Babyface

‘Like, I don’t know, checking local newspaper reports for the month Fleming disappeared, retracing his last known steps, talking to his mum.’

‘All right, you can stop worrying.’ He rolled his cigarette between his fingers. ‘Write this down. “This morning, I will not ask to change my plea.” ’ I scribbled on my faxed back sheet. He held out his hand for the pen and signed his initials. ‘You’re a good little barrister, aren’t you? I’d like to see you cross-examining someone.’

‘Yes, I’m a real Rottweiler,’ I said.

‘No, I’d say you were more of a – what are they called?’

‘A Borzoi?’ I said, imagining something elegant and sophisticated.

‘No, no, I was thinking more like a Jack Russell.’

FOURWednesday – Court 7 (#ulink_6c1fcd00-8f91-5eb6-be70-bc53214241db)

The prosecutor didn’t like me. He was a young man with a five o’clock shadow, his accent obviously having shattered his shaving mirror. His first words were, ‘Counsel from London?’ He pronounced it kine-sel.

‘That’s right,’ I said cheerfully. They hate it when you come from out of town, stealing their work, stealing their hooks in the Robing Room, stealing their women.

‘Which chambers?’

When I told him he said, ‘And why does a case like this need counsel from 17 Kings Bench Walk?’

That was a good question, to which I didn’t have an answer. I thought of getting personal and saying ‘Because at 17 KBW we got rid of five o’clock shadows at the end of the last century.’ Which wasn’t even true. But he had strutted off to speak to a police officer. I wondered if I should try to create a friendship for Simon’s sake. Perhaps I should run after him and say something appeasing, something barristerial, like ‘What’s the best pudding they do in the Bar Mess?’ But it stuck in my throat.

A woman with dark hair and red lipstick came over to me. She was wearing a spotless wing collar and snowy-white tabs, a true professional. ‘So you’ve met the Birmingham Bar’s roving ambassador? That’s Ewan Phillips,’ she said. I liked her at once. ‘I’m Roseanna Newson, I’m for Ronald Catcher.’ Her thick black hair, cut in harsh, geometric lines, highlighted the delicacy of her neat heart-shaped face.

‘I’m Frankie Richmond, for Danny Richards,’ I said, stroking my neck to hide my creased, cream collarette.

‘It’ll be good co-defending with a woman,’ she said.

‘Unfortunately, I’m not doing the trial,’ I said. ‘I’m standing in for Simon Allison for the day. He’s done something to his ankle.’

Roseanna’s neat little rosebud mouth formed an O of concern. ‘Oh, dear. Norman’s not going to like that. He said on the last occasion that trial counsel must attend this hearing. And if Ewan is Birmingham’s ambassador, Judge Norman is our honorary consul. He’s a bit of a fool, but he’s a stickler for procedure.’

I knew it, I knew it. This is exactly why I don’t do crime, why I don’t do returns from other people, why I don’t like to leave London. I hadn’t even got a medical note to back up Simon’s story. Norman would make me do the trial.

We were called on at ten o’clock precisely.

And of course, Danny Richards’ name was first on the indictment which meant that after the prosecution had opened the case I would be required to stand and say my piece. But even before Ewan Phillips had introduced all three counsel, the judge barked, ‘Miss Richmond, we haven’t seen you in this matter before?’

‘No, Mr Richards has recently changed his representation.’

‘And we will have the pleasure of your company throughout this trial.’ It wasn’t a question.

‘I don’t want her representing me!’ Danny shouted from the back of the court. I turned to the dock in horror. Danny was on his feet, grasping the rail. The security guard had risen beside him. Danny’s codefendant, a thin, hunched man, in a grey T-shirt and jeans, didn’t even look up. He’d probably seen it all before, if Danny really did make a habit of sacking his representatives. Then Danny winked at me. He was doing this to help me. He was trying to make it look as if I was meant to be doing the trial but now he’d decided he didn’t want me.

‘Mr Richards, I hear what you say. Now be quiet.’

‘I’m not having her. I want a real barrister.’ But he was going further than I considered absolutely necessary. ‘I want someone who knows what they’re doing.’ Much further.

‘That’s enough, Mr Richards. It may be that your objections are well-founded, but I have told you before, this court is not to be used as a soapbox. One more word and you will go below.’ He turned his gaze to me. ‘Are you prepared to represent Mr Richards?’

‘I’m certainly prepared to represent him.’ This was true in so far as I was prepared to represent him this morning, although I was not prepared to represent him in the widest sense and certainly not beyond today.

