The Brief: Crime and corruption in 1960s London (Charles Holborne Legal Thrillers)

by Simon Michael

  ‘I know Wheatley well,’ says Charles. ‘We’ve crossed swords before. Well, it’s entirely up to you. Shall I sign you up or do you want to take your chances with the duty solicitor?’

  ‘You gotta be joking!’ says the smaller man scornfully. ‘Have you met him?’

  ‘Er … yes, I have. Mr Baker’s a very pleasant gentleman —’

  ‘He was just down here. The man’s a fucking eejit!’ says the Scotsman. ‘I’d rather do it mesel’.’

  The Cockney intervenes. ‘Who did you say sent you?’

  ‘Ralph Cohen, of Cohen and Partners.’

  The tall man turns to his companion, who has still not moved from his place on the bench. ‘I know ’im. He’s a clever little Jewish geezer and ’e’s represented me a couple of times before. Me dad used him on a long firm fraud, years back. Got ’im off, too. I’d be happy with ’im.’

  ‘So, you are presently unrepresented?’

  ‘That’s right,’ says the taller man, extending his hand. ‘I’m Derek Plumber,’ he says, ‘and that’s Robbie Sands.’

  Charles shakes the hand of the tall Cockney and offers his to the Scotsman. Sands remains where he is, staring at him dispassionately.

  Charles shrugs good-naturedly. ‘Mr Sands, I’m perfectly happy to represent Mr Plumber alone. As you say, you could do it yourself, although I wouldn’t recommend it on charges of robbery and murder.’

  ‘How do I know you’re any better than that duty solicitor?’ he asks.

  Charles smiles. ‘You don’t. But I’ve been a barrister for a decade, and I’ve dealt with serious cases at the Old Bailey and other criminal courts.’

  ‘Murder?’

  ‘No, not murder. But we’re not talking about the trial. It’s a capital charge, so you’re entitled to a silk.’

  ‘I’ll wait for a silk then.’

  ‘You’ll be pushed to find one at Bow Street Magistrate’s Court on a wet Thursday morning,’ says Charles. ‘It’s a little downmarket for Queen’s Counsel.’

  Plumber turns to the Scotsman. ‘I think we should go with ’im. We can always change our minds later.’

  ‘Is there any conflict between the two of you which would prevent me acting for you both today?’ asks Charles.

  Sands looks up sharply and there’s a pause before he answers. ‘No,’ he says. ‘There were three men on the robbery, and we were supposed to be using imitation shooters. That’s what Derek and I did, isn’t it, Del?’ Plumber nods. ‘But the bastard took a real one. And used it.’

  ‘I see. And the police haven’t caught the third man?’ asks Charles. The others shake their heads. ‘Well, if your stories are the same, there’s no reason why the same barrister can’t represent you both. In fact, it’s tactically better that way. But, as I say, today’s not the trial. So, gentlemen, shall I leave you to it or would either of you like to instruct Cohen and Partners so I can represent you today?’

  Charles brandishes the legal aid forms he needs completed.

  ‘Ach, it’s no skin off my nose,’ says Sands nonchalantly. ‘Show us where tae sign.’

  ‘Just a few questions first,’ says Charles, opening the document. ‘Is there room for me to sit down for a moment?’ Sands swings his legs down, and Charles sits. ‘OK. You first, Mr Sands. From the top: full name of applicant.’

  Another difficult discussion is also in progress at 2 Chancery Court.

  It was sometimes said of Simon Ellison by his masters at school that he had been rather too conspicuously blessed. Tall and fair, with a “Boy’s Own” hero’s rugged good looks, he was a brilliant sportsman — cricket, rugby, athletics — it didn’t matter what sport, he led the school team. He was, however, rather less clever than he thought he was, and he was certainly not as bright as his two older brothers. Nonetheless, he went to Buckingham where he scraped a third in English Literature, again excelling on the sports field rather than in the examination hall. He’d hoped that one of his father’s friends might be able to get him something in the City, but somehow that had never materialised. Instead, he resurrected the former family tradition and joined the Guards, where he spent four happy years. Then he was injured in a riding accident, his left knee damaged so badly that even six operations couldn’t restore it. His excellence in sports and his army career were both ended. He was changed too. The one thing at which he had always known he was good was taken from him.

