Authors: Catherine Hunt
‘God no,’ Sarah said, horrified, ‘I was hoping he might not find out.’
Sarah was in a bad way if she could delude herself that an error like this would escape the attention of the firm’s senior partner. Surely the victim – Laura corrected herself – the client, would have been on to him already. If not, she certainly would be if she didn’t get satisfaction from this afternoon’s meeting.
Laura imagined what Marcus Morrison would say. She ought to tell him, she knew, before Mrs Hakimi arrived. She could hear the low angry hiss of his voice. He always hissed when he was annoyed or disgusted, one reason his colleagues had nicknamed him ‘the snake’. The other reason was his slipperiness. He never admitted to anything, never took any blame. He would have no sympathy whatsoever. This was the sort of mistake he would never have made and would never understand.
She tried to think what Morrison would do. What slippery manoeuvre would he come up with to get out of trouble, but nothing occurred to her. Sarah had been careless and there had been a terrible consequence. That was the truth of it. The only real solution was to somehow get the boy back.
Never apologize, never explain. Rule number one. They should have it inscribed over the entrance to Morrison Kemp, Laura thought. But she had to give Mrs Hakimi some explanation. Otherwise it was what it was – negligence – and Marcus Morrison would not tolerate that.
‘I suppose I may have mentioned it to her’, Sarah said abruptly, ‘when the order was first granted, you know, sort of in passing.’
‘In passing?’
‘All right. I’m sure I told her. I remember now. I said it to her quite clearly, don’t forget you have to tell me if you need this renewed. OK? Is that OK, Laura?’
It wasn’t OK. Not at all. Sarah was lying and Laura knew she was lying, and in any case, it had to be in writing.
Without warning, the door to the office opened and Morrison appeared. He glided across to Laura’s desk and stood beside it, polished shoes neatly together. He had no intention of sitting down, it was easier to intimidate from above. He looked at them seated in front of him and frowned.
Morrison always made Laura uncomfortable, even at the best of times. She felt like he was constantly judging her and finding her wanting, that he thought she was rather lightweight. She tried hard to suppress the feeling because she suspected it was what he wanted her to feel and that his condescending manner was designed to get that very result. She had no reason to feel that way; she’d done a lot more in her career than Morrison ever had, but knowing that didn’t seem to make any difference. Worst of all, she sometimes tried to impress him and that made her furious with herself.
Laura knew she looked younger than her thirty-four years. She had large, hazel eyes and smooth, youthful skin. To give herself gravitas, she wore her glossy black hair tied back in a utilitarian knot, and on occasion – and this was just such an occasion – she put on a pair of heavy spectacles she didn’t really need. Joe teased her about it and he was right to do so because it was pathetic, really it was, and what good did it do anyway? Whenever she met Morrison she still felt like an errant schoolgirl instead of the competent, experienced solicitor that she was.
Morrison saw the Hakimi file on her desk, pulled it casually towards him and tapped it lightly with his index finger. His small, calculating eyes fixed on her like a pair of pincers.
‘We have a problem,’ he hissed ‘why wasn’t I told?’
There was something chilling about him, Laura thought. A quiet malevolence. She would have felt a whole lot happier if he’d shouted.
‘You mean Mrs Hakimi?’
‘I mean Mrs Hakimi. Tell me.’
His voice was almost a whisper, his eyebrows raised in interrogation. The little steel-grey eyes glinted behind his spectacles.
He must have known the story anyway, at least some of it, otherwise he wouldn’t be here. But she guessed he wanted to hear her tell it, wanted to put her on the spot.
She began, wondering how she was going to avoid dropping Sarah in it without appearing evasive and obstructive. She knew how ruthless Morrison was and she didn’t want to fall out with him. He was powerful, well connected and with a word or two, here and there, he could blight her career forever.
She came to the tricky bit. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of that pleading look on Sarah’s face.
‘ … so you see the order wasn’t renewed because we were never told to renew it.’
