Tug Of Law (Bernadette Mackenna Cases Book 4)

by D. R. Bailey

  She was clutching at straws and she knew it. He was apparently very fond of his cat, but Arthur had already told her it could be taken care of very well if he had to go ‘inside’ as he put it.

  “Judge, in closing I ask you, for leniency in Mr Dooley’s case, if it may please the court.”

  She ended off her speech bestowing the judge with what she hoped was a winning smile. She knew she did not have a winning argument. In fact, she had informed Arthur of this from the outset, but he had begged her to try. She had a soft spot for the old man and wanted to help him if she could.

  “Have you finished, Ms Mackenna?” said the judge politely but not in a manner which boded well for her client or his cat.

  “Yes, Judge,” she replied taking a seat.

  “Alright, let me take a moment to consider your arguments,” he said putting his fingers together and bringing them up to his nose, as if he was lost in thought.

  Bernadette grimaced at Imogen who shrugged sympathetically. At least he did her the courtesy of thinking about it which was more than she expected.

  The deliberations lasted around five long minutes before Justice Campbell reached a decision.

  “Mr Dooley, if you could please stand up.”

  Arthur Dooley got to his feet exhibiting some stiffness in his joints judging by the way he pulled himself up using the rail in front of him. He stood impassively awaiting his fate.

  “Mr Dooley. Your counsel has attempted, at least, to put forward some persuasive argument as to why I should not issue a custodial sentence in your case. A case which, in spite of your protestations to the contrary, does not persuade me that you were unaware you were committing an offence from the outset.”

  Arthur hung his head. It did not sound as if it was going to go well at all. Bernadette slipped her hand into Imogen’s for comfort. She found herself feeling for the old man no matter what he had done. Imogen squeezed it and Bernadette shot her a grateful smile.

  “I take into account the fact you did plead guilty, although I can’t imagine how you could have done otherwise,” Justice Campbell continued acerbically, “Even if it had been as you say, a grievous mistake, and I use the word grievous advisedly, you still continued to capitalise on your good fortune by selling what were stolen goods. You could have returned them to the owners having discovered your error, but you did not.”

  He paused for effect and frowned direfully at Arthur Dooley who appeared to quail just a little under his scrutiny.

  “No, you did not, and instead sold the goods and pocketed the money. Your counsel asserts the temptation was too great. Was it indeed? So great you just felt compelled to commit a crime, and if you cannot withstand such compulsions then I’m persuaded you should perhaps not be allowed at large in the community any longer.”

  Arthur Dooley’s face fell on hearing this. Bernadette squeezed Imogen’s hand tighter, hoping there might be some redemption in spite of all appearances to the contrary.

  “In addition, you appear to have a string of convictions which are as long as my arm, much as I hesitate to use the vernacular,” said the judge with a great deal of acidity, “Of which this is, unfortunately, just one more.”

  Justice Campbell paused to allow the full weight of this to sink in.

  “Therefore, I sentence you to two years in prison.”

  There were gasps in the courtroom as this was pronounced, and Arthur went white as a sheet. Even he had not expected such a harsh outcome. The judge though, it seemed, had not finished.

  “But… I am not unsympathetic, to your age nor to the fact you have a cat at home who is dependent upon you,” he said in kindlier tones, “It so happens I have a cat myself and I understand the attachment these can bring. With this in mind, I recommend the sentence be converted to one year and carried out under home detention with the very, very strict caveat that if you break the conditions even once then you shall spend the rest of it in jail, and you will have to make arrangements for your cat. Now, do you understand, Mr Dooley?”

  Arthur looked as if Jesus himself had appeared from heaven to save him. “Yes, sir, Judge, yes I do.”

  “You understand home detention means just that, no going to the pub, the shops or anywhere else. You must remain at home with your cat.”

  “Yes, I do, Judge, I do indeed, I do.”

  “Good, see you abide by it, and be certain if I ever see you up in front of me again, I will send you to prison for a very long time!” The tone was mild, but the judge still looked severe as if to reinforce his strictures on Arthur.