  He decided to go to the Bar. Two years of cramming for exams, and he was called by the Inner Temple at the relatively late age of twenty-nine. Once in Chambers his family connections, relaxed style and abundance of charm combined to ensure a satisfactory practice, but he was still not the man he’d been. ‘The one thing about Scruffy,’ his mother would say of him, ‘is his temper. Ever since he left the Guards, he’s had a deuce of a temper.’ And as Stanley, the senior clerk at 2 Chancery Court, is now appreciating, “Scruffy” Ellison is at that moment in a deuce of a temper.

  ‘Just look at that!’ commands Ellison, throwing the court diary onto the desk before Stanley with a thump.

  ‘What about it, sir?’ asks Stanley.

  He’d been summoned to Ellison’s room and told to sit down, and is anxious not to prolong the interview. The telephones are ringing constantly in the clerks’ room and, although Sally and Robert are very competent, he has to be there to fix fees and sort out the diary.

  ‘What am I doing tomorrow?’ demands Ellison.

  ‘Well, nothing at the moment, sir. It’s been a bit quiet the last few —’

  ‘But what was I doing?’ Ellison points to an entry against his initials which has been scored through. It is still possible to read “R. v. Mousof”.

  ‘That was a case for Richters —’ starts the clerk.

  ‘Not “was” a case, Stanley. It is a case. It’s just that I’m not doing it anymore. What’s that?’

  He now points to the initials “C.H.” further down the page. His finger traces a line across the page. The words “R. v. Mousof” have been inserted against Charles’s name. ‘That suggests that Mr Holborne’s now doing the case.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘And I want to know why.’

  ‘When the brief came in, I assumed it was for you, as Richters are your clients. So it went in the diary with your initials against it. But then they telephoned and asked to speak to Mr Holborne about it, and I checked. They intended it for him. So I altered the entry in the diary.’

  ‘Do you realise what this case is? It’ll be the best-paid case Mr Holborne does all year! Mousof is stinking rich. He’ll pay £750 on the brief, and the case’ll last a week. It’s worth a fortune!’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. I did check with the solicitors to make sure there hadn’t been a mistake, but Mr Holborne acted for them on the double-hander two weeks back while you were in Wales and they were very happy with him. He does have more experience than you at crime,’ Stanley suggests gently, but rather unwisely.

  ‘Of course he fucking does! He does all mine!’

  ‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t swear at me, sir, please. And as for the brief, I don’t know what I can do about it when the solicitors actually ask for someone else by name.’

  ‘I’m going to tell you exactly what you can do about it, Stanley. You’re bloody well going to ring Richters again and see if you can switch the brief back to me.’

  Disputes of this nature over work are not uncommon in any set of chambers, and it’s the clerk’s job to ensure that ill-feeling is kept to a minimum. On one hand, all the members are part of a team, able to offer solicitors a range of experience and expertise on a particular subject, from the head of chambers to the junior tenant. On the other, each set of chambers is a microcosm of the Bar at large: every member is in competition with every other, and the rules of the marketplace apply. Touting for work is absolutely prohibited, but there’s no preventing solicitors from expressing a preference for a particular barrister if he does a better job than his room-mate. Ellison’s practic
e is mainly licensing work, which increasingly throws up criminal cases. Accordingly, if he’s not available, the clerks consider Mr Holborne to be the obvious replacement.

  Stanley knows that Simon Ellison is rather more sensitive about his “returns” than most and requires gentle handling, so he ignores Ellison’s aggressive tone and replies as reasonably as he can.

  ‘I can’t do that sir, and you know it. If you think Mr Holborne’s done anything improper to obtain the brief, you’d better speak to Sir Geoffrey about it,’ he offers, referring to the Head of Chambers. ‘But, honestly, sir, as far as I know, Mr Holborne had no hand at all in obtaining the instructions.’

  Stanley has never before found himself having to defend Mr Holborne. Holborne’s practice doesn’t fit well with those of the rest of Stanley’s “guvnors” and, frankly, Stanley is happier clerking civil work, where he knows what he’s doing. He has nothing against Holborne personally but he wishes he’d go to some set where they did nothing but crime, and they’d both feel easier. But, on this occasion, Holborne just did a good job, and was rewarded for it by the delivery of this brief.

