Unravel a Crime - Tangle With Women (2 page)

"Are you going to let me
in?" Brakespeare asked, ever conscious of his lateness, and really wanting
to hit the little man..

There was something in the
tone of Brakespeare’s voice, which told the little man that it was perhaps best
not to argue.

"Yes, sir. Please drive
to corner over there. There is space. "

He pointed to the Cathedral
door, where a gap in the parked cars waited to be filled. Brakespeare smiled;
now he could feel himself relax a little, and his charm replaced his anger.

"There, I knew that
someone would know I would be arriving," and he smiled warmly at the
little man, and hoped that he had made him feel important.

The Fiat's lumpy gearbox
reluctantly went into first gear, and he drove slowly round the left hand
curve, and into the empty space. It was next to the entrance door of the
Cathedral.

It had been a long time since
his run of bad luck had started, but now that the Solicitors Regulation
Authority had let him work again, did he still have his forensic skills? Had
much changed in the law? More importantly did he have his confidence? His
stomach churned even more and his chest wanted to burst..

He combed his mousy hair into
place with his fingers; adjusted his tie; took a deep breath and got out of the
car. Although he had not far to walk, and it was a warm morning, he took his
best black cashmere coat from the rear seat of the car and put it on.

The little man was watching as
Brakespeare walked to the entrance of the solicitors' office. The building was
at least 18th century if not earlier, Brakespeare thought, as he climbed the
steps, worn with tread of decades of feet, and entered what once must have been
a Worcester gentleman's town house.

The building had the sweet,
musty smell, that old buildings always have. The hallway was gloomy, lit by a
single underpowered light bulb in an old cobwebbed shade. In front and to his
left was a staircase covered with a worn carpet, so dirty it was difficult to
guess what colour it once might have been. The hallway continued past the
stairs to a rear door, and he could see through it’s glazing that a courtyard
led to a gate into what must be Deansway.

To his immediate right was a
hatchway with a sliding frosted glass window. There were no immediate signs of
life, so he tapped on the glass.

He could hear the click of
high heels across an uncarpeted floor, and one of the windows slid slowly back.

The dull gaze of a spotty
teenage girl peered from behind the window and took him in.

"Can I help you - we're
not open."

Brakespeare glanced at his
watch. Two minutes past nine. As if to anticipate what he was going to say, the
girl said, "We don't open 'til nine fifteen".

"My name's Johnny
Brakespeare, and I'm your new locum solicitor."

"You're a local solicitor?"

He breathed in deeply. Again
he wanted to throw a punch.

"No, a locum - a
temporary solicitor. Mr. Mortimer is expecting me. Is he in yet"

The girl paused, and took in
what she could see of him through the window. "I'll get him"

The window slid shut and
Brakespeare was left standing alone in the hallway. He could hear a brief and
muffled telephone conversation. The window slid open again. The spotty face
wore a smile now.

"He's coming down"

The window slid shut once
more.

The sound of footsteps came
from the top of the stairs, and a figure came down, looking anxious, and with
hand outstretched.

The owner of the hand was
perhaps in his late forties, of slight build, with greying hair brushed back
from his forehead, a pencil moustache and thick black spectacles.

"Johnny Brakespeare? Bill
Mortimer. Come on up. Glad to see you. Thank God you were available at such
short notice" .

The handshake was firm and the
smile welcoming. Brakespeare felt much better now. He followed Mortimer up the
stairs to an office to the left; full of scattered papers and files, but with a
commanding view of the Deansway rush hour traffic.

"Do take your coat off;
sit down. "

Brakespeare took off his
Cashmere; folded it carefully, and sat with it on his lap.

"I hope that you had a
good journey. You've come from Milton Keynes, haven't you?"

"Yes. I came up the M40
and down the M5. I was held up a bit; I had hoped to be here sooner. I wondered
if that little chap at the gate was going to let me in.”

“
Oh Hitler. " Mortimer
laughed.

“
That’s not his name is it?”

“
No but it’s what we call him.
He bosses everybody about. Anyway you're here now and that's the main thing.
We're going to throw you in at the deep end if that’s all right?”

Brakespeare smiled. “I’m used
to deep ends"

"Ah, yes, had a spot of
bother with the Solicitors Regulation Authority didn’t you? You've been very
frank about it in your C.V.; not your fault; doesn't worry us in the
slightest."

"Thank you".
Brakespeare nodded his head in appreciation.

"I expect that you know a
bit about our own problem, but let me explain why we were particularly anxious
to get someone of your calibre immediately. I'm the senior partner here, and
I'm a bit of an all rounder. However I tend to specialise in commercial work -
companies, offices, warehouses - you name it - I do it. My partner Dick Ridley
runs the domestic conveyancing department, and he'll be the first to admit that
he doesn't know a lot more about anything else.

Gordon Morrison runs our
litigation side – mainly civil work, but he has a nice niche in occasional
criminal work. He specialises in white collar crime and fraud. He has a good
reputation in this area, and in Birmingham."

"Yes, I heard of him when
I was prosecuting there, although I never came across him."

Brakespeare immediately wished
that he had asked for more than his £150.00 per day. These guys were probably
charging double that for the hour. "Do you do Legal Aid work?”

"No, we stopped doing
legal aid work some years ago. With all the bureaucracy the Legal Aid Board
requires, and the poor fees, it just wasn't worth it.”

"So your clients pay
privately?”

Mortimer smiled and nodded.

"That's nice"
Brakespeare said. Definitely more than £150.00 day.

"As you may have heard,
yesterday, Gordon collapsed in Court and to cut a long story short, he has a
brain tumour, or at least he had - they operated on him last night, and it
remains to be seen to what will happen to him. That’s why you’re here.

