by David Cooper
“This is from the managing partner. A new job.” He turned back to the distasteful task of listening to the sound file.
“Michael Stephens? You’ve got to be joking!” Blake walked up to Craven’s desk, quickly pushing the door closed first, and peered at the screen. Half a minute later, as Craven still found himself struggling to make any sense of what was emerging from the speakers, Blake realised exactly what had happened. He decided to listen to the complete sound file alongside Craven, rather than interrupt him again.
When the music faded to a close, with a slower phase of amplified guitar chords after the last chorus, a rough voice cut in. Craven was soon confronted with the explanation that Blake had already worked out.
“There’s a classic track. Smokin’ In The Boys’ Room. And that was of course Motley Crue. Now that song’s a special dedication from Mickey Stephens to Paul the Nerd, the coward of the office. As opposed to the Coward of the County, I guess, but let’s not remind ourselves about a musical style that’s banned from the airwaves on this station. Maybe this next song’s worth dedicating to that dude as well? He sounds as if he needs some Sweet Leaf. Here’s Black Sabbath.”
A few seconds of exaggerated coughing introduced another onslaught of crunching guitar chords, before the sound file came to a sudden end. Blake noticed that Craven’s confusion was clearly unabated.
“Paul, I’m afraid someone’s played a prank on you.”
“A prank?” Craven had turned red. “What do you mean?”
“Look at that email address. It doesn’t have the BLH ending. It’s a Hotmail message. And there’s a load of figures at the end of the name. There’s no way this came from our managing partner.”
“But what about…” Craven stopped in his tracks and looked more carefully at the standard form e-signature that had immediately convinced him that the message was a genuine new instruction. “Oh God.” It did not take him long to see two spelling mistakes that were very obviously not part of the correct version.
“It’s that bloody Hutchings. I’ll have him for this.”
To Blake’s amazement, Craven suddenly rose from his seat and made to stride towards the office door. Blake instinctively shot out an arm and restrained him.
“Paul, for God’s sake steady on! What do you mean?”
“That business on the back stairs the other week.” Craven’s anger was undiminished, but he made no effort to break free, perhaps realising how impetuous his actions were.
“What business? Paul, please just sit down and tell me.”
Craven explained. Blake shook his head in disbelief.
“I hadn’t heard about any of that. I’m really sorry. And I must say it beggars belief that Seb Finnie could let himself set such a bad example. But stop and think for a moment. You can’t just go up to Jake, or anyone else come to think of it, and accuse him of doing something like that. Not unless you can prove it. Think about what we all do for a living in this department.”
“But it stands out a mile. It couldn’t have been anyone else. And then he goes and adds insult to injury by taking the mickey out of my name. And whatever he meant with that business at the end about sweet tea leaves, it must have been something else nasty.”
Blake sighed. He knew it would be futile to point out that the disc jockey, rather than the listener who had sent in the song request, had been using a slang reference to cannabis.
“Paul, I can only say again, you can’t prove anything. Even if you took it as far as a grievance, what would you do if he denied it? And what would the partners be able to do?” Craven looked blankly in Blake’s direction without making eye contact. “Listen. Let me deal with it. I’ll go and ask him if he’s been playing practical jokes on you. I’ll be able to get to the bottom of this far quicker than Rufus or the HR officers would.”
“OK. That’s kind of you. But I’m really getting sick and tired of everybody having a go at me all the time. Especially when they stoop to things like this.” Craven gestured towards his computer screen. “What should I do about that message?”
“Leave it there for now. But for God’s sake don’t play it again.”
Blake was back sooner than Craven expected.
“I’ve spoken to Jake, strictly between me and him. Told him that someone had played a really unpleasant practical joke on you. Didn’t tell him what. Asked him if he knew anything about it. He denied all knowledge. And he got really uptight at the suggestion. Either he’s innocent or he’s a bloody good actor.”
“I know what I think. I really can’t see how it could have been anyone else.”
“Well, you may be right. But frankly I wouldn’t do or say anything more about this.” Blake sensed the disappointment behind Craven’s blank expression. “There’s another reason.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re not supposed to open suspicious email attachments. If you took this any further, you might have HR jumping down your throat about breaching the firm’s IT policies. You might be the one ending up with an undeserved warning.” Blake lowered his voice and gestured towards the department floor. “And strictly off the record, if you said anything to him, who’s to say he wouldn’t sneak on you to the techies if he did this in the first place?”
Craven was silent for a painfully long time, before finding his voice.
“Thanks a lot, Roger. This is really hard for me, but I can see your point. I just never want to have anything to do with him any longer. I’m really looking forward to the day when he’s out of this department. The sooner the better.”
Tuesday 11 th June
Lennie had hoped that the final week preceding the trial would involve no further lengthy or tricky correspondence with Wagstaff, assuming no last minute change of heart on his opponent’s part that might after all lead to settlement on sensible terms. He could never have foreseen how his hopes for a last few days free of controversy and unexpected twists would be so readily shattered.
‘Dear Sirs
Please find attached one further statement, in the name of Paul Craven.
