepared spiel going out the window. This was followed by the only other question I had been fearing:

  ‘And how long you bin practisin’?’

  ‘Three years.’ My voice going two octaves deeper as I made a fresh attempt to assert even the tiniest bit of authority. Great. My first words on my first day with my first client and they’re all unadulterated big fat porky pies.

  ‘No way, mate! You must be one of them new ’uns. It’s April ain’t it? My brief once told me about you lot. Look, there’s another one over there.’

  And so there was, all fresh-faced, shoes polished, new suit and wide-eyed earnestness. A replica of myself, in fact. I admitted my inexperience.

  ‘So, mate. You’ve just lied to your client, have you? Guess you’d better get me a good result today then. Or I might just have to think about reporting you.’

  Just what I needed. A client who knew his rights and who now held my professional future in his grubby, fat hands. It doesn’t come much more serious than lying to clients.

  ‘So, mate. This is the way I see it. I might have been a bad boy in the past but I ain’t bin caught doin’ nuffin’ for two yea
rs. Goin’ straight, you can say. Tell ’em about me daughter and ’ow I’ve been workin’ the doors to look after ’er. Might’ve skimmed a bit off the takings that night but never done it before. Know what I mean, mate? So you tell ’em I bin lookin’ after me daughter and that if they sends me inside she’d be back in care.’

  When we eventually got into court, the bench was chaired by a stern-looking lady who resembled an older version of TheBoss’s mistress BattleAxe.

  ‘I see Mr BullDog has a long list of previous convictions.How does he expect to avoid a custodial sentence in these circumstances?’

  I explained BullDog’s sorry tale and was met with an unflinching glare from the bench.

  ‘Anything more?’ I was asked at the end of my submissions.

  ‘Er,no,I don’t think so,’ I wavered,not sure if they were suggesting that I had missed something.

  ‘Good.’

  They then disappeared for a few minutes and came back and sentenced BullDog to six months in prison. Before he was taken away, he asked for a word with me, which was granted.

  ‘Shame about that, mate. ’Fraid I’m gonna have to report you now. Real shame that. Just when you done all that work an’ all to qualify.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, Mr BullDog. I honestly did my best in there. Honestly. And I’m also really sorry I didn’t tell you that I was new.’

  ‘Too late mate. Although . . . it might be useful to have another brief on me books. Get quite a lot of me staff up on drugs charges, if ya know what I mean?’

  ‘Well, if I can help with their defences . . .’

  ‘Might take you up on that mate. S’pose I could ’old off on that complaint . . .’ he said as he was led away. Then he turned round and gave me his best chubby little smile, ‘. . . for now, anyway.’

  So, one appearance in court and already I’m in debt to a hard-core gangster.

  On balance, not a good day.

  Tuesday 3 April 2007

  Day 129 (week 27): Up and coming

  In my search for someone to play the fictional Ginny, TopFirst’s new pen pal, I contacted one of those ‘Test Your Boyfriend’ agencies you see mentioned in the newspapers and went to visit them in my lunch hour. Easier, in the end, to hire someone who can later simply claim to be a prostitute than the real McCoy. As I embark upon my biggest act of war so far, I take some consolation in the fact that he professes to be happily engaged and the reality is that my plan will fail if he remains faithful.

  I found this agency in an extremely seedy office in King’s Cross. Whatever the estate agents say, the only thing that is ‘up and coming’ in that hole of a grottsville area is the kerb crawlers. I explained the email correspondence by saying that I was the brother of TopFirst’s fiancée and was concerned about his fidelity. It was a tall order, but Ginny had to be posh, bright and beautiful. They said that they had a couple of star students on their books who only occasionally worked for them to pay off their student debts at the end of each academic year. I looked at their profiles and one in particular stood out due to a particularly haughty look which I think TopFirst might go for. They said they’d get back to me as to when she’d be available. I then returned to chambers and emailed TopFirst from Ginny’s account with the photo of Ginny the HoneyTrap, my virtual creation, who is suddenly becoming very real.

  Wednesday 4 April 2007

  Day 130 (week 27): Confusion

  ‘The car came from the offside.’

  ‘No, the nearside.’

  ‘Offside.’ It was my first small claims hearing and I was getting my nearside and offside thoroughly mixed up. So much so that the witness was also becoming confused since he couldn’t believe that a barrister could get it so wrong.

  ‘Er, OK, maybe the offside. I don’t know.’

  Not the most dignified way to win the case but I’ll take it any way it comes, particularly when the client saw my mistake as some sort of inspired tactical manoeuvre . . .

  In the meantime, Worrier was round again reporting on BusyBody’s progress.

  ‘This is top secret, BabyB.’ She had started to sound like the secret agent from ’Allo ’Allo.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s just I think you should probably know as she’s going to need supporting through this.’

  ‘So what have you heard?’

  ‘I asked her outright yesterday morning. She denied it outright and went off in a storm. But then today she came round to visit and told me that I was right.’

  ‘She’s pregnant.’

  ‘Yes. But you can’t tell a soul.’

