Corrupted: Murder and cover-up at the heart of government (Charles Holborne Legal Thrillers Book 4)

by Simon Michael

  Teddy nods again, this time with more certainty.

  ‘The first decision you have to take is whether you would like Mr Wiseberg and me to help you at this stage, so we can get down what you say happened. Everything else can wait.’

  ‘Why? Why would you want to help me?’ says Teddy in a quiet but clear voice.

  ‘Because, like you, I have felt completely alone, with the whole world against me. Someone I loved had been killed and I was also being chased by the police. And someone helped me. I trusted them, even though we were more or less strangers. If there’s a barrister in England who understands how you’re feeling right now, Teddy, I think it might just be me. Now,’ finishes Charles as he stands, ‘would you like us to go outside for a moment to let you have a think?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Very well.’

  Charles follows Max out of the room and closes the door behind him. They walk back up the short flight of steps to talk out of the hearing of the police constable.

  ‘Well done,’ says Max. ‘I couldn’t get a word out of him. I’d been wondering why you were so keen to help him. I’ve not heard you speak about … well … the events surrounding Henrietta’s death before. I can’t imagine what it must have been like.’

  ‘Sir!’ calls the police constable. ‘Your client’s calling you.’

  Charles looks at Max with surprise. ‘That was quick.’

  They descend the staircase again and re-enter the room.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘Do you believe him?’ asks Max as he and Charles leave Teddy’s room and retrace their steps through the labyrinthine building.

  ‘You know better than that,’ replies Charles, taking Max’s elbow to steer him gently round a trolley with which he was about to collide.

  ‘Of course I do. Your job is to put his story before the court as well as it can be done, and leave it to the jury to decide. But I’m still asking. Because, to be honest, I don’t.’

  Charles shrugs. ‘I’m no psychiatrist. Maybe it’s possible.’

  ‘What, forgetting chunks of time and remembering others?’ scoffs Max. ‘How can someone remember going to a party, not drinking any alcohol, but not remember the party itself? How can someone lose an entire day and then suddenly “wake up” sleeping in a doorway?’

  ‘It’s not an entire day, but I take your point.’

  ‘It’s bloody nonsense. He’s lying. And his only motive must be because he did what the police say.’

  ‘We don’t know that. I heard of things like that happening during the War, didn’t you? Soldiers witnessing something so terrifying they blotted it out?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard of that. And ninety-nine times out of a hundred, it was called desertion. And it was due to cowardice, not amnesia.’

  ‘You old cynic,’ laughs Charles. ‘But as you said, it’s not for us to decide. We need some expert help, find out if he’s fit to plead and, if so, whether this could be a genuine defence.’

  ‘Well I’m sure you’ll find some quack to support it, assuming you pay them enough.’

  ‘Actually I have someone in mind.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘It’s a Dr Felix. Done a lot of research on stress-related mental illness, particularly in children. Very well respected, and definitely not a quack. And it’s a her.’

  ‘And how are we going to pay Dr Felix? These experts don’t come cheap.’

  ‘I’m going to have to work on that. But she recently published some preliminary research about hypnosis in children with dissociative disorders. It’s highly regarded. Maybe I can persuade her to use Teddy’s case as part of her research.’

  ‘How’d you know all this?’

  ‘Because I’m doing an increasing amount of personal injury and medical negligence work. I see reports like this all the time. It’s a very useful crossover for crime.’

  The two lawyers continue in silence for a moment. ‘What did you make of his so-called family history?’ asks Max.

  ‘No, I didn’t believe that at all. I’m prepared to bet his surname’s not Smith and he’s not an orphan. If he was, he’d have been in a children’s home. And he can’t have been on the run for long; he’s too soft and he’s got none of the street-smarts you’d expect of a boy who’s been surviving in London alone. He looks fresh out of some nice middle-class home.’

  ‘Which raises the question: why’s he so anxious to prevent anyone making contact with his family?’

