Chapter 1

 

 

 

 

“I’ve always wondered: How far would a desperate person go?” My question was aimed at Professor Gilbright, the claimant in the case of the Crown versus Ward. He claimed that his home had been burgled by my client, Aiden Ward. I was in Inner London Crown Court, questioning the alleged victim.

“Kindly refrain from using rhetoric in this court, Miss Roseburg,” Judge Sanders interrupted me sharply.

“Professor Gilbright, did you stage a burglary of your home in order to — ”

“Your Honor, this is absurd! Mr. Ward, not Professor Gilbright, is sitting before the bar,” the prosecutor interrupted me.

“Sustained,” Judge Sanders ruled.

“I have no further questions,” I said, and retreated to the bench and stared at the jury. Had I managed to shake their trust in Professor Gilbright?

“Lunch,” Sanders announced dryly, as if in answer to my mental question.

 

***

 

“Alice!” Someone was calling my name.

After the lunch break, the prosecution had called the Rector — the President of Imperial College London. The Rector had testified to having frequently seen Aiden Ward in an inebriated state. After his interrogation, court was recessed until the following day. Only one more witness was scheduled for questioning before the closing statements. I was pacing hurriedly down the corridor in a rush to get back to my office, when I heard the voice calling me. I winced — the last thing I needed was another distraction.

I turned and saw Mark Holton, a solicitor from the Crown Prosecution Service.

“I’m happy to see you,” Mark beamed at me.

“What a great surprise! I didn’t know you were involved in this case.”

“Well, Giggs was, originally, but I had to replace him.” Mark paused. “You know what, how about we get caught up on each other’s lives tonight over a drink? Like the good old days,” he smiled.

My phone rang before I could answer. It was my boss. “I have to take this,” I said.

“Call me,” Mark shouted as I left him behind, answering my phone as I went.

“Hugh, I’m coming,” I said as I picked up my pace, heading out of the courthouse and into the sunshine.

 

***

 

I passed the front desk and entered the administrative office where the clerks worked, which we referred to as ‘the bullpen.’ I walked quickly toward Hugh’s office, but the secretary stopped me before I could pass her by.

“Mr. Smith was looking for you, Alice.”

“Patrick Smith from Greenhouse?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“Did he say anything?”

“He just wanted to see you. I told him you were in court and that you wouldn’t be back until three at the earliest.”

I looked at my watch — it was three twenty.

“Did he say anything else?”

“He’s coming to the office at about four.”

“Thank you, Rosy.” I left the bullpen, went down the corridor and took a turn to the left. There were two rooms facing each other and I stopped in front of the one on my left.

Hugh Archibald, Equity Partner was emblazoned on the door in bold gilded letters. I could see Hugh walking around the room as he talked on his cell phone. I let myself into the room and shut the door quietly behind me.

“Blackbird is back in the game! Tell the broker to buy out eight percent. What?” Hugh was staring at Red Lion Street, his back to me.

I took a seat and waited for him to finish the call.

Sensing my presence, Hugh turned around and signaled that he wouldn’t be much longer.

“No, they’re down one and a half percent on the Toronto Exchange, but they’ll get back up there. What? Yes, yes. Tomorrow at six, Chez Bruce.”

Hanging up, he asked me directly, “What are the odds?”

“I think they’re good. I didn’t get everything out of Gilbright but he did slip up several times.”

Hugh rolled a ball of crumpled paper between his fingers.

“Keep Ward out of the nick.” He looked at me intently. “Do you need a barrister?1”

“What? Didn’t we already agree at the management conference that I’d represent him?”

“You know the English judiciary holds quite a critical view of solicitor advocates.2”

“Yes, though I still don’t know why. I can manage it, Hugh,” I replied.

“At least get the new trainee to help you.”

“Trainee?”

“Yes, Michelle Green. She’s twenty-four. Graduated from Durham with honors and passed the legal practice course with flying colors.”

“I didn’t know we were looking for a trainee.”

“We weren’t. I hired her.”

A slight smile graced my lips. “Should I know anything else about her?”

“She’s quite bright.” After a moment of silence he added, “I think she’ll be of good use. Oh, and I almost forgot. You’re her supervisor for the next three months.”

“In which field?”

