The Brief: Crime and corruption in 1960s London (Charles Holborne Legal Thrillers)

by Simon Michael

  ‘Afternoon sir,’ she says. ‘The clerk to Mr Rhodes Thomas is on the line for you. And I thought you might like this.’ She offers him a mug of steaming tea.

  ‘You’re an angel, Sally,’ says Charles gratefully. ‘Can you put it on my desk?’

  Sally enters, and Charles sees that she’s wearing a new dress, tight in the bodice and flared. It reveals much more of Sally’s chest and calves than he’s seen before.

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

  Sally’s face flushes. ‘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 admits. ‘He says it’s too modern for the Temple.’

  ‘There you are then. But you’ll get no complaints from me.’ Charles grins at her, and she smiles back. ‘Put Rhodes Thomas through, will you?’

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

  The telephone rings again a minute later, and Sally announces the QC.

  ‘Hello, Michael?’

  ‘Yes, Charles, how are you?’

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

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

  Charles worked with Michael Rhodes Thomas QC on a case some eighteen months before. He practises from a different set of chambers, where they deal with a wide mixture of common law, including quite a lot of crime. The members of the set are by and large friendly, and Charles had co-defended with a number of them over the years. Rhodes Thomas himself is very able, with an affable personality and a common touch that juries appreciate.

  ‘I know you’re extremely busy,’ begins Charles.

  ‘Overloaded, as always,’ interrupts Rhodes Thomas.

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

  ‘Yes?’ asks Rhodes, now 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,’ replies Charles, surprised. ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘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 OK.’

  There’s a pause before Rhodes Thomas speaks again. ‘How’s Henrietta?’

  Charles casts his mind back and remembers that he introduced Henrietta to Rhodes Thomas one day when they met him in the Temple. ‘Fine, thank you.’

  ‘Saw her a few weeks ago,’ says Rhodes Thomas. There’s something about the way the comment is left hanging that rings an odd note to Charles.

  ‘At Peter Ripley’s retirement dinner?’ he asks.

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

  ‘Yes. I expect so,’ says Charles, somewhat distracted. ‘You do mean Simon and Jenny Ellison?’

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

  ‘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’s another pause.

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

  ‘Will do, Michael. Thanks.’

  Charles replaces the receiver thoughtfully. What’s Henrietta been up to this time?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ralph Cohen leads the way up the narrow stairs and knocks on the door at the top. The door is unlocked and opened by a prison officer. Charles and Rhodes Thomas follow Cohen inside, the door is locked behind them and the lawyers turn to face three prison officers.

  ‘You’ve all been here before haven’t you, sirs?’ asks one, evidently in charge. The lawyers nod their assent. Charles frequently visits clients in prisons, especially this one, HM Pentonville, where one section houses prisoners on remand awaiting trial, but he still experiences a thrill when “on the inside”. It’s 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 has already taken out his loose change and keys. He places two packets of cigarettes on the desk. He doesn’t smoke, but prisoners on remand are allowed cigarettes and Charles has learned that to visit a remand client in prison without cigarettes is a cardinal offence. Even if the client doesn’t smoke, a pack of cigarettes provides him with ready currency on the cellblock to buy soap, shampoo, phone calls and favours.

  Charles has also learned not to bother taking a briefcase. He carries the bundle of case papers tied with pink ribbon, and he undoes the ribbon and fans the papers on the table. The year before, the press was full of the prosecution of the bent solicitor who smuggled a hypodermic in a hollowed-out part of his prosecution depositions. Since then Charles has anticipated the prison officers’ wish to leaf through his instructions. He slips off his jacket and hands it to one of the other prison officers, who checks it thoroughly as Charles is frisked expertly from head to toe.

  It takes ten minutes for the three lawyers to be searched thoroughly, after which they are allowed to dress and gather their possessions. Cohen leads them to the far end of the room where a fourth officer sits behind reinforced glass windows.

  ‘Solicitor and counsel to see Mr Plumber,’ he says, speaking into a microphone mounted on the wall. The officer records their details and they are eventually shown into a small room. A few moments later, Plumber enters.

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

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

  Plumber puts out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, sir.’

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

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

  Tea having arrived, Rhodes Thomas slips the ribbon off his brief, spreads his papers on the table, and begins.

  ‘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, yeah.’

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

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

  ‘Did you say “Robesons”?’ intervenes Charles. ‘Harry Robeson?’

  ‘Why?’ asks Rhodes Thomas.

  Charles turns to him. ‘I bumped into someone the day before the first remand, one of Harry Robeson’s outdoor clerks. He dropped a hint that Robeson was about to acquire a big case that was going to turn into a cutthroat.’

  Rhodes Thomas turns to Plumber. �
�As far as you know, is Sands sticking to the “third man” story?’

  ‘He ain’t said differently.’

  ‘You do realise that if you’re both going to get off the murder charge, you’ve got to stick to your guns. Sorry about the pun. What I mean is, your stories are the same and there’s no conflict between you. Normally, you’d be represented by the same team. So we wondered why he’d want to change solicitors.’

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

  Rhodes Thomas turns to Charles. ‘No suggestion of it being a cutthroat then.’

  ‘Just a coincidence?’

  The QC shrugs. ‘We’ll see.’