If necessary we shall seek the judge’s leave for its introduction next Monday before the formal proceedings begin. We reserve the right to seek the costs of any unreasonable objection on your part to its introduction. Its relevance is not only to corroborate the evidence of Mr Squire, but also to join issue with – and in our opinion to refute – certain elements of the evidence of Dawn Vallance.
You could, of course, agree the contents of this statement, and in turn withdraw any allegation in relation to Wave Recruitment’s successful introduction of Mr Craven. If you still choose not to do so, we shall refer to the contents of this correspondence on the question of the costs of this issue, should the court decide that your clients should never have persisted in pursuing it…’
Lennie grimaced at the familiar posturing tones of the email, and opened the attached statement. It was only two pages long, and was marked in the right hand margin with handwritten references to pages in the court bundle. But its length was less significant than its contents. He was soon explaining the latest development to an exasperated Karen.
“This job offer letter from Squire, for a start. Craven’s statement backs up Squire’s story. I can’t see much chance now for us to argue that Squire might have forgotten to send the letter, or that he sent a different version that hasn’t come to light. And it means Dawn’s story isn’t the free ride we thought it might be.”
“How come?”
“Look half way down the first page. See what he’s saying about getting the letter immediately after the interview. Squire’s statement missed out the interview date altogether. Now we’ve got Craven putting the interview on the Thursday of the same week when Wayne jumped ship. If he’s right about that, and he hasn’t just made a mistake, it weakens the force of what Dawn’s saying.”
“Sorry, you’re losing me.”
“No, no, my fault. I’ve assumed too much. You remember when Dawn said the flowers appea
red, along with the card? Tuesday the nineteenth of March. The day the paralegals started deserting you. The day after Wayne walked. And the message in the card was ‘thanks for all your help last week. Everything worked out really well’. There’s the problem.”
“I think I get it…if the interview was on the twenty first…”
Lennie finished Karen’s sentence.
“It means Craven wouldn’t have been thanking Dawn on the nineteenth immediately after he’d got the job.”
“Is that bad for us?”
“I wouldn’t say bad, but it’s not good. Our best case was for this to have been a continuous flow of events. He sees Wayne while Dawn’s drying his jacket, he’s interviewed by Squire when Wayne’s still your employee and a director of Ripple, and he sends Dawn the flowers immediately after he’s been offered the job. That would mean Wayne diverted a live business opportunity. Totally beyond the pale.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“Back in limbo. If he followed Wayne of his own free will straight after Wayne quit, or if he was never your candidate in the first place, we’re stuck. If Wayne enticed him when he was your candidate, it’s still game on.” Lennie heard a further exasperated sigh from Karen. “We can still try to catch both of them out if they’re covering up. Trouble is we just don’t know anything about Craven. He might be telling the truth, or he might be toeing the line for his new boss and the man who found him his new boss.”
“OK. So there’s no need to drop Craven from my set of claims?”
“Not at all. I’ll tell Wagstaff his statement’s not agreed and that we’ll need him for cross-examination, assuming they’re granted leave to call him.” Lennie paused. “Something else on my mind. That diary entry. ‘PC Bastards.’ Within reason, we ought to be able to put that to Craven as well. See if it jogs his memory or throws him off his stride. Obviously that’s going to be Soraya’s call.”
“Something else on my mind too.” Karen replied. “If Craven’s going to be there in person, how about if Dawn is too? I’m just thinking about the second half of the message on the card. ‘Love to meet up with you again some time.’ This might sound silly, but if he fancied her, maybe he’d switch allegiance if he saw her again.”
“No harm in trying.”
Lennie steered the call to a close, knowing that he would be carrying out a final stocktake in two days’ time when he and Karen were scheduled to meet Soraya in conference. He realised, almost as soon as he put the phone down, that he had glossed over a crucial point. If Karen failed to persuade the judge that Avery’s introduction of Craven to BLH Solicitors must either have involved stealing a live business opportunity from Ripple, or wrongful enticement, her chances of winning an injunction for the remaining restraint period would be jeopardised. He decided to leave the issue for Soraya to cover at the conference rather than call Karen back and trouble her any more.
* * * * *
Craven had almost finished reading into the file Squire had delegated to him, for the next day’s winding up petition hearing on behalf of Edgborne Materials, when his phone rang.
“Paul, Tony Wagstaff. I’ve just heard from the other side that they won’t agree your evidence for next week. So you’ll need to be there on the Tuesday afternoon, last man in. The main witnesses will all be through by Monday. On the Tuesday, we’ll have some of Wayne’s other successful candidates first, then Rufus, and then you. Make sure you keep it free.”
“OK, will do. Er…can I just check something?”
“What is it?”
“I had a call from Wayne last week, not long after I’d been told that you wanted me to give the statement. I asked him if I ought to read into the background in any more detail, and he said no, just stay focused and keep to the party line.”
“Nothing’s changed. That’s the plan. Stick to it.”
“But shouldn’t I look at the trial bundle? I might get asked…”
“No, there’s no need. All you’ll have to do is stay strictly within the boundaries of your statement and make out that you Can’t. Really. Remember. Anything about anything else.” Wagstaff emphasised the four words as if he was speaking to a child. “Please remember, Paul, that this is the best way to help Wayne and to help yourself.”
