Tug Of Law (Bernadette Mackenna Cases Book 4)

by D. R. Bailey

  “Have you been… growing your hair?”

  “Yeah, do you like it?” Alison flicked her locks with her hand.

  “Yes, it’s lovely, suits you.”

  “Micky thinks so.”

  “Does he?”

  “Yes, yes he does.”

  Bernadette wanted to ask more but she forbore to do so. Perhaps there was romance on the horizon after all.

  “Right, well, I suppose I’d better see this man whoever he is.”

  “I’ll sort out some refreshments.”

  Bernadette collected Imogen and the two of them entered the meeting room. Sitting on one of the chairs fiddling with his phone was, indeed, the man of around thirty five years old. He had black hair, a clean-shaven boyish face, a sharp expensive looking charcoal suit, pinstriped shirt, blue patterned tie and black highly polished shoes. As they entered, he sprung to his feet.

  “Hello, hello,” he said amiably as if this was his office, “I’m Oisin Kavanagh MP, I’m the Minister without portfolio.”

  He held out his hand and Bernadette took it. “I’m…” she began.

  “Bernadette Mackenna, I know.” He smiled. “And you’re Imogen Stewart.”

  “You’ve done your homework,” said Bernadette.

  “I like to be prepared.”

  “Would you like to have a seat?” Bernadette indicated the sofas.

  “Yes, thanks, they look very comfortable, nice.” Oisin sat down.

  Just then Alison brought a tray in with coffees and some biscuits.

  “Thanks.” Bernadette smiled at her.

  Alison nodded. “You’re welcome,” she said before leaving the room.

  “Very efficient staff you have here,” Oisin remarked casually picking up his cup.

  “So, you’re an MP,” said Bernadette picking up her own cup and taking a sip.

  “Yes.” He smiled but his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  “What does it mean Minister without portfolio?”

  “I go where I’m needed, covering briefs as I can, that sort of thing.”

  “What brings you here?”

  “Ah, yes, straight to the point, I like that.”

  Bernadette did not like his manner at all, and she could feel Imogen bristling beside her.

  “It’s a lawyerly trait, I’m afraid.”

  “And you’re a good lawyer, are you not? Very successful so I hear.”

  This was said in such a way as if to make her think she knew everything about her already.

  “I gather people say I’m good, and I’ve won cases, for sure.” She had become instantly non-committal, wary. There was something which made her think she wasn’t going to like what was evidently coming.

  “I think you’re being modest from what I’ve heard you are one of the most respected lawyers in Dublin.”

  “If you say so,” Bernadette said cordially.

  His eyes narrowed, perhaps she wasn’t responding as he had expected. He sipped his coffee for a moment without saying anything. It gave Bernadette time to study him. He was obviously someone who thought a lot of himself.

  “We’re not used to having MP’s visiting us,” she said bluntly, “So perhaps you can enlighten us?”

  “Right,” he said a little tersely, “You’re representing someone, the fellah in the extradition case.”

  “What of it?” Bernadette said smoothly sensing at once he meant trouble.

  “This case, the extradition case, you know it’s quite a high-profile case, though perhaps you would not be aware.”

  “I wasn’t particularly no, but again if you say so.”

  He looked peeved by her manner. “Well, it is, we in government keep a weathered eye on the justice system, and particular cases like this.”

  This sounded incredibly pompous and annoyed her in turn.

  “I see,” said Bernadette wondering if he was actually going to get to the point. However, his next statement indicated the direction in which things were heading.

  “We’re in some delicate negotiations at the moment with the UK Government, about things like extraditions, borders, things like that. Very crucial negotiations as it happens.”

  He picked up a chocolate biscuit and ate it quite daintily, then wiped his fingers carefully on a paper napkin which Alison had also provided.

  “So,” he continued, “If say, this fellah, whatever his name is, was to let’s say gets sent to the UK after all then it would go a long way to erm… grease the wheels as it were.”

  He stopped and looked her straight in the eye, perhaps hoping to intimidate her. It failed.

