Part 18
John Deed's mood was lightened by the presence of Karen Betts who impressed him with his strength of character, as it had been a trying day. Although John Deed's mindset was inextricably linked to his active appreciation, long cultivated, of female charms, he was equally receptive to the more platonic side of human characteristics of principle, honesty, trustworthiness and strength of character. The sensualist and the philosopher were always in a state of uneasy coexistence within John Deed's psyche. Karen Betts impressed him on both counts and, seeing her in his chambers brought her into sharp focus, and her extraordinary story was one he believed implicitly. He had always had a passionate ability to identify with the victim of injustice but this was more than that. She might easily stand inside his shoes in his dealings with the Sir Ian's and Lawrence James of this world and he, likewise with this Neil Grayling. It was moments like this that gave him the positive strength to carry on in his self imposed quest when at times he was flagging and he was only clinging on by his fingertips with grim duty to sustain him. His reflective mood was suitably christened by a glass of sherry which he sipped out of the cut glass goblet in its honour.
A loud rat-tat of the door shattered this mood abruptly. Oh God, his minders, Sir Ian and Lawrence James were there. In the seconds left before his chambers were to be invaded by the Political Conformity hit squad, his mind flashbacked to school when the English teacher read that interminable Coleridge poem,"Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner". While he had always deeply sympathised with the plight of the narrator, forever destined to sail the Seven Seas with a dead albatross fastened round his neck as symbol of his sins, the tragedy of the poem was never so poignant as now. But why should he be singled out for their favours, why couldn't they bother Niven or Cantwell or someone who actually welcomed their unwanted advice?
The door opened silently and reluctantly as if in sympathy with John Deed and, there they stood in the doorway, cluttering up his pleasant and civilised surroundings.
"I suppose, Ian, that you are going to head a public protest for justice for the deceased American photographer who was killed by the defendant? You need to be careful if you intend to chain yourself to the railings outside Number Ten of carrying a spare set of keys with which to unlock yourself. It gets very cold and dark at night round there or so I understand." John Deed opened the hostilities, remembering the last topic of conversation which he knew very well Sir Ian would have forgotten.
As predicted, a vacant puzzled expression passed over Sir Ian's eyes.
"Don't know what you are talking about, Deed. Is this some sort of a prank?" He hissed the last few words as he squinted at him, trying to overpower John Deed by his force of personality. Unfortunately, his bullying style, while quite adequate to intimidate an underling in his Department, desperate to further his career, was about as effective against John Deed as a chocolate fireguard.
"Don't you remember, Ian, your passionate speech impressing on me the 'feelings of the family of the murdered photographer' I was much moved by your fine words and almost persuaded of the strength of your arguments. Almost but not quite. A public protest is the next logical step, Ian, is it not."John Deed replied in his most maddeningly teasing way.
"That would be going a little bit too far, Deed." Sir Ian replied stiffly, the twitch of his face being the surefire giveaway to John Deed how much of a liar Sir Ian is. This is why Sir Ian loathes me so much, John Deed reflected as he could always see through him.
"I do not think that the Department would approve of top civil servants lowering their standards and their sense of dignity by following in the footsteps of every common rabble rouser on the streets. "Lawrence James's harsh humourless voice appeared to struggle its way up through his larynx.
Putting discreet pressure on circuit judges to bend the rules to save their skin is quite within their standards, John Deed's thoughts could be read in every nuance of the not so thinly veiled contempt in his eyes.
"To come to the point, Deed." Sir Ian hastily moved the debate onwards. "We feel very unhappy with the performance that the witness, Miss Betts, displayed today. You are prejudicing the basic standards of the British legal system in allowing the witness to evade direct questions on a matter that we felt, provided the acid test on her credulity as a witness."
"There is of course well established legal precedents that the victim of a rape seeking justice in the courts should not be under trial though, of course, questioning in a suitable form of words is permitted to test the credibility of the witness. The accusation of 'crying rape' goes far beyond what I am prepared to permit in a court of law."
"Nice to see the way you uphold these 'politically correct' ideas." Sir Ian said with a sneer, especially on the phrase 'politically correct' as if he were spitting an unwelcome fly that had appeared in his cordon bleu soup served up at the Dorchester Hotel.
"I have stood for ideas and ideals since my youth that predated political correctness." John Deed dryly and crushingly retorted. "And I would be interested to know precisely how Brian Cantwell happened to come across matters concerning Miss Betts that conversation with the defendants, Snowball Merriman and Ritchie Atkins would be unlikely to be aware of from my understanding of the chronology of the case. Wouldn't you be similarly interested, Ian?" John Deed finished quietly with raised eyebrows and his sharp eyesight looking straight into Sir Ian's wavering eyes.
