Flashpoint (19 page)

I told him about the Palmer case.

Tom said to Laurence, “Then I’d better see those papers, too.” And to me, “Please get hold of Mr Lambard and ask him if he’d be good enough to come round here this afternoon.”

“Any particular time?”

“Any time that suits him. I’ll cancel any appointment I’ve got.”

In the passage outside. Laurence squeezed my arm affectionately and said, “Stop looking like a stuffed owl.”

“Was I?”

“I thought you were going to burst into tears.”

“Why did he have to take it out on me?”

“In the old days,” said Laurence, “great men used to have a special boy they could kick on the bottom when things went wrong. It was a highly paid post.”

“Must have been highly skilled, too,” I said. “Was he really angry?”

“I’ve known Tom for a long time,” said Laurence. “And I’ve never known him as angry as he was when he saw those papers. If it’s any comfort to you, he spent a quarter of an hour slanging me before you got there.”

“It’s a fantastic story,” said Lambard. “Could be a coincidence.”

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

“If you’re right, you realize what it means?”

“It means there’s an agency of the Government which is prepared to break the law in order to protect its own people, if they’re important enough.”

“Does it surprise you?”

“I’m not surprised,” said Buller. “I’m shocked. And I’m unclear what I ought to do about it.”

“Do you think the case is proved?”

“Proved? Legally proved, you mean? No. But I’ve made a few enquiries. I telephoned those builders. All they could tell me was that a man had come along and bought their debt, at a small discount.”

“There are firms who do that?”

“Certainly. The man said he worked for an outfit called Raven Services. We know most of the regular debt-collecting agencies, and they all know each other. None of them seem to have heard of Raven Services, and the name doesn’t appear on the Register of Business Names.”

“It could be a new firm.”

“Yes,” said Buller. “It could be.”

The two men sat in silence, each busy with his own thoughts. Buller said, at last, “There’s one significant difference. In the earlier case they operated on the solicitor himself. I knew the man. We had quite a dossier on him here already. He was a bad ‘un. Sooner or later he was going to get struck off anyway. I don’t suppose he thought twice about paying a private bill out of his clients’ money. He’d probably done it often enough before. It was just that until Herman came along we hadn’t been able to prove it. With Killey it was quite different. He’d never have fallen for it. He’s rigidly honest and far too experienced. If it was to work, they had to get him out of the way, and operate on his assistant, who was young enough and green enough to be bounced.”

“And that’s the reason for that business with his old mother.”

“Yes.”

“A bit risky, wasn’t it? Suppose the friendly neighbour
hadn’t
rung up? Or suppose he hadn’t been worried enough to go rushing off?”

“There was no risk involved. They had his telephone tapped.”

Lambard opened his mouth, as if to say something, and then changed his mind and shut it again. There was another long silence, broken by a young man who opened the door, saw Lambard, and said, “Sorry. I didn’t know you had a visitor.”

“If you can’t read the word ‘Engaged’ on my door,” said Buller in tones of cold hatred, “there’s no future for you in this Society.”

The young man gasped once, and disappeared.

Lambard said, “I imagine you’re not going to let the matter rest here.”

“I can’t do that.”

“What do you propose to do about it?”

“When a solicitor is accused of professional misconduct he normally gets another solicitor to represent him. That involves looking into all the circumstances of the case. It would be natural to investigate any promising line of defence.”

“And you want me to do that?”

“I can think of no one I’d rather entrust it to.”

“Good of you to say so,” said Lambard. “But in this case it’s not you who’s doing the entrusting. It’s Killey. And of all the firms in London I’m probably the last one he’d care to approach.”

“Why? He knows you well.”

“He came to me last week, and asked me to help him with an appeal in his case against Dylan. From what I know of his character, I guess it must have cost him a considerable effort to come at all. He’s not a man who likes asking for help.”

“And you turned him down.”

“I thought he was flogging a dead horse, and I told him so.”

“But this is quite different.”

“Quite different,” agreed Lambard.

“Will you at least ask him?”

There was such a long silence that Lambard seemed to have been thinking about something different. In the end he said, abruptly, “I’ll have to think about it. I’ll give you my answer in the morning.”

