Part Fourteen
Sir Ian prided himself in always knowing where his duty lay and he was able to sleep soundly with a clear conscience. Sir Ian could only remember one disagreeable occasion when that Houghton savage was arrogant enough to expect him to do some private business, which he had refused. Since then, the man had kept his distance from him, which meant that life could go back to normal.
It did not need to be spelled out in detail by the Lord Chancellor as they all agreed that the Atkins family were a notorious Eastend gangster family and resembled far too much the sort of dangerous characters that the more reprehensible soaps glamorised. The whole family needed watching, so their contacts in the CPS advised them and it was an opportunity of a lifetime when the daughter was arrested in very incriminating circumstances. The whole thing was an open and shut case and there should be no problem of securing a conviction. Sir Ian had got over his shock when it was dropped on him that Monty Everard had unaccountably been feeble enough to let deed take the case. Even that thorn in his side and generalised loose cannon, John deed, couldn't pull some peculiar looking rabbit out of a clown's hat and hand down some perverse sentence. After the first day, he felt more secure, even when Deed's paramour, Jo Mills, was up to her usual tricks.
Lawrence James was eager to tag along after Sir Ian and demonstrate his unfailing loyalty to the man on whom he depended on for patronage. His career was entirely dependent on what choices he made in being able to bask in the reflected glory of a rising star in the corridors of power. He studied his master's particular likes and dislikes very closely and he came to believe in them also. He walked alongside Sir Ian who was that important half a pace ahead of him.
"We ought to call by on the off chance and have a friendly chat with John. Who knows, it might eventually smooth good relations between us." To their consternation, their first sight of John was him on his sofa with his arm round just the sort of glamorous blonde that he would associate with. He didn't even bat an eyelid when they came in and, as a result, their reaction was distinctly frosty. "Why is it that whenever you come to visit me, I get the feeling that you have come to put pressure on me?" Sir Ian realised that the conversation was getting off on the wrong foot and now was not the time to needlessly antagonise John.
"Come, come, John," Sir Ian said in a falsely hearty tone of voice as he tacked an ill fitting smile onto his face. "We merely thought we would pop round and see how you are going on generally. We like to keep a regular informal contact with our judges and Lawrence and I thought only the other day that we had been somewhat neglecting you." Chance would be a fine thing, John thought.
"My Lord, we do not see enough of you these days," Lawrence James's earnest voice further confused John. He felt comfortable in a perverse way with them when they either threatened him or blustered at him, as at least he knew where he stood with them. On rare occasions when they attempted to be pleasant with him, he was sure that there must be a hidden agenda.
"Can I pour you a drink," he gestured to the drinks cabinet.
"A cup of tea if you don't mind," Sir Ian replied for both himself and Lawrence James.
They sat on the three-piece suite in frozen postures, making polite conversation in the manner of taking tea with the Queen.
"I trust the tea is to your liking." "The tea is most excellent, my Lord," Lawrence James replied.
"I hope that your work at the LCD is not too onerous these days." "As well as can be expected, John. The work of a government department never stays still and I seem to be buried in endless paperwork, proposed reorganisations and feasibility studies. The periodic little jaunt to chat to judges like yourself becomes a welcome break." While we are having a tea party, I ought to make sure that the mad Hatter and the Dormouse aren't too late was the irreverent thought behind John's fixed smile before he tired of this pantomime.
"And the next thing you will ask me is about the Crown versus Atkins trial that I am hearing?" John sneaked in the next question he knew they were deliberating when to ask him.
"Well, since you're asking, we were going to mention it out of mild interest what your thoughts are on the trial," Sir Ian replied, very much overdoing the note of bland indifference.
