by WHS McIntyre
‘Antonia,’ I said, ‘are you happy to discuss your case in front of everybody? Because if you’d rather talk about these confidential matters in priv—’
‘We’re staying,’ Mrs Brechin said. ‘Everyone here wants what’s best for Antonia.’
‘Is that right, Antonia?’ I asked. She nodded. ‘Then that goes for me too, and what’s best for Antonia is that she’s acquitted. The only way of achieving that, so far as I can see, is to lodge a notice of incrimination against her former co-accused, Freya Linkwood, to say that she acquired the drugs and that she was the person intending to supply them, not Antonia.’
‘But that’s not true,’ Antonia said.
Whose side was she on?
‘Did you hear that?’ Brechin said. ‘There’s no point going to trial. Antonia won’t lie about her role in this, and, in any event, I have it on good authority,’ by which I assumed he meant on the word of Hugh Ogilvie, ‘that she will be incriminated by both her co-accused. That’s two against one,’ he added, in case my arithmetic wasn’t up to scratch.
‘Then I’ll challenge their evidence.’
‘On what possible basis?’
‘On the basis that they’ve been given a deal by the Crown in exchange for giving evidence against Antonia.’
‘Will that work?’ Mrs Brechin wanted to know.
It was her father-in-law who answered first. ‘No, of course it won’t work. The man’s clutching at straws.’
‘It’s a jury trial.’ I said. ‘You throw enough straws in the air and they cause a distraction. You only need to distract eight out of fifteen jurors for an acquittal.’
‘I have never liked your approach to the law, Mr Munro,’ Brechin said.
‘Then it’s just as well you won’t be on the jury.’
He snorted, leaned forward in his wicker chair and with a look of annoyance on his face, re-arranged the red velvet cushion at the small of his back. From behind the cushion he removed a large pair of binoculars which, along with me, seemed to be a major cause of discomfort. He looked around for somewhere to put them and opted to lay them on the floor by the side of the chair.
‘What if Antonia told the police who’d given the drugs to her? Would that help?’ Mrs Brechin asked.
‘Of course it would help, but she won’t do it,’ Brechin said.
Antonia shifted uncomfortably in her wicker chair, mumbling, ‘There are enough people in trouble already because of me.’
Her mother wasn’t for letting up. ‘But, Antonia, if it might save your career . . .’
Up until then Quentin Brechin had sat quietly, listening. ‘Leave the girl alone. Just because her two so-called friends are prepared to land her in trouble, I don’t see why Antonia should try and weasel out by blaming someone else.’ He turned to his daughter. ‘What do you think, Toni? Would you rather just plead guilty and get the whole thing over and done with?’
Antonia looked to me for help.
‘If you’re not prepared to reveal your source you really only have two options,’ I said. ’Plead guilty or go to trial.’
‘Well, I for one think she should plead guilty. Tell the truth and shame the devil,’ Quentin said. ‘Antonia was a young person looking to celebrate a success.’ He shrugged. ‘She thought she’d experiment with some recreational drugs and share them with her friends. Is that such a big deal?’
‘Yes, of course it’s a big deal!’ Brechin barked.
‘All I’m saying is that she’s not going to get the jail for this, is she Mr Munro?’
I thought it possible, though unlikely. While the distinction between commercial and social supply was not one normally recognised by Bert Brechin, with other sheriffs it was often the difference between jail and no jail.
‘There you are, Dad. Worst case scenario she gets struck off for something that will probably be made legal in a few years. A career in the law isn’t everything. There’s a whole world out there. Who wants to sit about a stuffy old legal office all day shuffling papers, anyway?’
‘Antonia does,’ Mrs Brechin said. ‘She’s always wanted to be a lawyer, and lawyers don’t break the law.’ Her eyes began to fill with tears. Antonia was already crying. They hugged each other for a moment, before the older woman stepped back and stared at her father-in-law through red-rimmed, viscous eyes. ‘Bert, you’ve got to do something. You can’t just sit there and watch the girl’s career go down the drain, everything she’s worked so hard for, all because of a few grams of powder. You’re a Sheriff. Put pressure on people. Exert your influence. It’s really only a small matter of having a charge reduced. Then all three girls can plead guilty and take what’s coming to them, but at least they’ll still have the chance of a future in the law.’