Sir Ian was suddenly seized with a repeated coughing bout so badly that Coope, hearing what was going on, rushed forward with a glass of water which Sir Ian accepted gratefully.
"As you know, old boy, we always allow the judicial processes to proceed their own way. All this was news to me, Deed." Sir Ian finished on a strangulated tone, the aftermath of the cough still ripping into his throat.
"Quite, " John Deed replied with all the disbelief in the world evident in just one word.
"But on this one occasion, we can only repeat our advice most strongly that the case is fundamentally unsound. The whole case appears to us to be shaky and it seems bound to proceed from bad to worse." Sir Ian repeated at the end of his tether.
"But you, Deed, as always will carry on with the trial with all your stiff necked obstinate pride." Lawrence James chorussed his Master's disapproval." Without any respect for the views of the Lord Chancellor's Department."
John Deed smiled broadly for the first time during the course of the interview. A vision of the cell door clanging shut, locking the outraged Lawrence James in a cell after John Deed had him jailed briefly for contempt of court. He still fondly reminisced on the quivering sound of Lawrence James 'unreservedly apologising' to that teasing provoking man with all the majesty of the law at the pack of him and the keys of the cell at his command. He had to admit to himself that he gained impish amusement at some of his more outrageous moments and that was one of his better ones. Behind the red robes and gravity of his manner, he was an unquenchable prankster and fearless wielder of the sharp pointed needle to puncture overblown pride and pomposity. And this man had the nerve to talk to him of 'stiff necked pride.'
"What's so funny, Deed?" Sir Ian asked in a nasty tone.
"Oh nothing, nothing." And in truth how could he explain his thoughts to two people who shared the same legal system but inhabited different planets in their outlooks on life. And he's been at school with one of them.
"Well, since you've said that you let the judiciary to proceed in its own way, and I have a reputation for doing just that, then I shall carry on as usual. But I thank you for your continued interest in my welfare. I am totally unable to express the depth of my feelings were you two to desert me and favour another judge with your opinions."
Perhaps it was the deadpan expression in John Deed's voice and facial expression with no outward show of the cutting irony of his words that caused the suppressed anger in Sir Ian and Lawrence James to finally boil over.
"This trial has not been a very lucky one for you so far, Deed. You would do well to be careful in case there are any other unfortunate incidents in the trial that would compromise your reputation, Deed." Sir Ian snapped and with his sidekick in tow made for the door.
"Oh yes, for your information, Deed." Sir Ian added with pure malice in his eyes." I had a very interesting conversation with a certain Neil Grayling, the Governing Governor of Larkhall. He told me a very interesting story about one Karen Betts who was pursuing a rape allegation against a colleague of hers. Both of us agreed that it would not be in the best interest of the Prison Service if this sort of dirty linen were exposed for all the press and public to see. There's too much muckraking around these days. Not like in the old days."
A loud crash behind them was Sir Ian taking his anger out on the door. Behind it, John Deed stood , as if a frozen statue, trying to deal with this parting shot. He was unable to even start to collect his thoughts into any logical order.
Down the windblown streets, fallen leafs of thoughts, spoken and unspoken whirled and fluttered and there are those freethinking people whose sharp eyes and sense of touch drew these leaves into their orbit. These thoughts were there already waiting for somebody to be around to collect. One such insight blew past Sir Ian as he left the chambers, that Sir Ian hated John Deed only because he saw through him, saw the mixture of self deceit, pomposity, base ambition and that lack of selflessness. Why should Sir Ian bother with such thoughts because he had, in his fashion, always fitted in at public school and then in his sure and certain elevation up the career ladder. John Deed had always been a rank outsider yet Sir Ian would never know that that outsider status gave John Deed his freedom, to breathe comfortably within himself and be his mildly outrageous self. Sir Ian and Lawrence James were collected in their limousine back to the
sterile artificiality and luxury of the imposing Georgian magnificence of the Lord Chancellor's Department where they felt most at home.
At night-time, Fenner lay in an untroubled sleep, as his conscience was clear. Of course, the nightime shot of whisky helped. Into his unconscious swam closer one of the faces whom he most hated and feared. It was the mocking, hard-edged stare of Yvonne Atkins under her fringe of hair and her hawk like expression. The bitch knew, he woke up with a start. The bitch always knew and could see through him. He was not that stupid that he couldn't see that one.
