Part Eight
John's mind was finally made up. Theoretically he could demean himself by ingratiating himself to Monty Everard and grossly flatter his non-existent good qualities but he instinctively ruled that one out. Practically, he had as much chance of succeeding as Osama Bin Laden had of knocking at the door of the White House and taking tea with President Bush and discussing Christian theology as to the creation. For another, his blood boiled at such a gross moral indecency and a violation of his basic moral principles. So blackmail it would have to be.
With the most casual demeanour he could summon up, he knocked at the door of Monty's chambers.
"Oh, It's you, John," Monty growled, glaring up at him as he stood before him. True to form, his chambers were that bit more luxurious than his own, the three-piece suite straight out of Harrods, the pictures on the wall original Constables. So it has come to it that a part of a life's work of a famous British artist had been destined to decorate the walls of such an utter philistine. Petty one upmanship, not appreciation of the finer things in life was one force that drove his mediocre personality.
"I was wondering if you had had second thoughts about releasing the Crown versus Atkins case to me," He opened the argument perfectly mildly, sitting down, uninvited in the chair opposite him. "I ought to explain that I was perfectly sincere in reciprocating in any of the cases that I have similarly reserved to myself, or any other one case that you fancy." "Well, you wondered wrong, Deed," Monty's childish vein in his personality was uppermost." "Might I ask exactly why you are declining a perfectly reasonable request?" "Ever since I had the displeasure of making your acquaintance, you have made great play of obstinately holding onto any and every case which you have reserved to yourself. The boot is on the other foot, Deed. I will be damned if I will release a case of mine which I have properly reserved to myself and your presence in my chambers, sir, is an unwarrantable intrusion," Monty Everard stormed and blustered.
"I was merely concerned that a certain private matter did not become public knowledge," John's mild mannered voice belied the force with which he was disinclined to be dislodged from his chair in the same way that a limpet at the seaside merely holds on tighter the more an attempt is made to detach it from its native rock.
"I had always thought that you were, at the very least, eccentric but now you, sir, have finally gone over the top," Monty snorted.
"You are aware that the trial will centre very much on inmates in Larkhall prison, past and present as well as prison officers," John replied languidly, infuriating Monty with his elliptical approach to what he vaguely suspected was some kind of threat against himself.
"What has some crumbling Victorian prison possibly got to do with me besides witnesses who will be called before me in court? What happens to anyone who comes before me on the bench becomes the matter of the Prison service and not myself. Now, if you will excuse me…….." "I happened to make a visit to Larkhall some time ago out of natural curiosity. I happened to chat to two personable, very amusing women there who were very informative." John's maddeningly reasonable tones emphasised the last word but one in the sentence which started to worry Monty.
"Why the devil are you staying around in my chambers, inflicting these ridiculous reminiscences. You are gibbering." "I mention these points to you because if you do not exchange cases in the way I propose, I shall resume my acquaintance with the very attractive female Times law correspondant to whom I shall make direct references on the best of all possible authority the way that you paid for the sexual services of the 'Two Trudies.' Every Thursday at eight. The press would be so very interested in the private life of someone who has gone on record in the interminable pompous moralising outpourings that has been inflicted on the poor suffering public. Do you know, the "two Trudies" are the very same women who I engaged in recent conversation with at Larkhall. They have excellent memories. If I remember rightly, 'he used to say his wife wasn't attractive enough to get him going, but then they all say that.' Legover Everard, that's what they know you as. Don't you think that the popular press's interest that there will be in one of the Atkins family appearing in court may spill over if by some chance, you sat in judgement in a case where Larkhall Prison will loom rather large." The way that John suddenly switched his tone of voice that was heavy on the consonants and made a very deadly use of sarcasm took Monty Everard aback. He remembered only too well what effective use he had made of the press in forcing the hand of the attorney General and, by implication, the entire government. It appalled his sense of proper order that such a maverick could wield such power. However, fear undercut his anger and the very possibility that the gossip, which had only circulated within the cloistered world of the bar, could become the stuff of public gossip. He imagined that the matter could spill out such that some wretched comedian like Rory Bremner does a 'Legover Everard' impersonation. His wife would not stand for it and never would the respectable circles in which he mingled in his native town by adoption of Henley, that bastion of conservatism. "It's only one favour that I am asking of you and I am willing to exchange one case in return. What could be fairer than that?" John persisted teasingly.