When he got back to his office, Lambard telephoned his wife. He said, “It’s much too hot in London. I’m going to get away early and come home for the night.”

“You won’t see a lot of me,” said his wife. “It’s Women’s Institute Night.”

“Give them a miss for once.”

“I can’t do that. I’m introducing the speaker. A very interesting woman, who’s spent most of her life in Fiji.”

“All right,” said Lambard. “As a matter of fact I have got something I’ve got to think over. A quiet evening at home is just what the doctor ordered.”

“Penny will look after you.”

“Is she home?”

“She came back last night. She’s got a week off.”

“Splendid,” said Lambard. Of all his family he found her the easiest to talk to.

After dinner, sitting out on the lawn under the Cedar of Lebanon, in the companionable dusk, he told her the whole story. She was a good listener. It wasn’t until right at the end that she said, “I rather liked Mr Killey.”

“I’d no idea you knew him.”

“I met him at the hospital, when he came down to ask after his mother. That was a swinish thing to do, deliberately upsetting an old lady like that. Do you realize it might easily have killed her? Maybe it will.”

“Was she as bad as that?”

“We didn’t tell Jonas, but as a matter of fact her heart is getting very tired. It might stop working at any moment.”

“Kinder than cancer,” said her father, who was old enough to start thinking of such things.

“What are you going to do. About Killey?”

“I don’t know. Even if I wanted to help him, I don’t know that he’d have me.”

“He’s a prickly character,” agreed Penny. “If you wanted to help him you’d have to set about it very tactfully.” She thought for a moment. “What you’d have to say is that you’d refused his first offer because you were too busy, but now one of your – what do you call them – cases?”

“Matters.”

“One of your matters has fallen through, and you’d like to handle this, if he’d let you, because it’s technically very interesting.”

“The mandamus you mean?”

“That’s right. And if he agreed he’d be bound to mention the other thing, and you’d say, if you were doing one you might just as well handle both of them.”

“You’re in the wrong job,” said her father. “You ought to be in the Diplomatic Service. The one thing you haven’t told me is whether you think I ought to do it at all.”

“Personal opinion?”

“Personal opinion.”

“I think you were right to say no the first time. I think you’d be wrong to say no to this. You’ve got to stand up for your own gang.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” said Lambard. He sighed deeply. “It’s going to be a lot of hard and ungrateful work. I’d go into it with much more enthusiasm if I could be absolutely convinced that we weren’t imagining things. It seems monstrous, somehow, that the men we’ve entrusted with the Government of this country – men who, I should have said, were perfectly decent people – should have done a thing like this.”

“It doesn’t surprise me a lot,” said Penny. “People who’ve got hold of power will do almost anything to keep it.”

Lambard said, “I’m going to tell you something which you mustn’t tell anyone else. Particularly your mother. Bill Sexton told me this morning that I’m to be offered a knighthood. They made the approach through him because they wanted details of my professional career. He thought it was the work I did on the Restrictive Practices Commission.”

“I expect that’s right, isn’t it?”

“I’m beginning to wonder. If they had Killey watched they’ll have known he came to see me. And they’d guess I’d be asked to help him. I was the natural person. It crossed my mind that this might be a way of choking me off. There’s nothing official about the offer yet. It could easily be withdrawn.”

“If that’s right,” said Penelope, “there’s no doubt at all what you ought to do. Weigh right in and hit the bastards where it hurts.”

As was his habit, Mr Gazelee had come to Court early, entering by the private door at the back of the building. He had spent some time in his room, studying his papers and trying without success to complete the awkward left-hand bottom corner of
The Times
crossword.

At ten o’clock, to the accompaniment of the Usher’s resonant ‘Stand please’, he stalked into the courtroom from behind the podium, and stood for a moment surveying the Court. It seemed to be unusually crowded. The back of the room was normally almost empty. Now there were twenty or more men in it. The press benches were full, too, and latecomers had edged their way on to the seats normally reserved for solicitors.

