The Verdict (36 page)

‘What is it we do here, Terry?’ Sid Kopf asked, a few long beats of silence after I’d finished talking to him about Fabia. It was the fifth time I’d gone over what happened.

‘Pardon?’ I asked.

‘What is our business? Our trade? How do we make money?’

Outside it was raining. A steady, unending soak of slanted wetness that pinged off the lattice window and metal balcony, and filled the office with a light background noise akin to a distant stampede.

‘We’re a law firm,’ I said.

‘What does that mean?’

‘Where’s this going?’ I asked.

‘Humour me, please.’

‘We provide a full range of legal services to our clients.

‘
Legal
services. As opposed to
il-legal
ones, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘What you did was
il
-legal. Are you aware of that?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you knew before you did it, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but —’

‘You did it all the same? We talked about this last week, remember – your “methods”?’

No comeback to that, and he wasn’t expecting one. Point made, he leaned in and parked his elbows on his desk.

‘Why didn’t you wait for Janet instead of going in?’ he asked.

She was sat to my left. Neither of us had taken our wet coats off. We’d come straight up here from the train station. I’d stood outside while Janet briefed him with the door closed. Fifteen minutes. Then I finally heard her voice, irate and snappy. I thought of my parents and how they’d always had their domestics where they thought we couldn’t hear them. When a room wasn’t free, they’d stand out in the street and bollock each other.

Janet hadn’t bitten my head off as I’d expected, not when I recounted Fabia’s story. It stunned her. She went pale, looked frightened. Then she took out a digital recorder and got me to repeat what I’d said. I tried to apologise for the trouble I’d caused, but she wafted that away like it was of no consequence.

‘I wasn’t sure Fabia was the right person,’ I said. ‘I didn’t want Janet to come all the way out to Southend for nothing.’

‘In other words, you did this to cover your back and save face?’

‘I suppose so, yeah, but —’

‘You thought it best to put the firm’s reputation on the line instead of your own,’ he said. ‘Do you know the kind of trouble you almost landed us in?’

‘I’m sorry about that, I truly am,’ I said.

‘A firm’s reputation is everything in this business. A firm cannot be seen to violate the very thing it represents. It’s unethical. And this is one of the few sectors where ethics count as much as winning and losing trials. Did any of that even occur to you?’

‘I decided…’

‘Wrong. You had
no
decisions to make. You know why? You don’t make decisions. You’re not
qualified
to make decisions. Solicitors and barristers make decisions. Not clerks. You just write them down, type them up and file them away. You follow orders. And, most of all, you know your place.’

Not even a week ago this same man had slipped me a cash bonus.

‘I thought you encouraged initiative,’ I said.

‘What you did was not initiative. It was good old-fashioned stupidity. And that I
don’t
encourage.’

We stared each other down. After what I’d been through last night and this morning, not to mention the eight hours I’d spent in a cell in-between, this old man with his motionless white hair wasn’t even close to intimidating me.

‘With all due respect, Mr Kopf, I think you’re missing the point,’ I said.

‘
Really?
’

‘Have you taken into account
anything
I’ve just told you?’ I said. ‘Fabia Masson – a witness who could well have put a stop to this trial – was murdered in custody. I think it’s fair to assume she was killed to stop her becoming that witness.
Our
witness. Just like I think it’s an equally fair assumption that she was murdered by the same people who killed Evelyn Bates and framed Vernon James. And you’re sitting there, waffling on at me about ethics I violated, while a person I talked to yesterday in connection with this case is lying dead on a slab – and while
our
client is in prison for something he didn’t do.’

Kopf didn’t so much as flinch.

‘You’re the one that’s missing the point, Terry. Innocence is nothing without
proof
of innocence,’ he said.

‘I
know
that,’ I said. ‘But this case is now about more than a man killing a woman in his hotel room.’

‘Not to us. We’re lawyers, remember, not the police.’

‘What would you have done in my position, then?’

‘I wouldn’t even have
been
in your position.’

‘You haven’t got where you are without taking risks.’

Kopf looked at Janet in disbelief. She found her wet shoes more interesting.

‘You want to talk about risk, do you?’ Kopf said. ‘Stephen Purdom and I started this firm in 1962. We had all of one client then. A man like us, just starting out.

‘That was the biggest risk I’ve ever taken. And we’re still here, forty-nine years later. You know why? Some of it was down to luck, some of it down to hard work, but most of it was simple maths.

‘The risk I took then was calculated. I worked out the pros and cons in advance. I weighed up how much I could afford to lose by how much there was to gain. When gain outweighs loss by a significant amount, take the risk. But never be blinded by the gain. Always remember what you have to lose. You were blinded by the gain, weren’t you?’

‘I didn’t think about it that way,’ I said. ‘It was about doing the best for our client.’

‘Rubbish!’ Kopf thundered. ‘This was about getting ahead here – and don’t pretend otherwise.’

