Good News, Bad News

by WHS McIntyre

  ‘Come on, Hugh. You don’t really believe him, do you? He’s just saying that. He’s got to, to keep face. Read between the lines.’

  One or two lawyers had drifted into court and the public benches were starting to fill. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Andy and Gail homing in on us. I would be wasting my time with Gail, but Andy was different, pliable. I’d given him a start in the law. It was payback time. ‘Tell you what, Hugh. Give me ten minutes to talk things over with my colleagues, and after that one of the accused will plead - if you let the others take a walk. How’s that sound?’

  ‘And I suppose that happy band of walkers would include your client in its number?’

  ‘That’s something us defence agents would have to discuss . . .’

  ‘With you in charge of the thumbscrews?’

  ‘What’s it matter to you? You get a conviction, my client and one of her friends go back to being proper lawyers and Sheriff Brechin ends up forever in your debt. Everyone’s happy.’

  ‘Not everyone.’

  He could be pedantic at times. ‘Okay, not absolutely everyone, just the important people, namely, my client, Sheriff Brechin . . .’ Time to twist the knife. ‘And you, if you ever want a reference from him.’

  As a Procurator Fiscal it was hard not to be elevated to the Bench. The Judicial Appointments Board loved a prosecutor. But you still needed three sound references and one had to come from a sheriff familiar with your work. Hugh Ogilvie would be banking on Brechin doing him the honours in due course.

  ‘Robbie . . .’ Ogilvie rubbed a hand over the shininess of his scalp and grimaced. ‘Go away.’

  Eleanor, the Sheriff Clerk, arrived with a big bundle of papers and sent the Bar Officer to bring the Sheriff on. Some of the other lawyers were now jostling me, trying to speak to the PF in order to negotiate last-minute pleas. Eventually, I was forced to give way. I backed off, climbed into my gown and in the process bumped into Gail Paton.

  ‘The PF’s being difficult,’ I said. ‘He wants them all to plead.’

  ‘What’s your client doing?’ Gail asked.

  ‘Nothing for it. We’ll need to all plead not guilty and let the heat die down. With a bit of luck we’ll get a more reasonable Fiscal at the intermediate diet.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘And then we toss a coin and someone pleads to let the other two out.’

  ‘A coin has only two sides,’ Gail said. ‘Let me guess, you were thinking I could be heads and Andy here would be tails, with you doing the coin-flipping?’

  Andy, who was standing nearby, came over when he heard his name mentioned. ‘My client is pleading guilty.’

  ‘That’s my boy,’ I said, ‘except, hold off for just now. There’s no point rushing into this. Let’s wait and keep our powder dry.’

  ‘No, she’s pleading guilty today.’ He seemed very confident for someone who’d only recently exchanged nappies for a court gown.

  ‘Listen, Andy, we need to think strategically.’

  ‘I am.’ By the firm line of his mouth, he had already made up his mind. ‘That’s why my client is pleading guilty at the very earliest opportunity. That way, she’ll receive the maximum sentencing discount.’

  Did he really believe all that sentence-discount crap that was put about in the hope that it would save time and make life easier for judges? All that happened in reality was that the starting point of the sentence was increased and then reduced to what would have been imposed anyway.

  ‘The sentence isn’t the issue, here,’ I said, ‘it’s the conviction. All our clients can handle a fine or a spot of extra-curricular gardening. Who cares if it’s a hundred pounds more or a few hours longer? If your client wants to be noble and take the blame, that’s great. But ask her to do it later when her sacrifice might let her friends walk and keep their jobs.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Andy said, not sounding it. ‘These women are all going to end up in front of the Scottish Solicitors Disciplinary Tribunal. Admitting guilt at the first chance is going to look much better than trying to squirm out of something later and failing.’

  ‘He’s got a point,’ Gail said.

  The Sheriff came on and ours was the first case to call. The three accused made their way forward to take up position in the dock.

  ‘Stick with a not guilty,’ I whispered to Gail. ‘Let’s call Ogilvie’s bluff. If Andy pleads his client guilty, that might be enough for the Crown. Why would they bother going to trial on a simple possession charge against our two when someone’s already pled to it?’

