Barking (55 page)

What exactly had Luke meant by that, disgrace to the legal profession? All right, so Duncan wasn't the greatest lawyer that ever was. He'd been known to make mistakes: documents not filed at HM Land Registry, draft wills sent out with typos in them, advice to clients that was sometimes not as clear as it might have been, or even just plain wrong. Big deal. Everybody made mistakes, even partners; especially partners. What made a good lawyer wasn't avoiding cock-ups: it was knowing how to dance on top of them, like a crane-fly on water, until they no longer mattered or they'd been put right.

A disgrace, though? Well, he undercharged. That is, he tried not to overcharge, which was pretty much the same thing. He wasn't passionate about the job, which was Jenny Sidmouth's way of saying he didn't spend every waking moment creeping round everybody he met trying to sell them expensive legal services that they didn't need and couldn't afford. Fine. He'd never be a
great
lawyer, but that was a long way from being a disgrace to the profession. For two pins, he'd have broken the silence and asked Luke what he'd meant by it, but nobody wandered by and gave him two pins, so he didn't. Instead, he thought: it's not incompetence, it's not lack of greed and ambition, so what am I doing wrong? I do lawyers' work, I act like a lawyer, therefore I am one. I think.

I think, therefore—

I think like a lawyer, therefore
—

But of course. I don't think like a lawyer. Because if I'd been doing that, I'd have seen it a mile off. It'd have stood out like a lighthouse in the dark. Instead, I've been lying here bothering my head with clever plans and outsides of boxes and Gandhi.

A lawyer would've known what to do straight away. A real lawyer. Someone like, say, Bowden Allshapes. Or Luke Ferris.

Duncan wriggled round so that he could see his watch, which was lying on the chair next to his bed. Four o'clock in the afternoon. If he was quick, he could—

In a proper hospital, there's a bell or a buzzer to call a nurse. Duncan had to do the best he could with shouting and banging the bed frame with his good hand.

‘Are you all right?' He was pleased to see concern in Veronica's face, rather than annoyance at the row he was making. It took him a certain amount of effort to sideline that train of thought.

‘Do me a favour,' he said.

‘Sure,' Veronica replied. ‘What?'

He grinned. Pity there wasn't a mirror handy (but of course, no mirrors in the Crosswoods building), because he'd have liked to have seen the expression on his face. Just for once, he reckoned, he'd have looked like a lawyer.

‘Could you fax the probate registry for me?' Duncan said pleasantly. ‘I need a copy of a will.'

T
here is an office high up in a government building in Kingsway. It's the kind of office people end up in rather than aspire to. The work that gets done there is largely unimportant, though generally inoffensive, and although many of the people there are lawyers, they hardly ever sue anybody or make nuisances of themselves. They don't buttonhole slow-moving people at parties or hand out business cards at accident scenes; they don't pad their bills or charge their clients for sending them a card at Christmas. Work trickles in; it gets done, sooner or later, and everybody goes home at five o'clock.

‘Your ten o'clock's here, Mr Eddison,' squeaked Reception. ‘I'll put them in the interview room.'

Mr Eddison sighed, straightened his tie and put on his jacket. He didn't get many people coming to see him, and that suited him just fine. His preferred method of working was to bleat letters into a dictating machine, wherever possible using the standard forms set up on the computer: number thirty-four or number seventy-two, like ordering takeaway. If he'd wanted to be creative, he liked to say to himself, he'd have been a novelist. Still: the callers were from two well-known firms of solicitors (at least, he'd heard of them before). It wasn't as though he was going to have to face the General Public, or anything frightful like that.

There were three of them. There was a big tall man with long grey hair and a beard; another, rather similar; and a nice-looking young woman dressed in black, with rather alarming eye make-up. None of them looked like lawyers - that is, none of them looked like Mr Eddison - but he made an effort and rose above the incongruity. He read them their names from the note Reception had given him, and asked them to sit down.

They told him a story. It was, they assured him, quite true. He believed them because they were lawyers, and if you can't trust a lawyer, who can you trust?

