The Brief

by Simon Michael

Sally came in, and Charles saw that she was wearing a miniskirt and long thigh-length boots.

  ‘My God, Sally, you’re going to give half of Chancery Court apoplexy dressed like that!’

  Sally’s face flushed. ‘Don’t you like it, sir?’

  ‘You look great. I just wonder what some of the more… conservative members of Chambers will say.’

  ‘Stanley’s already had two complaints,’ she admitted. ‘He says it’s too modern for the Temple.’

  ‘There you are then. But you’ll get no complaints from me.’ Charles grinned at her, and she smiled back. He’s got such lovely eyes, she thought to herself.

  ‘Put Rhodes Thomas through, will you?’

  ‘Right away sir,’ said Sally, leaving the room.

  The telephone rang again a minute later, and Sally announced the Q.C.

  ‘Hello, Michael?’

  ‘Yes Charles, how are you?’

  ‘Not bad, thank you. How’s the family?’ asked Charles.

  ‘Growing more expensive by the day, thank you for asking.’

  Charles had worked with Michael Rhodes Thomas Q.C. on a case some eighteen months before. He practised from a different set of Chambers, where they dealt with a wide mixture of common law, including quite a lot of crime. The members of the set were by and large friendly, and Charles had co-defended with a number of them over the years. Rhodes Thomas himself was very able, with an affable personality and a common touch that juries appreciated. Charles felt that their approaches were similar, and on the last occasion Rhodes Thomas had led Charles they had not only been successful but they’d had a lot of fun too.

  ‘I know you’re extremely busy – ’ began Charles.

  ‘Overloaded, as always,’ interrupted Rhodes Thomas.

  ‘ – But I wondered if I might interest you in a little murder.’

  ‘Yes?’ asked the other, interested.

  ‘It won’t be up for a while – it’s not been committed from the Magistrates’ Court yet – but it’s a goodie. The Express Dairies robbery.’

  ‘I didn’t know they’d charged anyone with that.’ ‘This morning. I’ve just seen them – it’s a two-hander – called Plumber and Sands.’

  ‘That’s not Robbie Sands is it?’

  ‘It is,’ replied Charles, surprised. ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Yes. I represented him on the Shell Mex Payroll job, about six years ago. Got him off, too. Small world, eh?’

  ‘Indeed it is. What do you think?’

  ‘Subject to availability, I’d be delighted, assuming the solicitors are happy.’

  ‘They’re alright. They’ve asked me to suggest someone.’

  ‘Fair enough. I assume you don’t want me before committal.’

  ‘I don’t know yet, but I doubt it. I’ll get the solicitors to have a word with your clerk if necessary. Otherwise, perhaps we can organise a conference at the prison after committal.’

  ‘Fine. How are you keeping?’

  ‘Me? I’m okay.’

  There was a pause before Rhodes Thomas spoke again. ‘How’s Henrietta?’ he asked.

  Charles cast his mind back, and remembered that he had introduced Henrietta to Rhodes Thomas one day when they had met him in the Temple. ‘She’s fine, thank you.’

  ‘Saw her a few weeks ago,’ said Rhodes Thomas.

  ‘At Peter Ripley’s retirement dinner?’ asked Charles.

  ‘Well, yes, but after that too. At the Ellisons’.’ There was another pause. ‘I expect you were burning the midnight oil again.’

  ‘Yes. I expect so,’ said Charles, absently. ‘You do mean Simon and Jenny Ellison?’

  ‘Yes. He’s in your Chambers, isn’t he?’ asked Rhodes Thomas.

  ‘Yes, he is. I just didn’t know Henrietta saw them socially.’

  ‘Oh, I think it’s something to do with Jenny’s charity work. I got the impression that Henrietta was involved too.’

  ‘That must be it then.’ There was another pause.

  ‘Let me know if you fancy a drink after court one day, Charles. For a chat, you know?’ he said sympathetically.

  ‘Will do, Michael. Thanks.’

  •

  Ralph Cohen led the way up the narrow stairs and knocked on the door at the top. The door was unlocked and opened by a prison officer. Charles and Rhodes Thomas followed Cohen inside, the door was locked behind them and the lawyers turned to face three prison officers.

