Breath of Corruption (13 page)

Sir Dudley arrived early for the conference, and was obliged to wait. He sat down on one of the squashy leather sofas in the reception area and tried to read a copy of
Lloyd’s List
, but found himself unable to concentrate. He got up and paced around, scanning the spines of the
All England Law Reports
lining the bookshelves, anxiously wondering how Davies would behave towards him when they met. After all, some bloody Ukrainian strong-arm man had gone to his home and threatened him about an invoice which had turned up in Sir Dudley’s papers, making the connection obvious, the inference inescapable. That fool Viktor might well have made things worse by going to see Davies. These bloody barristers were so fastidious and above board, that was the trouble. Then again, Viktor knew what he was doing. He could be an extremely unpleasant man. Leo Davies was probably so frightened that he would do exactly as he had been told. It was just going to be somewhat uncomfortable having to look the man in the eye. Had this case not been worth several
hundred thousand, he might have been tempted to pack it in.

A moment later Brian Bennett came into the reception area. Sir Dudley had spoken to Bennett twice in the past week, and on neither occasion had the Landline invoice been mentioned, and his manner as he greeted Sir Dudley now was cheerful and unconcerned. So Davies had said nothing to him, which was good.

The two of them went upstairs to Leo’s room. If Sir Dudley had expected some change in Leo’s demeanour, he found none. Leo was courteous and businesslike, and his expression as he spoke to Sir Dudley betrayed nothing. They got down to business quickly, going over the main points of the skeleton argument and clarifying peripheral issues. Sir Dudley began to feel confident that the matter of the double invoice had been safely put to rest. He might not like Viktor’s methods, or consider them entirely appropriate, but evidently they worked.

Leo, in considering how he would handle the
money-laundering
issue, had been perfectly prepared to speak in front of Brian, if necessary. At one point in the conference, however, Brian fortuitously excused himself to go to the loo, giving Leo the opportunity to speak privately. After Brian had left the room, a silence fell. Alone with Leo, Sir Dudley suddenly felt acutely conscious of the unspoken issues between them. He began to wonder if the silence would last until Brian returned, but eventually Leo spoke.

‘Sir Dudley, I feel obliged to tell you that I had a visitor last Saturday night. An unexpected visitor.’

Sir Dudley stiffened. ‘Oh?’

‘I don’t know the man’s identity. He didn’t give his name,
and I didn’t ask for it.’ Leo sat back in his chair, his cool blue eyes fastened on Sir Dudley’s square, beefy face. ‘He came to see me about a document – to be precise, he came about the Landline invoice which turned up recently in the papers relating to this case.’ Sir Dudley said nothing, but made an uneasy, frowning effort to convey the impression that the relevance of all this eluded him. Leo let another brief silence elapse before speaking again. ‘You must understand, Sir Dudley, that I have certain professional obligations – obligations relating to the Proceeds of Crime Act—’

‘I haven’t the least idea what you’re talking about, Davies. What crime are you referring to? Come to the point.’

‘It’s just that the natural inference to be drawn from the double invoicing is that there may be some issue concerning money laundering.’ Anticipating Sir Dudley’s reaction, Leo added with a polite smile, ‘I’m sure it’s nothing of the sort, naturally, but given my professional obligations I have to raise the point. Can you confirm to me that nothing of that kind is involved?’

‘What an absolutely scandalous suggestion! No, of course there isn’t!’ blustered Sir Dudley. ‘I find it quite—’

‘That’s fine,’ interrupted Leo mildly. ‘I merely required your assurance. Now that I have it, please forget I ever raised the subject.’ The door opened. ‘Ah, Brian – Sir Dudley was just enlightening me on the matter of that apparent double invoice. You remember – the one relating to furnace linings? It seems it was raised by mistake, so we needn’t worry about it. Now, would anyone like another cup of coffee before we get on?’

Sir Dudley and Brian left Caper Court around five. Brian took a taxi back to his office, and Sir Dudley, now in an extremely disturbed frame of mind, walked across Middle Temple Lane and into Fountain Court. There he switched on his mobile and rang Viktor, pacing up and down beneath the trees beside the splashing waters of the fountain as he waited for Viktor to answer.

