Law and Disorder

by Tim Kevan

  ‘Lightweight, BabyB. Nice try.’

  Aw, shucks. I shrugged and extended my hand in congratulation.

  ‘You were right. Long live the king!’

  So that was all going on behind the scenes whilst the rest of chambers continued their discreet little drinks party. That was until ThirdSix burst through the door and sidled up to TheVamp. ‘More champagne?’ he grunted, and put his arm around her waist. TheVamp immediately registered his state and palmed him off. After which he moved on to UpTights, who was slightly more forthcoming. ‘Hello, kind sir. Well, if you insist.’ She pawed at his chest and then asked, ‘So, how are you enjoying your third six?’

  They became engrossed in conversation, if you can call it that on his part. UpTights didn’t seem to mind in the least, and was last seen with her arm around him walking down Chancery Lane.

  Tuesday 29 May 2007

  Day 166 (week 35): Hangovers

  UpTights, I have to say, was far from living up to her nickname today. And that’s putting it mildly. She breezed in at 11 a.m. rather than her usual 8.30 with a very cheery,‘Good morning,BabyB.’ Top of the morning to you too, I’m sure. I was suspicious. Maybe my plan to get ThirdSix drunk had backfired and somehow worked in his favour. I kept my head down. No doubt I’d hear soon enough.

  It didn’t take long. OldSmoothie took ThirdSix out for lunch and threatened him with cancelling his pupillage unless he gave him all the details. Well, turns out there were none. Or very few, anyway. He’d made a lunge at UpTights, who had slapped him in the face and then proceeded to drag him home. Well, to his home actually. Except that he passed out in the cab and woke up in his front garden several hours later.

  Can’t work out whether it works for or against him, but at least we’ve started to get some sort of action. Gives me something to work on.

  Thursday 31 May 2007

  Day 168 (week 35): First offer

  I got a call from FakeClaims&Co out of the blue today. They said that they’d had an offer of £1,500 for my injury and loss of earnings and advised that I accept it. This was all happening a little quickly. I needed to get a meeting and I didn’t actually want any money but they were adamant that there was no need to visit. I asked if I could ring them back and gave Claire a quick call.

  ‘Why don’t you exaggerate the size of the claim? That way they’ll need to get more evidence and to interview you.’

  ‘But again that’ll just get me in deeper.’

  ‘Which is the point. If you’re going to slay the dragon, you’ve first got to enter its lair.’

  She was right, though I also think she is starting to like the intrigue a little. I phoned them back.

  ‘My injuries have actually been getting worse recently and I’ve not been able to work this last week.’

  ‘Oh. Well then. That’s different. I think perhaps you should come in.’

  CHAPTER 9

  June: HoneyTrapped

  To subdue the enemy without fighting is the supreme excellence.

  Sun Tzu, The Art of War

  Monday 4 June 2007

  Day 170 (week 36): Attrition

  After ThirdSix’s drinking episode, I thought it was time to start adding a little more pressure in this war of attrition that is pupillage. This time I aimed at TopFirst. Simple enough, this one. Looked up his solicitor for tomorrow’s case and set up a Hotmail account in her name. Then sent him an email this morning from her stating:

  Dear TopFirst,

  Please could you check the attached and confirm that it is all correct?

  Many thanks.

  Just enough to look personalised and yet general enough to be regarded on closer inspection and with the benefit of hindsight as spam. And yes, you guessed it. I attached a virus to the email attachment which I’d found within a few Google searches online. Not one which would kill the whole network, mind. Just one which would mean that it’d need fixing. Sure enough, this afternoon we all received a reminder email from HeadofChambers:

  Not that I thought I needed to remind people but in the light of an incident this morning, it seems that I do. You are therefore all reminded that you must not open any email attachments unless you are expecting them. Tut-tut.

  Tuesday 5 June 2007

  Day 171 (week 36): What’s it all about?

  ‘What on earth’s it really all about?’

