Charles is on the point of leaving his desk to meet the visitor in the room where clients and witnesses wait before conferences with their barristers, but realises that if he’s going to talk to Chicken it has to be in private.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I do remember now. He was a client, but well before your time. It’s a bit irregular, but perhaps you’d better send him up.’
‘Are you sure, sir? He’s a bit … well, you’ll see.’
Charles could guess the cause of Clive’s attitude. David, or Chicken, was overtly effeminate and didn’t hide his sexuality. Charles liked him; although badly injured, in pain and terrified, there was a quiet and determined courage about the young runaway.
‘I’ll bring ’im up.’
A few moments later the door opens again. ‘Mr Thomas, sir.’ Clive leaves, smirking.
But for the history and the introduction, Charles would not have recognised David. His teeth are now perfect and, although still slender and small, no more than five feet four inches or so tall, he has gained, in Charles’s estimation, half a stone in weight and now looks healthy. But he still wears a pink floral shirt, tight white jeans and — and Charles has to study the boy’s face carefully to see it, because it’s obscured by a floppy fringe of hair — eyeliner. Charles smiles as he rises; no wonder David’s appearance created a bit of a scene.
‘David!’ says Charles, walking towards the young man with his hand outstretched. ‘I’m really pleased to see you. You look very well.’
David takes Charles’s huge hand in his soft palm. He doesn’t let go. ‘I am very well, thank you,’ he says in his soft Welsh lilt. ‘Thanks to you.’
‘No,’ replies Charles, shaking his head. ‘I just gave you some money.’ Charles nods towards David’s new white teeth. ‘Which I see you spent very wisely.’
‘Yes, but it was more than that. You were a stranger, but you were kind to me, when I least expected kindness from anyone. It helped turn me round. I’m no longer working the Rack,’ he says with some pride, ‘and look!’ He lets go of Charles’s hand and pulls up his sleeve to show the inside of his right arm where Charles can see old track marks. ‘No more drugs. Not since the day I met you.’
‘I don’t think I can take credit for that. But I am really pleased for you. Take a seat.’
David pulls a battered leather chair to the front of Charles’s desk, and Charles returns to his place on the other side.
‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ asks Charles.
David holds out a grubby flat envelope and when Charles doesn’t take it immediately, drops it onto Charles’s blotter. ‘The girls at the Dilly had a whip round. For this young lad. It’s all in there. He needs your help.’
‘My help? Why? Is he in trouble with the police?’
‘He’s in trouble with everyone.’
‘Everyone? Vice?’
‘Well, firstly, there’s a copper called Clarkie, Chief Inspector Clarke, who’s been asking questions and pushing us around. None of us have ever seen him round before. He’s not Vice, but still a nasty piece of work. He broke one of my friend’s fingers when he wouldn’t talk. Then there are some other blokes asking questions. They look and sound like police, but plain clothes, and none that I’ve ever seen before. Strong, silent types. And then there’s the Krays.’
‘The Krays? What on earth do the Krays want with him?’
‘I don’t know. He didn’t explain much. Can’t get him to talk.’
‘I think you’d better start at the top,’ says Charles.
‘OK. One of my friends found this lad sleeping in a doorway off the Dilly. He looked like he hadn’t eaten or washed for a couple of days. He’s really young, and lost, see? So he, my friend that is, took him back to his place in Beckton, gave him a meal and a couch to sleep on. He seemed OK, but he wouldn’t speak.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean he wouldn’t say a word. Nothing. At first we thought he was deaf and dumb. And then another of my friends — well, he’s not a friend really, but he’s gay and we’ve all seen him around — he recognised the boy from a party at Cedra Court. Have you heard about them?’
Charles nods. This was the information Percy Farrow was so excited about.