Viktor was sitting in the Bayswater hotel, trying to deal with a couple of issues to do with the girls, when his phone rang. He flipped it open, saw who was calling, and sighed as he answered. ‘What is it now?’

‘I’ve just come out of a meeting with Davies. He knows what’s going on.’

‘Of course he knows. He’s not a stupid man.’ Viktor stubbed out his cigarette, and beckoned one of the girls over. Her face was pasty and her eyes looked bloodshot and heavy. She had been crying, and she was shivering all over. She definitely looked sick; he didn’t think she was trying it on.

‘Well, don’t sound so fucking complacent, man!’

‘
Complaysent
.’ Viktor guessed this meant what it sounded like it meant. ‘Are you asking – why am I not worried? I don’t know, Dudley. Should I be? What did he say?’

‘He said – well, he asked if there was anything of a criminal nature that he should know about. The double invoices made him think there could be. He specifically mentioned money laundering!’

‘And you said?’ Viktor considered the shivering, sweating girl. They’d have to get a doctor, but one who would keep his mouth shut for the right money.

‘I said no, of course!’

‘And
he
said?’

‘He said – he said that was fine. That nothing more need be said about it.’

‘There you are.’ He motioned the girl away and lit another cigarette. ‘What your clever Mr Davies was doing was telling you that he knows what’s going on, but that because he has listened to me, he will do nothing. Don’t you see?’

‘See? All I fucking well see, Viktor, is that a Queen’s Counsel knows that I’m involved in money laundering! God alone knows what will happen now!’

‘Nothing will happen. He has told you that. I’m telling you that.’

‘Look, Viktor, it won’t do!’ Sir Dudley’s voice was panicky, urgent. ‘It simply won’t do. I want you to shut him up – properly.’

‘Yesterday you were worried I might have beaten him up! What are you asking now?’

‘Viktor, I want this sorted! You do as I say, remember, or you may find yourself without anyone to handle your business in future. I’m warning you! You make damn sure he doesn’t say anything!’

Sir Dudley ended the call, and found his palms were damp, his chest heaving. Why had he ever asked Viktor to do anything about the business of the double invoice? It would probably just have gone away in the long run, if he’d let it. Now, however, it was too late.

In the hotel, Viktor switched off his phone. Maybe it would be an idea just to remind Leo Davies that the threat had been real. Nothing heavy – just a little frightener. He looked over at Marko.

‘Hey, who was that doctor we got last time? Is he still good? OK, call him.’ He indicated the girl. ‘Get her out of here for now.’ He stood up. ‘I think,’ he said with a smile, ‘that I’ll go next door and pay Irina a visit. I haven’t seen her since that first day. I’m sure she’d like another chance to show me how grateful she is for bringing her to England.’

‘Maybe that’s not a good idea, boss,’ said Marko awkwardly. ‘She might be sick, too. She wasn’t looking too good this morning.’

‘Don’t worry, Marko,’ laughed Viktor as he left the room. ‘I’ll give her something to make her feel better.’

After Brian and Sir Dudley had left, Leo sat brooding. He was far from sure that he’d done the right thing in speaking as he had. He had to acknowledge now that his motives went far beyond conveying to Sir Dudley and his henchman that he had no intention of pursuing the matter of the Landline invoice, in the guise of professional protocol. He had needed, as a matter of pride, to show how much he knew, and to demonstrate that matters were not entirely out of his control. Sheer hubris. Christ, what if he had further endangered Oliver or Rachel? Surely not. Uneasy and in need of reassurance, he went to seek out Anthony in his room, and told him what had happened.

‘You did the right thing,’ said Anthony. ‘You had to ask the question, as a matter of professional obligation—’

‘Oh, sod professional obligation. I’m only interested in protecting Oliver and Rachel, and I now find myself thinking I might have achieved the opposite. All because I wanted to let that bastard Humble know that I knew what he was up to. What was the point in that?’

‘Seriously, Leo – it needed to be said. You’ve covered your back.’

‘Oh, have I really? I wonder.’ He paced the room, then sighed. ‘Anyway, it’s done now.’ He moved to the window, and stared out for a few moments. Then he turned and asked, ‘On another topic, what do you make of the business with Maurice and his emails?’