"To take over the
litigation?"

"Yes. Gordon has a super
secretary, Margaret Lynch, and about a year ago we took on a paralegal. She's
bright; in fact she has a degree in law, but I am afraid as with so many of
these graduates, she could not get a training contract. Her name is Lisa
Barnes. She’s American, by the way.”

Brakespeare raised an eyebrow.
Mortimer shrugged. “I judge people on their abilities. I suspect that there’s
more to her than meets the eye; all I know is that she’s very bright, learns
things quickly, and has good judgement. Anyway we need you to sort things out,
and keep the ship afloat until we know more about Gordon’s future."

Brakespeare could feel the
stress evaporate, and excitement welling up in him. After all the setbacks it
was good to be trusted again, and to be given the opportunity to show what he
could do.

"Sounds like fun. "

"Well I'm glad you think
of it that way; Gordon did too - I guess it's the only way you can keep sane
when conducting a case – don’t get involved. However there is one major case
that's just come up, and that I need to tell you about. "

"Civil or criminal"

"Criminal. A big one. We
act for David Newberry, who is a Chartered Surveyor. In fact he's a very good
friend of Gordon's. Perhaps too good. He is, or was, because he is currently
suspended, a surveyor on the staff of National Surveyors. You've heard of them?
"

"Aren't they owned by the
National Building Society?"

Mortimer paused to gauge
Brakespeare’ s reaction to mention of the name. He could immediately see the
young man tense up.

"It’s now the National
Bank, they went public a year or so ago. The Chief Executive Clive Masters
allegedly made a mint out of it. They say that now there’s American fingers in
the pie"

He paused again, but
Brakespeare just looked at him steadily. "You've read my C. V.“ he said. It
was a statement and not a question

"Yes, I have - and that's
another reason why we think that you'll fit the bill. We thought that you might
like to try and get your own back. Can’t beat motivation. However, that's bye
the bye. David worked for them and the patch he covered was Greater London. He
lives in Malvern, which is about 10 miles over there." Mortimer pointed in
a vague south westerly direction.

"I know, I've been there.
A lovely place. "

"The partners in this
firm own a little property company, which makes us some money on the side.
David does unofficial surveys for us, for the price of a pint. "

What was he getting sucked
into wondered Brakespeare. This sounded a little too close to home. Was there a
connection between Newberry’s problem – whatever it was, and the firm. Is that
why they selected him.?

"So one of your friends
has got himself mixed up - in what?" Brakespeare made sure that his left
eyebrow was quizzically raised.

Mortimer smiled to himself He
rather liked the young man's combativeness. "Allegedly, mixed up. "

Both men smiled. They both
knew the rules. If a client tells his lawyer that he is innocent, he must
accept that, and fight for him to the best of his ability. Despite what he may
suspect, a lawyer does not have to sit in judgement on his client.

“
A multi million pound
property fraud.” said Mortimer slowly.

Mortimer led Brakespeare out
of his office, and along a corridor that ran for the width of the old building.
He turned left into a room similar to his own; with a big bay window also
overlooking the Deansway. In the middle of the room was a large pine coloured
executive desk facing the door. Against the opposite wall from the window was a
similarly coloured wooden cabinet and in a corner, to the left of the desk, two
large filing cabinets.

Round the walls were pictures
of racing and sports cars, and several of a white Lotus Elan. Brakespeare
walked up to one to examine it more closely.

"That's Gordon in his
Lotus Elan", said Mortimer.

"He races?"

"Did. In sprints and hill
climbs. Anyway here's your desk, and in here ..... " He opened a door to
the right of the desk and next to the window which led into a small closet
"... is all the evidence. "

Brakespeare went over and
stood at the door. His heart sank as he looked at the stacks of boxes of
papers.

"Has anyone looked at
them"

"I'm afraid not, unless
Lisa has. They arrived the day before Gordon collapsed. That’s why there's a
bit of pressure on things I'm afraid. Ah, here's Margaret. "

Brakespeare turned round as a
rotund middle aged woman in a royal blue two piece suit bustled in through the
door. Her dark brown air was too dark to be natural for her age, and the
uniform of an efficient secretary was completed by the dark rimmed pair of
spectacles

"You must be Mr.
Brakespeare. I'm Margaret Lynch. I'm so very pleased to meet you."

She came up to him and shook
his hand enthusiastically while looking straight into his eyes. Her message was
clear; that she was in charge, and was protecting her real master’s territory.
Brakespeare didn't mind. This was just a temporary assignment. He put on his
deepest charm, and gazed back at her.

"How do you do."

"Well, I’ll leave you
both to sort things out. See you later Jonny." Bill Mortimer patted him on
his back as he left.

"Let me take your
coat" said Margaret, and closing the office door, hung the Cashmere on the
coat hook behind it.

"Now if you'd like to sit
down, perhaps we can go through what needs to be done urgently. Perhaps I may
go through them with you?"

"Apart from the Newberry
case?"

Margaret's face wrinkled with
distaste. "Mr. Morrison seems to think that it was pretty hopeless from
what Mr. Newberry told him. But I expect that you'll take a fresh look at
it."

" I've been told that the
case is my priority."

Margaret paused, choosing her
words carefully.

"I am afraid that Mr.
Mortimer has no real appreciation of the cases in this department, and so it is
only natural that he sees Mr. Newberry as the priority." She quite clearly
did not like Mr. Newberry. "However we do have other clients and so ....
?" Brakespeare nodded in submission. No point in getting into an argument
at this stage. He sat down in the high backed leather chair, and Margaret
perched on a chair on the opposite side of the desk.