Court Out (8 page)

I exhale. If this is true then Serena has really messed up. I’m going to have to explain all of this to the Judge in a minute and hope he’ll allow Mr. Lenihan to remove his plea. Serena will have to come to court to explain herself too.

“Right Mr. Lenihan, I’ll make the court aware of your position and don’t forget that the Judge will have a copy of this report too, so all is not lost yet.”

I spend a few minutes reminding him of the possible consequences of this route and leave him, satisfied that he knows his options. Why on earth would Serena have done this? Of course, it may all be a load of nonsense concocted by Mr. Lenihan in an attempt to backtrack, scared of what the Judge might do to him today. Relief washes over me. Yes! That must be it. He’s just panicking about going to prison and wants to buy himself more time.

I open the brief and look for Serena’s endorsement from the last occasion. It’s customary to get Defendant’s ‘signed up’; asking them to put their name to a paragraph on the back of the brief confirming that they do want to plead guilty and that no pressure has been put on them to do so. Despite several minutes spent carefully poring over the pages, I can’t find anything resembling this. Damn. I turn on my phone and try Serena’s number several times but her phone appears to be switched off.

As Mr. Lenihan’s case is called on into court I hear my heart beating in my ears and feel slightly nauseous. It’s one thing when you have to explain your mistakes to a crowded court, but to have to land a friend in it is a whole different story. I push open the heavy door and see with horror that the well of the court is full of barristers from our set of Chambers, including a number of very senior members. In my head I try and formulate a paragraph that will let the Judge know what has happened without telling everyone assembled.

I take my seat at the front of the court and wait for the Defendant to be identified. After Mr. Lenihan has confirmed his details, I rise shakily to my feet and speak

“May it please Your Honour, I represent the Defendant and my Learned Friend Mr., Mr.-”

Oh no. What’s Glenn’s surname? I look helplessly over to where he is sitting in the hope that there will be something identifying near him. Most barristers write their name in big letters on the side of their Archbold so they don’t get stolen, but I can’t see one anywhere near him. After a long pause, I accept defeat and lean over.

“What’s your surname?” I whisper.

He looks at me mischievously, playing with a calculator in front of him.

“What’s it worth?” he sniggers.

“It’s worth the use of your right foot,” I threaten, indicating to my heel hovering precariously close to his toes.

“Shepherd” he squeaks, quickly moving his foot out of the danger area.

I straighten up and give the Judge a winning smile.

“I represent the Defendant and my Learned Friend Mr. Shepherd prosecutes. As Your Honour will have seen from the pre-sentence report, there is an issue over the guilty plea entered on the last occasion, so it is my application to adjourn for a hearing to determine whether or not that plea can be vacated”

Phew, no mention of Serena, no mention of coercion. All good. I look up to see if I can read what the Judge is thinking. With a sinking feeling, I remember that this Judge is a civil barrister, sitting part time in the Crown Court.

“Miss Chase, remind me please of the circumstances in which a Defendant can vacate their plea.”

I do, skimming briefly over the relevant passages in Archbold. I hope this will satisfy him.

“Miss Chase, in this case, what do you say is the reason for the need to vacate the plea?”

I answer this question as obliquely as I can, making reference to various paragraphs in the pre-sentence report without actually reading them out.

“Ah, I see Miss Chase. So what you are actually saying is that the barrister who represented him on the last occasion forced him into pleading guilty?”

I enjoy playing poker. I love the thrill of waiting to see if you have a winning hand, the rush of beating the other players and the victory when you take the pot. Unfortunately, I have the world’s worst poker face. You can tell instantly by looking at me what type of cards I have; I’m easier to read than The Sun. Regrettably for me, this characteristic doesn’t only apply when I’m playing cards, and I know at this moment I’m most likely scowling at His Honour.

“No. That’s not what I said. I said that that is what the Defendant alleges to have happened,” I answer, trying to keep my voice even.

“I’m sure you’d agree it’s quite a serious allegation he makes, asserting that having a trial would be a waste of his counsel’s time?” he retorts, clearly unimpressed with my efforts.