  ‘You’ve all been here before haven’t you, sirs?’ asked one of them, evidently in charge. The lawyers nodded their assent. Charles had visited clients in most of the prisons in London, especially this one, HM Pentonville, where one section housed prisoners on remand awaiting trial, but he never got over the thrill of being on the inside. It was like entering a secret country with its own language, customs, sounds and smells.

  ‘If you’ll just empty your pockets in the bowls, and your briefcases on the table? Then take off your jackets please and hand them to my colleague.’

  Charles had already taken out his loose change and keys. He placed two packets of cigarettes on the desk. Charles didn’t smoke, but prisoners on remand were allowed cigarettes and Charles had learned that to visit a remand client in prison without cigarettes was a cardinal offence. Even if the client didn’t smoke, a pack of cigarettes provided him with ready currency on the cellblock to buy soap, shampoo, phone calls and favours.

  Charles had also learned not to bother to take a briefcase. He carried the bundle of case papers tied with pink ribbon, and he undid the ribbon and fanned the papers out on the table. The year before there had been the infamous prosecution of the bent solicitor who’d smuggled in a hypodermic in a hollowed out part of prosecution depositions, and ever since he had expected the prison officers to leaf through the papers. He took his jacket off and handed it to one of the other prison officers, who checked it thoroughly while Charles was frisked expertly from head to toe.

  It took ten minutes for the three lawyers to be searched, after which they were allowed to dress and gather their possessions. Cohen led them to the far end of the room where a fourth officer sat behind reinforced glass windows.

  ‘Solicitor and counsel to see Mr Plumber,’ said Cohen, speaking into a microphone mounted on the wall. The officer took their details, and they were eventually shown into a small room. A few moments later, Plumber entered.

  ‘Hello Mr Cohen, Mr Holborne,’ he said amiably.

  ‘Hello Derek,’ replied Cohen. ‘May I introduce you to Mr Rhodes Thomas? He’s the Q.C. who will lead for the Defence.’

  Plumber put out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you sir,’ he said to Rhodes Thomas.

  ‘Take a seat, Mr Plumber. Am I mistaken, or do we get offered tea at Pentonville?’

  ‘You’re dead right, sir. He’ll be along in a sec,’ answered Plumber.

  Tea having arrived, Rhodes Thomas took the ribbon off his brief, spread his papers on the table, and began.

  ‘Now, I’ve got a great deal to ask you, but what I want to know first is what’s happened to Mr Sands?’

  ‘Beg pardon?’

  ‘He’s instructed new solicitors, hasn’t he?’

  ‘That’s right, yeh.’

  ‘You two haven’t fallen out, have you?’

  ‘No, not at all. He’s used Oppenheims a couple of times before, that’s all. Why?’

  ‘Mr Holborne and I were just a bit concerned. If you’re both going to get off the murder charge, you’ve both got to stick to your guns. Sorry about the pun. There’s no apparent conflict between your stories, and so we wondered why he wanted to change solicitors.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s nothing, wossname, suspicious, about it.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Do you mind if I ask a question?’ asked Plumber.

  ‘Not at all,’ replied Rhodes Thomas.

  ‘Do I have to plead guilty to the robbery?’

  ‘Well, as I understand it Mr Plumber, you’ve said in your interview to the police, and to Mr Co
hen here, that you did take part in the robbery. Is that the case?’

  Plumber looked embarrassed. He turned round to Cohen, but received no assistance. Charles intervened.

  ‘I’m sure you understand Mr Plumber, once you’ve told Mr Cohen that you did do the robbery, neither he nor myself, nor Mr Rhodes Thomas can represent you if you plead not guilty. We are not able to lie to the Court on your behalf. You’d have to find other solicitors – and if you tell them that you are guilty, you’ll lose them too.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Plumber, clearly disappointed.

  ‘There is however, one exception to that rule,’ continued Charles. ‘You are entitled to plead not guilty, despite what you’ve told us, and we are allowed to test the prosecution evidence. We’re still prevented from actively suggesting to the Court that you’re not guilty, and we certainly can’t call any positive evidence on your behalf. But if the prosecution evidence doesn’t come up to scratch, you’d be acquitted. On the other hand if at the end of the prosecution’s evidence, there’s enough evidence to go before the jury, you’d have to plead guilty at that stage. Probably sounds rather artificial to you, but we are bound by rules of conduct.’