"This case cuts deep, Ian. The evidence on the face of it is very strong but I am always reluctant to form conclusions too early in a trial. From what I can see, the matter of the defendant's state of mind may become crucial. There are two very competent psychiatrist's reports which do not mesh together which is unusual." "Come, come, John," Sir Ian scoffed. "From what I have heard, the woman comes from a family which is as steeped in criminality as you and I are as steeped in the law." "That is a highly dangerous argument of guilt by association. I was a guiding principle of the KGB in its selections of wretched outcasts from a tyrannical regime who were subsequently thrown into the Gulag." "You must admit at the very least, John, that the facts of the case are extremely damning by themselves. I cannot conceive of any reasons why the defendant should not be convicted and punished in an exemplary fashion for so ghastly a crime. Burying a helpless man alive with a bullet in him, my God." John's features froze in horror, partly in what Sir Ian was rather tactlessly rubbing in and partly as, yet again, the hated double act just couldn't leave it alone. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a little while to let his emotions settle and he could think clearly. "It seems to me that you are operating strange standards here when I remember your attitude in advance of, and during the Atkins/Pilkinton trial. I remembered you saying how compromised the evidence was in relation to convicting Ritchie Atkins, the very brother of the defendant in the present trial. In this case, you are now saying that there is a cast iron case." "The argument is specious, John, as the cases are totally different." "And so are the attitudes of both you and your lord and masters," John cut back, getting as heated as Sir Ian was.
"You are being deliberately awkward. What possible obstacle is there in handing down a prison sentence to a woman who freely admitted that she brutally murdered the prison officer. It is, I repeat, an open and shut case." "Just as open and shut, is it not, that James Brooklands in broad daylight ran down a woman and her two children. Monty Everard saw fit to give the wretch a community service order and you were right behind his actions. If the Atkins family had made regular donations to party funds, you would, no doubt, be asking me if I could be persuaded to a similar act of clemency that that wretched judge did." "Your comparison is outrageous. There is no possible connection between some seedy East End villain and the founder of one of the country's most dynamic enterprises." "Oh, isn't there? I have been doing my own research on the Atkins family. The father, Charlie Atkins ran a car firm as a front for criminal drug smuggling operations for which he was charged, along with demanding money with menaces. The case for the crown was two pronged, that a comprehensive investigation into Mr Atkins accounts revealed expenditure far in excess of his declared income coupled with a dispute as to whether or not a large consignment of class A drugs, seized at the Atkins home was supplied to Mr Atkins with his full knowledge. Rumour has it that he had bribed the jury to convict only on the third and lesser charge of handling stolen goods. In the case of the Brooklands trial, no crude handover of money immediately before the trial was necessary. He had been making large regular contributions to a political party, which were designed to secure for him favourable conditions for his trading than he would have otherwise obtained. The same process was achieved by a nod and a wink in high circles. I freely admit that Mr Atkins empire was founded upon the exploitation of human weakness and an inciter of half the street crime whereas I cannot see anything in Mr Brooklands' business empire that I could take the slightest exception to. Nevertheless, the circuitous means by which the two men go to, to pay for justice favourable to them which the ordinary honest citizen is unwilling and unable to resort to are not so distant from one another. Who knows, if the father of the Atkins family had cleaned up their enterprises and had lived, he too would be knighted?" "By the way, John. Just who was that woman who was with you just now." It had to come to this, sighed John. It was only a matter of time but an adolescent side of his personality could not resist tantalising them. If he had been asked nicely rather than in an aggressive fashion with the obvious intention of causing mischief, he would have told them straight out.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" he teased.
"I bet Jo Mills would just love to know," Sir Ian snarled in a nasty tone of voice. "Wait a minute, I've seen that woman before, she was in the gallery and was a witness in the Atkins/Merriman trial. Yes, I have the answer, she's Karen Betts." All the time, Sir Ian had been making short jabbing movements with his forefinger as he probed to the bottom of the puzzle.
"I just knew you'd get there in the end, Ian. There will, of course be no problems as the PCC hearing duly pronounced that Jo Mills and I are friend and friend." "Then there is nothing more to be said. We shall, of course, observe the trial very closely from the spectator's gallery to keep an eye on you." Sir Ian had turned red with anger in the way that Deed had resurrected memories of one of the most almighty rows he had ever had with the LCD and the way that the damnable fellow had wrong footed him at the last. Lawrence James too, was angry to see thrown back in his face, the words he used to describe as 'circuitous means'. This referred to the way the 'offshore fund' had been apparently arranged for Deed's benefit to handle the proceeds of the printing firm belonging to Lady Rochester's aunt. Both of them remembered the way that the informal enquiry had blown up in their faces. Not content with that, he had brought up the way that Deed had lied his way out of trouble and had got away with it.
