The New Collected Short Stories (11 page)

‘About a hundred thousand would be my bet,’ replied the Crown’s silk.

‘More than I’d be able to put by in a lifetime,’ the Chief Inspector commented, before uttering a string of words that no one present felt able to repeat to their wives over
dinner that evening.

Prosecuting counsel was not far out. Kenny had deposited a cheque at the Hongkong and Shanghai Bank earlier that week for £86,000.

What the Chief Inspector couldn’t know was that Kenny had completed only half of his plan, and that now the seed money was in place, he was ready to prepare for an early retirement. Before
he was taken away to prison, he made one further request of his solicitor.

While Kenny was holed up in Ford Open Prison he used his time well. He spent every spare moment going over various Acts of Parliament that were currently being debated in the
House of Commons. He quickly dismissed several Green Papers, White Papers and Bills on health, education and the social services, before he came across the Data Protection Bill, each clause of
which he set about studying as assiduously as any Member of the House of Commons at the report stage of the Bill. He followed each new amendment that was placed before the House, and each new
clause as it was passed. Once the Act had become law in 1992, he sought a further interview with his solicitor.

The solicitor listened carefully to Kenny’s questions and, finding himself out of his depth, admitted he would have to seek counsel’s opinion. ‘I will get in touch with Mr
Duveen immediately,’ he said.

While Kenny waited for his QC’s judgement, he asked to be supplied with copies of every business magazine published in the United Kingdom.

The solicitor tried not to look puzzled by this request, as he had done when he had been asked to supply every Act of Parliament currently being debated in the House of Commons. During the next
few weeks, bundles and bundles of magazines arrived at the prison, and Kenny spent all his spare time cutting out any advertisements that appeared in three magazines or more.

A year to the day after Kenny had been sentenced, he was released on parole following his exemplary behaviour. When he walked out of Ford Open Prison, having served only half his term, the one
thing he took with him was a large brown envelope containing three thousand advertisements and the written opinion of leading counsel on clause 9, paragraph 6, subsection (a) of the Data Protection
Act 1992.

A week later, Kenny took a flight to Hong Kong.

The Hong Kong police reported back to Chief Inspector Travis that Mr Merchant had booked into a small hotel, and spent his days visiting local printers, seeking quotes for the
publication of a magazine entitled
Business Enterprise UK,
and the retail price of headed notepaper and envelopes. The magazine, they quickly discovered, would contain a few articles on
finance and shares, but the bulk of its pages would be taken up with small advertisements.

The Hong Kong police confessed themselves puzzled when they discovered how many copies of the magazine Kenny had ordered to be printed.

‘How many?’ asked Chief Inspector Travis.

‘Ninety-nine.’

‘Ninety-nine? There has to be a reason,’ was Travis’s immediate response.

He was even more puzzled when he discovered that there was already a magazine called
Business Enterprise,
and that it published 10,000 copies a month.

The Hong Kong police later reported that Kenny had ordered 2,500 sheets of headed paper, and 2,500 brown envelopes.

‘So what’s he up to?’ demanded Travis.

No one in Hong Kong or London could come up with a convincing suggestion.

Three weeks later, the Hong Kong police reported that Mr Merchant had been seen at a local post office, despatching 2,400 letters to addresses all over the United Kingdom.

The following week, Kenny flew back to Heathrow.

Although Travis kept Kenny under surveillance, the young constable was unable to report anything untoward, other than that the local postman had told him Mr Merchant was
receiving around twenty-five letters a day, and that like clockwork he would drop into Lloyd’s Bank in the King’s Road around noon and deposit several cheques for amounts ranging from
two hundred to two thousand pounds. The constable didn’t report that Kenny gave him a wave every morning just before entering the bank.

After six months the letters slowed to a trickle, and Kenny’s visits to the bank almost came to a halt.

The only new piece of information the Constable was able to pass on to Chief Inspector Travis was that Mr Merchant had moved from his small flat in St Luke’s Road, Putney, to an imposing
four-storey mansion in Chester Square, SW1.

Just as Travis turned his attention to more pressing cases, Kenny flew off to Hong Kong again. ‘Almost a year to the day,’ was the Chief Inspector’s only comment.