Something snapped in him, partly that intense desire to be rid of the one man that he couldn't stand over an issue that he had made in his pig headed way.
"You'll find the case with my clerk. Her room is right next to mine. I shall write a note to authorise you to pick up the case if you wish," Monty's muffled voice uttered the words of surrender very jerkily.
He scribbled a quick note, thrust it into John's hands and feebly poked with his forefinger in the general direction of the exit door.
"I'm so glad to have relieved you of a burden," John's parting words turned Monty's face from red to purple as his blood pressure rose.
John clutched the note firmly and strode eagerly out the door while Monty mopped his forehead with a handkerchief and reached for a decanter, half filled with whisky.
John smiled at the unfortunate careworn woman who had the onerous job of being nursemaid to Monty. She and Coope had often confided in each other and both had concluded that while John's turbulent private life had extended Coope's role in directions outside the traditional duties, John at least had a certain precision in the way that he worked and a natural consideration and kindliness which more than compensated for it. Life, for Coope, working for John was never dull. In contrast, Monty Everard's personal assistant was the overworked drudge for a spoilt little boy who treated her with a cavalier lack of consideration at best and with petulant tantrums at worst combined with a slipshod treatment of the papers, which passed through him.
"Oh yes, Coope advised me that you may be requiring the Crown versus Atkins file. It's at the top of my in tray ready for you to pick up if you want. You do want to collect it personally?" How the devil did she guess, John thought to himself, bemused at Coope's mysterious far-flung personal network that worked so impeccably for him. She popped it in his briefcase for him in a motherly way and they exchanged polite words before John excused himself.
That John Deed, such a delight to work for and such a charmer and not at all like the way that that tiresome man vilified him. Coope is a lucky woman, she thought as she adjusted her spectacles to focus on Monty Everard's spidery scrawl.
"Why on earth did you let Deed get his hands on the Crown versus Atkins case, Monty? After all the time you have lectured us about getting tough with him, you let yourself get walked over in this fashion. Above all else, this is a case demanding sound judgement and Deed is capable of acting in some outlandish fashion. I shall have to spend two weeks sitting on the hard benches in the gallery instead of doing the work I am paid to do," Sir Ian's somewhat amplified and irritated tones reverberated in Monty's left ear.
"Lawrence," he could hear a quieter voice directed away from the phone, "stop what you're doing. We are going to the Old Bailey." "Is there some kind of trouble, sir?" Lawrence James's head jerked sideways, yanked out of his concentration on the report he had in hand. He loved the peace and serenity of these moments contemplating his life's work.
"Deed is the trouble," Sir Ian said cryptically. "Come on." And Monty heard the phone slammed down on him.
Newmann Mason-Allen heard with utter alarm his worst nightmare come true. Instead of the amenable Monty Everard who let him and Jo Mills slug it out without interruption, he faced a second unpredictable antagonist in the name of John Deed situated up in the Gods whose notorious tendency to intervene without warning at a moment's notice and his brilliance at the law made him feel threatened and inferior. It was just his luck, he thought to himself.
John's impatient stride propelled himself across the large polished stone tiles of the Old Bailey.
"I've got the case," he spoke in low but triumphant tones.
Jo smiled warmly, pleased that he was the one judge who would at least hear Lauren Atkins without putting the pretried Atkins family reputation first before the court and to twist the trial to suit the herd prejudices of the judiciary.
"Do you know what you are taking on in handling the case, Jo?" he added in mistimed and misdirected concern for her. Jo was always subject to pre trial nerves that, its most directed, shaped it in an adrenaline flow which sharpened her mind to razor edged cutting form. The downside of that mood came out when her temper snapped.
"Seeing that we were up to our necks in what we knew about the case long before any arrest was made, we owe it to Karen Betts for the way we put her on trial and got it wrong," She snapped and then in softer vein she added, "I have to see it through to the end no matter what it takes. You know that, John." Expressionlessly, he nodded. The die was cast and it was time they all took their stands.