  ‘Do you understand all that?’ asked Rhodes Thomas.

  ‘I think so. The thing is, see, I was wondering: if I plead not guilty to the robbery, at least at the outset, the prosecution might drop the murder if I offered to change me mind, and put me hands up to the robbery.’

  Rhodes Thomas smiled. ‘They might indeed.’

  ‘Do you reckon?’

  ‘Put it this way Mr Plumber: if the evidence comes out exactly as it appears in the prosecution statements, I do not think a jury could properly find either you or Sands guilty of the murder. I think further that the prosecution will be well aware of that. That may make them amenable to an offer. On the other hand, you’ve made a full confession, and it will be hard to persuade the Crown that there’s any risk of your getting off the robbery in any event. They may therefore decide to take their chances, and see if they can get you for both.’

  ‘I’d like to have a bash anyway.’

  ‘Very well. I’m sure Mr Cohen here will inform the Court that both charges are to be contested, and I will certainly have an informal word with the prosecution leader to sound him out. But just in case they do proceed with the murder charge, I suggest we have a look at some of the evidence.’

  The conference continued for another two hours and three cups of tea. Unknown to the participants, in an adjoining block at Pentonville Prison, Robbie Sands was also receiving a visit. The conversation with his visitor only lasted forty-five minutes, but at the end of it Robbie Sands returned to his cell with a smile on his thin face. The visitor, Detective Inspector Ronald Henry Wheatley, departed with a full notebook. He did not break the habit of a lifetime and smile, but he was no less satisfied.

  PART TWO

  THE TRIAL

  CHAPTER SIX

  Although his practice had taken him there every now and then for the last ten years, Charles still experienced a particular thrill, a special lightness of step, as he entered the Old Bailey. This was the sharp end of criminal practice, the Court where the seasoned practitioners worked, met, and discussed cases, judges and trials. It was the heart of the web of British criminal justice.

  Charles climbed the wide stairs and entered the Great Hall. The building work to repair the Blitz bomb damage had been completed a couple of years after he started work at the court, and for several months the barristers mingled with stonemasons and plasterers. Many at the Bar had been irritated but Charles wasn’t among them. Instead of using the Bar Mess he had queued for lunch in the public canteen with the workmen, doffed his wig and sat with them, picking through the weekend’s football or complaining about the price of a pint. He had told Henrietta that it was essential for a jury advocate to have a sense of what the man on the Clapham omnibus was thinking, but in truth he felt more at home with them than he did with his fellow barristers.

  Charles climbed the stairs to the robing room. The place was buzzing with barristers in various states of undress as they changed into tunic shirts and wing collars, a couple of the younger men jostling to stand in front of the mirror while they struggled to tie their court bands.

  Charles’s wig tin joined the shoal of identical black oval tins on the robing room table and he lifted the lid. He took out his wig and, as usual, sniffed it cautiously. After a hot summer of sweat-inducing high-stress cases, horsehair wigs could smell dreadful. Cleaning them was a delicate, not to mention expensive, operation.

  ‘Deceased?’ asked a voice behind him.

  Charles turned to see Philip Jewell, a barrister with fair, almost white, hair, pale blue eyes and a shy grin. Jewell was a couple of years older than Charles. His soft voice and diffident manner concealed a sharp mind and great courage. He had been a Hurricane pilot in the Battle of Britain, downing eleven enemy planes, despite twice being shot down himself.

  ‘I’d say not in the best of health, but not quite moribund.’

  ‘Mine’s dreadful. I forgot to get it cleaned during the summer vacation. The first time I opened the tin this term, it tried to crawl out on its own.’

  Charles laughed. He liked Jewell. They had gone up to Cambridge in the same year after the war, and when they came down to London for their Bar Finals they had often sat in the same tutorial groups. Their paths had crossed socially too.

  ‘What brings you here?’ asked Charles.