The Hong Kong police reported back to the Chief Inspector that Kenny was following roughly the same routine as he had the previous year, the only difference being that this time he had booked
himself into a suite at the Mandarin. He had selected the same printer, who confirmed that his client had made another order for
Business Enterprise UK
. The second issue had some new
articles, but would contain only 1,971 advertisements.

‘How many copies is he having published this time?’ asked the Chief Inspector.

‘The same as before,’ came back the reply. ‘Ninety-nine. But he’s only ordered two thousand sheets of headed paper and two thousand envelopes.’

‘What is he up to?’ repeated the Chief Inspector. He received no reply.

Once the magazine had rolled off the presses, Kenny returned to the post office and sent out 1,971 letters, before taking a flight back to London, care of British Airways, first class.

Travis knew Kenny must be breaking the law somehow, but he had neither the staff nor the resources to follow it up. And Kenny might have continued to milk this particular cow indefinitely had a
complaint from a leading company on the stock exchange not landed on the Chief Inspector’s desk.

A Mr Cox, the company’s financial director, reported that he had received an invoice for £500 for an advertisement his firm had never placed.

The Chief Inspector visited Mr Cox in his City office. After a long discussion, Cox agreed to assist the police by pressing charges.

The Crown took the best part of six months to prepare its case before sending it to the CPS for consideration. They took almost as long before deciding to prosecute, but once they had, the Chief
Inspector drove straight to Chester Square and personally arrested Kenny on a charge of fraud.

Mr Duveen appeared in court the following morning, insisting that his client was a model citizen. The judge granted Kenny bail, but demanded that he lodge his passport with the court.

‘That’s fine by me,’ Kenny told his solicitor. ‘I won’t be needing it for a couple of months.’

The trial opened at the Old Bailey six weeks later, and once again Kenny was represented by Mr Duveen. While Kenny stood to attention in the dock, the clerk of the court read
out seven charges of fraud. On each charge he pleaded not guilty. Prosecuting counsel made his opening statement, but the jury, as in so many financial trials, didn’t look as if they were
following his detailed submissions.

Kenny accepted that twelve good men and women true would decide whether they believed him or Mr Cox, as there wasn’t much hope that they would understand the niceties of the 1992 Data
Protection Act.

When Mr Cox read out the oath on the third day, Kenny felt he was the sort of man you could trust with your last penny. In fact, he thought he might even invest a few thousand in his
company.

Mr Matthew Jarvis, QC, counsel for the Crown, took Mr Cox through a series of gentle questions designed to show him to be a man of such probity that he felt it was nothing less than his public
duty to ensure that the evil fraud perpetrated by the defendant was stamped out once and for all.

Mr Duveen rose to cross-examine him.

‘Let me begin, Mr Cox, by asking you if you ever saw the advertisement in question.’

Mr Cox stared down at him in righteous indignation.

‘Yes, of course I did,’ he replied.

‘Was it of a quality that in normal circumstances would have been acceptable to your company?’

‘Yes, but . . .’

‘No “buts”, Mr Cox. It either was, or it was not, of a quality acceptable to your company.’

‘It was,’ replied Mr Cox, through pursed lips.

‘Did your company end up paying for the advertisement?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Mr Cox. ‘A member of my staff queried the invoice, and immediately brought it to my attention.’

‘How commendable,’ said Duveen. ‘And did that same member of staff spot the wording concerning payment of the invoice?’

‘No, it was I who spotted that,’ said Mr Cox, looking towards the jury with a smile of satisfaction.

‘Most impressive, Mr Cox. And can you still recall the exact wording on the invoice?’

‘Yes, I think so,’ said Mr Cox. He hesitated, but only for a moment. ‘“If you are dissatisfied with the product, there is no obligation to pay this invoice.”
’

‘“No obligation to pay this invoice,” ’ repeated Duveen.

‘Yes,’ Mr Cox replied. ‘That’s what it stated.’

‘So you didn’t pay the bill?’

‘No, I did not.’