‘I frankly couldn’t believe it,’ replied Anthony. He leant forward and tapped at his keyboard, bringing up the incriminating documents. ‘Have you spoken to him yet?’

‘I’ve spoken to him, yes, but the only thing he seems willing to discuss right now is the burning topic of computer confidentiality. He wanted to involve the police, but I told him in no uncertain terms that I wanted to contain this and deal with it internally, if possible.’

At that moment there was a rap on Anthony’s door, and Peter Weir appeared. ‘Mr Davies, can I have a word?’

‘Sure.’

‘I’ve got Ray from the computer consultants downstairs. He’s done a complete check of the system, and says he’s a hundred per cent certain that no one’s been hacking in externally. So far as he can tell, someone in chambers has gone into Mr Faber’s computer and sent out stuff to everyone in the building.’

‘I see. Well, at least we know it wasn’t a security breach on a wider scale. No way of telling who it was, I don’t suppose?’

‘Well, actually – it seems that there is some indication. The documents were sent to everyone’s computer, but the only person to whose computer they were actually downloaded is Mr Fry’s.’

‘Ah.’

‘Of course, that doesn’t necessarily—’

‘No, no. OK. Thanks, Peter.’

Peter left, and Anthony glanced significantly at Leo. ‘Surprised?’

‘Nope. I’d like to know how he did it, though. I’d better speak to him before things go any further.’

Leo went back to his room, rang Roger and asked to see him. A few minutes later Roger appeared, looking his usual unkempt self, and wearing a disingenuous expression.

‘Sit down, Roger. I want to ask you about the matter of Maurice’s emails being sent round chambers. It appears it was the work of an insider. Now, I have been asking myself who has enough of a grudge against Maurice to do such a thing, and I have come up with your name. Are you surprised?’

Roger shrugged. ‘I’d have thought it’s a matter of general interest that Maurice has been billing direct.’

‘Maybe so. But I have to ask you if you were responsible and before you answer, I should tell you that the documents were found downloaded to your computer, and no one else’s.’

Roger didn’t seem surprised. ‘OK. I was here late last night, a bit hungover, and I came across Maurice’s laptop. He’d left it switched on. It was the ideal opportunity to have a little look-see.’

‘But what on earth did you think you were doing? You can’t just go into people’s private—’

‘I’ll tell you what I was doing.’ Roger reached into his pocket and produced a piece of paper. He handed it to Leo. ‘It wasn’t just a fishing expedition. I specifically wanted to find this. And I did. The rest is incidental, if not without its interest.’

Leo found he was reading a copy of the confidential reference written by Maurice about Melanie. ‘I sent a copy
to Melanie,’ went on Roger, ‘because I think it’s only fair she should see the lies written about her. I would say there’s an issue of defamation here, wouldn’t you say?’

Leo groaned. ‘Oh, my Lord …’ He put the reference down and shook his head. ‘I don’t know what to say. Except that you have behaved like a first-class imbecile.’

‘I know,’ Roger sighed. ‘Nevertheless—’

‘Nevertheless, there are certain aspects to this which bear further scrutiny. The point is, you’re going to have to put your hand up to this, apologise to Maurice – and then we shall deal with the rest. I’ll call a chambers’ meeting later this week.’

‘What about Melanie’s reference?’

‘I’ll have to speak privately to Maurice about that. There’s something in the defamation point.’ Roger rose. ‘But before you go,’ added Leo, ‘I want you to promise me that you’ll never, ever do anything like this again. We nearly finished up with the police in here.’

‘The police?’

‘Maurice went ballistic when he found out what had happened. We’re lucky we didn’t finish up having DNA swabs taken, the way he was carrying on.’

Roger grinned. ‘I’d say he has something to hide, then – wouldn’t you?’

I need a drink, thought Leo, as Roger closed the door behind him. Time to hunt down Michael, crack a bottle or two in the comforting depths of El Vino’s, and discuss it all. After all, in a month or so, it might fall to Michael to take on the mantle of head of chambers and preside over the weird and wonderful world of 5 Caper Court.