  It was UpTights musing aloud as I’ve noticed she’s prone to do from time to time. It’s as if she’s spent so many years working in a job she despises that her little thought bubbles of resentment sometimes rise to the surface and gently slip out into speech without her even being able to stop them. As if the walls of her mind have slowly eroded away through years of making compromises. Today she was working on the case where the client was spuriously claiming he had blacked out. Seems the ‘tame neurologist’s’ report has come back saying that in his opinion this is the most likely explanation for the accident, which may well mean no money for the old lady.

  ‘Why do we dedicate our lives to this, BabyB? Why?’

  ‘Search me, UpTights. I kind of figure that you work to pay for the plastic surgery and health spas that you think will reduce the visible effects of your stressful job. You work to be able to afford to look like you don’t work. You climb on board your treadmill until it’s going so fast that you can’t jump off. You tell me, UpTights. Am I right?’

  That’s what I’d like to have said. What actually came out was, ‘We search for the truth, UpTights. A noble endeavour.’

  ‘There are no heroes here, BabyB. We’re all just shadows. Dim reflections of the real world. Sitting around packaging it all into neat and tidy little issues.’ She got up and strutted. ‘I can’t stand it, BabyB. The law. The whole thing. It sucks the poetry from our souls. Boils it all down to cynical platitudes.’ She looked out the window. ‘You know. If it wasn’t for the money . . .’

  She tailed off, returned to her desk and didn’t say another thing to me all day.

  Wednesday 6 June 2007

  Day 172 (week 36): Going backwards

  Last week Claire was extolling her new theory for successful litigation.

  ‘Forget blinking. That’s just child’s play. If you’re going to really step up to the mark then playing Rewind’s where it’s really at.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Just get the witness to tell their story backwards. Start with the incident and work back from there. Screws their brains up.’

  So for the last week, inevitably, we’ve been practising it whenever we’ve chatted, particularly down the pub. Always finishes with me saying, ‘And then I woke up in the morning,’ and Claire adding, ‘And then I was born.’

  Today was the first chance I had to put all this hard work into practice. My client was a thief and the witness I was wanting to trip up had identified him leaving the scene of the crime. What I kind of figured was that asking even an honest witness to tell his story backwards might cause some difficulties. What I hadn’t counted on was the assistance of a certain eccentric district judge.

  ‘Perhaps,’ I asked, ‘you might just take us through your story backwards.’

  ‘What do you mean, backwards?’

  ‘Just what I say. No more, no less.’

  ‘Literally?’

  ‘Quite so.’

  He went to his witness statement and very slowly he started reading. ‘2007, 14th April. Williams John. Belief and knowledge my of best the to true are statement this of contents the believe I.’

  He was reading it word for word . . . backwards, as he said, literally, and was obviously confused about what I’d been asking. The magistrate wasn’t having any of it.

  ‘Why on earth are you doing that?’

  ‘Because I was asked to.’

  ‘No you weren’t.’

  ‘Yes I was.’

  My client and I at this point became the audience to a very peculiar stand-off. The witness eventually got angry, the judge even more annoyed and despite my own efforts
a miscarriage of justice was achieved. My client got off.

  Thursday 7 June 2007

  Day 173 (week 36): BigFatTramp

  The trial against TheVamp is coming up next week and already she’s been around looking for offers. Of settlement, that is, though it’s true to say that her flirting has gone to level ‘trial minus one week and counting’. The temperature’s definitely increasing. Yesterday she offered to buy me a drink after work, but I was already booked, which is a shame since she’s been looking particularly attractive of late. Although the case is not particularly big, I’ve worked out that the reason it is so important is that this solicitor provides some of the juiciest cases at the Bar. How far she’ll go to secure a result remains to be seen. In the meantime, I made the mistake of mentioning the case to Claire after a couple of beers this evening.

  ‘What, against TheTramp? That same woman you got off with a few months ago?’

  Being a simple-minded soul I didn’t spot this commenty-type question for what it was: a huge gaping ManTrap ready to strike. I was soon to find out after I replied in full ManBlindness mode with, ‘I don’t think that’s particularly relevant, although come to think of it I think she might be making hints and I guess I am trying to decide what I’d do . . .’

