Rumpole and the Angel of Death (24 page)

‘Sherlock Rumpole? Have you brought the magnifying glass and the deerstalker?'

I turned to find young Argent of the
Trumpet
breathing down my neck. ‘I'm here,' I told him rather grandly, ‘to consult with my instructing solicitor. Our conversation is, as I'm sure you'll understand, entirely privileged.'

‘Kill the karaoke, sweetheart.' The reporter's voice rose high above the music, and to my amazement Miss Spiky smiled sweetly at him and plunged us into silence. ‘A word in your ear if I might, a very private word.' Argent ignored Bernard and ordered himself a brandy and soda.

‘I have no secrets from my instructing solicitor.'

‘Oh, but the lawyer we're going to talk about probably has. And this hasn't got anything to do with little Tommy Constant. Not for the moment, anyway.' Bernard, who could take a hint almost before it was dropped, filtered off to telephone his office and the man from the
Trumpet
opened a slim leather briefcase and laid a glossy photograph on the bar. I didn't look at it.

‘Are you offering me money?' I asked him.

‘I've already done that. We'd pay you awfully well for the How I'm Defending Baby-snatcher story. Might even run to a new hat, Mr Rumpole. No, what we're offering now is for information.'

‘What information?'

‘Take a look.'

I glanced down. What I saw was the prize idiot and Queen's Counsel, Claude Erskine-Brown, locked in the sturdy embrace of Ms Katerina Regen, and apparently administering mouth- to-mouth resuscitation to her on the front step of the Galaxy Hotel.

‘Top lawyer and judge's husband in afternoon bonk with German nightingale. Not a bad little story for us.'

‘They are simply friends,' I hastened to assure him. ‘I know he admires her voice.'

‘Admires her silver tongue so much that they went up to Room 307 together and didn't emerge from the Galaxy until five-thirty in the afternoon.'

‘He probably had nothing on in Court. It often happens.'

‘He might try to have something on in Court if we tell him we're publishing this. You wouldn't want us to do that, would you?'

I couldn't believe that after so many disastrously fumbled and frustrated attempts, Claude had actually succeeded in consummating an extramarital romance. ‘I don't see why I should care,' I told Argent. ‘You're not suggesting I was bonking anyone, I sincerely hope?'

‘The honour of your Chambers is at stake, sir. Its reputation for high morals and respectability. And think of the effect on her Ladyship, the learned Judge. Just about blow her wig off, wouldn't you say?'

He was right, of course. Phillida Erskine-Brown would be deeply distressed at seeing her husband splashed across the
Trumpet
as a post-prandial bonker. I will never lose a long and lingering affection for the Portia of our Chambers, now a High Court Judge, and I wanted to spare her pain.

‘I can't see that this' – I pushed the photograph back towards Argent – ‘is of the slightest interest to your readers.'

‘You don't know our readers, sir. They love reading about the great and good bonking. Saves them all the trouble of doing it for themselves.'

‘But you won't publish it?'

‘That depends.'

‘Depends on what?'

‘On whether you're going to give us another story: How I Defended Thelma.'

There was a long silence. Miss Spiky was baring her lips to a mirror, seriously examining her teeth. I said, ‘When would you want it?'

‘Run the first instalment the day before the trial. No desperate hurry.'

‘Can I have that picture?' I asked him. ‘Of course, you've got the negative.'

‘Of course.' He pushed Claude and the diva towards me. I stored them away in an inside pocket before Bernard came back.

‘One thing you might do for us,' Argent said, ‘if we keep your learned friend off the front page . ..'

‘What's that?'

‘Couldn't you just give me a little taster? Just a hint, you understand, of your approach to the defence of the wicked witch?'

‘Perhaps I'd say that if I were a wicked witch I think I'd be careful not to dress as one. But you can't print that yet.'

‘Understood! We'll save it for your first instalment. Anything else?'

‘Just that I wonder where Thelma Ropner is meant to have kept Tommy locked up, fed, cleaned and watered for a week.'

‘Have you any ideas?'

‘Not yet,' I said.