Even so: ‘Are you sure about that?' he said eventually, when he could hear himself speak over the pounding of the blood in his ears.

The slightly less hairy man smiled at him. ‘Here's a copy of the will,' he said, ‘and certified-copy death certificates - I've numbered them all, look, they cross-reference to the will, and I've highlighted the names. The schedule of assets is mostly just what I was able to get from Companies House, so it doesn't include bank and building society accounts, land and property, minority shareholdings, anything like that. Probably just the tip of the iceberg, in fact. But I know for a certainty there's a complete schedule in the file, when you get hold of it.'

He pushed the papers across the table. Mr Eddison picked them up as though he'd just been handed a magic sword he didn't particularly want. ‘You're
sure
about this?' he said. ‘Only—'

‘Quite sure,' the other man said. ‘Take a look at the documents if you don't believe me.'

Mr Eddison winced. ‘Oh, I believe you,' he said. ‘Only . . . Are you
quite
sure? It seems so—'

‘You've got everything you need to get the court order,' the nice-looking woman said briskly. ‘I wouldn't hang about if I were you. The sooner you make a start, the better. After all, there's a great deal of money at stake here.'

‘Of course, yes,' Mr Eddison said. ‘Um - could you possibly give me a very general—?'

The less hairy man said a number.

Mr Eddison opened and closed his mouth four times. Then he said, ‘Are you
sure
?'

‘Yes.'

‘Ah.'

‘Quite a feather in your cap, I expect,' the hairier man said. ‘A bit of a coup for your department, and I don't suppose it'll do you any harm, either. Pity you're not on a percentage.'

The same thought had slipped quietly into Mr Eddison's mind, where for about five seconds it had much the same effect as a lighted match in a firework depot, before Security turned up and threw it out. ‘The sums involved are immaterial,' Mr Eddison heard himself say. ‘We just do our job, that's all.'

‘Of course.' But the very hairy man was grinning. ‘I can see you aren't in it for the thrill of the chase. Still, it'll be a bit of fun, won't it? I mean, one of the biggest corporations in the UK—'

‘Yes,' Mr Eddison said faintly. And because he was neither a werewolf nor a vampire, because he wasn't (he knew perfectly well, deep in his heart where he kept the poor, wilted thing that comprised his self-esteem) really a proper lawyer at all, he wasn't thinking about the money, or the conflict, or the intellectual challenge, or the irresistible scent of the prey. He was thinking, wretchedly, about all the extra work. ‘Yes, well. Leave it with me, and I'll—' He'd what? He had no idea. It was all too—

But there was one thing he had to ask. It was none of his business, he didn't need to know it, and quite probably it was something he ought not to know, in case it made things even more tiresome than they were inevitably going to become over the next year or so. But he was still at least nominally human, and so he asked, ‘Why are you doing this?'

The three of them pursed their lips almost simultaneously. Thinking about it later, Mr Eddison came to the conclusion that they were trying not to laugh.

‘It's our duty,' said the less hairy man, and the nice-looking woman made a soft noise that could well have been a suppressed giggle. ‘As citizens.'

‘And officers of the court,' the other man put in. ‘Duty of utmost good faith, and all that.'

‘Snrg,' said the woman, and she made a fuss of blowing her nose on a bit of tissue.

‘Yes,' Mr Eddison said firmly; because when someone looks you straight in the eye and lies to you, there's not a lot you can do about it if you're a civilised person. ‘Well then. Jolly good. Thank you,' he added. ‘Um, have a nice day.'

When they'd gone, Mr Eddison sat alone in the interview room for a good ten minutes, staring at the papers on the table in front of him. Not reading them; on the contrary, he was doing his best not to look at them, as though they were people he knew and didn't want to talk to. Most of his mind was simply numb with shock, but a small part of it was trying to remember: is a billion a million million or just a thousand million, or is that only in America?

 

She came in like any other client and sat, peaceful and well-behaved, in the waiting room until Veronica came down to fetch her.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting,' Veronica said. ‘Would you like to come on through?'