  At which point the ManTrap closed around me and I spent the next hour or so trying to escape its barbs in the form of sarcastic remarks about myself, men in general, their egos and now and again, their lack of scruples. This was only tempered when, with her usual impeccably bad timing, TheBigFatTramp (as Claire was by this time calling her) nonchalantly strolled into the bar and spotted the two of us sitting at a table.

  ‘BabyB. How lovely to see you. Oh, and with your little pupillage friend. What’s her name?’ She hadn’t actually looked at Claire yet.

  ‘It’s Claire.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right. “JustGoodFriendsClaire”.’ Finally she turned to her and added, ‘How sweet.’

  Not that Claire was going to take it lying down, so to speak.

  ‘Have you run out of tenants and solicitors or something? Only the pupils left, is it?’

  ‘Ooh. She’s terribly big for her little pupil boots, our Claire, isn’t she?’

  ‘Or maybe it’s just your own version of the Cab Rank Rule. Wouldn’t be right to turn down passing trade, would it? Except you don’t drop your wig for every guy in town now, do you? Only for whom exactly? Fellow members of chambers and solicitors with big fat juicy briefs to give you?’

  ‘Oh, perrrleeeease. Says who? Sanctimonious little MissPrissy over here? Hardly. Next you’ll be telling me that your intentions with your best friend here are wholly platonic.’

  Then Claire was at her from another angle. ‘I see you’ve been on the sunbed again. Did you get bonus hours or something? Looks great.’ A dramatic pause and then the right hook: ‘For buffalo hide.’

  Went on for about twenty minutes and all I can say is that from the off I wasn’t just a little out of my depth. I was well and truly in the deep end and floundering. Silence wasn’t a choice. It simply happened as I watched the whole gruesome scene unfold. I have to say though that despite TheVamp’s reputation for the killer put-downs, it was Claire who won this particular showdown, albeit on points. Eventually TheVamp started to feel the strain of fighting away from home and sidled off with a parting crack.

  ‘I’ve heard about going out with protection, BabyB.’ She looked at Claire. ‘But I do wonder whether you’ve perhaps gone a little too far with this guard dog. Anyway, I look forward to seeing you in court next week. Without her around I’m sure we’ll be able to come to some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement.’

  She was back to flirtation mode and sidled off to see her next victim. I just hope Claire and TheVamp are never against each other in court.

  Friday 8 June 2007

  Day 174 (week 36): HoneyTrap countdown

  Been organising the final showdown between TopFirst and Ginny the HoneyTrap. Emailed him from Ginny’s account saying that she would be visiting London in a couple of weeks and asking whether he was free to meet up one evening. Would he be free? Or would he have a last-minute pang of conscience for his beloved? Not TopFirst. He replied in a flash telling Ginny to name the day and he’d be there. So I went to check his diary on the chambers network and suggested a day when he was booked in on a case in Manchester. It’ll be interesting to see what he comes up with to get out of the case. To his credit, TopFirst didn’t let on about his difficulties when he replied saying that he looked forward to it. Oh, but silly me. It completely slipped my mind to tell him that Ginny won’t actually be available that evening. Guess I’ll leave it a little while until I do. Wouldn’t like to make things too easy. He might get suspicious.

  Monday 11 June 2007

  Day 175 (week 37): DataMining

  There’s a squat in Camden which I heard about from a friend whilst I was at Bar School who used it whenever he was having an affair. Bunch of hippies running a nice little business allowing ‘their’ house to be used as a postal address for people who want to give false details but still receive the mail. Apparently they have a strictly no-drugs policy which keeps the police off their backs. The reason I mention this is that I visited it this evening as FakeClaims&Co are now insisting on a postal address from me.

  ‘Yeah, what do you want?’ It was a tall, doped-out hippy in T-shirt and jeans who answered the door with a matching hippy chick under his arm. I mentioned the name of my friend from Bar School and they relaxed a little, which didn’t surprise me given the amount he’d used their services.