John sank back in his armchair to rest. If only he had been allowed to continue with the delightful company of Karen in place of the political commissars of the LCD, life would be so much more enjoyable.
Jo had virtually sleepwalked her way to her car and, after freshening herself up briefly, acted upon impulse and phoned up George and fixed up a quick visit.
"Jo. Come right in and join me for a drink." George's wide smiled greeted Jo as she opened the door wide to let her in.
"That sounds fine by me." They sat in the luxury of George's lounge while they sat back companionably together. "Jo, you look as if you have something on your mind. This isn't just a social call." "Well, no," Jo admitted. "I noticed Karen leave the court in a hurry and that you followed her. I was wondering what you found out had happened to make Karen react that way." George sipped the drink that she held in her left hand while she thought of a delicate way to drop the news on Jo. Finding none, she reverted to the way of telling a story that came naturally.
"If you remember, it was at the time that the blown up picture of the scar tissue on Fenner's body was shown on the wide screen. You know everything of her relationship with Fenner from about the time that their relationship had broken down. You've made the same mistake in pushing to the back of your mind that an intelligent attractive woman like Karen could have fallen for such a loathsome specimin of sub humanity as Fenner, the sort of human cockroach that you want to tread underfoot. You remember the Atkins/Merriman trial where you weren't much nicer to him than I was." Jo grinned at George's concise and witty description. "Karen explained to me that on Fenner's first day back at work after the stabbing, they ended up screwing in her office. Her words, not mine. She unbuttoned his shirt and saw the same criss cross of scars on his body that we saw on the wide screen and kissed them. It was a shock to her to have that moment brought back to her without any warning. She really thought that all her feelings were dead and buried…..Oh God what have I said," George suddenly blushed and added apologetically. "I keep making these faux pas." "I blame myself for not having found this out before or I would have intervened," Jo's voice was stiff with self-reproach as her guilt-ridden imagination took command of her thoughts. "There was no earthly reason for you to know, Jo. There are only so many questions you can ask when, after all, your main focus of attention is on Lauren Atkins. I would have done nothing different if I had been in your shoes," George reasoned generously. "I used to have this desire that everything in my life should never be less than perfect. I'll still try bloody hard and do my very best but I'll strive for the right reasons." A few tears came into Jo's eyes in the way that George had been so sweet and generous in trying to shoulder some of the blame onto herself. She still felt bad about the matter but not in that dreadfully self-isolating fashion that could spiral into depression. The room fell silent apart from the gentle sound of the wind outside and Jo started to feel easier in her mind when she reasoned to herself that, at least she knew and the very start of the trial was a better time to find this out and especially not when she was crossing swords with Neumann Mason-Alan.
"What do you mean, you've done it before?" Jo smiled suddenly. "I went for a lunchtime drink with the rest of them in the gallery. They were nice," George smiled reflectively. "They all drink and smoke like chimneys, except Barbara so I felt right at home. No smug, infuriating health freak to look disapprovingly at you, though, of course he doesn't actually say anything." "That's John all over." "Anyway, I started whinging on about that day that John forced me to spend a day at Larkhall before I realised that they had done months, if not years there. They were awfully nice about it. Terrible, wasn't it?" George finished in an embarrassed way.
"If that's the worst that can be said about you these days, you've nothing to worry about. I'm really grateful that you are around in the gallery to help out." Jo looked at her watch and regretfully decided that time had run away with her just when she was enjoying herself.
"Look, George, I've got to go." "Night, Jo, and make sure you get plenty of rest." George shook her head as she shut her front door. She was starting to make a real habit about concern for other people, she said fondly to herself.