  Gail didn’t look convinced.

  The accused were identified by the Sheriff Clerk. Gail’s client was first accused.

  ‘Miss Paton, how does your client plead?’ the Sheriff enquired.

  Gail hesitated for a second, and, with a sigh and a final sidelong glance at me, said, ‘Not guilty, M’Lord.’

  I was next up. Before I could say anything, Antonia beckoned me over to the dock. ‘I want to plead guilty.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ I said.

  ‘But, I—’

  ‘You’re pleading not guilty.’

  ‘Mr Munro?’ the Sheriff enquired.

  ‘Miss Brechin is pleading not guilty,’ I said, and sat down in the well of the court.

  ‘And Mr . . . ?’

  ‘Imray,’ Andy said. ‘Your Lordship will find my client pleads guilty as libelled.’

  The Sheriff confirmed the plea with Andy’s client. ‘Is that correct? You plead guilty that on first May this year at Royal Terrace, Linlithgow you did have in your possession a quantity of cocaine in contravention of section five subsection two of the Misuse of Drugs Act nineteen seventy-one?’

  The young woman nodded her head, not looking at the bench.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  The Sheriff looked down to his right. ‘Are those pleas acceptable, Mr Fiscal?’

  Ogilvie stood. ‘Only the third accused’s plea, M’Lord. Would your Lordship’s clerk please fix trial and intermediate diets for the first and second accused and defer sentence on the third so that all three may be dealt with together?’

  Thereafter, as requested, dates were set and the three young women released on bail.

  I met Antonia’s mother outside in the corridor. ‘Why didn’t Antonia plead guilty too?’ she demanded. ‘I heard that other solicitor say it would be better in the long run.’

  ‘Antonia didn’t plead guilty,’ I said, ‘because I’m a defence lawyer and, call me old-fashioned, I’m trying to have your daughter acquitted.’

  ‘But she doesn’t have a defence. She’s guilty. You must know that. Her own grandfather says she should plead guilty.’

  ‘Antonia’s grandfather thinks everyone should plead guilty.’

  ‘You do the crime and you take what’s coming to you. That’s justice.’

  ‘No, Mrs Brechin,’ I said. ‘That’s the law. Justice is something completely different.’

  13

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me about this?’ Joanna held up the sheaf of papers I’d given her and waved them at me. She didn’t start her new job until the following Monday and, while I’d been at court that Tuesday morning, she’d been at the office working with Grace-Mary to tidy up a few things and clear the way for her imminent departure.

  ‘It’s supposed to be a surprise,’ I said.

  ‘More like a shock.’

  This was the thanks I got. ‘A few days in Prague in a five-star hotel. What’s shocking about that?’

  ‘Four whole days in Prague with you, Robbie. It’s enough to make a girl’s head spin.’ Grace-Mary had decided to enter the discussion.

  I ignored her like I did most of my secretary’s interventions. ‘The Czech Republic is a beautiful country.’

  ‘When it’s not being invaded by the Nazis or Soviets,’ Grace-Mary muttered. ‘And it’s not the Czech Republic anymore, it’s called Czechia now.’

  I put my hands on
Joanna’s shoulders. ‘Don’t listen to her. The Panzers rolled out years ago. These days Prague is a lovely place for a holiday.’

  ‘Why? Have they moved it closer to the sea?’ Joanna asked, opening the envelope again and checking, just in case the reservations had magically changed to somewhere sunny with sand and surf. ‘And where are we getting the money from for this trip? I thought we were ploughing every spare penny into the new house?’

  Every relationship needed its secrets. Other than admitting that the Czech Republic was indeed still landlocked, I didn’t mention that I was going for work purposes, or that the trip was being funded by a client. What lottery-winning Ellen wanted me to do, could be done in a morning or an afternoon. I could explain it all to Joanna once we were safely in Bohemia. For now, it was too good an opportunity for killing two birds with the one stone.

  ‘And it’s a bit short notice,’ she said. ‘I’ve nothing to wear.’

  ‘Think of it as a honeymoon rehearsal. Clothes are optional.’