Brechin sniffed drily. ‘I can’t. I’d sooner resign my commission than attempt to defeat the ends of justice.’
Mrs Brechin stepped forward, a scowl shrouding her features. ‘But what’s happening to Antonia isn’t justice.’
He didn’t answer, merely turned his head to stare out of the window at the wild greenness of the Torphichen Hills that lay beyond the manicured boundary of his garden.
‘We don’t have courts of justice,’ I said. ‘We have courts of law. Isn’t that right, Sheriff?’
Brechin stood and fixed me with eyes set like black rivets in the side of a rusty, old, cast iron boiler. ‘That’s right. And it’s that system of law that I swore an oath to uphold.’
Joanna had breathed enough fresh air. The glass door slid open. Antonia had been blowing her nose into a paper hanky. When she saw Joanna enter she crumpled it and stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans. ‘Joanna,’ she said, ‘what should I do? Do you think I should go to trial?’
‘That’s not something Miss Jordan should give you advice on,’ Brechin said.
‘But I’m going to anyway,’ Joanna said. ‘Plead guilty and the only thing guaranteed is that you’ll be found guilty. Maintain your plea of not guilty, go to trial and, while the odds might be stacked against you, there will always be hope.’
‘Is that right?’ Mrs Brechin asked me. ‘Do you have anything to say that would give us so much as a shred of hope that Antonia might be acquitted?’
I had nothing.
She stood, composing herself, wiping away the tears like she was scraping ice off a frozen windscreen. ‘Then Antonia’s only hope lies with the appeal court. She strode forward and squared up to me. ‘If the best way to save my daughter’s career is to have you struck off, so be it.’ She gestured to the corridor that led to the front door, in case I’d forgotten the floor plan. ‘Mr Munro, please consider your services no longer required.’
46
Just as I preferred never to do today what I could do tomorrow, I thought it best not to worry now about things that could be worried about in the future. Having been sacked from Antonia Brechin’s defence, I still had another small matter to deal with.
First thing on Sunday morning, while Joanna was only dreaming about house hunting, I was out of bed and off down to Jake’s derelict cottage where quite a crowd had gathered. Other than Jake, Ellen, Sammy Veitch and myself, there was a team of men inside the building, stripping out old carpets and furniture and generally giving the place a thorough scrub-up.
The continuing good weather meant that the meeting with Sammy could take place outdoors in the back garden. It was a reasonably sized area of ground with some raised vegetable beds, now rotten with weeds, and a large overgrown lawn with a cast iron clothes pole planted in each corner.
Four wooden chairs had been taken from the kitchen and set out on a slabbed area at the back door surrounding a small felt-topped collapsible card table. Three of them were occupied. I remained standing behind the fourth, keen to get away. There was a chance I could be back home before Joanna even knew I’d gone.
Jake had other ideas. ‘You’re going nowhere. You’re staying put till this is sorted.’
‘What are you on about?’ I said, slowly backing away. ‘It is
sorted. Sammy knows what to do. He’s brought all the papers with him.’ Sammy raised his briefcase, Chancellor of the Exchequer style, to corroborate the position. ‘How much more sorted do you want it? He’ll talk you through everything and tell you where to sign.’
‘Sit,’ Jake said. ‘You’re my lawyer, not him, and I’m signing nothing until you give it the okay.’
It was nice to be so trusted, even by a person I wouldn’t have trusted to land on the ground if he fell off his chair.
I was about to explain further why my presence was no longer required when Freddy came around the side of the house, looking more chipper than someone who owed Jake Turpie a fortune had any right to be. He saw my empty chair and sat down in it.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Jake asked.
‘If this is a meeting to divide up my wife’s estate I think I should have a say in it.’
‘You’ve got no say. Fact is your wife owes me money and so do you,’ Jake said.
‘But we don’t owe you half a million.’ Freddy was obviously unfamiliar with Jake’s lending rates of interest.