‘Let me know when you have. We'll be in constant touch.' Argent drained his brandy and left, leaving me, in spite of all the
Trumpet's
promises to make my fortune, to pay for it.

‘My name coupled with that of Katerina Regen?' Claude Erskine-Brown said, and I detected an unmistakable note of pride in his voice.

‘Not only are your names coupled,' I assured him, ‘everything about you is said to have been coupled also.'

The chump picked up the photograph and examined it closely. ‘Doesn't she look beautiful?' he purred at it. ‘And don't you think I'm looking rather young?'

‘Positively childlike,' I told him. ‘I'm sure Phillida will tell you what a spring chicken you look when she sees the front page of the
Trumpet
.'

‘That would not be a good thing.' Claude put the photograph back on my desk and I saw that his hand was now trembling. ‘Please put it away, Rumpole. In a sealed envelope, in case the clerk sees it. They won't really publish it, will they? Not in a
tabloid
?'

‘If I let them.'

‘You have some influence over the
Trumpet,
Rumpole?' Claude's voice was full of hope.

‘Perhaps a little.'

‘You would act for me in this matter?'

‘You obviously need help.'

‘On the whole,' he said, after having given the matter deep thought, ‘I think it's better that the very beautiful thing Katerina and I have for each other should remain a secret. It would be better for Chambers.'

‘And considerably better for you.'

‘I'm not in the least ashamed of loving Katerina.'

‘But Mrs Justice Phillida Erskine-Brown would condemn you to a long stretch of withering contempt if she got to hear about it.'

‘I suppose you're right. Perhaps you'll let me look at this from time to time, though? Just to remember.'

‘To remember what?'

‘The day I had lunch with Katerina.'

‘At the
Trumpet
they don't think that's all that you had.'

‘Don't they?' Claude was smiling complacently. He seemed, poor chump, to be deeply flattered. ‘It was a wonderful experience.'

‘How wonderful exactly?'

‘Well, we went into the restaurant.'

‘You would do if you were having lunch.'

‘And sat down.'

‘You amaze me.'

‘And talked about Schubert.'

‘Please, Erskine-Brown, spare me the embarrassing details.'

‘And then . . . Well, I touched her hand and I was about to tell her how much I really fancied her and I hadn't felt so, well, uplifted by any other woman. And then we were interrupted, rather rudely I thought.'

‘By her husband?'

‘Of course not. She hasn't got one. No. By the waiter who told us about that day's specials.'

‘Talkative bloke, was he?'

‘Honestly, Rumpole, he went on for what seemed like hours, all about sea bass grilled with aubergines and served with a light pesto and tomato coulis – and that sort of thing.'

‘He broke the spell?'

‘Exactly. And when I got back in my stride and said I felt my whole life in love and music was simply a prelude to that golden moment, that bloody waiter came back.'

‘And interrupted?'

‘He said, “Who's having the fish?” '

‘Put you off your stroke again.'

‘I'm afraid so. But we got very close after that. She asked me up to her room.'

‘So you did . .

‘Well, not exactly. I mean, she asked me up to give me her new CD. Strauss's last songs.' There was a lengthy pause.

‘Is that the end of the story?'

‘Until the next time.'

‘Next time?'

‘She said we must have lunch again. I knew exactly what she meant. She said, “I'll have longer for you next time.” I think she had another appointment that particular afternoon.'

‘The
Trumpet
thinks you strayed till five-thirty when you came out again and kissed.'

‘Does it think that?' Erskine-Brown gave me another chance to study his self-satisfied smirk. ‘Then it understands exactly how close we are to each other.' He made for the door and, on the way out, had another attack of anxiety. ‘I say, Rumpole. About that lovely photograph ... Of course, it would be a great deal better if Philly didn't see it in the paper.'

‘I'm bound to agree with you.'

‘So will you act for me in this rather delicate matter, Rumpole?'

‘I suppose I'd better. I must say you seem quite incapable of acting for yourself. What time did you leave the Galaxy Hotel?'