‘So he’d been at Ronnie Kray’s, and by all accounts was talking then. But something must’ve happened to him since, ’cos he’s stopped. We were discussing the situation, perhaps hand him in to the police or maybe take him to hospital, but he heard us and got completely hysterical. He tried to run away again and literally ran into a policeman outside and got himself nicked. The next we hear, he’s been taken to hospital ’cos he tried to slash his wrists while still in the police van! He’s at the Albert Docks Seamen’s Hospital just round the corner from my mate’s place. None of the girls knew what to do. Then I remembered you.’
‘Why’s he been arrested?’
‘According to a nurse there, the police are saying he murdered one of the Kray’s gang. I don’t know if he did or not, but he’s just a kid. Honestly, he says he’s fifteen, but you’d think he was twelve or so to look at him. He’s terrified. Is there anything you can do? There’s over a hundred pounds in that envelope there.’
Charles’s face contorts into a frown. He wants to help, but this is not a job for a barrister. In the first instance the boy needs a good solicitor.
‘I’m not sure what I can do personally, David, but I can contact a solicitor colleague and see if he’ll go to the hospital and get some instructions. That’s how it works normally.’
David shrugs. ‘OK, if you say so. But he needs someone. Can I leave it with you?’
‘Yes. But I’m not allowed to take money.’
‘Well, I can’t take it away with me. It’s a lot, and I can’t wait to get rid of it. I think I’m being followed.’
Charles sighs. Here we go again, he thinks. Not for the first time he’s being pressurised to break his professional rules, rules which he often finds ridiculous. Barristers are not even supposed to talk about money with their instructing solicitors, let alone accept cash; that sort of grubbiness is for the clerks, whose souls are tarnished anyway. But to accept what are almost certainly the proceeds of prostitution in a grubby envelope from someone acting on behalf of an unknown possible client? Almost certainly enough to have him disbarred.
‘Look,’ continues David, ‘can’t you just give it to the solicitor, and if it’s important to you, get a receipt?’
‘OK. But, David: no one can know I’ve taken it from you. I’d be in seriously hot water if anyone found out. I’ll pass it to the solicitor and get a receipt made out in the client’s name. Do you understand?’
‘Of course. He’s called Teddy — I don’t know his surname.’ David pauses, apparently trying to say something but unable to find the words. ‘You’re very kind —’ he starts. Charles puts up his hand to stop him but David presses on. ‘No, I’m not just being polite. I mean it: you’re a kind man, Charles. As my gran would say, you think with your heart. One doesn’t often meet kindness, at least, not in my world. So I’d never do anything to let you down.’
Charles watches as the young Welshman’s eyes fill with tears, and he finds himself unable to speak for a moment. ‘Thank you,’ he manages finally.
David drags a handkerchief from his tight trouser pocket and blows his nose noisily. ‘I did wonder if I’d be able to hold it together, if I saw you again,’ he says, laughing and snuffling at the same time. ‘I’ll never forget what you did for me. Now, I’d better be going. Is there another way out?’
‘Yes. I’ll take you down to the basement entrance. It leads onto a narrow passage that runs beneath the staircases. You can walk in either direction, invisible from street level, and then come up to ground level further along. Come on.’
Charles shows David out and watches him slip away. He closes the basement door and proceeds immediately to the clerks’ room, striding purposefully up to Barbara’s desk.
‘Just a word for future re
ference,’ he says, deliberately making his voice more stern than he actually feels.
‘Yes, sir?’ says the senior clerk, looking up from her work.
‘I know Clive’s still learning the ropes, but for heaven’s sake please remind all the junior staff that lay clients are not to be allowed into Chambers unless they are represented by a solicitor, and we are acting for them. It’s against Bar Council’s rules to have any dealings with a potential client directly when we’re not yet instructed.’
‘Of course, I’ll make sure everyone remembers. Did the young man cause any trouble?’
‘No, not at all. He’s looking for representation and didn’t understand the procedure. I sent him on his way. But if the Bar Council got wind of it, we could be censured. I’ll speak to one of my solicitor clients and see what can be organised to help out, but I don’t want it happening again. Is that clear?’
