Law & Order

by G. F. Newman

  ‘Is it stolen money?’ Gladwell asked.

  Lynn didn’t reply but looked away.

  ‘If you expect me to act for you to your best advantage, you have to be straight with me. I don’t care one way or the other. I get a living by not passing moral judgement on my clients.’

  ‘The thing is, Mr Gladwell, I been getting a living from villainy for a long time.’

  ‘Fine. What we mustn’t do is allow the court to get that impression. What about the fifteen hundred pounds the police found at your place?’

  ‘It didn’t come from where they said it came from.’

  ‘You’re certain of that, are you?’

  ‘I told you, didn’t I? I wasn’t on that blag.’

  ‘The police are certain to claim that’s where it came from. They might even come up with some evidence to support that claim.’

  ‘There’s nothing I can do about that, is there?’

  ‘No way you can show legitimate source of income?’ He watched Lynn think about the question, before shaking his head. ‘Pity.’

  ‘I s’pose I could stick down minicabbing,’ Lynn said.

  ‘Do you drive a minicab?’ Gladwell wanted to know.

  ‘Now and again – for m’ brother-in-law, Tommy Jones.’

  ‘Would he go into the witness box and say that, do you think? Perjure himself if necessary?’

  ‘Tommy? Yeah, he’s as good as gold.’

  Gladwell made a note of the name. ‘Has your wife any criminal record?’

  ‘Dolly? Leave off! ’Course she ain’t.’

  ‘It’s important to establish that fact. She is your only alibi for the time of the robbery and might otherwise be discredited. Did she know how you got your living?’

  Lynn shrugged. ‘She was always rucking me to quit.’

  ‘She knew, then.’ He made a note. ‘What about those other charges, Jack?’ He referred to the sheaf of white copies of the written charges. ‘Conspiracy to rob Catford Tote? Any foundation to that?’

  Again, Lynn hesitated.

  ‘What’s the problem? Don’t you trust me?’

  Lynn seemed embarrassed about answering. ‘I mean, I ain’t had no dealings with you before, have I?’

  ‘True. Then I don’t know you. That’s the purpose of this meeting. If you don’t trust me I can’t do my best for you. Not if I’m only half-informed, and almost certain I’m going to make a fool of myself when briefing counsel. It’s as certain counsel will be caught out and so make a fool of himself.’ He waited, assessing the prisoner. ‘It’s your money you’ll be wasting.’

  With a reluctant nod, Lynn told him about Catford, saying how he believed he was grassed. Gladwell noted that, seeing it as a useful lever as the police would try to protect the identity of their informer. He asked about the raids at Bromley and Wimbledon that Lynn was charged with. Again that same reluctance surfaced before Lynn told him they were in fact down to him.

  ‘So unless the police have come up with some dramatic evidence, which I doubt, it looks like they’ve thrown these things into the pot for good measure. Their idea would be to try to overwhelm the jury with your apparent criminality. That’s good,’ he said with a smile and laid his two index fingers together across his cupid lips. ‘If we could get those charges dropped, or at least have the police soft-pedal them… I’ll arrange for a meeting with the detective in charge of the case and see if we can’t do some business.’

  ‘Do business with them?’ Lynn sounded outraged. ‘The slags are fitting me!’

  ‘A fact of life, Jack,’ Gladwell informed him. ‘They might give you a cheap rate as a result. Or they might just want to put you away more.’

  ‘That’s what they fucking well said – I was well overdue.’

  Gladwell nodded. ‘I know Inspector Pyle. He’s both accessible and greedy. Although from what you tell me I doubt he’ll do you too many favours. Are you prepared to spend, what, say another two thousand pounds? Have you got it?’

  ‘The thought of going into the filth has never bothered me, but this guts me. Is that what bunging him comes to?’

  ‘It could come to a bit more than that.’

  ‘What if he ain’t having none of it?’ Lynn asked.

  ‘Then we’ll have to look for a tactical advantage. We’ll make a formal complaint against him for conspiring to pervert the course of justice. In fact, we’ll make a complaint anyway, and see if we can’t dig up something on his colleagues. They find that shoe pinches rather.’