John's mind was finally made up. Theoretically he could demean himself by ingratiating himself to Monty Everard and grossly flatter his non-existent good qualities but he instinctively ruled that one out. Practically, he had as much chance of succeeding as Osama Bin Laden had of knocking at the door of the White House and taking tea with President Bush and discussing Christian theology as to the creation. For another, his blood boiled at such a gross moral indecency and a violation of his basic moral principles. So blackmail it would have to be.
With the most casual demeanour he could summon up, he knocked at the door of Monty's chambers.
"Oh, It's you, John," Monty growled, glaring up at him as he stood before him. True to form, his chambers were that bit more luxurious than his own, the three-piece suite straight out of Harrods, the pictures on the wall original Constables. So it has come to it that a part of a life's work of a famous British artist had been destined to decorate the walls of such an utter philistine. Petty one upmanship, not appreciation of the finer things in life was one force that drove his mediocre personality.
"I was wondering if you had had second thoughts about releasing the Crown versus Atkins case to me," He opened the argument perfectly mildly, sitting down, uninvited in the chair opposite him. "I ought to explain that I was perfectly sincere in reciprocating in any of the cases that I have similarly reserved to myself, or any other one case that you fancy." "Well, you wondered wrong, Deed," Monty's childish vein in his personality was uppermost." "Might I ask exactly why you are declining a perfectly reasonable request?" "Ever since I had the displeasure of making your acquaintance, you have made great play of obstinately holding onto any and every case which you have reserved to yourself. The boot is on the other foot, Deed. I will be damned if I will release a case of mine which I have properly reserved to myself and your presence in my chambers, sir, is an unwarrantable intrusion," Monty Everard stormed and blustered.
"I was merely concerned that a certain private matter did not become public knowledge," John's mild mannered voice belied the force with which he was disinclined to be dislodged from his chair in the same way that a limpet at the seaside merely holds on tighter the more an attempt is made to detach it from its native rock.
"I had always thought that you were, at the very least, eccentric but now you, sir, have finally gone over the top," Monty snorted.
"You are aware that the trial will centre very much on inmates in Larkhall prison, past and present as well as prison officers," John replied languidly, infuriating Monty with his elliptical approach to what he vaguely suspected was some kind of threat against himself.
"What has some crumbling Victorian prison possibly got to do with me besides witnesses who will be called before me in court? What happens to anyone who comes before me on the bench becomes the matter of the Prison service and not myself. Now, if you will excuse me…….." "I happened to make a visit to Larkhall some time ago out of natural curiosity. I happened to chat to two personable, very amusing women there who were very informative." John's maddeningly reasonable tones emphasised the last word but one in the sentence which started to worry Monty.
"Why the devil are you staying around in my chambers, inflicting these ridiculous reminiscences. You are gibbering." "I mention these points to you because if you do not exchange cases in the way I propose, I shall resume my acquaintance with the very attractive female Times law correspondant to whom I shall make direct references on the best of all possible authority the way that you paid for the sexual services of the 'Two Trudies.' Every Thursday at eight. The press would be so very interested in the private life of someone who has gone on record in the interminable pompous moralising outpourings that has been inflicted on the poor suffering public. Do you know, the "two Trudies" are the very same women who I engaged in recent conversation with at Larkhall. They have excellent memories. If I remember rightly, 'he used to say his wife wasn't attractive enough to get him going, but then they all say that.' Legover Everard, that's what they know you as. Don't you think that the popular press's interest that there will be in one of the Atkins family appearing in court may spill over if by some chance, you sat in judgement in a case where Larkhall Prison will loom rather large." The way that John suddenly switched his tone of voice that was heavy on the consonants and made a very deadly use of sarcasm took Monty Everard aback. He remembered only too well what effective use he had made of the press in forcing the hand of the attorney General and, by implication, the entire government. It appalled his sense of proper order that such a maverick could wield such power. However, fear undercut his anger and the very possibility that the gossip, which had only circulated within the cloistered world of the bar, could become the stuff of public gossip. He imagined that the matter could spill out such that some wretched comedian like Rory Bremner does a 'Legover Everard' impersonation. His wife would not stand for it and never would the respectable circles in which he mingled in his native town by adoption of Henley, that bastion of conservatism. "It's only one favour that I am asking of you and I am willing to exchange one case in return. What could be fairer than that?" John persisted teasingly.