Bowden Allshapes smiled. ‘Is that necessary?' she said. ‘You can just send him out. Unless you'd like a receipt or something.'

‘Oh, there's just a few things. Nothing important.'

Bowden Allshapes shrugged. ‘Fine,' she said. ‘Nice to see you looking so well, by the way,' she added. ‘Last time we met you were—'

‘At death's door, yes.' Veronica held the fire door open for her. ‘And I never had a chance to thank you properly.'

‘It was nothing,' Bowden Allshapes replied. ‘I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Aren't we going to the interview room? It's down this way, isn't it?'

‘I thought we'd have our little chat in my office,' Veronica replied. ‘Less formal. Cosier. We can have a nice cup of tea.'

‘Please don't go to any trouble,' said Bowden Allshapes. ‘I'm sure you're very busy.'

‘It's no trouble,' Veronica said.

Duncan was there, looking subdued but calm, leaning against the coffin. Behind him, rather unexpectedly - ‘Mr Ferris,' Bowden Allshapes said. ‘This is a pleasant surprise. I suppose you've come to say goodbye to your friend.'

Luke Ferris shrugged. ‘Let's say I always like to be in at the kill,' he said, as he flipped open a big brass Zippo lighter and lit a stub of candlewick in the middle of a little dish floating in a bowl of water. ‘Essential oils,' he explained. ‘It's meant to be feng shui or something, but I don't understand that stuff. I like it because it's
smelly
.'

Bowden Allshapes smiled politely. ‘I don't blame you for taking precautions,' she said. ‘But I do hope that, after today, we can all be friends.'

‘Absolutely,' Ferris said. ‘Here's to no more running about.'

Bowden Allshapes nodded, making a mental vow as she did so that Luke Ferris would die gasping on some moonlit patch of urban waste somewhere. As for the girl - well, why single out individuals? They'd all have to go sooner or later, the bloodsuckers and the ambulance chasers. Duncan Hughes would give her control over the werewolves, thanks to his ability to defy the pack leaders; he'd also be a paw in the door of the vampire community, and that was all it'd take . . .
Three
birds with one stone. Hurrah for efficiency. It was simply a matter of time, a commodity of which she'd very soon have a more than adequate supply. ‘Well now, Duncan, ready when you are. Bags all packed?'

Duncan Hughes looked at her. ‘No,' he said.

‘Not to worry,' she replied. ‘Everything you need will, of course, be provided. I'm pleased to say that you can have your old room. We've made a few changes, upgraded the security just in case you should ever get itchy feet again. Oh, and George is waiting for us in the car. I expect he's looking forward to seeing you again.'

‘I bet he is.'

She nodded pleasantly. ‘His kind don't bear grudges,' she said. ‘Nothing to bear them with, you see. A zombie, I'm so sorry, a
revenant
needs a grudge like a fish needs - well, anyway. I'm so pleased, by the way, that you decided to - well, to come quietly, if that's not too melodramatic. So sensible of you; and of course, absolute peace of mind for your friends here. It's a far, far better thing, and all that. After all, I can't always be there to snatch them from the jaws of death. And your nearest and dearest do seem to have a knack of needing to be snatched. But that'll all change now, of course.'

The three of them exchanged glances, which was odd. Exchanged glances weren't on the agenda.

‘Before you go,' Veronica said, ‘perhaps you'd care to have a look at this.'

She was holding out a piece of paper, bless her, as though she was doing something clever. Bowden Allshapes smiled nicely at her, and took it—

 

‘That's right,' Duncan said. ‘It's a court order. Well, a copy of one. You're not actually entitled to see it, strictly speaking, because it's addressed to the board of your company, not you personally. But you'd know that,' he added sweetly, ‘being a lawyer yourself.'

Bowden Allshapes was reading. Duncan was astonished to see that her lips were moving slightly. ‘This is
silly
,' she said at last. ‘It says I'm dead.'

‘Well, you are, you know,' the woman said cheerfully. ‘We got a copy of your death certificate. At least, we got a copy of Bowden Allshapes's death certificate. Are you really sixty-seven? You don't look it.'