  The vein of excitement that was running through Lynn by the close of their meeting wasn’t unbridled confidence, but it was something to build on, Gladwell decided.

  ‘While you’re going into the filth,’ Lynn said, as the lawyer collected up his notes, ‘what’s the chance of getting me bail over Christmas? I mean, I could bung him a few quid. What d’you think, Mr Gladwell?’

  ‘I could put it to him. What’s it worth to you? A grand?’

  ‘I ain’t made of money! ’Lynn said, then thought about it. ‘Yeah, that’d be all right.’

  ‘I’ll ask him. Don’t get your hopes too high, Jack. He’s almost certain to want to keep hold of you now he has you.’

  Lynn nodded. ‘It would be nice to have Christmas with m’ family, know what I mean?’

  Gladwell smiled. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  He bought two large scotches and took them along to di Pyle at the table tucked away in the recess in The Feathers pub. At that time of night there were few people around who either felt they needed to avoid. Gladwell sat and watched the older man as he raised his glass.

  ‘Good health, Alex.’

  Pyle was relaxed, and didn’t hesitate when Gladwell telephoned him. He got right to the point. ‘What are the chances of our getting together on this, Fred?’

  ‘Pretty slim, I’d say, Alex. I’d like to help you out.’

  ‘Then why don’t we do a bit of business?’

  The detective hesitated, as though waiting for the right inducement.

  Gladwell said, ‘He wasn’t expecting all the charges dropped, just some. So he goes up with no lesser advantage than his three co-defendants.’

  ‘That’s not up to me any longer, Alex, is it?’ He sipped his scotch. ‘You representing the other three, are you?’

  ‘You know I’m not. Come on, you’re not expecting a conviction on the conspiracy and bank robbery charges.’

  ‘S’not a problem. The evidence is there.’

  ‘Is it?’ Gladwell said, with interest.

  Pyle smiled. ‘You’re a cunning bastard. Aren’t you just?’

  He was neither expecting nor trying to trick Pyle as he would see the police evidence soon enough. ‘If you could help, it’s worth a thousand pounds to you.’

  ‘And the rest, I’d say.’

  Gladwell waited to see what the rest was.

  ‘I’d like to, I really would. A grand would come in handy. I promised to take the wife and kids skiing after Christmas.’

  ‘An answer to your prayers, Fred. It would be safe. I’d make sure of that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be worried on that score. It just can’t be done the way you want it. It’s down to the CPS now.’ He drank some of his scotch as if pondering the problem some more.

  ‘Why don’t you go into them fuckwits? I ’spect they could use a few quid same as anyone else – mind you, they don’t deserve it. There’s a lad there in their office called Rawlings who’s handling it. Well bent, he is.’ He set his glass on the table and began to twist it round by the base. ‘I tell you what I might be able to do. I could have a word about getting those other charges dropped out if he pleads to the Abbey Wood blag. It won’t cost him a penny.’

  ‘That would make your life easy, Fred.’ Gladwell shook his head. ‘He’s claiming you’re fitting him. He’s not taking it
kindly.’

  ‘It happens all too often, Alex,’ Pyle said. ‘Not this time. There was no need. I’ve too much evidence to fuck around like that. About a dozen eyewitnesses, for starters.’

  ‘Police?’

  ‘Some,’ Pyle said. ‘Nice bit of forensic, too. He’ll go all right, even with you as his brief. Tell him to do himself a favour, plead to it. That way he gets a reasonable sentence.’

  Gladwell gave a confident smile, even though the meeting wasn’t going as he hoped. ‘I briefed Horace Macmillan as counsel today.’

  Pyle was impressed. ‘Nice to know Lynn’s got that sort of dough.’

  ‘That’s no problem, if that’s what’s worrying you,’ Gladwell said, still hoping to do business.

  Pyle shook his head. ‘The wife and kids’ll probably have to make do with Butlin’s.’

  They talked about the case over another drink, then explored the possibility of getting Lynn out on bail for Christmas. This the di thought was a nonstarter. Then Gladwell told him about the complaint they were planning to make against him.

  Pyle looked at him. ‘Thanks for the warning, Alex. Such moves are standard nowadays. I won’t lose no sleep over it. Good luck, anyway.’ He finished his drink in one swallow.