“Well yes, but of course that allegation will need to be tested”

He frowns back at me, sits up straighter and delivers his final blow, speaking slowly and clearly.

“So Miss Chase, who was it again that represented Mr. Lenihan on the last occasion?”

With a heavy heart I consider giving an incoherent reply but know that I’ll just have to repeat it until he is satisfied. Instead I answer.

“The allegation has been made against Miss Taylor, Your Honour”

I can hear murmurs around me and know that by lunchtime Serena will be the subject of many conversations, most versions exaggerated to include all sorts of dishonesty. I’d better contact her as soon as possible to let her know myself before one of the gossip-mongers gets to her.

The case is eventually adjourned until later in the week to try and get to the bottom of what went on with Mr. Lenihan. My other case with Ms Goodridge goes without a hitch and we are miraculously lucky to get a trial date set for two weeks time given that it’ll only take a day or so to complete.

As I walk back to Chambers I try Serena’s mobile again. This time it rings a few times then goes to answer phone. Maybe I’ll see her in Chambers later.

Chapter Six

I don’t see or hear from Serena until the following Sunday. Sebastian and I are sitting having lunch in our local pub: he’s stuffing himself with their legendary beer battered fish and chips topped with a mountain of creamy mushy peas, and I’m trying to be somewhat restrained with a grilled chicken and Mediterranean vegetable salad. I suspect that my hard work has been undone by the bottle of wine we’ve ordered, but it is the weekend after all. As I fork up another yummy mouthful of aubergine and peppers, I hear the strains of my favourite boy band coming from my jacket pocket and Sebastian rolls his eyes.

“Finally!” I exclaim, examining the display. I’ve been worried that I haven’t heard from her. If I hadn’t have been so busy I’d have gone round to find out what’s been going on with her. I chew my food, swallow and answer my phone.

“Serena! Where on earth-”

A cold, angry voice cuts me off.

“How could you let this happen?’

I drop my fork onto the wooden table. Sebastian looks at me questioningly.

“Eh? Let what happen?” I ask.

“I thought we were friends,” she continues.

She’s totally lost me and I tell her the same.

Her voice breaks.

“Lenihan. You could have stopped it from getting that far. Do you know how embarrassing that was on Friday? Having to explain to a packed court that no, I didn’t force him to plead guilty!”

I take a long swig of my wine and splutter as it goes down the wrong way. Still coughing, I try to explain.

“What was I supposed to do? He was adamant. Plus the judge knew something was up from the report?” I’m still coughing and decide that perhaps another attempt at the wine is a good idea. I can hear Serena breathing down the phone, planning her next line of attack.

“You could’ve told the judge that he wanted to maintain his plea and be sentenced despite what he’d told probation. We do it all the time!”

“Yes, when they do actually want to be sentenced! Lenihan didn’t and I wasn’t going to lean on him” I reply indignantly “That’s what started this problem in the first place! ”Shit. I think I just stepped over a line. “Look Serena, I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t have done anything underhand, but I was over a barrel. I’m not going to lie to the court. Can you imagine if that got out? I’d be toast. Plus, I didn’t think for a second that you’d be in trouble. How did it go anyway?”

“He’s been allowed to vacate his plea,” she replies forlornly.

“Well I’m sure that’s just to shut him up. Nothing to do with you. Please don’t think I did anything to make you look at fault or indicate that I believed him. Ask anyone there if you don’t believe me!”

Sebastian stands up and points at the now empty bottle of Sancerre which I interpret as ‘Do you want another drink?’ I nod, hoping that is in fact what he means and not in fact ‘You’ve got through that quick, don’t you think you’ve had enough.’

Serena sighs on the end of the line.

“Ok, I’m sorry, it’s just been a rough week. I was out of court until Wednesday then was left to deal with this mess.”

“You should have called me! You shouldn’t have let this fester!” I cry.

She pauses. “I was in the clerks room on Monday afternoon and saw your diary on the computer over Roger’s shoulder. I didn’t want to bother you as you’ve been so busy.”

“Don’t be daft. And, whilst on paper I’ve been busy, it’s been bitty things, hardly going to make me rich!” I exclaim. This is true; I’ve spent most of the week travelling around the Midlands doing odds and sods for other members of Chambers.

