Her strongest line of attack was why the police should have failed to act when confronting Gossard's abrupt change in testimony in 'not knowing who Sally Anne Howe was' to saying they were in a consensual relationship. If it was generally known that Gossard had separated from his wife quoting physical and mental cruelty, then surely the Human Resources team should have known it as well. Or should they?
She considered another strand to the case where as Marian Chambers said at the original appeal hearing, 'there was a clear failure of the police to disclose material evidence." She wondered when this failure to disclose took place and who was responsible. Moreover character testimony was offered by Gossard's colleagues as to what a shining pillar to the community Gossard was. However, that would put his colleagues in the frame, not the Human Resources.
The more she thought about it, the more George realized that she really needed a smoking gun. She weighed the facts of Nikki's interrogation by the police, that they brushed aside Nikki's and Trisha's claim that Gossard had tried to rape her. That never appeared in the investigation at all.
Suddenly her mind was made up. She needed to talk to Claire Walker about the case. She reached for the phone and her secretary contacted her with Claire straightaway.
"I've been looking carefully through the Sally Anne Howe file and I want your opinions, Claire. Could you come over and see me?" George said in her most pleasant tones.
Claire smiled with pleasure at the courtesy and compliment she paid her as she headed out of her office to George's neatly appointed office within a stones throw of the Oxford Street shops. Not all barristers behaved that way. She was used to those who imperiously demanded that she run errands without explaining the purpose of them. George Channing had earned the reputation of being a demanding Prima Donna. She didn't just not suffer fools gladly, she didn't tolerate them at all.
"I'm all ears, George," she said when George's secretary waved her through.
"The problem is that I'm worried about how much we can rely upon the obvious approach of trying to smoke out the head of personnel into some damaging and incriminating admission of guilt. It leaves too much to chance on the day and if I were the opposing barrister, I would stonewall. I'd be happier with some utterly damning written admission that they knew that Gossard and his gang had conspired to drive our client out of the police force and considered her expendable or some such contemptible mealy mouthed expression that they use to justify their dirty work - like the 'greater good' for instance."
Claire was sufficiently emboldened by the other woman's invigoratingly frank manner to pop the question that demanded verbal expression.
"I like your use of the word 'we,' George."
"You mean, I'm not quite the power mad domineering woman you expected to find? Well," she drawled, picking up on Claire's smile and a nod of assent," you come to me with a good reputation and, in certain areas of my life, I'm changing my ways…… Right, so that we obviously understand one another, I am open for any helpful ideas."
"I can't think of anything that doesn't breach the Official Secrets Act always supposing we could find some obliging official. Could we get the judge to direct that such papers be made public to both sides?"
"I know," George confessed in a lowered tone of voice." That's what's bothering me. We might strike lucky in the choice of judge but I don't like hanging my hat on something like that."
Claire leaned back in her chair and let her imagination flow free and then an idea came to her mind. "Could I perhaps track down Gossard's widow and persuade her to talk? You never know, there may be a letter from the Prison Service that might be incriminating. After all, that was a year before he tried to rape Trisha Williams and some time before he raped our client."George's face spread in a broad smile of delight. She knew well enough to keep an open mind and to never dismiss even the most outside possibility. Things were starting to look up and started to make her feel more confident. One sudden thought crossed her mind, which wiped the smile off her face.
"One question, Claire and that is how well do you know our client?""Only indirectly, George. Helen Stewart is an old friend and I know her partner, Nikki Wade pretty well. Sally Anne is living with Trisha Williams who is Nikki's ex with whom she's still on friendly terms."
"It's a small world as they say," George said lightly, though she was secretly impressed, by this level of friendship in a world of which she knew nothing. Her experience of ex partners was to steer clear of them. John was the sole perverse exception but he was in a league of his own for reasons she still couldn't fully fathom. " Coming to the point, is there anything, literally anything, that the opposition could dig up on Sally that might prejudice our case?"
"As far as I know, Sally leads a perfectly blameless life but I could double check to be on the safe side."
"Do so," urged George forcefully. She hoped she had pitched the urgency of this at just the right level. " I know how malignant my fearful ex, Neil Haughton the Home Office minister is and he will stick at nothing in this matter."