  “Yes, Judge, thank you, Judge,” said Arthur much relieved.

  “What’s the name of your cat?”

  “My cat?” Arthur looked surprised.

  “Yes, it has a name I presume?”

  “Yes, Judge, indeed, she… her name is Molly, Judge.”

  “Ah, Molly, sweet Molly Malone, a very nice name for a cat, ah yes. Well, see you look after it properly and I’m sure Molly will be more than happy to have you home.”

  “Yes, Judge, she will, that she will.”

  “Very well, then unless anyone has anything further to say?” The judge looked around the room daring anybody to attempt it.

  Nobody dared speak, particularly in case, Justice Campbell took it all back.

  “Excellent. Well, I’ll be off then, this court is adjourned.”

  The Tipster hurried in, everybody stood up and the judge left the room. As soon as he had gone there was pandemonium on the public benches. This was going to be a great story for the daily papers. “Cat saves man from prison,” would be the tenor the headlines the following day.

  Imogen beamed at Bernadette. Neither of them could believe their luck or Arthur’s.

  Bernadette hurried over to the dock to speak to him before they took him away.

  “I’m sorry, Arthur, we did our best,” she began contritely.

  “Ach, don’t you fret about it, Bernadette, now, it’s probably the best outcome.” He smiled.

  “I hope so, for your sake, at least you’re not going to prison.”

  “I thought I was a goner, and no mistake. The cat was a stroke of genius.”

  “Arthur,” she said suspiciously, “You do have a cat, don’t you?”

  “A cat? Oh yes, yes.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dogeared photograph of brindled tortoiseshell moggie.

  “Very handsome,” said Bernadette handing back the photo after she had looked at it.

  “She’s my pride and joy, now, now my wife…” His eyes misted over just for a moment.

  “Time to go, Arthur,” said the court official beside him.

  “Ah well, thanks again, thanks again,” said Arthur smiling and shaking her hand.

  “Bye, Arthur,” said Bernadette, she watched him go.

  She returned to her bench where Imogen was waiting. Imogen had packed up their papers into a briefcase and was ready to go. However, before they could leave, Riona came over to them.

  “Good result,” she said amiably.

  “For sure, I’m glad for him, he didn’t deserve to go to prison.”

  “No indeed, we live in modern times now, not the old days. I’m happy at the sentence he received.”

  “Really? Though you were pushing for a custodial sentence,” Imogen pointed out.

  “What the prosecution service wants and what I want are not always the same,” said Riona confidingly.

  “That’s a refreshing attitude.” Bernadette smiled.

  “Yes, indeed, I mean obviously some offenders do deserve their sentences or perhaps more,” Riona mused.

  “More?” Imogen picked up on this.

  “Yes, like in the old days,” said Riona with a smile.

  “And what would happen in the old days?” Imogen enquired with interest.

  “Oh well, they’d get a damn good whipping…” With that, Riona winked at Imogen, returned smartly to her desk, picked up her briefcase and
left.

  “Did she just say what I thought she said?” Imogen asked Bernadette.

  “Not only did she say it, but I would say that was an invitation, if ever I heard one,” Bernadette chuckled.

  “Stop it! Anyway, how did she…”

  They looked at each other and both said it at once, “Shane!”

  Shane Wilson was a prosecution barrister who was a colleague of Riona Robinson. Imogen had had a brief fling with him which resulted in an initiation by Shane into the world of Fifty Shades. Imogen developed a taste for it afterwards but now preferred to dish it out rather than take it.

  “Fucking Shane,” Imogen muttered darkly.

  “Do you think that he? They?” Bernadette wondered meaningfully.

  “I don’t want to know,” said Imogen firmly picking up their briefcase. The two of them left the courtroom and wended their way to the car.

  “Mind you,” said Imogen, “Riona’s pretty hot, and if I wasn’t so besotted with D’Arcy…”

  “Now you stop it!” Bernadette chided.

  The two of them burst out laughing.