‘Yes,
that
too,’ I said. ‘But I’m more interested in winning this trial.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Vernon James did
not
kill Evelyn Bates. And you can go on about the law all you bloody well want, but our client is
innocent
. And Janet knows it. Don’t you?’

I looked to her for support. But her shoes still had her hypnotised. What the hell was wrong with her?

Kopf sighed.

‘In a way, I should thank you for your candour. It’s quite obvious to me you don’t care about yourself any more than you do this firm. You haven’t even tried to pretend otherwise,’ he said. ‘Ambition is all very well and it’s nourished and cherished here, but it has its limits. What you did was reckless, foolhardy and completely wrong. A lawyer must be cold, rational and detached. They must also look before they leap. You’re obviously completely wrong for this firm, but also, I think, for this profession. So I want you to get your things and leave. If you’re not out in five minutes, I’ll call security.’

Now I couldn’t meet his eye. I’d been expecting this from Janet when I was released from Southend nick. But then, on the train back, seeing her reaction to what I told her, I thought I’d be OK, that we’d be devoting our energies to proving Fabia’s story. Funny how it was turning out here. When I expected to be fired, I wasn’t. When I didn’t…

I looked over the photographs on the wall behind him, hanging off the wood panelling like flaking monochromatic scales, all except for the larger one in the middle; the centrepiece, that big sunstruck building with the black Morris Minor parked close by.

Then I walked out.

I only had three personal effects in the office: a birthday card Amy had painted me, and an essay Ray had written for school a couple of years ago. It was called ‘My Hero: My Dad’. I kept them there as a kind of talisman, something to look at and remind myself why I was putting up with all the crap Adolf threw my way. The last was my lunchbox in the fridge, and the sandwiches and apple I’d brought to work yesterday.

As I sat at the desk, with my wet coat still on, I almost laughed. My lunchbox was empty. Adolf hadn’t just eaten the sandwiches, but the apple too, which was a first. All she’d left me was a crumpled, lipstick-stained napkin and a few crumbs.

I put everything in my bag.

‘Bella?’

Adolf stopped typing and glowered at me, irritated.

‘This is goodbye,’ I said.

Surprise.

‘But, before I go, there’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for the longest time.’

The others had heard. Keyboards stopped chattering. Iain peered over his cubicle.

‘You’re a sad, pathetic, mean-spirited little squirt. If you put half as much effort into your work as you do into protecting the trivial pisspot Reich you run here, you’d probably do quite well for yourself. But you don’t, so you won’t. This is the best it’ll ever get for you. Enjoy.’

She was incredulous, open-mouthed, crimson.

I slung my bag strap over my shoulder and stood up.

‘Oh, and by the way – you know that sandwich you helped yourself to? I spat in it when I made it yesterday morning. Just like I have in every one of the sandwiches you’ve helped yourself to.
Bon appetit
and fuck you very much.’

And, head held uncommonly high, I walked out of the office.

I didn’t get far.

‘Terry!’

It was Edwina, hailing me from the stairs.

‘Can you come up, please?’

They had to give me my P45.

I followed her upstairs.

Kopf’s door was open. Janet was still sitting there, but no longer watching her feet. It was Kopf’s turn to ignore me. He was leaning back in his chair, arms folded, staring off into space.

‘Close the door,’ Janet said.

I did as asked and took a couple of steps in, staying out of their immediate radius.

‘I
personally
think you did the right thing yesterday. You just went about it the wrong way,’ she said. ‘The truth of the matter is, I wouldn’t have come to Southend based on your hunch. You had no way of being sure it was Fabia. And there’s no way you could have verified her identity without talking to her. Firing you, in that respect, is
completely
unfair. Besides, if things hadn’t gone so wrong, you would’ve been a hero.’

I didn’t look at Kopf.

‘We’re also far too close to the trial to lose you, frankly. We’re a good team. Christine likes you. And Vernon will want to have familiar faces around him. It’ll be bad for his morale if a key member disappears. So Sid and I have talked this over, and he’s prepared to withdraw your dismissal – on one condition.’

I glanced at him. The old bastard was inscrutable.

‘You can only leave the office during working hours accompanied by me, Liam or Christine. No more unsupervised field trips. That includes doing the rounds with Andy Swayne. And strictly
no
investigating Fabia’s murder. That’s the police’s job. Ours is to prepare for trial.’

Grounded, like a disobedient kid.

‘Are you prepared to accept those conditions?’

So ‘safe’ for three more months. Time to get my CV together and start looking for another job.

‘Yes, I am,’ I said.

‘All right then. Go back to work.’

It’s one thing to despise people you have to work with every day, and quite another to tell them. They should never know.

When I walked back to the office, freshly reinstated, the three of them all stared at me in silence and with predictable surprise. Yet there was also something else in their looks – wariness. The last time I’d provoked that particular collective reaction was in Stevenage, back in the Dark Ages, when I used to walk into pubs, binge-primed.