  That left Gladwell feeling less than confident about Lynn’s chances.

  35

  BECAUSE IT WAS THE LOCAL di’s investigation, Pyle assumed he was privy to all that had gone on in the case and would understand what a problem this new evidence he now had would cause. It raised serious doubt as to Jack Lynn’s involvement in the Gas Board blag. That was why Pyle went to Abbey Wood following the di’s phone call.

  What he showed him was the missing second bag with half the Gas Board’s money in it following the chase. One of the uniform branch patrolling in the area on foot wandered around the health clinic buildings in Bedonwell Road and came across it in a pile of leaves.

  ‘I suspect the uniformed officer had ducked in for a leak or a smoke. He wasn’t doing any sort of follow-up to the investigation. Means another bollocking for us if we’re not careful,’ the di said. ‘That whole fucking area was supposed to have been thoroughly searched. That’s nothing to the sort of problem this presents you with, Fred. You was supposed to have recovered part of the missing money from one of the suspects.’

  ‘We did, Frank, we did,’ Pyle lied, not missing a beat. ‘Is it all there?’

  ‘Every penny, all the bundles intact still.’ He hesitated. ‘Puts you up shit creek with that other bit you found at this Lynn’s place, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I’d say that money we found at his place was part of it all right.’

  ‘How could it be…?’ the di began, but stopped, catching Pyle’s eye.

  ‘The cashier at the Gas Board id’d Lynn’s bit. No problem.’

  ‘Well, what about this? I mean, what d’you want doing about it?’

  ‘Stick it down in the rear of the Charge Book and lock it away for now. I’ll have a word with my governor, see what he thinks.’

  Pyle guessed what his dci’s reaction would be. He was even less interested in the find. It wasn’t significant, he said, not now that the money found in Lynn’s possession had been id’d as part of the payroll. dci Simmons’s single concern about this find was how it added up with some of the other evidence now in hand that didn’t look quite right.

  ‘There are various pieces of contradictory evidence still coming to light, Fred,’ he said, leaning back from his desk. ‘The forensic report on the blood samples wasn’t helpful.’

  ‘The report didn’t rule out the possibility of the four suspects being involved.’

  ‘No, but the sample found in two of the stolen cars, from cuts I presume they received jumping in and out of vehicles during the chase, matched the blood of only two villains. Both in the most common group.’ Simmons paused. ‘Neither of them had cuts on them.’

  Pyle shrugged. ‘S’not that important. We’ll leave it out at their trial. There’s plenty of other stuff. Some of the witnesses’ testimony’s a bit confused, but if you have enough not-sures the jury tends to come to the conclusion that it’s a yes. What about this money being found? Will we put it up to the CPS?’

  ‘We better, just to cover ourselves. I doubt they’ll be too interested, Fred. They’re dead keen to get convictions for all four, especially now they’re all committed for trial. You start having second thoughts about one, begins to make the others look iffy. Whatever way you book it, that money you found at Lynn’s place was bent. We’ll get a result all right, Fred. Don’t worry about it.’

  Pyle was anything but worried.

  However, that wasn’t the case with. ds Lethridge.

  ‘S’all right for Tony Simmons, Fred,’ his ds complained as he supported a large scotch in the corner of the Tank. ‘He’s not putting himself on offer, nor does he have a fucking complaint against him.’ Lethridge was named along with Pyle in the complaint that arose out of Lynn’s arrest.

  ‘I should worry about that,’ Pyle said. ‘You’ll have a lot more of those before you draw your pension, Eric.’ He finished his drink.

  ‘At this fucking rate I can’t see me drawing it. It’s beginning to look swift.’

  ‘If it was, the CPS wouldn’t fancy it so much. There won’t be any problems, ’we get it on in front of the right judge. Someone like Quigley, he won’t tolerate suggestions of a fit-up, no matter how swift it looks. He knows the police don’t do those sorts of things.’ Pyle smiled. ‘The chief’s having a word with Rawlings in the CPS, see if he can’t have a word with the Clerk of the Lists to make sure the case gets in front of Quigley. It’s as easy as that, Eric.’