Sir Ian prided himself in always knowing where his duty lay and he was able to sleep soundly with a clear conscience. Sir Ian could only remember one disagreeable occasion when that Houghton savage was arrogant enough to expect him to do some private business, which he had refused. Since then, the man had kept his distance from him, which meant that life could go back to normal.
It did not need to be spelled out in detail by the Lord Chancellor as they all agreed that the Atkins family were a notorious Eastend gangster family and resembled far too much the sort of dangerous characters that the more reprehensible soaps glamorised. The whole family needed watching, so their contacts in the CPS advised them and it was an opportunity of a lifetime when the daughter was arrested in very incriminating circumstances. The whole thing was an open and shut case and there should be no problem of securing a conviction. Sir Ian had got over his shock when it was dropped on him that Monty Everard had unaccountably been feeble enough to let deed take the case. Even that thorn in his side and generalised loose cannon, John deed, couldn't pull some peculiar looking rabbit out of a clown's hat and hand down some perverse sentence. After the first day, he felt more secure, even when Deed's paramour, Jo Mills, was up to her usual tricks.
Lawrence James was eager to tag along after Sir Ian and demonstrate his unfailing loyalty to the man on whom he depended on for patronage. His career was entirely dependent on what choices he made in being able to bask in the reflected glory of a rising star in the corridors of power. He studied his master's particular likes and dislikes very closely and he came to believe in them also. He walked alongside Sir Ian who was that important half a pace ahead of him.
"We ought to call by on the off chance and have a friendly chat with John. Who knows, it might eventually smooth good relations between us." To their consternation, their first sight of John was him on his sofa with his arm round just the sort of glamorous blonde that he would associate with. He didn't even bat an eyelid when they came in and, as a result, their reaction was distinctly frosty. "Why is it that whenever you come to visit me, I get the feeling that you have come to put pressure on me?" Sir Ian realised that the conversation was getting off on the wrong foot and now was not the time to needlessly antagonise John.
"Come, come, John," Sir Ian said in a falsely hearty tone of voice as he tacked an ill fitting smile onto his face. "We merely thought we would pop round and see how you are going on generally. We like to keep a regular informal contact with our judges and Lawrence and I thought only the other day that we had been somewhat neglecting you." Chance would be a fine thing, John thought.
"My Lord, we do not see enough of you these days," Lawrence James's earnest voice further confused John. He felt comfortable in a perverse way with them when they either threatened him or blustered at him, as at least he knew where he stood with them. On rare occasions when they attempted to be pleasant with him, he was sure that there must be a hidden agenda.
"Can I pour you a drink," he gestured to the drinks cabinet.
"A cup of tea if you don't mind," Sir Ian replied for both himself and Lawrence James.
They sat on the three-piece suite in frozen postures, making polite conversation in the manner of taking tea with the Queen.
"I trust the tea is to your liking." "The tea is most excellent, my Lord," Lawrence James replied.
"I hope that your work at the LCD is not too onerous these days." "As well as can be expected, John. The work of a government department never stays still and I seem to be buried in endless paperwork, proposed reorganisations and feasibility studies. The periodic little jaunt to chat to judges like yourself becomes a welcome break." While we are having a tea party, I ought to make sure that the mad Hatter and the Dormouse aren't too late was the irreverent thought behind John's fixed smile before he tired of this pantomime.
"And the next thing you will ask me is about the Crown versus Atkins trial that I am hearing?" John sneaked in the next question he knew they were deliberating when to ask him.
"Well, since you're asking, we were going to mention it out of mild interest what your thoughts are on the trial," Sir Ian replied, very much overdoing the note of bland indifference.