‘Understood, sir.’
‘And please tell Clive that he is not to mention it outside Chambers; in fact, he’d do best to forget it ever occurred.’
‘Very well sir. I’ll have a word with him — and Jennie, who also saw the … young man.’
‘Thank you. Now, I’m going out for a while.’
‘Will you be back this afternoon, sir?’
Charles thinks quickly. ‘Not sure yet. I’ve some research to do in the library,’ he says, and disappears through the door before he can be questioned further.
Less than a minute after Charles disappears into the maze that is the Temple, the door to Chambers opens and two men enter. They’re in plain clothes but the polished boots, cheap dark suits and guarded eyes declare them, unmistakably, to be police officers. They pause on the threshold, unfamiliar with the layout or how to read the board in the lobby which lists, in painted copperplate, the names of all the barristers working from the building in order of seniority. Jeremy, on his way upstairs with a bundle of briefs, checks in his stride.
‘Are these the chambers of Mr Charles Holborne?’ asks one of the men.
‘Yes, sir. Are you here for a conference?’
‘No. We’re involved in an investigation and we have some questions for Mr Holborne.’
Jeremy’s eyes widen. ‘Oh. I see. Well, perhaps you’d like to follow me?’
He shows them into a waiting room and scurries back to the clerks’ room.
‘There’s a couple of coppers here!’ he reports to Barbara excitedly.
‘Whose case?’
‘No, they’re not involved in a case — at least not one of ours. It’s official, and they want to speak to Mr Holborne!’
Barbara sighs. Now what? she thinks.
She likes Mr Holborne. He works incredibly hard, he’s absolutely brilliant on his feet, and he’s a good team player. Nonetheless, trouble seems to follow wherever he goes. She wonders how long it will be before the growing number of her guvnors who’d like to see the back of him finally vote him out of Chambers.
‘Is Jennie still at lunch?’ she asks.
‘Yes. Back at two.’
‘And Clive?’
‘Looking for some papers upstairs in Mr Saunders’s room.’
‘Thank you,’ says Barbara, standing and straightening her skirt. ‘Please stay here and answer the phones. I’ll take our visitors to one of the conference rooms. I don’t want to be disturbed. And please: not a word to anyone. That includes Jennie and Clive; do you understand me?’ she orders firmly.
Many members of Chambers and all the junior clerks are slightly afraid of Barbara McIntyre, who possesses the demeanour of an unsmiling, strict, Edinburgh headmistress. She’s been forced on several occasions to censure Jeremy, an unthinking chatterbox, for injudicious gossip both within Chambers and outside. She stares at him so hard his ears redden, and he gulps.
‘Yes.’
Barbara enters the waiting room. Two men stand. The taller of the two, a beefy man in his fifties with a pink complexion and thinning sandy hair, takes two quick strides towards Barbara, obviously angry.
‘Now look here,’ he says wagging his index finger at her, ‘we’re here on police business. This is an important investigation and I don’t like being kept waiting like one of your clients on bail.’
‘Good afternoon,’ says Barbara calmly, offering her hand to the angry man. ‘I’m Barbara McIntyre, the senior clerk. Mr Holborne’s not in Chambers at present, but I’ll do what I can to assist you. I’m sorry you were kept waiting but I thought you’d want somewhere private for this discussion. I’ve cleared a conference room. Would you like to follow me?’
Without a further word she turns and opens the door. The two policemen look at one another and follow her up the stairs. Barbara shows them into a conference room and slides a wooden plate across to reveal the Conference in progress sign on the door.
‘Take a seat,’ she offers. ‘Would you like me to organise some drinks?’
‘No,’ says the officer, the wind somewhat taken out of his sails by Barbara’s command of the situation and her politeness. ‘Thank you.’
‘Well, then, how can I help you?’ she asks.
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Clarke, and this is Detective Sergeant Russell.’
The other police officer, a younger man with a pale face and shock of very dark hair, nods his greeting and takes out a notebook and pen.