As far as he knew there was nothing on the list that morning to justify such interest. No extradition, no sex, no Trade Unions. The normal routine of motoring offences and minor assaults. A young drunk coming up for sentencing. As he was on the point of sitting down he received a second surprise, almost a shock. On the long front bench drooped a figure which he recognized. Counsel rarely appeared in his Court; Leading Counsel of the eminence of Marcus Hoyle very rarely indeed.

Mr Gazelee sniffed. He could sense a certain tension in the air. He looked down at his clerk, who said “Number one, case adjourned from last Tuesday. The police against Mauger.”

The shirt-sleeved policeman shouted “Number One”, and Patrick, who had been waiting for his cue, advanced and took post in front of the iron-railed dock. He was a very different figure from the soiled and dishevelled creature who had faced the Court eight days before.

Mr Gazelee looked at him over his glasses for a moment, as if trying to identify him, then glanced down at his notes and said, “I adjourned this matter to see whether the police could contact the girl who was referred to in evidence. Might I enquire whether you have been successful?”

The inspector rose smartly to his feet, said, “I am afraid not, sir,” and subsided.

“In that case,” said the Magistrate, “all that remains for me to do is to bring this matter to a conclusion.”

“If you please,” said Marcus Hoyle. He had unfolded himself and now stood, his head thrust forward, his white hair falling over one eye, and looking, thought Patrick, like a heron surveying a promising fish pond.

“Well, Mr Hoyle?”

“I should like permission to call one further witness.”

“I’m afraid you’re too late. The case was closed on the previous occasion.”

“With respect, I can hardly think that was so. The case was adjourned for further possible evidence on behalf of the prosecution. I understand that they have not been successful. I, on the other hand, have a witness who can give us an independent account of what transpired.”

Mr Gazelee hesitated. He had faced packed courts before in many of his cases, but this crowd puzzled him. Though herded together to a point almost of discomfort, they were perfectly silent and showing no signs of restlessness. They gave him the impression that they were waiting for a cue.

He said, “Very well, Mr Hoyle.”

“Then I will call Mr Goodbody.”

A small man, with a wispy red beard, who had been sitting on a chair near the side door of the Court, sprang to his feet and climbed into the witness box. He snatched the Testament out of the usher’s hand, repeated the oath without waiting to be prompted, turned towards Counsel and said, “My name is Maximilian Goodbody and I reside at No. 23 Cremona Terrace, N16.”

Marcus Hoyle said, with a smile, “It’s more usual to wait until you’re asked, Mr Goodbody. However, that information has now been recorded. Could we come at once to the night of Monday July 8th?”

“By all means. At approximately two a.m., on the early morning of Tuesday July 9th, I was sitting on a bench which commands a view of the junction of Rickaby Street and Corfield Gardens. I had been unable to sleep and was taking the air. Approximately twenty minutes later I observed a young lady who approached from the direction of Holborn and seated herself on the sand-bin up against the railings of Corfield Gardens. She did not observe me. Approximately five minutes later–”

“I’m afraid, Mr Goodbody, that you’ll have to go a little slower. You’re leaving the shorthand writer behind.”

“You’re leaving us all behind,” said Mr Gazelee. “Wouldn’t it be better, Mr Hoyle, if you proceeded by question and answer.”

“If it will assist the Court. Tell us, then, Mr Goodbody, what happened next?”

“The next thing was that the accused arrived and started talking to the girl.”

“Was it your impression that he was annoying her?”

“Certainly not. They were talking and laughing together in a very friendly way.”

“I see. And then–?”

“Then,” said Mr Goodbody, “two other men appeared on the scene. They came from the same direction as the accused and I gained the impression that they had been following him.”

The inspector looked up sharply, scribbled a note, and passed it to the policeman standing near his box.

“Do you see these men in Court?”

“I do.”

“Perhaps you would point them out to us.”

“The young one with the black moustache over there. And the older one with the bald head, sitting beside him.”

“And what happened next?”

“The two men approached the accused and the girl. I could not hear what was said. I think they were ordering her to go away, because she put her shoes on – I forgot to say she had slipped them off when sitting down on the sand-bin – and started to go away. As soon as she had gone the older of the two men stepped up to the accused, said something in a loud voice, and struck him.”