  ✽✽✽

  They returned in Bernadette’s red Audi R3 Quattro. Not that Bernadette was a car buff, nor was she ‘car proud’ but for some reason, she liked this particular car and its colour. It also intimidated the hell out of the male lawyer fraternity which she found excessively amusing, as did Imogen. She parked in Mount Street finding a lucky parking space and the two of them entered the stone fronted building through the familiar black door set in an arched portico.

  A long narrow corridor stretched out in front of them with its familiar soft green walls and cream ceiling with its ornate mouldings. The floor was tiled in polished light stone. An L shaped counter stood not far from the entrance behind which Juanita Fernandez, PA and receptionist, was sitting reading Hello magazine, as was her wont. Juanita was a raven-haired Spanish beauty to whom the term buxom was a perfect fit. She did far less work than she should and regarded the office as part of her leisure time. Since she was well protected by her boss Andrew, everyone tolerated her ways with varying degrees of irritation or amusement.

  “Imogen, your girlfriend is in the magazine again,” she said holding up a page for Imogen to see.

  There indeed was D’Arcy Brown who had lately completed shooting of a movie in the US and was currently at home much to Imogen’s pleasure. The picture was of D’Arcy, however, walking out in town with her co-star’s arm around her waist. The catchline said, “D’Arcy’s new beau?”

  On seeing this, Imogen pursed her lips. Juanita regarded her from under her lashes, which had excessively long extensions.

  “She was very friendly with him, no?”

  “Yes, he’s just a friend. It’s just her way,” Imogen snapped back crossly.

  “Juanita don’t forget to move my car,” said Bernadette dropping the keys on the counter and observing Imogen with some dismay.

  “Of course, I move, I always move, all the time, I don’t forget,” said Juanita dismissively. She turned back to her magazine satisfied with her mendacious behaviour.

  Juanita was, perhaps, jealous of Imogen’s good fortune in some small way. She was also a big fan of D’Arcy Brown and friendly with D’Arcy’s housekeeper, Constantina, who was also Spanish. On the other hand, Bernadette did not think Juanita was deliberately malicious either but perhaps just liked to stir the pot.

  Bernadette reflected there was nothing to the photograph really but media stirring, however, her friend was excessively jealous and still a little insecure even though D’Arcy loved her to pieces. Unfortunately, being with a celebrity meant one would be subjected to much of the conjecture and the lies in the press. Imogen knew this and had been on the receiving end but was still perhaps not used to it.

  At that moment, Andrew Bond, who was in charge of the finances of the firm chose to come out of his office. He was a good-looking man with short grey cropped hair and a kindly face. He was wearing a suit with a blue shirt and red tie. Bernadette thought he was looking quite dapper.

  “Ah, Bernadette, I was hoping to see you,” he said in affable tones.

  “Is that right?” she replied, at once suspicious. Usually, this approach preceded a complaint about her not charging fees or her expense account or some such.

  “I’m going upstairs,” said Imogen.

  One glance at her told Bernadette that Imogen’s eyes were glistening and brimming with tears. She felt for her but at the same time, her finance manager probably needed placating.

  “I’ll bring you a coffee, darling,” she told her, “Just as soon as I’ve seen Andrew.”

  “Sure,” Imogen replied in a choked voice and swiftly walked away.

  “Is she alright?” Andrew enquired solicitously.

  “She was,” Bernadette said stealing a dark look at Juanita’s back, “I’m sure she will be OK in a while, I’ll go and check on her when we are done. In the meantime, how can I help?”

  “Just step into my office,” Andrew said holding the door open.

  Bernadette did so taking in the familiar green walls and filing cabinets with files piled on top of them, and the desk also piled high with papers. She didn’t approve of this untidiness, but it was how Andrew worked, so she forbore to comment. He was a lynchpin of the firm and additionally earned quite a bit of revenue on the side by doing accounts for various clients.

  “How’s your charming wife?” said Bernadette immediately disarming him as she took a seat opposite him at his meeting table.