  ‘Now, I really must get back,’ Stanley says to Ellison as he stands to leave. He holds out his hand for the diary but Ellison doesn’t move. Stanley picks the book up from the desk, and leaves the room.

  The cell doors clang close behind Charles and he returns to the bustle of the entrance hall. He has sufficient instructions from his new clients to deal with the day’s hearing, and he’ll await service of the prosecution statements to understand precisely what evidence the Crown has to offer. The signed legal aid forms at least mean he’ll be paid for the morning’s work and, while he waits for the case of Plumber and Sands to be called on for hearing, he has time to do his good deed for the day.

  He pushes his way around the bustling foyer and finally spots the other Kray twin on the court steps, deep in conversation with two men.

  Most people still can’t tell the brothers apart, not least because they persist in deliberately impersonating one other, usually to confuse the police, but sometimes merely because they find it funny. But Charles has watched them grow up and, since Ronald Kray’s first breakdown and incarceration at Long Grove Lunatic Asylum where his reliance on antidepressants and alcohol began, he can reliably identify them. Ronnie’s face is fleshier and less expressive than that of his brother, and his eyelids droop, as if he’s constantly fighting sleep. Charles approaches the men.

  ‘Ronnie?’

  Ronnie Kray turns. It takes him a while for recognition to dawn. He looks Charles up and down, evaluating him.

  ‘Yeah, I heard you was a brief now. What do you want, Horowitz?’

  Ronnie has always been the more belligerent of the brothers, particularly since his mental illness, and Charles knows he needs careful handling, so he smiles and ignores Ronnie’s tone.

  ‘I spoke to Reggie in the cells. Something about his barrister being delayed?’

  ‘Yeah. You gonna step in then?’

  ‘No, I can’t. I explained that to him. My professional rules —’

  ‘What? Why can’t you? It’ll only take ten minutes. It’s all fixed.’

  ‘I explained to Reggie. I’m not allowed —’

  ‘Not allowed?’ says Ronnie, his voice rising and his temper slipping dangerously. ‘Not allowed to help someone you’ve known since you were a kid? Too good for us now, are ya?’ he spits.

  ‘It’s nothing like that Ronnie, if you’ll let me explain.’

  Charles raises his hands in a defensive gesture, seeking only to calm Ronnie, but Ronnie steps back swiftly as if he’d been attacked.

  ‘Don’t you fucking raise your hands to me!’

  ‘I’m not, you bloody idiot! I’m trying to help,’ protests Charles.

  ‘Now, now boys,’ says a new voice, ‘let’s calm down, shall we?’

  The four men turn towards the voice. On the pavement, a step below them, is a strikingly pretty dark-haired woman getting out of a taxi. She carries an elegant umbrella under one arm and a brief under the other.

  ‘Are you representing Reggie Kray this morning?’ asks Charles.

  ‘I am indeed. I’ve just been having a word with prosecution counsel,’ and she indicates the man following her out of the cab. ‘We shared a cab from the Temple.’

  ‘Excellent,’ says Charles, stepping back. ‘Then I can leave this to you. Your client spoke to me in the cells while I was visiting my clients, and asked me to step in if you weren’t here.’

  The woman barrister smiles at Charles. ‘Thank you. Shall we go inside, Mr Kray?’

  She expertly turns Ronnie away from Charles, but Kray sweeps his arm out over her shoulder and points threateningly at Charles. ‘We’re going to have words, you and me, Horowitz.’

  ‘Now, now, Ronnie,’ says the woman sweetly. ‘I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. Let’s leave Mr Horowitz to get on with his job.’

  ‘It’s Holborne,’ corrects Charles, turning to walk away from the court.

  ‘Like fuck it is,’ are the last words Charles hears from Ronnie, as he disappears into the court building.

  Charles’s case is the last to be called on before the short adjournment at lunchtime, and by then the court building is almost deserted. He has not been instructed to make an application for bail, and the hearing is a formality. His two new clients are remanded in custody for a fortnight as expected.

