The arrival of the police, the flustered meeting, the worried faces – perfect ingredients for rumour and speculation. Stark, whilst intrigued, had other matters on his mind. Jenny sat at her desk. She appeared pale and listless. She stared at her screen, her expression blank.
Stark attempted conversation.
“Bad day at court yesterday?”
She turned, gave him a weary smile.
“The worst. Hopefully never to be repeated.”
“Wow. That good. Can I get you a coffee? Or perhaps a vodka?”
She sighed. “I never slept. Again. It’s a fucking killer.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “It can be.” Stark was a veteran of sleepless nights. He understood exactly her predicament.
“Plus,” she said, “I have a shitstorm of work to get through. And the shitstorm seems to get thicker by the second.”
“Anything I can do to lighten the load?”
She reacted with a broad grin. “You could shoot some of my clients.”
Stark nodded, said nothing. Jenny frowned, clicked her tongue in annoyance.
“Jesus, Jonathan – I am so sorry. How crass. It was just a slip of the tongue. I didn’t…”
Jonathan returned the grin. “I think it should be part of legal training. Learning to shoot clients. It would be both therapeutic and gratifying.”
She gave a tired laugh. “Not from the clients’ perspective.”
“Perhaps not.”
The lawyer Stark met briefly during his first day entered the room. Des. His round pimply face seemed to glow with excitement.
“You heard what’s happening?” He spoke in a rush, the words fairly tripping over each other.
“I saw some partners going into the meeting room,” replied Stark. “With a couple of serious-looking guys. They didn’t look like they were out collecting for the Red Cross.”
Des closed the door, lowered his voice.
“It’s only the police,” he said. “There’s half a dozen of them going through Bronson’s office. They’ve taken his laptop. Looks like he’s in some serious shit. The fucking partners are going ballistic. Even old Stoddart wandered down from his mausoleum to see what the commotion was about. And Paul Hutchison is acting weird. He’s hardly spoken. Got his door closed. Whatever Bronson’s been up to, it’s spooked them.”
The news seemed to spark Jenny’s interest. Her eyes displayed the bright inquisitiveness Stark had come to recognise.
“What’s the word on the street?” she said.
“Not sure. But Bronson’s always been a maverick. Doing things his way. And he’s got some dodgy clients.”
“Everyone’s got dodgy clients. Otherwise lawyers wouldn’t make any money. Otherwise no one would make any money.”
Stark couldn’t help laughing. Jenny had the ability of articulating amazing truths.
“Perhaps it’s a money-laundering thing?” he suggested, half-jokingly. “Isn’t that the new bear trap for unsuspecting lawyers?” He had never met Bronson Chapel, and was only vaguely aware he was part of Paul Hutchison’s litigation team.
“Could be,” said Des.
“They’ve taken his laptop,” reminded Jenny.
“Exactly,” said Des. “I’m thinking paedo. Big time. A regular trawler of the dark web.”
Jenny clapped her hands. “There you have it, Jonathan. Now you have witnessed first-hand how rumours are conceived and ripened in a lawyer’s office. Before the sun has set, Bronson Chapel will be a money-laundering, dark-web-trawling paedophile, which will stick with him until the day he dies.” Her shoulders sagged. She suddenly lost her sparkle. “Until the day he dies,” she repeated.
“Gotta go. But I’ll keep my ear to the ground.” Des disappeared, no doubt to visit other offices to spread the news, if in fact he hadn’t already done so.
“God, I’m tired,” said Jenny. “I’m not sure I can keep going.” There was no flippancy in her voice. She seemed dead serious.
“Maybe you should stop,” Stark said.
She regarded him curiously. “Maybe I should. Maybe I could run off to some warm country, and do a little painting, and earn just enough to live on cheese and wine. Maybe not the cheese.”
Stark was intrigued. “You paint? Seriously?”
She pursed her lips, exhaled, causing them to ripple. “Sort of. I used to. But then I stopped. I might start again, if I find the right…” She paused, distracted.
“The right…?”
“The right subject material. Did I hear you mention something about coffee?”
Stark nodded. End of conversation. She looked exhausted, and they both had work to do. He got up.
“Jonathan?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t you mention something about buying me cheap beer? Just wondering if the offer was still on the table. Or was it just an empty gesture?”
“It is. And no, it wasn’t.”
“I’m free after work.”
He hesitated. “I could meet you later in the evening.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re meeting your other woman?”
“Not quite. But I have to be somewhere important. It’s unavoidable, I’m afraid.”
Which was the truth. It was unavoidable. And he was afraid. If he told her where and why, she would think him mad. Perhaps he was. It seemed to Stark, from day one working with the firm of SJPS, he had entered a world of madness.
And soon, maybe, a world of danger.