  ‘Well, look at him. And look where he ended up: at Cedra Court. It doesn’t take much imagination to work out why he might’ve run away, and wouldn’t want to go back. But what I can’t work out at the moment is why the Krays are so desperate to find him.’

  ‘He’s supposed to have killed one of the Firm, isn’t he? You know all about the Krays and revenge.’

  ‘Yes,’ replies Charles slowly, apparently not convinced.

  ‘So, you’re going to represent him?’

  ‘Yes. It’s an interesting case. More importantly, I made a promise and it wasn’t contingent upon my believing him, or even his being innocent. But I think we need to get him moved.’

  ‘Moved?’

  ‘Yes. We’re very lucky the City of London Police or C11 haven’t been round already. If he were to be found by the Krays or one of the police officers in their pocket … well…’ Charles doesn’t finish the thought.

  ‘But he’s under arrest! How can we get him moved?’

  ‘I’ve an idea about that, too.’

  Over Max’s shoulder Charles sees a young nurse returning to the nursing station at the end of the corridor bearing an armful of files. Charles retraces his steps and stands at the counter, reading her name badge. Nurse Devlin is plump, with rosy cheeks and spectacles so thick that the outline of her cheeks is distorted as she bends to read the notes. Eventually she senses Charles’s presence and looks up.

  ‘Sorry. Can I help?’ she asks in a flat Birmingham accent.

  Charles illuminates his most winning smile, his dark eyes crinkling. ‘Hello, Nurse Devlin. I’m a barrister, and this gentleman —’ he indicates Max who has followed him back up the corridor — ‘is a solicitor. We’re the lawyers acting for the young man in the side ward.’

  ‘The boy under arrest?’

  ‘Exactly. Are you responsible for looking after him?’

  ‘I am this morning.’

  ‘Good. We need to ask a favour. It seems he’s witnessed something, something dreadful. I can’t go into details, but it involves the Kray twins, and we’re worried they’re looking for him.’

  ‘Well, he’s safe enough here. They can’t get in without permission, and he’s guarded, isn’t he?’

  ‘We simply walked in,’ points out Charles. ‘And you don’t know the Krays like I do. Even if they were challenged, nothing’s likely to stop them getting into that room. The nursing staff don’t carry knives or guns. The Krays and their men do.’

  The nurse looks faintly concerned but she shrugs helplessly. ‘I don’t see how I can help. I’ve got eight patients. I can’t be here all the time. Speak to the police if you’re worried. Sorry.’

  Charles leans forward and lowers his voice. ‘What if I can get the police to move him in the next couple of hours, to another hospital, or perhaps a children’s home?’

  ‘Yes, that’s probably a good idea. We’re not set up for patients under arrest here. And there’s no medical reason he couldn’t be moved.’

  ‘But if we move him, you’d have to make a record of that, wouldn’t you? The hospital I mean. So, details of his injuries, a discharge letter, his destination, the doctor who authorised it and so on?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Would it be you who writes that up?’

  ‘If it happens during my shift I would draft it, but it’d be checked and signed by a doctor.’

  ‘But if you’re very busy, it might wait a while. Until the next day, for example?’

  ‘Y-yes…’ she replies, hes
itantly.

  ‘And then the notes, all the paperwork, would be filed in Records, which can also take a day or so.’

  ‘Possibly. Why?’

  Charles spreads his hands in supplication. ‘There’s no point getting him moved if there’s an immediate paper-trail to where he goes. There’d have to be nothing for the Krays to follow. Even for a couple of days.’

  Nurse Devlin turns her head to look back up the corridor in the direction of Teddy’s room, and frowns. Charles senses the internal debate.

  ‘I’d need to speak to Sister…’ she replies, shaking her head and, judging from her tone, about to refuse.

  ‘That lad’s in terrible danger,’ says Charles with greater intensity. ‘I’m asking you, because you’re here, and you might just be able to save his life.’

  ‘Are you really serious about this? You think he’s going to be murdered in his bed?’ she says, in a slightly mocking tone. ‘There’s a copper outside his room. Tell him.’

  ‘I’m going to speak to his superiors immediately. I’m asking about what you’re going to do, if we can get him moved.’