  He walks to the corner of Bow Street and the nearest public telephone booth, and opens the door. The wall in front of him is plastered with pictures of scantily-clad women offering massage and escort services. Most are in Soho, less than a two-minute walk from where he stands. He smiles, fishes in his pocket for some pennies, and dials Cohen and Partners. He waits for the receptionist to say “Hello?” and presses button A. He listens for the coins to drop and then speaks.

  ‘Hello, this is Mr Holborne at the Magistrates’ Court for Mr Cohen senior please.’

  ‘Please hold, Mr Holborne, and I’ll connect you.’

  The solicitor comes on the line almost immediately.

  ‘Hello, Charles. How did you get on?’

  ‘You were right. One of them is Derek Plumber. I signed them up.’

  ‘Both of them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well done. That’s very good news. What did you learn?’

  ‘Not much, but I’ll have a note typed as soon as I get back to Chambers.’

  ‘Who’s Plumber’s co-defendant?’

  ‘A chap called Robbie Sands, a Glaswegian. I had the impression that this is well out of Plumber’s league…’

  ‘But not Sands’s?’

  ‘No. He presents as a hard bastard.’

  ‘Is he?’

  ‘Probably. Can you get his CRB record and we’ll check his previous? Anyway, they both admit the robbery and deny the shooting. They claim they were supposed to take imitations, but there was an unnamed third man with them and he carried the real gun, a saw-off shotgun, without telling them.’

  ‘What’s the police view of that?’

  ‘I’m sure they don’t buy it, but I’m not sure they can prove otherwise.’

  ‘Where does that leave our clients then?’

  ‘If the jury are sure one of them did it, but can’t make up their minds which, they’ll both have to be acquitted. To convict, they must be satisfied so they’re sure beyond reasonable doubt. If it could have been either, how can they be sure beyond reasonable doubt which one is guilty? You know: “It’s better to let ten guilty men go free than to convict one innocent man”, and all that stuff.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Cohen. ‘But what about conspiracy to murder?’

  ‘Ah, that’d be different. If the Crown can prove both men agreed to real weapons being carried and used if necessary, they might establish a joint enterprise in relation to the shooting. But that doesn’t look likely in these circumstances. There were, after all, two imitation guns, and from what I can remember of the statements I was sh
own, our clients were both seen inside the depot with one each. It does tend to support their story of a third man with the real gun.’

  ‘OK. It looks as if this could be quite an interesting case. Have they been interviewed?’

  ‘Well, they say not, but the Crown says differently. Supposedly after you left Snow Hill.’

  ‘Why am I not surprised? Did you get a look at the interviews?’

  ‘No, they’re still being typed. They’ll be ready for the next remand, in two weeks. But I was told they both admitted the robbery and denied carrying or knowing about the gun. Which is what they told me, so the interviews seem kosher.’

  There’s silence on the line while Cohen considers this information. ‘That’s … surprising. What’s that bastard Wheatley up to?’

  ‘No idea. Maybe he’s playing this one straight.’

  ‘Ha!’ laughs Cohen sarcastically. ‘Anyway, got any ideas for a leader?’

  ‘A leader? I thought I was doing this one solo,’ jokes Charles.

  ‘Sorry Charles; next time perhaps,’ laughs Cohen. ‘It’s a murder, so we’ll be using a silk. Get your clerks to put the return date in the diary. I don’t expect you to do it, but do you think a pupil would be available?’

  ‘I should think so. If there’s a problem, I’ll give you a call.’

  Charles ends the conversation and dials Chambers.

  ‘Stanley? It’s Charles Holborne.’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘We’ve collected a murder brief, for the defence.’

  ‘That’s very good news, sir.’

  ‘I’m on my way back, but could you get me the number of Mr Michael Rhodes Thomas? He’s somewhere on King’s Bench Walk. Number 5, I think, or maybe 7.’

  Charles hangs up, pulls up his collar and steps out of the phone box. The heavy rain is giving way to drizzle. He splashes his way through the puddles and broken paving stones towards the Aldwych. Twenty minutes later, he’s back in the Temple, hanging his saturated coat on the back of his door, when it opens slightly and Sally puts her head in.