‘Allow me to sum up your position, Mr Cox. You received a free advertisement in my client’s magazine, of a quality that would have been acceptable to your company had it been in any
other periodical. Is that correct?’

‘Yes, but . . .’ began Mr Cox.

‘No more questions, m’lud.’

Duveen had avoided mentioning those clients who
had
paid for their advertisements, as none of them was willing to appear in court for fear of the adverse publicity that would follow.
Kenny felt his QC had destroyed the prosecution’s star witness, but Duveen warned him that Jarvis would try to do the same to him the moment he stepped into the witness box.

The judge suggested a break for lunch. Kenny didn’t eat – he just perused the Data Protection Act once again.

When the court resumed after lunch, Mr Duveen informed the judge that he would be calling only the defendant.

Kenny entered the witness box dressed in a dark-blue suit, white shirt and Guards tie.

Mr Duveen spent some considerable time allowing Kenny to take him through his army career and the service he had given to his country in the Gulf, without touching on the service he had more
recently given at Her Majesty’s pleasure. He then proceeded to guide Kenny through the evidence in brief. By the time Duveen had resumed his place, the jury were in no doubt that they were
dealing with a businessman of unimpeachable rectitude.

Mr Matthew Jarvis QC rose slowly from his place, and made great play of rearranging his papers before asking his first question.

‘Mr Merchant, allow me to begin by asking you about the periodical in question,
Business Enterprise UK
. Why did you select that particular name for your magazine?’

‘It represents everything I believe in.’

‘Yes, I’m sure it does, Mr Merchant, but isn’t the truth that you were trying to mislead potential advertisers into confusing your publication with
Business Enterprise
,
a magazine of many years’ standing and an impeccable reputation. Isn’t that what you were really up to?’

‘No more than
Woman
does with
Woman’s Own
, or
House and Garden
with
Homes and Gardens
,’ Kenny retorted.

‘But all the magazines you have just mentioned sell many thousands of copies. How many copies of
Business Enterprise UK
did you publish?’

‘Ninety-nine,’ replied Kenny.

‘Only ninety-nine? Then it was hardly likely to top the bestsellers’ list, was it? Please enlighten the court as to why you settled on that particular figure.’

‘Because it is fewer than a hundred, and the Data Protection Act 1992 defines a publication as consisting of at least one hundred copies. Clause 2, subsection 11.’

‘That may well be the case, Mr Merchant, which is all the more reason,’ suggested Mr Jarvis, ‘that to expect clients to pay £500 for an unsolicited advertisement in your
magazine was outrageous.’

‘Outrageous, perhaps, but not a crime,’ said Kenny, with a disarming smile.

‘Allow me to move on, Mr Merchant. Perhaps you could explain to the court on what you based your decision, when it came to charging each company.’

‘I found out how much their accounts departments were authorised to spend without having to refer to higher authority.’

‘And what deception did you perpetrate to discover that piece of information?’

‘I called the accounts department and asked to speak to the billing clerk.’

A ripple of laughter ran through the courtroom. The judge cleared his throat theatrically and demanded the court come to order.

‘And on that alone you based your decision on how much to charge?’

‘Not entirely. You see, I did have a rate card. Prices varied between £2,000 for a full-colour page and £200 for a quarter-page, black and white. I think you’ll find
we’re fairly competitive – if anything, slightly below the national average.’

‘Certainly you were below the national average for the number of copies produced,’ snapped Mr Jarvis.

‘I’ve known worse.’

‘Perhaps you can give the court an example,’ said Mr Jarvis, confident that he had trapped the defendant.

‘The Conservative Party.’

‘I’m not following you, Mr Merchant.’

‘They hold a dinner once a year at Grosvenor House. They sell around five hundred programmes and charge £5,000 for a full-page advertisement in colour.’

‘But at least they allow potential advertisers every opportunity to refuse to pay such a rate.’

‘So do I,’ retorted Kenny.

‘So, you do not accept that it is against the law to send invoices to companies who were never shown the product in the first place?’

‘That may well be the law in the United Kingdom,’ said Kenny, ‘even in Europe. But it does not apply if the magazine is produced in Hong Kong, a British colony, and the
invoices are despatched from that country.’