*****
The last three weeks since the judge's strike had been the darkest on record for Sir Ian. His world had been built upon him greasing the wheels of justice, in seeking various means of finding accommodations between the sometimes, turbulent idiosyncratic judges and the pressures of the executive. He had learned to be skilled in the arts of diplomacy, persuasion, subtle pressures and in general balancing the use of both stick and carrot in judicious measures. He had also picked up skills in taking the edges off some crackpot scheme of the Home Office. Right now, he felt as if the foundations of this cozy world had been blown apart and the rule of anarchy let loose. He felt as if her had been precipitated into a grand social affair wearing only his pyjamas. He felt naked. The first few days after the strike felt strange. He visited the various judges in their chambers and superficially everything felt normal. The usual civilities had been exchanged but every judge that had been out on strike had that look of confidence and superiority in his eye that told him that the balance of power had shifted irrevocably. Huntley, the only judge to work that day, had utterly marginalized himself and was talked about as being an 'utter bounder' which was an upper class version of 'scab.' The damage done by that fool Haughton had been colossal and it was incumbent on him to talk to the man to see if he really intended to go ahead with the bill. He was absolutely certain from the press headlines that the judges had the power to bring the machinery of justice to a grinding halt.His conversations with Sir Alan Peasemarsh, the Attorney General were totally dismal and fruitless. All he and Haughton were doing were a 'pass the parcel' game of denying any responsibility and Sir Alan was being totally ineffectual in his Old Etonian fashion. Thus it was that he, Sir Ian Rochester, resolved to defuse the situation and to try and minimize the damage as far as was possible. It was clear that the bill was a total no hoper and should be allowed to die a quiet death somewhere in the hopes that eventually the revolutionary mood would sink back to normality. At some point in time, the illicit dormitory celebration had to come to and end and the rule of the prefects could gradually be restored.
'I wanted to have a word with you, Neil," Sir Ian asked rather hesitantly, seeing the glare in Neil Haughton's eyes." I was wondering if there are going to be further developments about the bill to restrict the power of judges."
"Curb. The word is curb, Ian," snapped Neil Haughton.
"As you will," Sir Ian compromised. He had no qualms about dressing up unpleasant actions in cozy sounding language but he felt that he was getting old, unable to really keep up with the latest politician's buzz words. After all, his occupation was not to fool and hoodwink the electorate. "I'm agreeable to any words you care to describe the bill. All I wanted to ask you are likely developments on the matter."
"You'll keep quiet on the matter."
"My lips are sealed," Sir Ian answered in his silkiest tone of voice.
"Well, between you and me, the PM wants to let the dust settle for a bit and then I'm going to move the bill in the next session. The opposition has no problems with it though they'll perform the usual Punch and Judy show at question time. Only the usual handful of rebels will oppose the bill and they're no problem," declaimed Neil Haughton in stony tones of voice.
Sir Ian could hardly believe his ears. The man needed certifying. Thinking about it afterwards, the situation must have been desperate, for him to have let rip like this. Forty or so years of repression and inhibition suddenly melted away in this instant.
"You may have no problems but this is political and judicial suicide. For one, you'll push the judges into further action. They've got the bit between their teeth and they're perfectly capable of taking strike action any time they want to. You're confirming John Deed as the hero of the hour, the one who saw everything happening a mile away. You'll even push Huntley into throwing in his lot with them. For God's sake, do you really want there to be twenty to thirty John Deeds, all beavering away at us. What the miners couldn't do to bring the country to its knees twenty years ago, the judges can. Do you really want that as your political epitaph?"
The reverberations of Sir Ian's outburst echoed round the stately corridor, much to his embarrassment. Decades of conditioning and his ancestry reclaimed him for its own like a glacier, obliterating everything in its path. He looked all around, smiled sheepishly at the other man's shocked expression as if to pretend that it wasn't him that had created the uproar.
Neil Haughton said nothing for a few long moments, his mouth set as tight as a trap. Normally, he shut away any destructive arguments and carried on regardless but the impassioned words did blast their way through the natural barriers. The prospect of his political suicide was the one thought to penetrate. He clasped his hands behind him and started to stalk off down the corridors of power while Sir Ian trotted after him.
"I need to think about what you've said, Ian and I'll come back to you as soon as I've reflected on the matter," he said stiffly.
Sir Ian had long experience of politicians not being seen to back down but finding their own circuitous way of doing a U Turn. That's what it amounted to however much they detested the merest accusation. They were practiced in doing just that and throwing up a cloud of verbiage to disguise the act. It didn't matter to Sir Ian as he drew a huge breath of relief. All he was concerned about was what this fool was going to do. The PR stuff to disguise this wasn't his responsibility. Mopping his brow with a neatly folded handkerchief, he rushed home to the security of his office. Maybe this nightmare might come to pass and he might achieve normality.