  It was.

  36

  SINCE PARTING WITH FIVE AND a half grand to bung Horace Macmillan for taking his case, Lynn had seen the silk just twice during his seven months on remand. The QC’s junior ducked in a few times and his solicitor. The sum total of their meetings was no great surge of confidence. He even wondered if the advice they gave him over the committal proceedings wasn’t wrong. On previous occasions before going to trial it was always after full committal, when everything Old Bill had was put up and challenged, and a chuck was looked for. Now he was committed for trial by agreement between his defence and the CPS. His barrister and the prosecutor seemed like old school chums meeting up, all smiles and small talk. The truncated committal proceedings didn’t even get him up the steps any quicker as he hoped.

  Lynn was in one of the cells below the Old Bailey court. As a rule you waited in a cell with all the other defendants in your case, but Mr Gladwell arranged for him to be on his own as the silk wanted a word with him before he went into court. Dressed in a dark suit, a tie, and a smart blue shirt that was now a bit loose at the collar, he sat waiting on the single bench in the cell, thinking about the past seven months, the missed holidays and birthdays and family events. The girls knew where he was, having visited him in Brixton. He wasn’t sure if they understood it could be a long while before he was with them again. His reflective mood was broken by the sound of the lock turning.

  The door of the small green-painted cell, with its graffiti-scarred walls, opened and Horace Macmillan stooped through the low doorway, followed by Gladwell. The silk was tall and strutting, the sort of person who took over all the space around him. His polished pink face and a loud voice rang with confidence, his expansive manner dwarfing the instructing solicitor.

  ‘Morning,’ he said, adjusting his gown. ‘How are you feeling? Did you get a good breakfast?’

  ‘Right fucking slop,’ Lynn said.

  The barrister wasn’t interested in his opinion of the culinary delights of the prison service, or even in having his questions answered.

  ‘We’ve some good news and some bad news, Mr Lynn. The good news is that we’ve managed to get some dirt on the police involved in the case, quite a bit, in fact. O
r, rather, Mr Gladwell has, the sort that if we get away with bringing it up will tend to diminish the police in the jury’s eyes. It will go a long way to removing credibility. That’s a risk, of course. If we attack the police they can bring up your previous convictions. I’d say it’s worth the risk.’ He paused. ‘The bad news is that the case is set down before Mr Justice Quigley.’

  ‘Fucking hell!’ Lynn exclaimed. ‘That wicked bastard.’ The prospect of going before Quigley filled him with trepidation. Too many villains were sent down for too many years by that judge.

  ‘My sentiments,’ the silk said, showing no feelings in the matter. ‘All is not lost. I’ll endeavour, even at this late stage, to get it put out of the list and on before another judge.’

  ‘Can you do that?’ Lynn asked. ‘That bastard Quigley’ll weigh us off with about ten years as look at us.’

  ‘We can try to achieve that.’ His smile didn’t reassure Lynn one bit.

  #

  Along with John Tully, Benny Isaacs and Cole Coleman, Lynn went into the dock at the Old Bailey’s number four court charged with attempted murder, robbery, robbing cars, and conspiracy to rob. Alex Gladwell, true to his word, got to the CPS, which meant Lynn going up with no additional charges. It cost him fifteen hundred pounds.

  Before the business of the trial got underway, Horace Macmillan rose to his feet to make his pitch.

  ‘If I could crave the court’s indulgence, my Lord,’ he said, ‘and ask for the case in respect of Jack Lynn to be put out of the list. My instructing solicitor is anticipating some new evidence which has been delayed, evidence which could prove vital to proving my client’s innocence.’

  Without doubt the star of this court was Robert Quigley, who seemed to see all defence counsel trying to pull a fast one. Mr Justice Quigley had a reputation for interpreting the law to the letter, except when anyone from the right school, with the right accent, and old money appeared before him. He was austere-looking, in his early sixties, with close-shorn white hair, and spiky white eyebrows above his dark, thick-rimmed glasses. His nose beaked over his pale lips and the flesh on his face was beginning to sag. He seemed incapable of smiling and took a long time considering Horace Macmillan, as if trying to remember who he was rather than to consider his motion.