That evening Lucy came round to Anthea’s flat after school and let herself in, Georgia in tow.

‘What d’you fancy to eat?’ she asked Georgia.

‘What is there?’

‘Dunno. Let’s see.’ Lucy slipped off her pumps and padded into the kitchen, raking her fingers through her hair. She opened the fridge, and saw nothing except for a shrivelled red pepper, some probiotic yoghurt crap, a bag of bean sprouts a week past their sell-by date, and a bottle of vodka. She hauled out the vodka – bugger, it was brand new and unopened.

Georgia had followed her into the kitchen. ‘What is there? I’m, like,
so
hungry.’ She peered into the fridge over Lucy’s shoulder. ‘My God, what do models live on? No wonder your sister’s so thin. I could never be one. I love food too much.’

Lucy shut the fridge door, bringing the vodka with her. ‘I could never be one either – I’m the wrong height and I’ve got a face like a hamster.’

‘You’ve got an adorable face, you know you have. Anyway, that never stopped Peaches Geldof.’

‘She’s not a model.’

‘No, but she gets her photo everywhere. Helps if you’re a sado, though.’

‘What – like an emo?’

‘No, you know – S-A-D-O, sons-and-daughters-of?’

‘Oh, my God, yeah –
that
crowd. I really can’t stand them. Just ’cause their parents are famous wrinklies from the seventies. It’s so sickening.’

‘And like, all that stuff they do? Getting little parts in films, and painting and writing rubbish articles? Everyone
knows
it’s because of who their dad is. It’s not like they’ve got any real talent, but they’re all like, look at me, I’m so fabulous!’

‘I know – ticking off all the credential boxes. Makes you want to puke.’ Lucy was cruising the kitchen, opening cupboards in search of food. She noticed a white cardboard box lying on the worktop, and stopped. ‘Look, Georgie – doesn’t that just scream
CAKE
at you?’

‘Ohmigod, it so does …’ Georgie lifted the lid. ‘Oh, yummy!’ Nestling in the box was a large and very lovely cake, an expensive, cream-covered confection whose surface and sides were densely decorated with scalloped petals of dark chocolate, with little bursts of dark cherry juice bruising the cream.

‘Shall we have some?’ ventured Lucy.

‘It’s your sister’s. Won’t she mind?’

A brief silence followed, in which two thoughts occurred to them – yes, Anthea would mind, but hey, who cared anyway?

Lucy rummaged for a suitable knife, saying, ‘She never gets back till after seven. We’ll have gone by then. I bet she won’t miss a couple of slices. I mean, come on, she can’t eat an entire cake all on her own.’ She dug into the rich cake, slicing through the velvety petals of chocolate and into the cherry-juice-soaked sponge. ‘Here, grab a couple of plates.’ Lucy cut two generous slabs of expensive patisserie gateau and lifted them out of the box and onto plates. She licked her thumb and glanced at the unopened chilled bottle of Blue Label Smirnoff. The luscious plundering of the cake had bred recklessness in her, and besides, breaching the virgin cake and cracking open the pristine vodka at the same time had a fitting coherence. ‘Let’s have some of this, too.’

‘You’re joking, right?’

‘Oh, she won’t notice. She’s always got a bottle open. Here.’ Lucy took two tumblers from the cupboard and splashed a couple of inches of vodka into each. ‘Come on, let’s go and see what’s on MTV.’

They took their spoils through to the living room, where they watched music videos, bitched and gossiped, ate cake and drank vodka for the next half hour. Then, on the basis that the cake had been started and that Anthea wouldn’t miss a tiny bit more, they had another slice each. At half five they were rolling around on Anthea’s sofa, joking and laughing and happily tipsy, when they heard the front door open.

Lucy froze. ‘It’s Ant! What’s she doing back? She never gets home this early! Oh my God! I am
so
dead! Quick!’ She grabbed the plates and the vodka glasses and hurried to the kitchen. Just as she was returning, Anthea came into the living room and gave Lucy and Georgia a baleful look.

‘We’re back to this, are we? I’d hoped you’d given up coming round and marauding my flat, Lucy. And who said you could bring your friends round? I’m fed up with this.’ She pulled off her jacket and chucked it with her bag onto a chair. She headed for the kitchen, untying her blonde hair. ‘I’ll bet you’ve been at my drink again.’