The judge rifled through some loose papers on his desk, found what he was looking for and peered at the page. My heart sank. He was going to ask me a question. ‘I have a letter here from your instructing solicitors. A Miss Davidson.’ He held up the page between the tips of his fingers. ‘This is your latest team of representatives is it, Mr Richards? Miss Davidson and Miss Richmond? A London team? Very well. And why is the witness referred to at page 213 of the bundle a fully bound witness?’

I didn’t have a clue as to why that witness was required to give oral evidence at the trial instead of having his or her evidence read. I didn’t have page 213. I didn’t even have a bundle. I rose to my feet, flicking through the ten faxed pages I did have, hoping the answer would come to me through ESP. Roseanna slid her bundle across to me, open at page 213. Quickly I scanned the page. Not quickly enough.

‘Miss Richmond, you just told me that you were ready to represent this defendant. That is patently not so. What are you doing in my court without being prepared for the case?’

‘I am in your court because my colleague Simon Allison is in hospital at this moment having surgery on his ankle.’ Oh God, let that be true, I prayed. ‘And as for not being prepared, I am prepared for what usually happens in a Pleas and Directions Hearing. As for the attendance of Dr…’ I glanced at the page ‘…Rowland Quirk. Quite clearly…’ I skimmed through the paragraphs ‘…his evidence is of a forensic nature.’

‘Rowland Quirk. Rowland Quirk? Was he ever in Saudi Arabia?’

‘I – eh – don’t think…’

‘Had a terrible problem with his business interests? What, about seventeen years ago?’

‘Eh…’

‘Do you know, I think I represented him.’

A small rattle left my throat.

‘He was in terrible trouble. Owed millions. Well, if I have represented him, and he is to be called to give oral evidence as a result of the way the defence wish to run their case, then I must step down at this very, very late stage, because I cannot hear this case. The case will have to come out of the list. So be it, if the defence wish to call Roger Quirk, they must pay the price.’

‘Rowland Quirk.’

‘Oh Rowland Quirk. Oh, no, not the same man. I don’t think I know him. So? Why do you need him?’ he barked.

Roseanna rose and I sank to my seat. ‘Your Honour may remember that this witness is one of a series of expert witnesses which both defendants seek to cross-examine at trial. Your Honour indicated on the last occasion that an investigation of this area of the case was the only appropriate way to take the matter forward.’

The judge opened his mouth but nothing came out. Ewan Phillips rose to his feet. ‘I wonder if I could be of some assistance as to the availability of prosecution witnesses.’ Judge Norman turned a beaming smile on him. ‘Dr Quirk is available to give his evidence during the second and third weeks of the trial.’

‘Ewan and the judge come from the same set of chambers,’ Roseanna whispered to me. ‘Ewan’s very intelligent, he’ll go far, Norman isn’t and hasn’t.’

‘I will say again, Miss Richmond,’ the judge’s voice boomed around the room. ‘Has there been a meeting of all the professional witnesses to see if there is any way that this matter can be shortened?’

I knew the answer to that one. ‘Yes there has.’

‘And still you wish to call them?’

‘Yes,’ I said wildly. ‘I think that’s quite usual for a trial, isn’t it?’

Ewan Phillips rose slowly, insolently, to his feet. ‘Of course, your Honour,’ he said, ‘as your Honour has pointed out, my learned friend for Mr Richards is from London.’ He said it as if I had just flown in from the twin towns of Sodom and Gomorrah. ‘In Birmingham, and in particular in your Honour’s court, close attention is always paid to the detail and it is pertinent at every stage of the proceedings to consider whether there is a way to save time or prevent a drain on the public purse. Perhaps my learned friend’s instructing solicitors, a London firm –’ he shuddered ‘– are unaware that there is a right way and a wrong way to do things.’

‘Precisely, Mr Phillips,’ the judge said. ‘Well, Miss Richmond?’

‘My learned friend for the prosecution may not know that, in London, matters such as this are usually dealt with outside court in order to save the court the trouble of enquiring into every small detail. In London,’ I emphasised the ‘L’, ‘in London, we ensure that the Judge is able to deal with the big picture.’ Roseanna was tugging the sleeve of my gown, hissing, ‘Shut up, sit down! Shut up, sit down!’ ‘In London,’ I ploughed on, ‘counsel have the skill and ability to ensure that a case goes forward smoothly and properly, without incurring unnecessary costs. In London, members of the Bar are regarded as professional and competent. Which they are.’