  ‘Oh, murder and mayhem, as usual,’ replied Jewell.

  ‘The same,’ said Charles. ‘You’re not in Plumber and Sands are you?’

  ‘Certainly am. I’m your co-defendant. You’re for Plumber, yes?’

  ‘Yes. Are you being led?’ asked Charles.

  ‘Robin Lowe is leading me, but he won’t be here today.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Charles, puzzled.

  The other did not answer, but grinned mysteriously. ‘Court Two, isn’t it?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  Jewell picked up his case papers and winked. ‘See you down there, then,’ he said, and disappeared into the crowd of black-robed barristers heading down the stairs.

  Charles walked right to the end of the line of lockers where there were a few for visiting barristers from other circuits. He was in fact a member of the South Eastern circuit, but as the only dedicated criminal practitioner in Chambers it was not considered necessary for a locker to be reserved for him. So, purely from habit, Charles used the locker his pupil master had let him use years before, when Charles was still a pupil.

  He pondered Jewell’s words. If the case were to start, it would be most unusual for the defence not to be represented by its silk. On the other hand, if Sands were simply applying for an adjournment, something Jewell would have done alone, why the mystery? Puzzled, Charles changed his everyday stiff collar for a wing collar, tied his bands, donned his wig and gown, and collected his papers. He glanced at his watch – 9:45 – time for quick cup of tea.

  He pushed his way against the flow of barristers and hurried quickly to the Bar Mess. He found an empty table and sat down. A waitress approached him.

  ‘Good morning Mr Holborne,’ she said.

  ‘Hello Sylvia. Enjoying the new job?’

  Charles knew almost everyone in the building. He particularly liked the junior staff at the court. They were an invaluable source of gossip and they always knew what was going on. Charles was aware that Sylvia had recently moved from the cleaning department to work as a waitress in the Bar Mess.

  ‘I am, thank you, very much. Although it’s doing nothing for my waistline.’ She leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘The chips are too good.’

  ‘I know,’ replied Charles. ‘But I’ll tell you a secret: they’re even better downstairs in the cells.’

  ‘Is that right? Tea and toast?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  She disappeared to collect Charles’s order.

  ‘Hello there. It’s Charles
Holborne, isn’t it?’

  Charles looked up to see another barrister. It was Marcus Stafford, the junior for the Crown. He was enormously fat, with piggy eyes lost in great red cheeks, but he had the reputation of having one of the best minds at the Criminal Bar. He and Charles had spoken on the telephone a few days before about the evidence in the case.

  ‘Yes. Stafford?’

  ‘Yah. Haven’t seen my illustrious leader by any chance?’ asked Stafford.

  ‘Sir Richard Hogg QC? No, not yet. And I don’t suppose you’ve seen Mike Rhodes Thomas?’

  ‘No, sorry. Do you mind?’ Stafford indicated the seat next to Charles.

  ‘Not at all.’

  Stafford sat down. ‘Is this still to be a fight?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s up to you,’ replied Charles. ‘As we’ve already discussed, he’ll plead to the robbery if you drop the murder. We both know you can’t make it stick against either of them.’

  Stafford smiled. ‘We’ll see.’

  This sort of friendly sparring was not new to Charles – it happened frequently – but there was a confidence about Stafford which made Charles wonder what was going on. He didn’t have long to wait before discovering what it was. A short middle-aged man bustled up to them.

  ‘Morning Marcus,’ he said, and sat next to them.

  ‘Hello Richard. This is Charles Holborne. Charles, Richard Hogg.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Hogg, rifling through his papers, ‘got something for you.’ He handed Charles a document. It was a statement headed “Robert Reginald Sands”. ‘I expect you’ll want some time to consider that with Michael, and your client of course. I don’t suppose the Crown could object to an application for an adjournment if you decide to make it. In any event, I’ve spoken to the clerk and told her we’ll need some time before arraignment.’

  Charles scanned the document. It was a statement dated that day. In it, Sands retracted his earlier statement and said that only two men had been on the robbery, himself and Plumber. He claimed that Plumber had taken and used the shotgun without his knowledge. His reason for his earlier statement was that Plumber had threatened the lives of his family.