I took off my coat and jacket and rolled up my sleeves.

It was going to be a long few months.

As a rule, I don’t cry. It’s in my genes. I come from undemonstrative stock. The Flynts are born pessimists and stoic with it. We were weaned on spilled milk. But when I walked into the living room that night and saw my family sitting around the dinner table, the tear dam almost ruptured. Knowing I’d come so close to losing them, to never seeing them like this, doing something as simple as eating together, almost overwhelmed me.

‘Where’ve you been, Dad?’ Ray asked, stern-faced.

‘Occasionally, in this job, you have to work overnight,’ I said, helping myself to dinner. Karen had made spaghetti Bolognese.

‘Mum was worried,’ he said, reproachfully. In his dark eyes, I saw the adult he was becoming; the stern parent too.

I looked at Karen. I’d phoned her an hour ago. I hadn’t told her much, except that I was coming home and would explain everything. She’d sounded equal parts relieved and pissed off.

‘I know. I’m sorry. I really am,’ I said.

I took Karen’s hand and squeezed it, gently. Amy beamed at us. All was right in her world. Her dad was home. Her family was together. And she was eating her favourite dish. It didn’t get any better than that for her.

‘It’s all right,’ Ray shrugged. ‘Just this once.’

Amy laughed.

And I did too.

Then Karen, and, lastly, Ray.

Thank God I was home.

Later, Karen made coffee and we sat alone at the table. I hadn’t slept in over thirty-six hours. I was drained. But we had to talk.

So, for the sixth and final time that day I reeled out what had happened at Southend nick. Except now I was barely conscious of what I was saying. I felt my mouth moving and heard sounds coming out, and saw it all apparently making perfect sense to my wife, but I might as well have been talking in my sleep.

‘
Un-believable
…’ she said at the end.

‘Yeah… I know I —’

‘You used the one and only phone call you had to call that copper.’

‘What was I supposed to do?’

‘You could’ve called me,’ she said. ‘You
should’ve
called me.’

‘I had
one
phone call,’ I said.

‘I was worried out of my mind when you didn’t come home last night. And then, this morning, when I got up and you weren’t there… I was
scared
, Terry. I didn’t know what had happened to you!’

‘Look, I know, I —’

‘Why didn’t you call me?’

‘I —’

‘You didn’t even call me from Southend when you were waiting for Janet,’ she said, getting angrier and redder, and fighting to keep her voice down so the kids wouldn’t wake up.

‘I called you as soon as I could, but —’

‘You should’ve called me
from the fuckin’ station
!’

‘What could you’ve done?’

‘I could’ve got you a lawyer and called DCI Reid. That’s what I could’ve
done
, Terry.’

‘Yeah, but…’

‘Did you even
think
about us? Your family? Your kids asking where you were? You didn’t, did you?’

‘Of course I did, Karen.’

‘Bollocks.’

She was cutting me off at every corner. We both knew she was right. Despite my tiredness I was sticking to the rules of domestic combat.

‘You care more about this bloody case, don’t you?’ she said, bitterly, tearing up.

‘No. That’s not it.’

‘One phone call you get.
One!
And you don’t even call me.’

What could I say to that?

I hadn’t. Janet had been locked up, and I wanted DCI Reid to hear Fabia’s confession.

‘You don’t understand, Karen. This was… This wasn’t… Look, I didn’t want to involve you, all right?’

She gawped at me, stalk-eyed with amazement.

‘But I
am
involved, you daft twat! We all are.
All
of us here. We’re your
family
for Chrissakes! You got locked up on a
murder
charge! What if you were still locked up?’

I was too knackered to think.

I looked at the digital photoframe on the mantelpiece. Our marriage seemed to be flashing before my eyes in slow motion. Us on our wedding day at Wandsworth Registery Office, Ray in-between; us on our honeymoon, Ray wearing my sunglasses; us with Amy in hospital, Ray cradling her with a proud smile on his face; Amy’s christening at St Mary’s Church on Battersea Embankment; the four of us celebrating our first Christmas in Manchester.

Then I yawned. I couldn’t help it. The reflex kicked in before I had time to catch it.

‘You know what, Terry? I’d call you selfish, but selfish people only put themselves first. You don’t even do
that
much. You put that bloody case before
everything
.’

I could barely form coherent thoughts, let alone muster up the words to answer.

‘What are you going to do when this is all over, eh? Have you thought that far? When they kick you out of that firm? When there’s no more trial and no more Vernon James? What are you going to do then?’ she asked.

‘What do you mean?’ I said.

‘I’ve never seen you so motivated in your life. I’ve never seen you chase anything with this kind of…
passion
before. Not even me. This case is the first thing I’ve ever seen you
really
care about. It’s all that matters to you. All you think about. And it’s scary. And
you’re
scary. ’Cause you can’t see what it’s doing to you, to us.’

‘And what would that be?’

‘I rest my case,’ she said. ‘You can sleep on the fuckin’ couch.’