Something snapped in him, partly that intense desire to be rid of the one man that he couldn't stand over an issue that he had made in his pig headed way.
"You'll find the case with my clerk. Her room is right next to mine. I shall write a note to authorise you to pick up the case if you wish," Monty's muffled voice uttered the words of surrender very jerkily.
He scribbled a quick note, thrust it into John's hands and feebly poked with his forefinger in the general direction of the exit door.
"I'm so glad to have relieved you of a burden," John's parting words turned Monty's face from red to purple as his blood pressure rose.
John clutched the note firmly and strode eagerly out the door while Monty mopped his forehead with a handkerchief and reached for a decanter, half filled with whisky.
John smiled at the unfortunate careworn woman who had the onerous job of being nursemaid to Monty. She and Coope had often confided in each other and both had concluded that while John's turbulent private life had extended Coope's role in directions outside the traditional duties, John at least had a certain precision in the way that he worked and a natural consideration and kindliness which more than compensated for it. Life, for Coope, working for John was never dull. In contrast, Monty Everard's personal assistant was the overworked drudge for a spoilt little boy who treated her with a cavalier lack of consideration at best and with petulant tantrums at worst combined with a slipshod treatment of the papers, which passed through him.
"Oh yes, Coope advised me that you may be requiring the Crown versus Atkins file. It's at the top of my in tray ready for you to pick up if you want. You do want to collect it personally?" How the devil did she guess, John thought to himself, bemused at Coope's mysterious far-flung personal network that worked so impeccably for him. She popped it in his briefcase for him in a motherly way and they exchanged polite words before John excused himself.
That John Deed, such a delight to work for and such a charmer and not at all like the way that that tiresome man vilified him. Coope is a lucky woman, she thought as she adjusted her spectacles to focus on Monty Everard's spidery scrawl.
"Why on earth did you let Deed get his hands on the Crown versus Atkins case, Monty? After all the time you have lectured us about getting tough with him, you let yourself get walked over in this fashion. Above all else, this is a case demanding sound judgement and Deed is capable of acting in some outlandish fashion. I shall have to spend two weeks sitting on the hard benches in the gallery instead of doing the work I am paid to do," Sir Ian's somewhat amplified and irritated tones reverberated in Monty's left ear.
"Lawrence," he could hear a quieter voice directed away from the phone, "stop what you're doing. We are going to the Old Bailey." "Is there some kind of trouble, sir?" Lawrence James's head jerked sideways, yanked out of his concentration on the report he had in hand. He loved the peace and serenity of these moments contemplating his life's work.
"Deed is the trouble," Sir Ian said cryptically. "Come on." And Monty heard the phone slammed down on him.
Newmann Mason-Allen heard with utter alarm his worst nightmare come true. Instead of the amenable Monty Everard who let him and Jo Mills slug it out without interruption, he faced a second unpredictable antagonist in the name of John Deed situated up in the Gods whose notorious tendency to intervene without warning at a moment's notice and his brilliance at the law made him feel threatened and inferior. It was just his luck, he thought to himself.
John's impatient stride propelled himself across the large polished stone tiles of the Old Bailey.
"I've got the case," he spoke in low but triumphant tones.
Jo smiled warmly, pleased that he was the one judge who would at least hear Lauren Atkins without putting the pretried Atkins family reputation first before the court and to twist the trial to suit the herd prejudices of the judiciary.
"Do you know what you are taking on in handling the case, Jo?" he added in mistimed and misdirected concern for her. Jo was always subject to pre trial nerves that, its most directed, shaped it in an adrenaline flow which sharpened her mind to razor edged cutting form. The downside of that mood came out when her temper snapped.
"Seeing that we were up to our necks in what we knew about the case long before any arrest was made, we owe it to Karen Betts for the way we put her on trial and got it wrong," She snapped and then in softer vein she added, "I have to see it through to the end no matter what it takes. You know that, John." Expressionlessly, he nodded. The die was cast and it was time they all took their stands.