  “Could you, perhaps just run that by me again?” she said with maddening calm.

  “I’m saying that the UK winning this extradition case is very important for our negotiations on very important affairs of state between us and the UK government. Does that help?” His tone was now a little belligerent.

  “Right, thanks. You see because I thought I had heard you the first time, but I wanted to be sure. You are suggesting I lose the case for my client, whose name is Callum Jenkins by the way, to assist the Irish government, am I right?” Bernadette’s voice had a dangerous edge which Imogen recognised only too well.

  “Well,” he backpedalled, “I wasn’t exactly suggesting you lose the case, at least not deliberately.”

  “Then what are you suggesting?”

  “You could perhaps withdraw from the case, say there’s a conflict of interest. You could perhaps not fight as hard as you might want to.” He was a little nettled.

  “Withdraw from the case? We’ve already run up a huge amount of expenses… but—”

  “If it’s a matter of money, ahem… arrangements can be made,” he interrupted.

  “But,” she carried on as if he had not spoken, “I do not withdraw from cases I’ve started because that would damage my reputation, as well as it going directly against my own personal ethics and those of my firm.”

  “You know, reputations can be made, and they can also be unmade,” he replied seemingly unperturbed.

  “Can they, can they indeed?” Her voice rose just slightly. Imogen could tell she was almost at the point of no return. It would not be a pretty sight.

  “They can. Words had in the right quarters, can make a huge difference to a reputation in a very short space of time. On the contrary, cooperation could secure some very lucrative clients indeed, with names dropped in the right quarters.”

  He appeared to be incredibly smug, as if he was a man who always got his way.

  “Really? Is that right?” Bernadette had reached the end of her tether.

  “Yes, I can assure you…”

  Bernadette lost her temper. “You can fucking well assure me of nothing. You come in here and practically try to coerce me to throw a case because of your negotiations. Then you attempt to bribe me by first offering a financial incentive and then threatening to damage my reputation and all of it in front of a witness. Well, let me give you a piece of advice, Mr Kavanaugh, nobody threatens me, and nobody stands in the way of justice on my fucking watch!”

  He was taken aback, perhaps he wasn’t used to being spoken to in that way.

  “I would advise you to reconsider your position. I would advise you very strongly.”

  “And I would advise you not to try your luck much further,” Bernadette shot back.

  “You don’t know who you are dealing with,” he said also becoming angry.

  “Neither do you. Nobody but nobody comes in here and tells me how to run a case, let alone throw it. That fellah, as I told you has a name, and he is innocent, and I am not going to let you or anyone else throw him to the lions. He’s not going to end up serving fourteen years just because you think he’s expendable.”

  Oisin stood up as if to intimidate her, but Bernadette wasn’t having a bar of it. She stood up and faced him off. Imogen stood up too at her back.

  “You haven’t heard the last
of this. I heard you were a good lawyer, but I also heard you were a fucking lesbian bitch and they were right about that,” he growled.

  “Yes, they were, and let me assure you Mr Kavanaugh that if you attempt to cross me, then you will really find out what a fucking bitch I am.”

  “Make that two lesbian bitches,” Imogen said through her teeth.

  “You think we’re going to let a pair of women like you stand in the way of negotiations which are crucial to this country then you are very much mistaken.”

  “Oh? And who’s we?” said Bernadette.

  “People, people who are higher up the food chain than the two of you will ever be. You’re a pair of nobodies take it from me.”

  This was bluster, and he knew it.

  Bernadette smiled which served to enrage him further. “Have you got anything else to say?”

  “If he doesn’t go to England, then I will see your business goes down the fucking toilet and I’ll see to it personally.”

  “I’ll give you two pieces of advice,” Bernadette replied evenly, “First don’t you ever fucking well threaten me and second don’t underestimate a pair of women, particularly a very angry pair of women. Now if you don’t mind, get the fuck out of my office.”

  “You will regret this, both of you,” he said before storming out of the room.