‘You’re getting nothing from me, Freddy,’ Ellen said. ‘You disappeared making me think I was to blame, when you had some bint stashed away all the time. You ripped Jake off for this place and took his money with you to Prague, so why don’t you just go back there and leave us alone?’
Sammy made a show of looking at his watch. ‘I think I’ll come back later when you’ve all had a chance to talk things over. Robbie can give me a call.’ Taking his briefcase, he stood.
‘Sit!’ Freddy and Jake said in unison.
Sammy brushed dust from the hem of his kilt. ‘Look, I came here to sign up a life policy. If you still want to do that, I’ll stick around. If you’re going to waste my time arguing, then I’m leaving.’
‘I want half.’ Freddy was looking straight at Jake with a courage I didn’t know he possessed. ‘Ellen’s still my wife.’
Jake sprang to his feet. ‘Any more from you and she’ll be your widow.’
Now we were all standing, with the exception of Ellen who had decided to let the men hammer things out between them. What did she care? She wouldn’t be around to witness the aftermath.
‘It doesn’t matter what you sign, Turpie. When Ellen dies I’ll have a claim to her money,’ Freddy said. ‘She made a will leaving everything to me. Tell him, Robbie.’
Sammy was right in there before I could say anything, ‘Makes no difference, Freddy. If Ellen assigns her life policy to Jake now, then when she dies it goes to him. It doesn’t matter if there’s a will or not. The policy won’t form part of her estate. Not you or any other relative or anyone else named in the will can claim on it.’
‘Ellen’s got no relatives,’ Freddy said. ‘Just me,’
‘No? What about Eric’s wean?’ Sammy asked. ‘A wee girl, wasn’t it? Whatever happened to her?’
For the first time in the whole discussion I thought I saw a flicker of interest in Ellen’s eye at the mention of her long-lost niece. It was quickly extinguished.
‘Who cares what happened to her?’ Freddy kicked the chair Sammy had been sitting on seconds before, knocking it over and sending it clattering across the concrete slabs. ‘This is my money we’re talking about!’
‘No, Freddy, I’m afraid it’s not,’ Sammy said, righting the chair, and sitting down on it again. ‘It’s whoever’s money Ellen says it is.’ He laid the briefcase across his tartan lap and popped the locks. ‘Of course, any other estate she does have will be all yours,’ he added, sweetly, knowing full well that Ellen’s only realisable asset was her mortality. ‘Now, can we do this?’
Jake smiled, never a good sign for the person on the receiving end. ‘You hear that, Freddy-boy? Now beat it before I have Deek find a spare patch of ground and a spade.’
Freddy said nothing for a moment or two, just stared down at Ellen who was making a point of looking in the opposite direction.
‘I’ll grass,’ he said, eventually, in a hushed and yet determined voice. ‘When Ellen dies and you try to cash in her policy, I’ll go straight to the bizzies and tell them that the whole thing was a set-up from the start.’
‘Now, just hold on one minute, son,’ Sammy said, clinging to whatever shred of legal ethics he’d failed to shake off during his long career. ‘Remember there’s lawyers here. Let’s keep things professional.’
‘The cops would never listen to you,’ Jake said.
I begged to differ. If anyone knew what a fraud looked like, it was Freddy Fletcher. It was then I noticed that in response to some invisible signal Deek Pudney had appeared at the corner of the cottage. Arms folded, he blocked the exit and a lot of the morning sunshine.
Freddy showed no sign of backing down. ‘I’m having my fair share or no-one’s getting anything!’
What was the source of this new-found bravery? Desperation? Greed? So far as I could see his stubbornness was only going to prove right all those people who already thought he was dead.
‘We’ll buy this house from you, Jake,’ Ellen said, suddenly. She got to her feet, holding her side, face tight with pain. ‘Me and Freddy. For half a million. We’ll make an offer and hold off the purchase date until I’m gone. After that Freddy can pay you from my life policy. That way you get all your money back and Freddy gets the house, which he shouldn’t have got you to buy in the first place.’
‘But . . .’ Freddy’s normally pale features reddened and contorted. Ellen stuck a finger at them.
