‘Sorry,’ Richard mumbled. ‘Your tattoo reminds me of something.’ Svritsky grunted and pushed his fisted arm obscenely out from his crotch. Richard did not try to correct him and looked away. Riedwaan Faizal was pacing up and down at the other end of the passageway, talking on his phone. He saw Richard looking at him and gave a leering half-bow. Svritsky noticed the gesture; normally he would have exploded into expletives, but he sat impassively and said nothing. Richard frowned. Things were not as they should be.
His head hurt and his muscles were stiff from sleeping on the couch in the television room at home. He had not tried to explain everything to Amanda. He needed to work out the events in his own mind before he could articulate them. To his surprise, she seemed to accept this, and did not push him beyond a summary explanation. I expect you to tell me everything, she had told him, but it does not have to be right now. He had nodded in acknowledgement. But he felt so far from understanding the turmoil that raged within him, he wondered whether he would ever reach a position where he could explain it to his wife. For the time being, an uncertain state of ceasefire existed between them, where they moved about dealing with their shared lives with pleasantries and over-polite superficialities. Richard had stopped throwing up, but was still hounded by nausea and dry retching. His bloodshot eyes had regained their colour, but the pain from his head seemed to sink down into the sockets themselves, making his eyes feel swollen and bulging.
He tried now to gain control of his heaving stomach. Svritsky’s cigarette smoke and the confident grin from the investigating officer did not help. He smoothed out some of the creases in his suit trousers while he concentrated. Then, with a deep breath, he started to summarise the plan for the first day of trial. ‘Okay, Stefan, it seems—’
His client held up his hand to stop him. ‘Today is going to be like no other day, my friend. Save your words for when you need them.’
Richard looked at him, trying to discern whether it was just fighting talk or whether he had correctly detected an underlying threat in the Russian’s tone. Svritsky’s face was blank and gave no indication of his meaning. Richard shrugged his shoulders and stood up to find the prosecutor. He was disconcerted to see that Faizal had cornered Dumbela as he was opening his office and the two of them had disappeared inside, deep in discussion. Richard turned back to Svritsky. He spotted the bustling figure of his colleague, Max Bernberg, advancing down the passage towards him and groaned quietly to himself. Oh Christ, he thought, that’s all I need. This little prick tormenting me first thing in the morning.
‘Richard!’ Bernberg called out while he was still some way away. Richard thought of slinking away, but he couldn’t pretend not to have heard him in the quiet corridor. He sighed and waited for his competitor to reach him. They shook hands without warmth, already squaring off like boys on the playground. Richard had no stomach for the contest and turned as if to find his seat.
‘Stefan, you better join us.’ Bernberg spoke directly to Svritsky, almost a barking command. Richard was amazed both at the tone and at the fact that Bernberg knew his client’s first name. Even more surprisingly, Svritsky obliged by crushing out his cigarette in a cement bucket next to the bench. He stood up and walked over to them, coming to a standstill next to the two lawyers. Richard cocked his head to one side in surprise. He could feel his heart rate increasing. He knew something was coming, but he just could not work out what he was missing.
Bernberg cleared his throat theatrically. ‘Mr Calloway, I am Mr Svritsky’s new attorney. You are released from your instruction. Fired, as it were.’ He tittered slightly, his fat lips pressing together.
‘What the fuck?’ Richard was too shocked to care about using an expletive. He looked uncomprehendingly from Svritsky to the overweight Bernberg and back again. Svritsky was expressionless, staring back at him without emotion. Bernberg seemed to be enjoying himself, pompously drawing in breath and smiling as if at some private joke. Richard wiped his hand slowly over his mouth, taking his time to assess the situation.
‘Now, Calloway,’ Bernberg continued, trying to take Richard’s arm, ‘it’s going to be important for all of us that you keep your cool.’ He raised his bushy eyebrows meaningfully. Richard pulled his arm away. ‘There are some things I need to tell you. And you may not like them.’
A glint of amusement seemed now to pass over Svritsky, like the brief reflection of a knife blade.
Richard exploded. ‘Jesus Christ, Bernberg! What the hell are you on about? You’re telling me that you’ve stolen my client. Since when? How long has this been going on?’ He turned on Svritsky in outrage. ‘Stefan, what is this? What the hell is he on about?’