  ‘Because of the father issue or because it’d ruin her career?’

  ‘Both, but probably more the career thing actually. She figures no one will take her on if there’s any suggestion she’ll be a part-timer.’

  ‘Sad, but possibly true.’

  ‘Equality for all. Except barristers.’

  ‘So what’s she going to do?’ I asked.

  ‘Sit tight for the moment, though she’s realistic enough to realise that it’s probably not going to be long before someone guesses.’

  ‘Is she going to continue with pupillage?’

  ‘I think so. Kind of got a nothing-to-lose attitude now which might actually be quite healthy.’

  Hmm.

  ‘So how was your first case?’ I asked, trying to change the subject.

  ‘I’d rather forget it if I could.’

  ‘That bad?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh BabyB, the difficulty was that I just couldn’t simplify it all down. You know, sort out the wood from the trees.’

  Oh, now that’s one to put in my back pocket if ever there was one. Out of the mouths of babes. Poor Worrier had put her finger on the problem she had with life, not merely court hearings. Except it’s not wood from trees. Worrier will show you the whole forest. There are just too many details in WorrierLand. Couldn’t be more clear than that.

  ‘The judge said I was “wittering” at one point, BabyB, and then later told me to “spit it out”.’

  ‘That sounds a bit rude to be saying in a court of law,’ I said, trying to make light of it all.

  ‘Oh BabyB, you are awful.’ She perked up slightly, smiled and put on her best comedy voice. ‘But I like you.’

  Thursday 5 April 2007

  Day 131 (week 27): FaceOff

  I spent the day at court with my new pupilmistress, UpTights. Quite a contrast to TheBoss who would generally sidle up to opponents and suggest something like, ‘Don’t suppose we can get rid of this and be back in chambers for lunch can we?’ UpTights on the other hand hardly ever settles a case at court, on the basis that ‘we’re paid to fight, not settle’, and therefore she said to her opponent today, ‘There’s no point talking if you’re not prepared to look at this case sensibly.’

  ‘Well, quite,’ said the other side’s barrister, who today just happened to be OldSmoothie. He clearly knows her well enough to have decided the best strategy was to wind her up. He leaned in a little too close for her liking, given her ‘personal space’ issues, and continued, ‘Though I’m sure you’ll take your client’s instructions if I do make an offer.’

  UpTights moved away from OldSmoothie. ‘A little space please . . . Of course I’d take instructions, not that that’s any of your business. But I really don’t think there’s any point talking further.’

  After this, OldSmoothie needled her further by getting a mini-pupil who was following him to come over and make an offer to UpTights.

  ‘Can’t he be bothered to come over here and tell me himself?’

  ‘No, he can’t,’ the mini-pupil answered, obviously having been briefed what to say. The offer itself was ridiculously low and only served to irritate UpTights further. The mini-pupil didn’t make it any better when he followed up with, ‘OldSmoothie says that if you don’t accept by the start of the hearing, it will be withdrawn.’

  ‘Well, you can tell OldSmoothie . . .’

  ‘. . . and he also said to tell you that he l
ooks forward to hearing what your client has to say about the offer.’ After which the mini-pupil turned on his heels.

  It only got worse when we went into court. OldSmoothie started calling UpTights ‘Mrs’ rather than ‘Ms’ which, though she didn’t correct him, clearly grated, particularly when he also started mispronouncing her name. He also took two extremely weak points at the start of the hearing which left UpTights even more jumpy and impatient than usual. It only took a couple of hours of this before UpTights finally snapped at the judge in response to a question he had asked.

  ‘With respect, Your Honour, if you read the witness statement of the claimant you will see . . .’

  ‘Are you suggesting that I haven’t read the witness statements?’

  ‘Of course not, Your Honour . . .’

  UpTights by this point couldn’t help herself and during OldSmoothie’s provocative submissions she started shaking her head and muttering, ‘No, no, no.’ OldSmoothie stopped mid-flow and said to the judge, ‘I’m sorry, Your Honour, but it seems my learned friend Mrs UpTights wishes to address you early.’ At which point he sat down.

  ‘Yes, Ms UpTights. Your opponent is right. I, too, find your constant interrupting and muttering extremely irritating and would be grateful if you would refrain from it in future.’

  UpTights was speechless and simply nodded angrily at the judge before OldSmoothie stood up, smiled over at her and continued.

  By which point we were done for.

  Tuesday 10 April 2007

  Day 132 (week 28): Horsehair and HoneyTraps

  TopFirst has really done it now. I went off to court today and, relying on his advice, didn’t take my wig and gown. ‘You don’t need them for fast-track trials these days,’ he said. ‘Only multi­track ones.’

  That made sense to me as fast-track trials are often not much bigger than small claims hearings and you definitely don’t need your robes for those. I say that because without a second thought I trotted off to court, happy not to be lumbered with the cumbersome paraphernalia that comes with this job. Two hours’ travel and I was at Swindon, chatting with my clients and all ready for our hearing. Just as we were about to go into court, my opponent arrived in the waiting room all dolled up in his robes.