"This case cuts deep, Ian. The evidence on the face of it is very strong but I am always reluctant to form conclusions too early in a trial. From what I can see, the matter of the defendant's state of mind may become crucial. There are two very competent psychiatrist's reports which do not mesh together which is unusual." "Come, come, John," Sir Ian scoffed. "From what I have heard, the woman comes from a family which is as steeped in criminality as you and I are as steeped in the law." "That is a highly dangerous argument of guilt by association. I was a guiding principle of the KGB in its selections of wretched outcasts from a tyrannical regime who were subsequently thrown into the Gulag." "You must admit at the very least, John, that the facts of the case are extremely damning by themselves. I cannot conceive of any reasons why the defendant should not be convicted and punished in an exemplary fashion for so ghastly a crime. Burying a helpless man alive with a bullet in him, my God." John's features froze in horror, partly in what Sir Ian was rather tactlessly rubbing in and partly as, yet again, the hated double act just couldn't leave it alone. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a little while to let his emotions settle and he could think clearly. "It seems to me that you are operating strange standards here when I remember your attitude in advance of, and during the Atkins/Pilkinton trial. I remembered you saying how compromised the evidence was in relation to convicting Ritchie Atkins, the very brother of the defendant in the present trial. In this case, you are now saying that there is a cast iron case." "The argument is specious, John, as the cases are totally different." "And so are the attitudes of both you and your lord and masters," John cut back, getting as heated as Sir Ian was.
"You are being deliberately awkward. What possible obstacle is there in handing down a prison sentence to a woman who freely admitted that she brutally murdered the prison officer. It is, I repeat, an open and shut case." "Just as open and shut, is it not, that James Brooklands in broad daylight ran down a woman and her two children. Monty Everard saw fit to give the wretch a community service order and you were right behind his actions. If the Atkins family had made regular donations to party funds, you would, no doubt, be asking me if I could be persuaded to a similar act of clemency that that wretched judge did." "Your comparison is outrageous. There is no possible connection between some seedy East End villain and the founder of one of the country's most dynamic enterprises." "Oh, isn't there? I have been doing my own research on the Atkins family. The father, Charlie Atkins ran a car firm as a front for criminal drug smuggling operations for which he was charged, along with demanding money with menaces. The case for the crown was two pronged, that a comprehensive investigation into Mr Atkins accounts revealed expenditure far in excess of his declared income coupled with a dispute as to whether or not a large consignment of class A drugs, seized at the Atkins home was supplied to Mr Atkins with his full knowledge. Rumour has it that he had bribed the jury to convict only on the third and lesser charge of handling stolen goods. In the case of the Brooklands trial, no crude handover of money immediately before the trial was necessary. He had been making large regular contributions to a political party, which were designed to secure for him favourable conditions for his trading than he would have otherwise obtained. The same process was achieved by a nod and a wink in high circles. I freely admit that Mr Atkins empire was founded upon the exploitation of human weakness and an inciter of half the street crime whereas I cannot see anything in Mr Brooklands' business empire that I could take the slightest exception to. Nevertheless, the circuitous means by which the two men go to, to pay for justice favourable to them which the ordinary honest citizen is unwilling and unable to resort to are not so distant from one another. Who knows, if the father of the Atkins family had cleaned up their enterprises and had lived, he too would be knighted?" "By the way, John. Just who was that woman who was with you just now." It had to come to this, sighed John. It was only a matter of time but an adolescent side of his personality could not resist tantalising them. If he had been asked nicely rather than in an aggressive fashion with the obvious intention of causing mischief, he would have told them straight out.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" he teased.
"I bet Jo Mills would just love to know," Sir Ian snarled in a nasty tone of voice. "Wait a minute, I've seen that woman before, she was in the gallery and was a witness in the Atkins/Merriman trial. Yes, I have the answer, she's Karen Betts." All the time, Sir Ian had been making short jabbing movements with his forefinger as he probed to the bottom of the puzzle.
"I just knew you'd get there in the end, Ian. There will, of course be no problems as the PCC hearing duly pronounced that Jo Mills and I are friend and friend." "Then there is nothing more to be said. We shall, of course, observe the trial very closely from the spectator's gallery to keep an eye on you." Sir Ian had turned red with anger in the way that Deed had resurrected memories of one of the most almighty rows he had ever had with the LCD and the way that the damnable fellow had wrong footed him at the last. Lawrence James too, was angry to see thrown back in his face, the words he used to describe as 'circuitous means'. This referred to the way the 'offshore fund' had been apparently arranged for Deed's benefit to handle the proceeds of the printing firm belonging to Lady Rochester's aunt. Both of them remembered the way that the informal enquiry had blown up in their faces. Not content with that, he had brought up the way that Deed had lied his way out of trouble and had got away with it.