  Joanna looked at the tickets again. ‘Prague? Whatever made you decide on Prague? What’s the weather like in May?’

  ‘I’d pack my woollies if I were you,’ Grace-Mary said, as though I was about to strap my fiancée to a sledge, and set off across the North-West Passage, rather than take her on a pleasant trip to the crossroads of Europe.

  I was having none of my secretary’s negativity. ‘It’ll be a lot hotter than Scotland, and we’re not going for the beach. We’re going for the culture, the history—’

  ‘The cheap beer?’ Grace-Mary lifted a bundle of mail from the wire basket on my desk and leaned in close to Joanna. ‘I suppose you should just be thankful he’s taking any time off at all.’

  I’d run out of argument. All I had left was a hurt expression.

  Joanna came over, lifted her face to mine and kissed me. ‘Prague will be great. We’ll go somewhere warmer in the summer. Me, you and Tina.’

  ‘Two holidays in the same decade? You’ll be lucky,’ was Grace-Mary’s parting shot. She tapped the bundle of paper on the desk a few times to square it up, and then carried it through to reception. She was back two minutes later. ‘That’s your first appointment in. Heather Somerville. She wants to appeal her conviction.’

  Joanna winced. I’d told her all about the boyfriend-slapping case. ‘I’ll leave you to it. I’m more or less finished here. I’ll go home and see how the rabbit hutch is doing. You do know that when it’s finished we’ll actually have to put a rabbit in the thing?’

  ‘Then that’ll be another vegetarian to keep you company,’ I said, ushering my fiancée out and my client in, the latter with her partner in tow.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said the boyfriend, after I’d explained the summary appeal process for the third time. ‘How could he find Heather guilty? You told the judge that Heather didn’t mean to hit me. How’s that an assault?’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Let’s take this step by step. First of all, Heather did mean to hit you. Didn’t you, Heather?’

  The young woman stared down at her hands, thumbs pressed tightly against each other, and nodded.

  The boyfriend started up again. Suddenly, I could understand my client’s need to administer him the occasional slap. ‘But you said—’

  ‘I say a lot of things in court when I’m trying to win a case. It doesn’t mean they’re necessarily true.’

  ‘But you said the case was too trivial to bother with. If you send in an appeal won’t the appeal judges see it the same way?’

  I doubted it. When it came to matters jurisprudential, my mind and that of the Appeal Court were seldom in the same orchestra pit, far less in tune.

  ‘But it’s not fair,’ he whined.

  ‘No, you’re right, it’s not. But it is the law. Best not to get the two mixed up.’

  ‘And she didn’t hit me that hard. I hardly felt it.’

  That was a mistake I wouldn’t make if he didn’t quit moaning. ‘Maybe not, but legally speaking the Sheriff was entitled to hold it was an assault.’ I hated taking Bert Brechin’s side; nonetheless, I had to get across the fact that an appeal was a waste of time. Furthermore, as I explained, presumably to dissuade people from contesting wrongful verdicts and excessive sentences, Legal Aid rates for appeals hadn’t risen in twenty-six years and I’d be losing money by doing it.

  ‘So that’s what it’s about, is it? Money?’ Boyfriend removed his wallet and started counting out notes onto my desk. Strange how you could grow to like even the most annoying people.

  Before I could get my paws on the cash, my client’s tiny hand clamped down onto her partner’s and pinned it to the pile. ‘Don’t, Bobby. Didn’t you hear Mr Munro? There’s no point in appealing.’

  Boyfriend Bobby wrenched his hand away and began stuffing the money back into his wallet, like he was stuffing a cushion. ‘I told you, you should have got a better lawyer.’

  Just as I stood up for her in court, my client now stood up for me. Sort of.

  ‘I wouldn’t have needed a better lawyer if you’d been a better witness! How many times did Mr Munro ask you if you could have been mistaken about the slap? All you had to do was agree with him and say the barmaid was wrong and that I’d reached up and stroked your face to calm you down after you’d shouted at me. But oh, no . . .’ she crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue in her cheek and said in a low, gormless voice, ‘No, she definitely slapped me on the face, your Honour.’