  They followed him and watched him stalk down the corridor towards the front door.

  “Mr Kavanaugh is leaving, Juanita,” said Bernadette standing with her arms folded.

  Juanita took in her tone and looked him up and down. She got the gist of what was going on.

  “Ve y vete a la mierda cara de polla,” she shouted after him.

  The door slammed behind him and they all laughed.

  “What did you say to him?” Imogen asked Juanita.

  “Ah, I just told to him something like this to go and fuck to himself, and he’s a cock face,” Juanita replied.

  “Excellent, well done,” said Bernadette, “Only please don’t do that to all the clients.”

  “Ah, what do you think? I knew he was a bad man from the time he comes in here!”

  “That’s our Juanita.” Imogen smiled at her.

  “Ah, it’s nothing.” Juanita brushed it off and picked up her magazine.

  “Come on,” said Bernadette to Imogen.

  They got themselves a coffee and went to Bernadette’s office. Bernadette who had been containing herself since he departed let fly.

  “Cock head, I’ll say he’s a fucking cock head! How dare he! How fucking dare he. Marching in here like he fucking owns the place and then tries to fucking blackmail us into throwing the fucking case! Fuck! I’m so angry, Imogen. I’m so fucking, angry I could… well, I don’t know what I could do, but whatever it is it wouldn’t be good.”

  “Sit down, darling, have your coffee,” Imogen said calmly.

  “Are you not angry? Aren’t you fucking angry?”

  “I’m very angry, sweetheart, but you know what they say, revenge is a dish best served cold.”

  Bernadette let out a big sigh. “OK, you’re right, this isn’t helping.”

  She sat down on the sofa and Imogen reached out to squeezed her hand. Bernadette sipped her coffee for a few minutes as she tried to calm down.

  “What the hell are we going to do?” Bernadette wondered at length.

  “I don’t know.”

  “How much clout do you think he can wield? I mean, can he give us that kind of trouble?”

  “I think he was bluffing to scare us. I know his type and you know exactly what he needs,” Imogen said mendaciously.

  “Yes, I know your solution, I’d love to see it in his case,” Bernadette laughed, “But practically speaking we need to find a way to neutralise him if we can.”

  “Do we know anyone in his circles who might provide us with some intelligence, something we could use?”

  “Hmm, that’s a thought.”

  Bernadette finished her coffee and set down the cup.

  “I do know someone, he’s not in politics but he potentially moves in these circles.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, I’ll give him a ring, see if we can entice him to lunch.”

  “We?”

  “Yes, of course, you’re my wing woman now. Where I go, you go.”

  “I like the sound of that,” Imogen said with a saucy grin.

  “Stop it!”

  ✽✽✽

  La Maison is an excellent French restaurant in the centre of Dublin with a red awning frontage. Bernadette chose a table along the long bench of padded seating. Imogen took the bench side and Bernadette a seat opposite. They ordered mineral water and waited for their guest.

  Shortly, the familiar sight of DCS Jack Brogan appeared in the doorway. Bernadette waved him over. Brogan was a big bluff man nearing the end of his fifties. He had grey hair, blue eyes and a craggy face. He was wearing a blue suit, white shirt and patterned tie. Although Bernadette had only had lunch with him once before he was certainly unforgettable in manner and appearance. Irascible to his colleagues, he had a much softer social side too.

  “Ah, Bernadette,” he said striding up to their table, “And who’s this delightful young lady?”

  “That’s Imogen Stewart my junior partner, Jack,” said Bernadette.

  “Well, it’s nice to see you, and a very welcome if unexpected invitation.”

  “Hello, Jack,” said Imogen blushing slightly from the compliment.

  Brogan was old school, though by no means unaware of giving unwanted compliments. However, he and Bernadette were on good terms and he felt comfortable enough to do so.

  “I remember this restaurant from last time,” Brogan said, “Excellent food.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Bernadette.

  The waiter brought the menus and they applied themselves to the task of choosing for a few moments.