John sank back in his armchair to rest. If only he had been allowed to continue with the delightful company of Karen in place of the political commissars of the LCD, life would be so much more enjoyable.
Jo had virtually sleepwalked her way to her car and, after freshening herself up briefly, acted upon impulse and phoned up George and fixed up a quick visit.
"Jo. Come right in and join me for a drink." George's wide smiled greeted Jo as she opened the door wide to let her in.
"That sounds fine by me." They sat in the luxury of George's lounge while they sat back companionably together. "Jo, you look as if you have something on your mind. This isn't just a social call." "Well, no," Jo admitted. "I noticed Karen leave the court in a hurry and that you followed her. I was wondering what you found out had happened to make Karen react that way." George sipped the drink that she held in her left hand while she thought of a delicate way to drop the news on Jo. Finding none, she reverted to the way of telling a story that came naturally.
"If you remember, it was at the time that the blown up picture of the scar tissue on Fenner's body was shown on the wide screen. You know everything of her relationship with Fenner from about the time that their relationship had broken down. You've made the same mistake in pushing to the back of your mind that an intelligent attractive woman like Karen could have fallen for such a loathsome specimin of sub humanity as Fenner, the sort of human cockroach that you want to tread underfoot. You remember the Atkins/Merriman trial where you weren't much nicer to him than I was." Jo grinned at George's concise and witty description. "Karen explained to me that on Fenner's first day back at work after the stabbing, they ended up screwing in her office. Her words, not mine. She unbuttoned his shirt and saw the same criss cross of scars on his body that we saw on the wide screen and kissed them. It was a shock to her to have that moment brought back to her without any warning. She really thought that all her feelings were dead and buried…..Oh God what have I said," George suddenly blushed and added apologetically. "I keep making these faux pas." "I blame myself for not having found this out before or I would have intervened," Jo's voice was stiff with self-reproach as her guilt-ridden imagination took command of her thoughts. "There was no earthly reason for you to know, Jo. There are only so many questions you can ask when, after all, your main focus of attention is on Lauren Atkins. I would have done nothing different if I had been in your shoes," George reasoned generously. "I used to have this desire that everything in my life should never be less than perfect. I'll still try bloody hard and do my very best but I'll strive for the right reasons." A few tears came into Jo's eyes in the way that George had been so sweet and generous in trying to shoulder some of the blame onto herself. She still felt bad about the matter but not in that dreadfully self-isolating fashion that could spiral into depression. The room fell silent apart from the gentle sound of the wind outside and Jo started to feel easier in her mind when she reasoned to herself that, at least she knew and the very start of the trial was a better time to find this out and especially not when she was crossing swords with Neumann Mason-Alan.
"What do you mean, you've done it before?" Jo smiled suddenly. "I went for a lunchtime drink with the rest of them in the gallery. They were nice," George smiled reflectively. "They all drink and smoke like chimneys, except Barbara so I felt right at home. No smug, infuriating health freak to look disapprovingly at you, though, of course he doesn't actually say anything." "That's John all over." "Anyway, I started whinging on about that day that John forced me to spend a day at Larkhall before I realised that they had done months, if not years there. They were awfully nice about it. Terrible, wasn't it?" George finished in an embarrassed way.
"If that's the worst that can be said about you these days, you've nothing to worry about. I'm really grateful that you are around in the gallery to help out." Jo looked at her watch and regretfully decided that time had run away with her just when she was enjoying herself.
"Look, George, I've got to go." "Night, Jo, and make sure you get plenty of rest." George shook her head as she shut her front door. She was starting to make a real habit about concern for other people, she said fondly to herself.