‘But nothing. You can sell this place. Tell the next mug there’s oil under it. It’s either that or I’m signing no insurance forms, understand? Take or leave it, I don’t care. I’ve nothing to lose.’
‘It’s actually quite a good idea,’ Sammy said. ‘Except . . .’
He didn’t need to expand. Jake had already spotted the bluebottle floating in that particular batch of snake oil. ‘So he inherits half a million and I’m supposed to trust him to use it to buy this dump off me? What’s to stop him buggering off back to wherever he came from with all the money?’
‘You’re right, Jake,’ Ellen said. ‘You can trust a thief . . .’ She spat the words at Freddy. ‘But not a liar.’ As a pot-calling-the-kettle-black moment it was one for connoisseurs of charred cookware. ‘There’s nothing for it, we’re all going to have to be in this together.’
Sammy let loose a groan. What he had thought would be a simple morning’s work was not going according to plan. He gestured to everyone to sit down. No-one did. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘Ellen nearly got it right. Here’s what we do.’
And so it was agreed that Jake, Freddy and Ellen would form a partnership, purportedly to develop the cottage. There was a good bit of garden ground, so they could pretend they were also going to build another house to the rear of the property. Since Jake owned the land, the profits would be split two-thirds to him with a sixth each to Freddy and Ellen. Sammy would drop a letter to the planning authority advising them of the proposal, and approach a few banks for funding. None of this work was necessary, but it would lend an air of credibility as to why the partners of the new firm required to take out a joint life policy for half a million pounds. It would mean that when Ellen died Jake would receive three hundred and thirty-three thousand and Freddy one hundred and sixty-six, which included Ellen’s one-sixth share.
As frauds went it was neat and simple and likely to raise very few eyebrows. Even Freddy seemed to realise that he wouldn’t get a better offer. So, once the not-so-small matter of Sammy’s upfront fees was settled, he opened his briefcase and began sorting out papers on the card table while Jake went off to inspect his workers, Freddy lit up a cigarette and Ellen announced that she was going to make bacon rolls for everyone.
I followed her inside the back door to the kitchen, a large room with an ancient flagstone floor, some free-standing cupboards, a battered old fridge and a small three-burner gas hob by a stainless steel sink. In the centre of the room was a wooden table and in th
e middle of that a brown paper bag bulging with morning rolls.
‘You up for a bacon roll, Robbie?’ Ellen asked, lifting an enormous, cast iron frying pan down from the wall where it hung on a nail. Scorched black, it looked like it had seen some action in its time. Next, from a well-stocked fridge, she produced a box of eggs, a tray of square sausage and layers of bacon wrapped in greaseproof paper. ‘Jake likes a fried breakfast.’
Who didn’t? Still, from room service at the Balmoral Hotel to cooking Jake Turpie his most important meal of the day, it had to have come as something of a culture shock.
‘Are you going to be comfortable enough here?’ I asked her. ‘You know there are hospices for when things get bad.’
Ellen smiled and placed a hand on my arm. ‘Thanks for caring, Robbie. I’ll be fine. I have everything I need here.’
I doubted it. ‘Where’s your nurse?’ I hadn’t seen her of the red hair and green trouser-suit in a while.
‘Gone. I can’t afford private nursing care.’ She smiled. ‘That’s only for lottery winners.’
I didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m sorry the way things have worked out, you know, between you and Freddy.’
‘Really, Robbie, it’s fine. At least I know the truth now. For a year I’ve been torn between blaming myself for making Freddy leave and hating Jake Turpie for killing him.’
‘So you and Jake . . .’
‘We’re getting along fine.’
There was no easy way to approach the subject, but I felt I had to. ‘Sammy was telling me he used to act for your brother. He told me what happened and how it was Jake you blamed for Eric’s death.’
‘It’s true. I did. But it was a long time ago. These things happen. Jake and Eric were just boys. I see Jake differently these days.’
She smiled, and there was a sheen of contentment in her eyes.
‘You and Jake? Seriously?’
‘Why not?’ Ellen took a bread knife from a drawer and began sawing bread rolls in half. ‘He’s taking care of me now and being the perfect gentleman. What more could a girl ask?’