  Bernadette and Imogen chose the Prawn Bisque, and Brogan the Oven Baked Scallops in their shells to start. For entrée, Brogan opted for the Cote de Boeuf, as did Bernadette, and Imogen selected the Leg of Venison casserole. They ordered a selection of accompanying sides, and Brogan passed on alcohol opting for diet coke.

  “I’m having to cut back on drinking, Stella has been giving me fucking gyp about it, so I’ve confined myself to a whisky or two at night,” he said gruffly.

  Stella was Brogan’s diminutive English wife who he adored but who ruled him with gentle admonishments and love.

  “Now then, as pleased as I am to see you, and before you say anything, I did say call on me anytime. What can I do to assist you? It is assistance you need I take it?” Brogan continued.

  “Do you know a politician named, Oisin Kavanaugh?” said Bernadette taking the plunge.

  There was silence from Brogan on hearing this, and he took a hasty swig of diet coke. Then he called up the waiter and ordered a single malt Glenlivet. Bernadette waited patiently while this was brought and exchanged glances with Imogen. The mention of Oisin’s name had apparently had a powerful effect upon Brogan. When the whisky arrived, he practically knocked it back in one go and allowed the amber liquid to slide down his throat with evident satisfaction.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, “It’s just when you mentioned that fucking tossbag’s name I had to calm my nerves otherwise I’m afraid we could have been ejected from the restaurant.”

  “Oh?”

  Brogan drew a deep breath and it was clear he was wrestling with some sort of internal impulse to lose his temper in a spectacular fashion. However, he seemed to manage to keep calm whilst delivering a string of invective at well below the usual volume he would have employed.

  “That absolute turdball is working for the justice department and I can tell you for nothing, he’s a fucking pain in the fucking backside. Fucking arse bastard is what he is. I can’t fucking stand him in case that wasn’t clear already, and neither can the AC. Fucking tossing tossball.”<
br />
  Bernadette suppressed a smiled to herself on hearing this. It was music to her ears.

  “I take it he’s not popular with the Garda?” Imogen ventured.

  “Not popular, not fucking popular! A fucking nest of vipers in fucking space suit would more popular than that scumbag tosspot,” he said with suppressed fury.

  “What’s he done?” Bernadette asked him.

  “What hasn’t he fucking done? Scrutinising this, fucking well wanting us to cut that. Going through every fucking case we’ve had, trying to influence us to move certain cases faster than others. Throwing his fucking weight about like a fucking bowling ball on crack. We’ve had him up to here.”

  He took another sip of his diet coke and clearly was contemplating a second whisky judging by the way he fiddled with the empty whisky glass.

  “He said he’s a minister without portfolio.”

  “I’ll give him minister without portfolio. I’d dearly love to give him something up his fucking portfolio and no mistake,” he scoffed. “He’s been seconded to the Justice Department, what a fucker. A monkey’s uncle could do a better fucking job than him.”

  Bernadette gave Imogen a surreptitious look, they appeared to have hit pay dirt. Before Brogan could animadvert on Oisin’s character any further, the first course arrived, and conversation ceased while Bernadette and Imogen consumed their soup, and Brogan his scallops.

  “Delicious,” he said, wiping his chin, “Best scallops I’ve had in ages. Absolutely first class.”

  “I’m glad you like them,” said Bernadette.

  “So, come on, what’s he done?” Brogan asked her, pushing away his plate. He had clearly been brooding on the various offences Oisin had committed on his department.

  “We’re defending Callum Jenkins. The extradition case, I’m sure you’ll have heard of it. Anyway, Kavanaugh came to our offices, and tried to persuade us to drop the case.”

  Brogan nodded. He would certainly be aware of a high-profile case like that one. “Did he? Did he indeed? Tell me more.”

  Bernadette related what had taken place, with some embellishments from Imogen. He laughed uproariously when he heard what Bernadette had said to him.

  “Oh, I’d have loved to see that. I’d have loved to see that tossbag’s face, it must have been a picture.”