  “She’s fine, fine, of course,” he said with a smile, “But that’s not what I want to discuss.”

  “And what do you want to discuss?” Bernadette replied looking at him a little coolly.

  “Well, now… the thing is, I mean,” he coughed and she at once divined he was going to find this difficult. This informed her that her first supposition was correct.

  “Come on, Andrew, spit it out, there’s a dear.” She smiled.

  “Oh, stop, that’s exactly what Jessica says to me almost word for word.”

  Bernadette laid her head back and laughed. Jessica was a flame haired Irish lass who was almost a perfect foil to his British reserve. She was as volatile as the red haired suggested and subjected him to the sharp end of her tongue when she was annoyed. However, apparently, the making up part was just as passionate according to what Jessica had alluded to when she and Bernadette got into girl talk. This was not often since she mainly saw Jessica at work get-togethers and so on.

  “Honestly, you females are all the same, and I’m surrounded by them in this office,” he complained.

  “I suppose it can be intimidating,” she acknowledged with a chuckle.

  “Yes well, never mind that, Bernadette, am I right in thinking you just did a pro bono case?” He had obviously worked up the courage to finally come out with it.

  “Yes, you are, Andrew, for an old friend.”

  “We’ve talked about this. Your pro bono and Legal Aid cases are costing the firm money.”

  “I don’t see how. This is the first one I’ve done for a while pro bono and it was a favour for old times’ sake, and you still get the Legal Aid when I do those, so I don’t see the problem.”

  In truth, there really wasn’t an issue, and they both knew it, but Andrew liked to see what he felt were bona fide clients coming in who could afford to pay. Bernadette was about justice and not always the bottom line. The truth was, her attitude brought more paying clients in as a result, however, Andrew liked to argue the point. It was a particular bee in his bonnet.

  “The problem is, surely it’s taking your time away from cases where we could be earning, don’t you see that? Time is money, Bernadette, to the firm at least, if not to you.”

  He looked so concerned about it that she almost felt sorry for him.

  “Really, Andrew? I think I know how to manage my time after all these years, to make sure the firm doesn’t suffer.”
<
br />   “Yes, but… you know… it’s just…”

  “You worry too much, Andrew, that’s your problem.”

  “The finances of this firm rest on my shoulders,” he said assuming a long-suffering air she knew well, “It’s a big responsibility.”

  “And I love you for it, darling, you’re absolutely the very best.”

  “Yes, well, flattery… you and Jessica are just the same,” he said but was looking decidedly mollified, as she knew he would. She was usually an expert at handling him, as was his wife.

  “Andrew, you know I would never do anything to jeopardise this firm, after all, I started it way back when and all these people depend on me, and you too.”

  “I know, Bernadette, I know… I just… you don’t understand.”

  “I understand completely that you worry for all of us, and I’m eternally grateful, now if there’s nothing else I must go and see to Imogen, she needs me.” She had done her duty for the moment, she felt, to soothe his ruffled feathers.

  “Sure, of course, but can you at least try not to do any more.”

  “I will do my very best, darling.” She smiled and stood up, leaning down to plant a kiss lightly on his forehead.

  He blushed a little at this show of affection. They had known each other a long time and it meant nothing more than friendship, but Andrew was not a demonstrative man. He was British to the core of his being and as such very understated in manner. This was sometimes a great cause of frustration to his wife, but since he worshipped the ground she walked on, she forgave him his foibles.

  “OK, if you could, I would be very grateful,” he said watching her go with a sigh. He had never won an argument with her yet, but it did not prevent him from trying.

  ✽✽✽

  Armed with two cups of coffee, Bernadette entered Imogen’s office. She had only lately been given her own office and it was spacious enough with an outlook onto the back gardens of theirs and other offices. They sometimes used the back garden in the summer for impromptu lunches and team gatherings. The office was decorated in the same soft dark green with a cream ceiling, and apart from the desk and filing cabinets, there was a sofa on one side and a coffee table. Imogen’s eyes were red, and she had obviously been crying.