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

  ‘Not at all,’ replies Rhodes Thomas.

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

  ‘Well, Mr Plumber, you’ve told us that you did take part in the robbery. Is that the case?’

  Plumber looks embarrassed. He glances at Cohen but receives no assistance.

  Charles intervenes. ‘I’m sure you understand, Derek, once you’ve told Mr Cohen that you did the robbery, neither he, nor myself, nor Mr Rhodes Thomas can represent you if you want to plead not guilty. We’re not able to lie to the Court on your behalf. You’d have to find other representatives, and if you tell them you’re guilty but want to fight it, you’ll lose them too.’

  ‘Oh,’ says Plumber, clearly disappointed.

  ‘There is, however, one exception to that rule,’ continues Charles. ‘You’re 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?’ asks 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 smiles. ‘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, and you both hold your nerves, I don’t 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 to robbery, and it’ll be hard to persuade the Crown that there’s any risk of your getting off that charge 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.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Although his practice takes him there with increasing frequency, Charles still experiences a particular thrill, a special lightness of step, as he enters the Old Bailey. This is the “sharp end” of criminal practice, the Court where the seasoned practitioners work, meet and discuss cases, judges and trials. It is the heart of the web of English criminal justice.

  Charles climbs the wide stairs and enters the Great Hall. The building work to repair the Blitz bomb damage was 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 were irritated, but Charles loved it. Instead of using the Bar Mess, he 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 explained to 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 these tradesmen than he did with his fellow barristers.

  The Great Hall still holds a collection of paintings depicting the state of the building on 11th May 1941, the morning after the air raid, and Charles likes to look at them as he passes. His father was one of the many fire wardens who helped dowse the flames and carry out the injured and dead.

  Charles goes up to the robing room. The place buzzes with barristers in various states of undress as they change into tunic shirts and wing collars, a couple of the younger men jostling for the mirror as they struggle to tie their court bands.

  Charles’s circuit tin containing his wig joins the shoal of identical black oval tins on the robing room table and he lifts the lid. He removes the wig and, as always, sniffs it cautiously. After a hot summer of sweat-inducing high-stress cases, horsehair wigs can smell dreadful. Cleaning them is a delicate, not to mention expensive, operation.

  ‘Deceased?’ asks a voice behind him.

  Charles turns to see Philip Jewell, a barrister with fair, almost white, hair, pale blue eyes and a shy grin. Jewell is a couple of years older than Charles. His soft voice and diffident manner conceal a sharp mind and great courage. He was 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 laughs. He likes Jewell. They went up to Cambridge the same year after the war and when they came down to London for their Bar Finals they often sat in the same tutorial groups. Their paths had crossed socially, too.

  ‘What brings you here?’ asks Charles.

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

  ‘Same here. 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?’ asks Charles.

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

  ‘Why not?’ asks Charles, puzzled.

  Jewell doesn’t answer, but instead grins mysteriously. ‘Court Two, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Jewell picks up his case papers and winks. ‘See you down there, then,’ he says, and disappears into the crowd of black-robed barristers heading down the stairs.

  Charles walks right to the end of the line of lockers where there are a handful allocated to visiting barristers from other circuits. He is, in fact, a member of the South Eastern circuit, but as the only dedicated criminal practitioner at Chancery Court, Chambers declined to pay for a locker to be reserved for him. He’s been meaning to get around to renting one for himself but for the moment, purely from habit, he uses the locker his pupil master let him use years before, while he was still a pupil barrister.

  He turns over Jewell’s words. If the case is effective today, it would be very odd for one of the accused men not to be represented by his silk. On the other hand, if Sands plans to apply for an adjournment, something Jewell could have done alone, why the mystery? Puzzled, Charles changes his everyday stiff collar for a wing collar, ties his bands, dons his wig and gown, and collects his papers. He glances at his watch; only 9:45, and plenty of time for a quick cup of tea.

  He pushes his way against the flow of barristers and hurries to the Bar Mess where he finds an empty table and sits.

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

  Charles looks up to see another barrister. It’s Marcus Stafford, the junior for the Crown. St
afford is enormously fat, with piggy eyes lost in great red cheeks, and he has the reputation of having one of the best minds at the Criminal Bar. He and Charles spoke 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?’

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

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

  ‘Not at all.’

  Stafford sits with a wheeze. ‘Is this still to be a fight?’ he enquires.

  ‘That’s up to you,’ replies 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 smiles. ‘We’ll see.’

  This sort of friendly sparring is nothing unusual, but there’s a confidence about Stafford which makes Charles wonder again what’s going on, and he is reminded again of his conversation with Ozzie. He doesn’t have long to wait before discovering what it is, as a short middle-aged man bustles up to them.

  ‘Morning Marcus,’ he says, and sits next to them.

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

  ‘Ah,’ says Hogg, rifling through his papers, ‘got something for you.’ He hands Charles a document. It’s 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 one. In any event, I’ve spoken to the clerk and told her we’ll need some time before arraignment.’

  Charles scans the document. It is a statement dated that day. In it, Sands retracts his earlier statement and alleges that only two men took part in the robbery, himself and Plumber. He claims that Plumber took and used the shotgun without his knowledge. The reason for his earlier statement, he claims, was that Plumber threatened the lives of his family.