‘About two-thirty, I think. I went out of the back entrance.' As soon as the door had closed on him, I forgot Claude and his troubles. I had other things to think of. I thought of them for a long time and then I rang Bonny Bernard and asked him to send round copies of every piece the
Trumpet
had published about Sheena Constant and the Little Boy Lost. There was something in one of them, I felt sure, which was of great importance for me to remember. And then, to complete the story, I told him to get all they had written about Tina Santos.

‘Now, when I think about it again, I am sure that the voice I heard on the telephone the night we found Tommy, the voice that told us to go to nineteen Swansdown Avenue, was Thelma Ropner's. I was at school for many years with Thelma and we used to be close friends. I am prepared to give this evidence on oath in Court.' The Prosecution had served Sheena's additional statement on us and, with considerable reluctance, I had told Bernard to get Thelma in for another conference.

‘Is that what Sheena says?' Miss Ropner laughed, an eerie and not very comfortable sound. ‘Then Sheena is lying.'

‘Why would she lie?'

‘Because she doesn't like me. She's never liked me since I told her what a boring little company creep her precious Steve was.'

Another of Miss Ropner's insults had come home to roost, but there was no point in going on about it. Instead I said, ‘I just hope
you've
told me the truth. If you haven't, it's going to make life very difficult for me.'

‘Poor old you!' She was still laughing. ‘Can't you cope with difficult cases? Anyway, it's true. I didn't take Tommy.'

‘Did you tell us the truth about what you were doing during the week he went missing?'

‘I told you I was sleeping at the Edmundses and working during the day.'

‘Working at what exactly? Will you give Mr Bernard a list, with dates?'

‘Oh, you can't expect me to remember dates.'

‘I think you'd better try. And I don't suppose you'll have any difficulty in telling us where you're working now.'

‘Now?' The question seemed to shock her.

‘Yes. Where?' I lifted a pencil.

‘I told you!' She was making an exaggerated effort to control her irritation. ‘The Stick-Up Theatre Company. We've got a tour of Welsh community centres at the planning stage.'

‘What do you do with a client who won't stop lying to you?' I asked Bonny Bernard when Miss Ropner had gone off with no goodbye, only a look of undying resentment. Bernard smiled sadly, as though the truth was rare and unhoped-for among his clientele. Then I told him to engage the services of a seasoned, not to say elderly, private eye to discover exactly what Thelma had been up to during the week of Tommy's captivity. Ferdinand Isaac Gerald Newton (known to his many grateful customers as Fig Newton) was well known and respected by Bernard, who doubted if the legal aid authorities would pay him and dared we ask Thelma to dig into her handbag because we seriously doubted her word? ‘Try my friends on the
Trumpet
' I told him. ‘If they can afford Dom Perignon, they can afford Fig. I think it's the least they can do for us.'

‘I sent for you, Rumpole, as a senior member of Chambers, because I have had some most unhappy news.'

‘Then I'll be going. I've got quite enough worries at the moment.'

‘Claude Erskine-Brown,' Soapy Sam Ballard rabbited on, ‘has dishonoured his silk! He is likely to bring Equity Court into scandal and disrespect.' Pacing the room in a disturbed fashion, he had now blocked my passage to the door.

‘He's never pinched the nailbrush from the downstairs loo?'

‘These are serious matters, Rumpole. He has broken the Seventh Commandment. He has committed adultery – in the afternoon.'

‘Is that so much worse than adultery in the morning?'

‘He has been flagrantly unfaithful – to a High Court Judge.'

‘That's not his fault.'

‘Of course it's his fault.'

‘Not his fault that his wife's a High Court Judge.'

‘I suppose you'll say it's not his fault he's committed adultery! I suppose you'll put forward some ridiculous defence.'

‘Claude's no more capable of adultery than he is of winning a difficult case. His extramarital coitus is perpetually and incurably interruptus. I ask for – no, I demand – a verdict of not guilty.'

‘Rumpole! I have it from his own mouth.'

‘Then he's an unreliable witness.'

‘He has told me that this scandalous liaison is about to be exposed in the national press.'

‘In the
Trumpet
?'