John Deed's mood was lightened by the presence of Karen Betts who impressed him with his strength of character, as it had been a trying day. Although John Deed's mindset was inextricably linked to his active appreciation, long cultivated, of female charms, he was equally receptive to the more platonic side of human characteristics of principle, honesty, trustworthiness and strength of character. The sensualist and the philosopher were always in a state of uneasy coexistence within John Deed's psyche. Karen Betts impressed him on both counts and, seeing her in his chambers brought her into sharp focus, and her extraordinary story was one he believed implicitly. He had always had a passionate ability to identify with the victim of injustice but this was more than that. She might easily stand inside his shoes in his dealings with the Sir Ian's and Lawrence James of this world and he, likewise with this Neil Grayling. It was moments like this that gave him the positive strength to carry on in his self imposed quest when at times he was flagging and he was only clinging on by his fingertips with grim duty to sustain him. His reflective mood was suitably christened by a glass of sherry which he sipped out of the cut glass goblet in its honour.
A loud rat-tat of the door shattered this mood abruptly. Oh God, his minders, Sir Ian and Lawrence James were there. In the seconds left before his chambers were to be invaded by the Political Conformity hit squad, his mind flashbacked to school when the English teacher read that interminable Coleridge poem,"Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner". While he had always deeply sympathised with the plight of the narrator, forever destined to sail the Seven Seas with a dead albatross fastened round his neck as symbol of his sins, the tragedy of the poem was never so poignant as now. But why should he be singled out for their favours, why couldn't they bother Niven or Cantwell or someone who actually welcomed their unwanted advice?
The door opened silently and reluctantly as if in sympathy with John Deed and, there they stood in the doorway, cluttering up his pleasant and civilised surroundings.
"I suppose, Ian, that you are going to head a public protest for justice for the deceased American photographer who was killed by the defendant? You need to be careful if you intend to chain yourself to the railings outside Number Ten of carrying a spare set of keys with which to unlock yourself. It gets very cold and dark at night round there or so I understand." John Deed opened the hostilities, remembering the last topic of conversation which he knew very well Sir Ian would have forgotten.
As predicted, a vacant puzzled expression passed over Sir Ian's eyes.
"Don't know what you are talking about, Deed. Is this some sort of a prank?" He hissed the last few words as he squinted at him, trying to overpower John Deed by his force of personality. Unfortunately, his bullying style, while quite adequate to intimidate an underling in his Department, desperate to further his career, was about as effective against John Deed as a chocolate fireguard.
"Don't you remember, Ian, your passionate speech impressing on me the 'feelings of the family of the murdered photographer' I was much moved by your fine words and almost persuaded of the strength of your arguments. Almost but not quite. A public protest is the next logical step, Ian, is it not."John Deed replied in his most maddeningly teasing way.
"That would be going a little bit too far, Deed." Sir Ian replied stiffly, the twitch of his face being the surefire giveaway to John Deed how much of a liar Sir Ian is. This is why Sir Ian loathes me so much, John Deed reflected as he could always see through him.
"I do not think that the Department would approve of top civil servants lowering their standards and their sense of dignity by following in the footsteps of every common rabble rouser on the streets. "Lawrence James's harsh humourless voice appeared to struggle its way up through his larynx.
Putting discreet pressure on circuit judges to bend the rules to save their skin is quite within their standards, John Deed's thoughts could be read in every nuance of the not so thinly veiled contempt in his eyes.
"To come to the point, Deed." Sir Ian hastily moved the debate onwards. "We feel very unhappy with the performance that the witness, Miss Betts, displayed today. You are prejudicing the basic standards of the British legal system in allowing the witness to evade direct questions on a matter that we felt, provided the acid test on her credulity as a witness."
"There is of course well established legal precedents that the victim of a rape seeking justice in the courts should not be under trial though, of course, questioning in a suitable form of words is permitted to test the credibility of the witness. The accusation of 'crying rape' goes far beyond what I am prepared to permit in a court of law."
"Nice to see the way you uphold these 'politically correct' ideas." Sir Ian said with a sneer, especially on the phrase 'politically correct' as if he were spitting an unwelcome fly that had appeared in his cordon bleu soup served up at the Dorchester Hotel.
"I have stood for ideas and ideals since my youth that predated political correctness." John Deed dryly and crushingly retorted. "And I would be interested to know precisely how Brian Cantwell happened to come across matters concerning Miss Betts that conversation with the defendants, Snowball Merriman and Ritchie Atkins would be unlikely to be aware of from my understanding of the chronology of the case. Wouldn't you be similarly interested, Ian?" John Deed finished quietly with raised eyebrows and his sharp eyesight looking straight into Sir Ian's wavering eyes.