Svritsky did not answer him. Bernberg was holding his hands up and making shushing noises as if to quieten a hysterical baby. ‘Richard, Richard, it’s an unsavoury and complicated state of affairs. Let’s just say that I think you should do more listening than talking right now.’
A clear smirk flashed on Svritsky’s face. The cold green of his eyes stopped Richard from saying anything further. The word ‘unsavoury’ lingered in the air like a stale smell. Once Bernberg was sure that Richard was not going to respond further, he bent down and rifled through his briefcase, displaying the bald patch on the back of his head. After a few deliberate moments he pulled out two pages of paper, stapled together.
‘This, my friend …’ – Bernberg paused for effect, waving the papers in front of Richard – ‘… is the missing witness statement.’ He paused again, refusing to release the papers from his podgy fingers.
Richard glowered but said nothing. The implication that he had somehow failed his client by allowing the State now to produce a proper witness statement was ridiculous.
‘The witness that the State has now found and intends to call to the stand this morning,’ Bernberg clarified.
Richard snatched the statement from Bernberg’s chubby hand and waved it at Svritsky in anger. ‘You changed attorneys just because the witness has been found? For God’s sake, Stefan, what are you thinking? How is this my fault? How the hell is this a reason to change legal representative at the last moment?’ Then it dawned on him that they were going to try to motivate for an adjournment of the trial. Richard turned on Bernberg with venom. ‘You bloody idiot. If you think changing lawyers now is going to get him a postponement, you’re a fool. There are no grounds for changing attorneys and certainly no grounds to postpone this trial any further. You know this magistrate as well as I do, Max. It isn’t going to happen.’
‘Richard, give me some credit,’ Bernberg whined back. ‘This has nothing to do with angling for a postponement. Take a look at the statement, then tell me who’s the bloody idiot.’
Richard glanced again at Svritsky, but he was unreadable. He returned to the document and cast his eye over the scrawled writing, flitting from phrase to phrase. It recorded that the witness had seen the collision occur, that the vehicle had seemed to lose control, that it had crossed onto the wrong side of the road, mounted the pavement and struck the deceased. It described how the driver had got out of the car and had kicked the deceased as he lay on the ground, that the driver had bent down and put his hand on the deceased’s neck, that he had kicked him again before driving off. The witness clearly described the green Ford Coupe, but there was no registration number recorded. Richard paused at the description of the driver: it certainly matched Svritsky, but there was undoubtedly room to cast doubt on the identification in cross-examination. There had not been any identification parade.
‘Okay, okay, so they have their witness. He makes it sound quite callous, but we can deal with that on the basis of different perceptions of reality. This isn’t a train smash: you … I … can cross-examine doubt into this ID pretty easily.’ He turned in frustration to Svritsky. ‘This witness can be challenged. If this is what’s made you jump ship then you’re a bloody fool, Stefan.’
‘Not quite, Richard,’ Bernberg responded. The colour of Svritsky’s smouldering eyes sharpened. ‘Have a look at the witness’s name. His real name.’
Richard looked back at the statement, reading the standard police introduction for the first time. He felt the blood leave his face. He wished that he could appear unfazed, but the growing realisation of his situation made his stomach weak. The passageway was spinning again and he thought he might collapse if he did not sit down. An involuntary gasp escaped his lips.
Bernberg gave him a grim smile. ‘You do know Mr Ifasen Obeyi, don’t you, Richard?’
Richard stared at him, aghast. ‘Are you mad?’ Bernberg flushed at the question but did not respond. ‘Are you both fucking insane?’ Richard asked again. ‘This is utter madness. The witness cannot be Ifasen Obeyi. Don’t be ridiculous. I consulted with him in prison only a few days ago.’ Even as he said it, he realised the depth of the pit into which he had fallen.
Bernberg nodded solemnly. ‘Yes, Ifasen Obeyi is your client, Richard. You were supposed to apply for bail for him, but he’s been released after doing a deal with the State. His freedom … for his testimony against your … former client. And that is precisely the problem. You are the attorney for the chief eyewitness for the prosecution. In fact, you represented both Mr Svritsky and Mr Obeyi at the same time. It’s a conflict of interest on a scale the likes of which I have not encountered before, in all my years of practice.’ Bernberg seemed to raise his short body a few inches taller as he spoke, puffing his cheeks at the seriousness of the situation.