Georgia gazed after her, feeling a mixture of admiring awe at Anthea’s careless, gazelle-like beauty as she sauntered to the kitchen, and an incipient sense of guilty horror at the thought of the despoiled cake. Lucy and Georgia exchanged glances.

Anthea’s voice came screeching from the kitchen. ‘Lucy, you prize little cow! What have you done to my cake?’ She raged back into the room, blonde hair flying loose, eyes blazing. ‘I could bloody murder you! I picked that up especially from Patisserie Valerie at lunchtime! It was for Chantal’s birthday tonight! My God, how could the pair of you
do
that? This is the absolute bloody limit, Lucy! This is the last, last time you set foot in my flat – ever! Give me my key now!’ She held out her hand. ‘Come on!’ Sulkily Lucy dug in her coat pocket for the key and flung it at Anthea, who went on, ‘You are such an immature little bitch – d’you know that, Lucy? When are you going to grow up and stop your pathetic behaviour? My God, you’re nearly eighteen, but how can anyone take you seriously when you behave like this? You’re like a spoilt thirteen-year-old!’

‘That’s not what Leo thinks,’ retorted Lucy. She was angry, humiliated, and a little drunk. Georgia huddled nervously on the sofa, not sure whether she was enjoying the developing row or not.

‘Oh, you
are
joking, aren’t you?’ laughed Anthea. ‘The way you come on to him – my God! It’s a total embarrassment! If you have to get a crush on someone, choose someone your own age. We both feel sorry for you.’

‘Really? Then how come he slept with me while you were in Bermuda?’

Anthea laughed again, but with less certainty. ‘Please, keep your adolescent fantasising to yourself! Leo wouldn’t look at you.’

‘He’s done a lot more than that. D’you want to know what happened? We spent Friday night at his place, in his bed. He told me he’d always wanted to go to bed with a seventeen-year-old.’

Anthea’s face was stricken with disbelief. ‘You little bitch! What is it with you and your lies?’

‘It’s not lies! Your lovely Leo’s been coming on to me ever since we first met here, in your flat, only you were too up your own arse to notice! He likes young girls, the younger the better he told me. He told me it while he was making love to me—’

Anthea fetched her sister a hefty slap across the face, so hard that it sent Lucy stumbling backwards into a chair. Georgia looked on in thrilled horror. ‘Don’t you dare, Lucy!’ hissed Anthea. ‘I’m warning you!’

Lucy put her hand to the red mark glowing on her cheek, and smiled shakily. ‘You just can’t stand to hear the truth, can you? Well, ask him! Ask him if I didn’t spend the night with him! Then we’ll see who’s lying. I was there all Friday night, in his house, in his bed, and in the morning he drove me home. I told Mum I was at Georgia’s.’ She turned to
Georgia. ‘Georgia knew what was going on. Didn’t you?’

Georgia nodded weakly.

‘You’re lying, I know you are!’ But Anthea was now far from certain. Lucy could see it in her eyes.

‘He made love to me, Anthea! It happened! Why would I make it up?’

‘God, why do you ever do anything?’ She reached down and grabbed Lucy by her shoulders, dragging her to her feet. ‘Tell me – look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not lying, you little cow!’

‘I’m not! Your precious Leo took me to bed! You want proof? I even know what kind of sheets and pillowcases he has – blue ones, with little white squares round the edges. Now do you believe me? How would I know that if I hadn’t been in his bed?’

‘Why?’ There were angry tears in Anthea’s eyes. ‘Why would you do something like that, Lucy?’

‘I did it because I wanted to, and so did he! Deal with it!’ Lucy grabbed her shoes and put them on, picked up her belongings and stormed out, with Georgia not far behind her.

As they went downstairs, Georgia gasped, ‘My God, Luce! That was such a total lie! You told me that when you got back to his place you decided you didn’t fancy him after all, and that nothing happened!’

‘Yeah, well – she deserves it, telling me off like I’m a kid. I mean, how humiliating was that? God, she’s so up herself! Let her believe it. I don’t care.’