  ‘But you did slap me.’

  My client looked down at her boyfriend and then at me, shaking her head. ‘You see what I’ve got to put up with?’

  ‘He is right about one thing, though,’ I said. ‘You didn’t hit him hard enough.’

  Two of us in the room saw the funny side, the other jumped out of his chair, face ablaze. ‘Listen—’

  ‘No, you shut up and listen.’ My client stuck a finger in his face and slowly Bobby the boyfriend resumed his seat. ‘Right,’ she said, once he’d settled himself again. ‘The truth of the matter is that I’ve only got myself to blame, and, if Mr Munro says an appeal is a waste of time and money, we need to take his advice. After all, he’s the lawyer. If I’m not going to have a job when I graduate, there isn’t going to be much money available for legal expenses. Now what have you got to say to Mr Munro, Bobby?’

  After her boyfriend had mumbled an apology in my direction, she reached out and shook my hand. The teaching profession was about to lose an excellent disciplinarian.

  ‘I suppose there’d be no harm firing in an appeal,’ I said. ‘I can’t see how it can possibly work, but then the Appeal Court’s decisions are usually a mystery anyway, so who knows?’

  ‘You really think there might be a chance?’ There was a flicker of hope in the young woman’s eye that I could not bring myself to extinguish.

  ‘Only one thing’s certain,’ I said, with a shrug. ‘If you don’t buy a ticket you can’t win the raffle.’

  My client managed a faint smile. ‘Did you hear that, Bobby? Get your wallet out.’

  14

  We arrived in Prague shortly before noon after an early start and a three-hour flight. The Hotel Jalta was a five-star establishment built during the Cold War and came complete with its own fall-out shelter in the basement. Once popular with the leaders of Soviet Bloc countries, it was now on the UNESCO World Heritage list and described as an almost perfect example of socialist realism architecture, whatever that was. It looked like just another splendid building to me. Prague was full of them.

  The lift in the lobby took us to a two-room suite on the fourth floor. Ellen had spared no expense. We checked the bedroom first. The bed was ridiculously large and comfortable and we tried it out, though we weren’t particularly tired.

  ‘The best thing about this holiday is that we don’t have to queue for the toilet,’ Joanna said, when I emerged from the bathroom, one towel around my waist, and giving my hair a rub with another. ‘Or listen to your dad’s daily commentary on his bowel movements.�
� She had already showered and dressed and was sitting on the small sofa in the sitting room, eating red grapes from a complimentary bowl of fruit. ‘So, then? Who or what is the second bird?’ she asked.

  Joanna popped a final grape in her mouth, stood and walked to the doors leading to the balcony. She stepped out intending me to follow, which I did, warily. How or why or in what way I didn’t know, but I’d definitely been rumbled. ‘What do you mean, “second bird”?’

  Joanna leaned on the balcony railing and gazed down the length of St Wenceslas Square. ‘That’s what this trip is about, isn’t it? Two birds, one stone?’

  If I’d been one of my own clients, my advice to myself would be to say nothing in case I incriminated myself. My clients didn’t have to encounter Joanna, arms folded, turning and staring them straight in the eyes. ‘Okay, how do you know?’

  ‘Robbie . . .’ It seemed an effort for her to find the right words. ‘This hotel for a start . . . It’s five-star, it’s luxurious, we have a suite with a balcony overlooking one of Europe’s most prestigious thoroughfares.’

  Even I’d noticed that. ‘So?’

  ‘So, it’s not a standard room with a view of a wall, and . . . well . . . it’s not like you to go to this sort of expense.’

  ‘Are you calling your husband-to-be a cheapskate?’

  She wrinkled her nose. ‘Let’s say I’m marrying a man who is cautious with money. Especially his own.’

  ‘I don’t have my own money,’ I said. ‘We have our money. We opened a joint account, remember?’

  ‘And you’re careful with it. That’s good. Usually.’

  ‘So what are you trying to say?’

  ‘That there is not a chance you’d lash out on a four-day excursion to Prague and a stay in the best suite in a five-star luxury boutique hotel.’