“Your field — litigation.” Fulmer & Archibald was a small caliber legal firm so everyone did almost everything, including working outside their field, but litigation was my specialty.

“All right, then. I should be going now.” I was about to stand up when he stopped me with a wave of his hand.

“Thomas Somerset — you know Somerset Construction? — called me while you were in court. He wants you to buy Yester Castle on his behalf, for his daughter, Ella Somerset.” He handed me a folder. The first page was entitled Yester Woods.

“Somerset’s hired a team of specialists to carry out the estate survey and produce a valuation report. Your job is to contact the selling agency — you’ll find the details in the folder. Somerset will call you once he’s gotten the experts’ valuation.”

I had no doubt that the resourceful Somerset would obtain a completely competent — and complimentary — valuation of the castle in question. I browsed the pages, looking at the pictures. Apart from the seventy-five or so acres of mixed woods, I couldn’t see why Somerset would want to buy it. A mere broken wall and a supposedly haunted underground chamber were all that remained of the castle the Yester House mansion was named after.

“Pretty eccentric choice for a snob like Somerset. I didn’t know he was interested in ruins.”

Hugh shrugged. “You know Ella Somerset is a fashion designer.”

“Oh yes! That explains it then, doesn’t it?” I said. He looked at me blankly for a moment, then turned back to his window as I opened the door. I left him as I had found him, staring down at the street below.

I returned to the bullpen. Rachel, a personal injury and medical negligence solicitor, was sitting at the last desk to the left. Peter, also a solicitor and a specialist in corporate law, was absent from his area. I saw an unknown face sitting at one of the desks — an attractive young brunette. Why am I not surprised?

“Michelle Green?”

She lifted her eyes from the laptop screen.

“Yes?”

“I’m Alice Roseburg. Mr. Archibald’s asked me to supervise you for the next few months.”

She rose and shook my hand.

“Are you doing anything right now?” I stood at the open desk to her right.

“Mr. Archibald asked me to check something, but I’m done now.”

I dragged the witness account folders for Crown v. Ward out of my hand truck and dropped them on her desk.

“I want you to read all of these accounts. In summary, the defendant Aiden Ward was a student at Imperial College London. He was expelled after a messy scandal — he’s got a huge drinking problem and has been in all sorts of trouble. Professor Gilbright was one of the faculty who complained about Ward, and he claims that just a month before his home was burglarized, Ward had threatened him with retribution. You need to examine the case and find more details.”

“Should I be looking for anything specific?”

“Anything that can help our defense. The private investigator we hired found out the professor was in debt to a bookie who was being pretty… let’s say… aggressive. My goal is to convince the jury that the professor staged a burglary at his own home, intending to use the insurance money to pay off the bookie. ‘Attack is the best form of defense’ — you know the maxim. He had motive and opportunity — when the facts are working for us, it’s a gift from heaven.”

“When do you need the files back?” Michelle asked, knitting her brow and making a worried grimace as she looked at the huge pile in front of her.

“Tomorrow, before ten. The session is set for ten thirty.”

“I have to go through everything by tomorrow morning? I don’t think I can do that.”

“Back at Michelgrove, Hawksworth & Stone I often spent several nights in a row reading witness accounts instead of sleeping. You’ll get used to it,” I reassured her.

“Isn’t that an American law firm?” she asked after a short pause.

“Mhm,” I answered, already moving on to my next assignment and dialing the number of the agency that was selling Yester Castle.

“How long have you been in England, Alice?”

“Michelle, would you excuse me? I’m kind of busy right now.”

I had to contact the real estate agency and confirm to them that Somerset actually possessed the required sum for purchase. After the call, I closed my tired eyes. I’d been working as a solicitor in almost all spheres of practice at Fulmer & Archibald for three years, but I truly preferred the criminal cases. My interest in them was the real reason I had gotten qualified as a solicitor advocate. I was subconsciously looking for challenges — as in the good old days in the USA. Of course, in England, the judiciary and the Bar looked down on us solicitor advocates with mistrust for whatever reason.

Deep in thought, I was startled by the ringing of the phone. It was the secretary: My client, Patrick Smith, was waiting for me at the receptionist’s desk. I looked at my watch — four o’clock, on the dot. How punctual of him!