Sir Ian was suddenly seized with a repeated coughing bout so badly that Coope, hearing what was going on, rushed forward with a glass of water which Sir Ian accepted gratefully.
"As you know, old boy, we always allow the judicial processes to proceed their own way. All this was news to me, Deed." Sir Ian finished on a strangulated tone, the aftermath of the cough still ripping into his throat.
"Quite, " John Deed replied with all the disbelief in the world evident in just one word.
"But on this one occasion, we can only repeat our advice most strongly that the case is fundamentally unsound. The whole case appears to us to be shaky and it seems bound to proceed from bad to worse." Sir Ian repeated at the end of his tether.
"But you, Deed, as always will carry on with the trial with all your stiff necked obstinate pride." Lawrence James chorussed his Master's disapproval." Without any respect for the views of the Lord Chancellor's Department."
John Deed smiled broadly for the first time during the course of the interview. A vision of the cell door clanging shut, locking the outraged Lawrence James in a cell after John Deed had him jailed briefly for contempt of court. He still fondly reminisced on the quivering sound of Lawrence James 'unreservedly apologising' to that teasing provoking man with all the majesty of the law at the pack of him and the keys of the cell at his command. He had to admit to himself that he gained impish amusement at some of his more outrageous moments and that was one of his better ones. Behind the red robes and gravity of his manner, he was an unquenchable prankster and fearless wielder of the sharp pointed needle to puncture overblown pride and pomposity. And this man had the nerve to talk to him of 'stiff necked pride.'
"What's so funny, Deed?" Sir Ian asked in a nasty tone.
"Oh nothing, nothing." And in truth how could he explain his thoughts to two people who shared the same legal system but inhabited different planets in their outlooks on life. And he's been at school with one of them.
"Well, since you've said that you let the judiciary to proceed in its own way, and I have a reputation for doing just that, then I shall carry on as usual. But I thank you for your continued interest in my welfare. I am totally unable to express the depth of my feelings were you two to desert me and favour another judge with your opinions."
Perhaps it was the deadpan expression in John Deed's voice and facial expression with no outward show of the cutting irony of his words that caused the suppressed anger in Sir Ian and Lawrence James to finally boil over.
"This trial has not been a very lucky one for you so far, Deed. You would do well to be careful in case there are any other unfortunate incidents in the trial that would compromise your reputation, Deed." Sir Ian snapped and with his sidekick in tow made for the door.
"Oh yes, for your information, Deed." Sir Ian added with pure malice in his eyes." I had a very interesting conversation with a certain Neil Grayling, the Governing Governor of Larkhall. He told me a very interesting story about one Karen Betts who was pursuing a rape allegation against a colleague of hers. Both of us agreed that it would not be in the best interest of the Prison Service if this sort of dirty linen were exposed for all the press and public to see. There's too much muckraking around these days. Not like in the old days."
A loud crash behind them was Sir Ian taking his anger out on the door. Behind it, John Deed stood , as if a frozen statue, trying to deal with this parting shot. He was unable to even start to collect his thoughts into any logical order.
Down the windblown streets, fallen leafs of thoughts, spoken and unspoken whirled and fluttered and there are those freethinking people whose sharp eyes and sense of touch drew these leaves into their orbit. These thoughts were there already waiting for somebody to be around to collect. One such insight blew past Sir Ian as he left the chambers, that Sir Ian hated John Deed only because he saw through him, saw the mixture of self deceit, pomposity, base ambition and that lack of selflessness. Why should Sir Ian bother with such thoughts because he had, in his fashion, always fitted in at public school and then in his sure and certain elevation up the career ladder. John Deed had always been a rank outsider yet Sir Ian would never know that that outsider status gave John Deed his freedom, to breathe comfortably within himself and be his mildly outrageous self. Sir Ian and Lawrence James were collected in their limousine back to the
sterile artificiality and luxury of the imposing Georgian magnificence of the Lord Chancellor's Department where they felt most at home.
At night-time, Fenner lay in an untroubled sleep, as his conscience was clear. Of course, the nightime shot of whisky helped. Into his unconscious swam closer one of the faces whom he most hated and feared. It was the mocking, hard-edged stare of Yvonne Atkins under her fringe of hair and her hawk like expression. The bitch knew, he woke up with a start. The bitch always knew and could see through him. He was not that stupid that he couldn't see that one.