  Charles looks over his shoulder at Max. The tall solicitor approaches the desk. ‘Counsel isn’t exaggerating, nurse. These men wouldn’t hesitate to kill him, even in a hospital bed.’

  Nurse Devlin looks from one lawyer to the other and back again, appreciating for the first time how concerned they are. Charles watches her features soften and holds his breath.

  ‘Well … if he were to be transferred before four o’clock this afternoon, while I’m still on duty, there wouldn’t be a record of where he’s gone for a while. I’m not on again until Thursday evening, and I doubt I’d have time to deal with the paperwork till then. And I suppose I can make sure it’s me who files his records afterwards.’

  Charles reaches across the counter and squeezes the nurse’s pudgy hand. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much. I’ll try to get him moved before lunch.’

  Charles and Max walk down the hospital steps into bright sunshine, leaving Nurse Devlin staring towards Teddy’s room, her eyebrows contracted into a deep frown.

  ‘Will a couple of days be enough?’ asks Max.

  ‘Once he’s in a secure children’s home, he should be safe for a while. The Krays have people on the inside of most prisons, people who can get to you, but I’m prepared to bet not in a local authority home. The real problem is getting Teddy moved out of here.’

  ‘Any ideas on that score?’

  ‘Maybe. I’ve got one favour left to ask. But first of all, one of us needs to go to Greenwich police station, have a look at the charge sheet, his clothes, and any of his property they have.’

  Max shakes his head. ‘Well, I’m sorry, but it can’t be me. I dropped everything to see the boy yesterday, and now today’s conference? I’ve got to get back to the office. I have clients waiting to see me. Can’t you go?’

  ‘I’m not supposed to, you know that. I can’t go examining evidence, certainly not without a solicitor present. It might turn me into a witness and then I couldn’t act for him.’

  ‘I might be able to get out there sometime next week…’ says Max doubtfully.

  ‘It won’t wait that long.’

  ‘Then just tell them that you’re supposed to meet me there, and when I don’t turn up, have a quick look.’

  Charles considers the suggestion, his heart sinking. Yet another professional rule gone.

  Having helped Max into a taxi, Charles locates a call box on Alnwick Road and telephones DS Sloane’s direct number at West End Central. The phone isn’t answered, so Charles tries the switchboard. The first constable to whom he speaks confirms that Sloane is on duty, but doesn’t know where he is. Charles heads for Greenwich police station.

  The taxi journey, under the river via the Blackwall Tunnel, takes twenty minutes.

  Charles presents himself to the desk sergeant, a harassed-looking man in his late forties. It proves to be much easier than he anticipated getting to look at Teddy’s belongings. Charles expected to be refused — Teddy’s clothing and other scant belongings had still to be examined by the investigating officers — but the sergeant was irritated that no one had come to relieve him of the plastic bag full of tagged items; his phone messages to both the Met and C11 hadn’t been answered and he’d been forced to provide cover at the hospital for almost forty-eight hours when he was already short-handed.

  Charles promises to look at the items in the bags without removing them, but the sergeant, already holding a call while trying to deal with an argumentative drunk and a young constable apparently incapable of giving a clear account of his arrest, just shrugs.

  As far as Charles can see there are no bloodstains anywhere on Teddy’s outer clothing. There are several items of soiled underwear which had been balled up and couldn’t be examined closely, and some standard bathroom accessories such as a toothbrush. The only item of any interest is a heavy gold-coloured chain, which Charles doubts is actually gold, bearing a St Christopher medallion. The medallion is inscribed on the back: To my little Singer, 1955. From a parent? Or perhaps a grandparent?

  Charles thanks the desk sergeant, who nods as he speaks on the phone, and leaves. He doubts the sergeant will even remember his name.

  Charles returns to the Temple and goes directly to his room on the first floor. He calls Sloane again from his desk. This time he speaks to a sergeant who, again, cannot put Charles through, but there is something in the man’s tone that rings warning bells; as if the officer knows more than he is revealing. This time Charles leaves a message asking for a call back. Ten minutes later the phone rings.