“I suppose so.”
“Paul, I don’t want you to suppose. I want you to understand. Is that clear?” There was an embarrassed silence. Wagstaff realised that he might have overstepped, and thought quickly of a way to keep Craven on message. “Listen, Paul. You’ve probably never appreciated just how pleased Wayne was to have introduced you to us. And how pleased we were with him. We all owe him a big favour. It’s not too much.”
Craven felt a stab of guilt, knowing that he had reacted to his harsh appraisal by contacting Avery and asking to be promoted as a candidate once more.
“OK, I understand.”
“Good. Just remember, when you’re asked a question, stop and think about your answer, and how helpful your answer will be to Wayne. If in doubt, leave it out. Now, while we’re on, have you managed to read my briefing on Frank Wharton?”
“No, it hasn’t turned up yet.”
“That’s odd. I said I wanted it done yesterday afternoon. Bear with me. Shannon!” Craven heard Wagstaff roaring what he assumed to be the name of his PA, before a loud clunking noise intervened, consistent with a phone receiver contacting a solid surface. He looked at his watch and realised that it would probably now be too late for him to ring the court office and check the details for the following day’s hearing. Knowing that the case had been adjourned once and was now probably nothing but a formality, he decided that it would be harmless to let it go.
* * * * *
“I’m sorry to hear that, Dawn. It’s such a pity…”
“Karen, I know. If I’d been able to see him standing there in the box, I’d probably have known for sure whether it was him in the office that day. But you know how hard it is to get an appointment…”
Karen had found out shortly after finishing her call with Lennie that Dawn had booked half a day’s holiday on the Tuesday afternoon of the following week, the second day of the trial. When she asked if there was any chance of Dawn moving the date, Dawn explained that it was a hospital appointment involving ‘female problems’ that she had been awaiting for many weeks. There was no realistic chance of moving it again at such short notice.
“Can’t be helped. If Craven did send you those flowers, and if he’s been primed to turn up in court and spin a false story, it might have thrown him off his stride to see you there. We’ll just have to play it by the book. If only I knew something more about him. Whether he’s from the same mould as those damned paralegals, or if he’s someone who’s been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Anything…”
Karen decided not to trouble Lennie with the news that Dawn was only free for the first day of the trial when she was scheduled to give her own evidence. It could wait until the conference in two days’ time.
Wednesday 12 th June
Not for the first time since he had joined BLH Solicitors, Craven found himself reeling under a volley of criticism. But never previously had it involved a raised voice that was wholly out of place in a professional working environment. All the more so when the owner of the raised voice was none other than Rufus Squire.
Two hours earlier, Craven had gone along to court for the hearing of Edgborne Materials’ winding up petition. Having located the action title on the lists, he had found the courtroom and identified himself to a bored clerk who wrote Craven’s name on the attendance sheet without taking the trouble to look up. Moments after he had realised that the action was part of a block listing over a two hour period, without any specific hearing time, he found an unfamiliar face at his side, anxious to introduce himself. It turned out to be the client’s financial controller, who had decided to come along at the last minute. He evidently wanted to make sure that everything was in place for the anticipated tax credit that would fl
ow from the winding up order being made against the debtor.
Craven found himself a seat on the end of a row, as the client retreated to the rear of the court. Armed with his checklist and his script, Craven noticed for the first time that the others sitting in court ready to deal with their own applications all appeared to be dark robed barristers. He hoped that the preceding advocates would provide him with some incidental last minute guidance about what to say in support of his application.
After five cases were called, with each of them resulting in approval for ‘the usual compulsory order’ once the representatives had run through a sequence of procedural steps and dates, Craven felt as confident as he could be about what he needed to say when he was invited to make his own submission. The moment was soon upon him when the clerk announced the action title, and he rose to his feet.
“Your Honour, I represent the creditor in this action, and I seek the usual compulsory order on behalf of Edgborne Materials…”
Having finished flicking through the court file, the judge raised his head and stared in Craven’s direction.
“Just a moment, Mr…” He glanced at the attendance sheet. “Mr Craven. What are you doing here?”
As simple as the question may have been, Craven had never expected it, and struggled for an answer.
“Er…I am here on behalf of the…the petitioning creditor…”
“No, no. What is your status? Your capacity?”
“I’m a qualified legal executive.”
The judge looked down in obvious disapproval.
“Mr Craven, I can’t hear you.”
Taking the judge’s comment literally, Craven cleared his throat and repeated what he had just said about his capacity, in a louder voice. The judge shook his head and tutted.
“Mr Craven, you don’t understand. You don’t have rights of audience in this court.”
Craven gaped in disbelief and slowly sat down, not knowing what to do next. It was plain to the other advocates in the courtroom that he was on the verge of panic. The barrister sitting on his left took pity on him and touched his arm, before giving a rapid whispered explanation about who had the right to address a judge in that particular forum. She listened to Craven’s forlorn account of how he had come to end up where he did not belong, and stood up.