‘Of course,’ he went on, ‘the court isn’t really concerned about your own conflict in the matter. It’s more about the rights of the accused. And those appear to have been irreconcilably compromised.’
For the first time Richard saw where the strategy was headed and he turned on Bernberg in fury. ‘Now just wait one fucking minute! Stefan’s rights have not been compromised in any manner whatsoever by anything that
I
have done. If you even try to suggest that, I will have you before the Law Society faster than you can say “guilty”. You little prick, don’t you even think of using me to get some sneaking victory for your
new
client. And if this is the way that you propose to practise, you can fucking well keep him as a client.’
Bernberg’s round face had turned red with indignation. ‘Now, Calloway, I realise you’re upset,’ he hissed back. ‘But don’t swear at me. I’ll report you for unprofessional conduct in a flash. I haven’t finished, so you’d better listen carefully before you call
me
the prick.’
Richard fought against the urge to punch the obnoxious man on the nose, but the growing smirk on Svritsky’s face made him wary. He was being set up, but he could not work out how the sting was going to operate.
‘Firstly, Calloway, representing both the accused and the chief witness most
certainly
compromises the rights of my client. Do you really think that the court will be happy with that situation? How can it possibly not utterly destroy the accused’s right to a fair trial? We will be bringing an application for the discontinuance of the trial on the grounds that Mr Svritsky’s rights have been irreparably undermined. It’s a bit like a recusal application, only the target is the legal representative of the accused, and the prejudice can never be remedied by simply appointing another representative. It is, we think, irredeemable. We think we’ll succeed.’ Bernberg smiled wanly.
Richard hated his use of the word ‘we’, but bit back the temptation to make any comment. The rush of adrenaline had added to his nausea and he felt he might start retching at any moment. The sweat was beading along the back of his neck and his armpits felt damp. He needed everything to stand still for a while so that he could collect his thoughts and focus on the unfolding disaster.
‘But of course, it gets worse,’ Bernberg said, heading for the kill. ‘Much, much worse. It brings us to the
unsavoury
bit.’
Richard frowned but said nothing. Bernberg had been looking at him directly throughout the tirade, but now his eyes dropped to halfway down Richard’s shirt. Bernberg also dropped his voice. ‘It brings us to your affair with Mr Obeyi’s wife.’
Richard had him by the throat before anyone could react. In his mind, he saw himself tearing the fat man’s throat from his neck, ripping it out like a garden hose, flailing and spraying blood. In reality, though, the man’s flesh was hideously thick and greasy to the touch, and Richard’s desire to throttle him was reduced to a slapping attempt to gain a handhold. Bernberg squealed like a schoolgirl, leaping backwards in terror. The two of them staggered towards the wall, Richard grappling to get a proper grip on his victim. Bernberg thumped into the wall across the passageway. Richard tried to heave him up, intending to hold him against the wall with his feet off the ground, but Bernberg was too heavy. Richard grunted with exertion as he closed his grip around the slippery neck. Then Svritsky charged at Richard from the left, lowering his shoulder to present a muscular battering ram. He caught his former lawyer full force in the ribs just below his armpit. The impact of the tackle was tremendous, crushing Richard’s chest closed and sending him sprawling sideways. He tumbled to the ground, rolling over and over as he tried to suck air into his stunned lungs, his legs kicking in protest. Bernberg leant against the wall, panting in fright, his face and neck an unhealthy puce colour. Svritsky towered over Richard, his fists clenched and his weight distributed between his two stocky legs. Richard held out his hand weakly to fend him off while he tried to breathe.
‘What on earth is going on here?’ Magistrate Abrahams stood at the doorway of the court surveying the scene with alarm. Her face was screwed up in distaste as she looked from Bernberg to Richard. ‘Good grief, gentlemen. Is this what we have come to? Brawls in the corridors? I’ll see you two in my office.’ She turned her attention to the Russian. ‘And Mr Svritsky, in this building we try to behave like normal human beings, not animals. I would ask you to remember that.’ The courtroom door clicked closed behind her.