  ‘I didn’t know you’d returned,’ says Barbara. ‘Detective Sergeant Sloane for you.’

  ‘You’re looking for me, Charles?’

  ‘Yes. Thanks for getting back to me. I need a favour.’

  Sloane utters a short bark of laughter. ‘I’m not in a position to give favours. I’ve just been suspended. This is the last call I’ll be making from my desk.’

  ‘Jesus, Sean!’

  ‘Yes. Well, I was warned. Believe it or not, two members of the team have accused me of taking bribes! They appear to have planted some marked notes in my civvies. I’ll tell you more when we meet. What did you want from me?’

  Charles relates Teddy’s story. ‘As far as I can tell, there’s been a complete breakdown in communication,’ he concludes. ‘He was arrested by a Met constable in Greenwich. Before they could even get him to the police station he tried to slash his wrists.’

  ‘Sloppy,’ comments Sloane.

  ‘They’d not had time even to search him, and he had a razor blade hidden in his shoe. Anyway, he was rushed to the nearest hospital, the Albert Docks Seamen’s Hospital. The Met arrested him, took his possessions and so on, but nothing else. They’re adamant at Greenwich they called Snow Hill police station to tell the City of London police where he is. Then C11 told Snow Hill they wanted him. And while they squabble, Teddy’s still at the hospital, no one’s seen him, and the Met want shot of him.’

  ‘What can I do about it?’ demands Sloane, sounding forlorn.

  ‘I just want him out of that hospital. He stands out there like a sore thumb, it’s right in the middle of the twins’ patch, and the Met aren’t interested in protecting someone else’s murder suspect. Can’t you get him moved somewhere safer?’

  ‘I’ve got no jurisdiction, Charles. Not my division. Not my case. Sorry.’

  ‘Is there anyone you could ask?’

  Charles listens to Sloane’s breathing as the policeman thinks. ‘Let me make a call,’ he concludes. ‘No promises, mind.’

  ‘Thanks a million, Sean.’

  ‘Have you still got my home number?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then give me a call there in a couple of hours if you’ve not heard from me before then. I’ll see what can be done.’

  Two hours later, Charles answers a call from Sean.

  ‘Well, my probable last act as a copper has
been to pull some strings for a friend. How ironic is that?’

  ‘You did it? Fantastic, Sean. I owe you one.’

  ‘Yes, you do, my friend.’

  ‘Believe me, it’s in the cause of justice.’

  ‘I see that. Otherwise I wouldn’t have done it. And you never know: preventing a murder suspect from being murdered himself before the investigation gets anywhere might stand me in good stead at the disciplinary.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No. No one’ll give a shit.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Sean. Where is our friend now?’ asks Charles.

  There’s a pause at the end of the line. ‘Time for a pint?’

  ‘You’re suspended on allegations of corruption and I’m being followed. Being seen together won’t do either of us any good right now.’

  ‘Who’s following you?’

  ‘There’s two of them, taking it in turns. I don’t recognise either of them.’

  ‘Members of the Firm?’

  Charles laughs. ‘No, cheap suits: your lot. In either case I’m working on the assumption that they report to the twins.’

  ‘That’s a reasonable assumption. I won’t give details now, but your friend Max has been notified of the whereabouts of his client.’

  ‘OK, that’s fine. Well, thanks again. Watch your back.’

  ‘You too.’

  ‘Oh, by the way,’ adds Sloane, just as Charles is about to hang up. ‘Did you hear that one of the Mancuso cousins was stabbed to death only a couple of days before Mo Drake was killed?’

  ‘No, I hadn’t heard that.’

  ‘Well, the Krays and the Mancusos are fighting over protection money, and the word on the street is that Mo stabbed Mancuso. Just a thought.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  Friday, 3 July

  Duke shouts to be heard above the noise of Charles’s shower. Charles has been training hard for the last two hours, with Duke at his elbow throughout alternately attempting to dissuade him from proceeding with the fight and giving him instructions on how to survive it.