‘We’re making enquiries about a young man who we have reason to believe came to these offices recently,’ continues Clarke. ‘David Thomas? He’s in his late teens, short stature, light brown —’
‘I know who you mean, Inspector. He was here.’
‘Good. I understand that he had a meeting with Mr Charles Holborne, one of your barristers.’
‘I don’t know about a meeting. The young man just turned up, unannounced, and demanded to see Mr Holborne.’
‘What about?’
‘You’d have to ask Mr Holborne that, but I understood that he wanted to instruct a barrister.’
‘Did he instruct Mr Holborne?’
‘Of course not. Mr Holborne sent him away. We’re not permitted to take instructions direct from members of the public.’
‘Were you present when Mr Holborne spoke to this young man?’
‘No, I was busy with other duties. But he was only in Mr Holborne’s room for a couple of minutes, and then he left. And then Mr Holborne came down to tell us off.’
‘Tell you off?’
‘Yes. Members of the public, even potential lay clients, should not be allowed into Chambers. Barristers should have no contact with them unless and until they’re instructed by a solicitor. It’s contrary to our professional rules. I’m afraid our most junior clerk didn’t know that, and showed Mr Thomas up to Mr Holborne’s room. Mr Holborne was quite cross, and came down to remind us.’
‘Where is Mr Holborne now?’
‘He said he was going to do some research in the library. He didn’t say which one.’
‘How many are there?’
‘Libraries? There are two in the Temple, but he also tends to use the one at King’s College, which is a few hundred yards away. He’s not in court today, so once he’s finished his research he might even go home. A lot of our barristers tend to work from home on their papers, to avoid interruptions.’
The two policemen look at one another, communicating something which Barbara cannot decipher, and then the Chief Inspector stands.
‘Is that all?’ asks Barbara.
‘Yes, for the moment.’ He takes a card out of his pocket and hands it to her. ‘Please will you ask Mr Holborne to give me a call as soon as possible?’
‘Certainly.’
‘Can I speak to Max Wiseberg, please?’
‘Certainly, sir. May I say who’s calling?’
‘It’s a personal call from Harry Horowitz.’
‘Just putting you through.’
Pause. ‘Harry? What’s up?’
‘It’s not Harry, Max, it’s Charlie. Sorry I misled your secretary, but I need to keep a low prof
ile.’
‘She’d never tell anyone. Anyway, where are you?’
‘A call box on High Holborn, without much change, so I need to be quick. I’ve been put in funds to pay for someone to go and take instructions from a young lad. Have you got a pen?’
‘Go on.’
‘The client’s called Teddy — no surname yet —and he’s being held at the Albert Docks Seamen’s Hospital. He slashed his wrists, apparently. The police are there and the lad’s under arrest for murdering one of the Krays’ Firm.’
Charles pauses, listening to the scratch of Max’s pen. He waits for the noise to stop and continues. ‘I’ve not met him, but I’m told he’s very vulnerable, probably only fifteen years old, and a runaway. He was roughing it at the Dilly ’til some of the boys took him under their wing.’
‘A rent boy?’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘Circumstances of the alleged murder?’
‘No idea. Though he appears to have been at one of the Krays’ sex parties. There’s an oblique reference to them in last week’s Sunday Mirror.’
‘Yes, I saw that.’ There’s a silence at the other end of the line sufficiently long for Charles to think that the solicitor has hung up on him.
‘Max? Are you still there?’
‘Yes, still here. Look, it’s good of you to think of me, but I am very busy at the moment, and —’
‘There’s more. Everyone seems to be looking for this boy, some rather dodgy coppers as well as the Krays. I think he’s in real danger.’
‘What can I do about that?’
‘Showing your face would be a good start.’
Another pause. ‘What’s your interest in this, Charlie? And why are you skulking around in phone boxes?’
Corrupted: Murder and cover-up at the heart of government (Charles Holborne Legal Thrillers Book 4) Page 9