  ‘So how can we help?’ He was about as businesslike as a real hippy can get.

  ‘I just need a postal address.’

  ‘So why did you come dressed in that ridiculous tie-dye outfit? We don’t demand fancy dress, you know.’

  It was a fair comment, really. I’d spent ages trying to work out what disguise to wear and tie-dye old-school nineties traveller-hippy was my best effort. Unfortunately, with my short hair and clean-shaven face I looked like a cross between Gordon Gekko and Swampy the anti-road campaigner.

  ‘Er, that’s a fair cop, I guess.’ I smiled and then he beamed back. ‘Don’t worry about it. Look, come in and let me get you a cup of tea.’

  ‘So what’s the deal with this forwarding service?’ I asked as we sat down around the table.

  ‘Well, it’s ten pounds a letter.’

  ‘That sounds like pretty good value. How many letters do you do a day?’

  ‘About two hundred at present,’ he replied and he looked at his girlfriend. They caught me doing the sums in my head.

  ‘Yeah, dude, I know what you’re thinking. How can a bunch of anti-capitalist hippies be bringing in half a mill a year. Go on, say it.’

  ‘Well, I was . . .’ I trailed off.

  ‘Look. It’s what you do with the money that matters.’

  I didn’t ask any further but since we were chatting and they were being so businesslike about everything, it also occurred to me that I might be able to use the address for another bit of mischief on the side.

  ‘Do you also allow us to sign up with a false name as well as this address?’ In fact this would mean two false names for me.

  ‘Whatever you like, man. So long as you’re not dealing or money laundering or anything like that we ask no questions. Kind of like a Swiss bank, really.’ He looked pleased with that one. ‘Yeah, I think I might even use that one in our marketing.’

  Actually, it couldn’t have been further from what they were, but I understood what he was saying.

  ‘Sounds good. I’ll have two please, one with a made-up name.’

  ‘What name do you want? No Disney characters please. Just not cool.’

  ‘I’ll have, er, let’s think. Yes, I’ll have “ThirdSix”, please.’

  On my return home I then rattled off a letter in ThirdSix’s name addressed to his old chambers in which I made a Data Protection Act request for all information they held on him
. I mentioned that they must not contact him in chambers for obvious reasons and that they should simply send him the information to his home address (i.e. the hippy dead drop). Very little to lose, and depending upon what they have, if the chambers simply replies without checking the address there may be a lot to gain.

  Wednesday 13 June 2007

  Day 177 (week 37): An uplifting offer

  Yesterday was the big day for my case against TheVamp. First thing I got a call from my instructing solicitor telling me that our client had rung up to say that he wouldn’t be turning up. Not just today. Not ever. Given that he was our only witness in defending the claim, my instructions were clear: settle. All of which TheVamp was unaware of when she arrived at court. Just to reinforce this information gap, as I came out of my conference room to talk to her, I popped my head back in the room and shouted into the emptiness, loud enough to be heard outside, ‘You just read your witness statement and we’ll have a chat later.’

  Desperate as I knew she was to settle, TheVamp came over and with a kind of self-mocking pout and flick of the hair said, ‘Come on, BabyB, how about just a teeny-weeny little offer? Just for me. Promise to vote for you in tenancy.’

  Which was a nice opening gambit and made me wonder how far she was prepared to go. The skirt, I noticed, had risen since the last hearing making me wonder if it was giving away more than merely a glimpse of her legs. Perhaps her bargaining position had weakened. Or maybe it simply reflected the fact that today was the one that mattered.

  ‘Believe me,’ I replied, ‘I’d love to settle, but I’m going to need more even than your sweet words to convince me to tell my solicitor to cave in at this late stage. Sorry, no deal.’

  ‘Look, BabyB. We’re not going to solve the world’s problems with that kind of approach. Maybe we should agree to put aside our differences for now and we can talk about them later over dinner at mine this evening? How does that sound?’