 “Serena, you’re my best mate. I’m your bridesmaid! I’m never too busy for you.”

“Promise?” she asks.

“Promise, you Muppet. Anyway, it’s you who’s going to be to be run off your feet this time in a fortnight! You’ll probably blank me in the cafe when you’re sitting with your high flying friends and ignore me when I wave at you in the bar, of course you won’t be allowed to socialise with me anymore,” I joke. “When you’re on Midlands Today as part of the ‘Murder Defence Team’ you won’t want to be seen with a lowly barrister like me, prosecuting the careless drivers of the region.”

She giggles.

“Ewan seems to think that too. I’ve tried to reassure him that I don’t actually have to do anything apart from writing down what’s happening but he’s not convinced. Mind you, I hope I am included in some of the extra-curricular parts.”

“Like what?”

“Well the case dinner for a start,” she muses.

“Always a recipe for disaster!” I laugh, “Getting drunk on a school night is never the best idea, but doing it with the Judge and your opposition present? Is it still Corr and Harte prosecuting?”

George Corr QC is something of an idol of mine. A man of few words, he makes the ones he does deploy count. Feared by criminals across the country he is a meticulous Prosecutor, with a reputation for demanding perfection from his juniors. He is head of a set of Chambers in London that has a reputation for housing some seriously brilliant criminal advocates.

Samantha Harte is a member of our Chambers, about fifteen years call and holds the junior brief in the Hobbs case. Late thirties with a bob so sharp you could cut yourself on it, she takes no nonsense from anyone, including judges. She gave me some useful advice at a drinks reception when I first joined Chambers seven years ago We were both pretty tipsy and had been discussing the difference between men and women at the Bar. A friend of hers had just had a baby and was being treated like a second class citizen in the tax law firm where she worked.

“It’s pure nonsense,” she had raged. “They think that now she’s a mother she has lost the killer instinct that makes her such a success.”

I nodded, knowing that the solicitor in question could give any man a run for his money on the professional field.

“The worst thing about this is, she is now starting to doubt herself. Lauren, please, please never forget that no matter what, have confidence in your own intelligence. You got here because of your talent, but you’ve stayed here because you’ve never doubted yourself. When all else fails, remember that you can rely on yourself.”

I’ve always tried to use that when I’m having a bad day, but it’s easier said than done. I’ve been against her in court a few times and I’m always awestruck by how formidable an advocate she is.  I hope one day I can be half as good as her.

Serena interrupts my reverie.

“Did you send off your form for the Nottingham do?”

Whoops.

“No, I meant to. In fact, didn’t I ask you to remind me?” I rummage round in my bag to see if the form has survived a week of abuse in its leathery depths. I eventually locate it folded into a reminder that my tax bill is overdue. Double whoops. “Right, I’ll bring my cheque book in tomorrow and sort it out then.”

“Fair enough” replies Serena. “I’ll send you a text about it tomorrow too, make sure you don’t forget again.”

“Cheers. I’d better get my act together otherwise knowing my luck all of the tickets will have gone.”

“Yeah and I’ll be left sitting between Lucinda and Holly”

I groan, envisioning a repeat of last week. “Please tell me they’re not going?”

“No idea, but I doubt she’d have the front to show her face there”

“That woman has more front than Blackpool!” I laugh, scooping up some chicken.

As Sebastian returns with a chiller bucket containing another bottle of wine I smile at him. He takes his seat and starts fiddling with his cutlery.

“Serena? I’d better go before Sebastian kills me, but before I do are you sure everything’s ok?”

“Positive. I’m sorry I overreacted, I was just terrified that people would think I was incompetent.”

“They could never think that. Say ‘hi’ to Ewan for me?” I ask, mentally vowing to spend some time this week trying to undo any damage the Lenihan case has caused.

“Will do, speak soon!”

“Take care.”

As I fumble to disconnect the call, Sebastian munches thoughtfully on a piece of lettuce he’s pinched from my plate.

“What was that about?” he asks, looking quizzically at me.

“Nothing, just Serena flying off at the deep end about something.”