‘And Mrs Hakimi knew she had to tell us, did she?’
Laura squirmed, ‘I believe so,’ she said, wishing immediately that she hadn’t used the phrase. It was what lawyers always said when they wanted to avoid a question.
‘You believe so. I think you’d better know so.’
‘Yes. So do I,’ she said, stupidly.
Morrison’s long, angular face leaned towards her. He reminded her of a bird of prey; a hawk, maybe, or more likely, a vulture.
‘You see I’ve had her brother on the phone and he claims that no one ever warned his sister that she had to notify us.’
Laura was silent. She hoped Sarah might help her out, but Sarah had been struck dumb.
‘You won’t be surprised to hear that he was extremely angry. Of course, I know we’d never be stupid enough to forget to warn her so I was able to inform him quite firmly that his sister must be mistaken,’ Morrison paused then very softly said: ‘I presume we have it in writing.’
Laura bit her lip and said: ‘Apparently it was more a sort of verbal warning.’
For the first time, Morrison addressed Sarah.
‘Would you mind leaving us for a moment.’
Sarah hesitated, torn between relief at the chance to escape Morrison’s grilling and fear about what might be said about her when she’d gone. He waited, silent, glaring at her, until she got up and left the room.
‘I’m sorry, Laura, you misunderstand,’ he said when they were alone. ‘That wasn’t a question. I wasn’t asking you if we had it in writing, I was telling you we had it in writing. Have I made myself clear?’
She felt alarm but not much surprise. He expected her to tell Mrs Hakimi that she’d been sent a letter setting out her responsibilities at the time the court order was first granted; he expected her, if necessary, to forge a copy of such a document and he expected her to say to Mrs Hakimi that what had happened was nobody’s fault but her own.
‘Yes, perfectly clear.’
‘Good,’ he waited a moment then said carelessly, ‘I want you to fire Sarah ASAP.’
This time Laura was shocked. ‘I can’t do that Marcus,’ she protested, ‘I mean why would I?’
‘Come on, we both know the answer to that. She is responsible for this fiasco. You’re a senior lawyer here and you know what’s happened, so there we are – get rid of her. This afternoon, I suggest.’
‘But that’s just not fair,’ she burst out, ‘You must see that, after all—’
The look on his face stopped her mid-sentence. More calmly she said, ‘Surely a written warning would be enough. She’s been going through a difficult time in her personal life and—’
‘Spare me the violins, please.’ Morrison interrupted, his mouth a thin line under his hawk nose.
‘It seems very harsh to fire her,’ Laura persisted, ‘Can’t we at least wait and see if this thing can be sorted out?’
‘You disappoint me, Laura. Seriously disappoint me. I thought you were ambitious, wanted to get on, wanted a partnership here. Isn’t that so?’
‘Yes, of course I do. Absolutely, it’s just that … ’
‘Then fire her. It’s not nice, I know, but it has to be done. She’s made a bad mistake, the sort of thing that could mean a large and embarrassing negligence claim if we don’t, ah, sort it out. You see that, don’t you?
‘Yes.’
‘You’ll have to toughen up a bit if you want to succeed in this firm.’
The schoolgirl had been suitably chastised. He started to move away then stopped.
‘Hurt yourself, have you?’ He was staring at the cut on her eyebrow. She’d hoped the thick spectacles would hide it but very little got past Morrison.
‘Oh that,’ she attempted a laugh, ‘Just an accident.’
‘I hope it’s not too painful,’ he hissed.
Her body tensed. For one horrible moment she thought he might reach out and put his arm around her shoulders. But he didn’t. He wasn’t that sort of person. She relaxed – just a little.
Ten minutes later the phone on her desk rang. Mrs Hakimi, and her brother, had arrived in reception.
Harry Pelham sat glowering and silent while the policemen took his home apart. There were four of them: two from Sussex CID and two from London, from the Metropolitan Police’s Specialist Crime and Operations Unit. This was no ordinary police raid. This was a high powered team tackling an outrageous crime.
‘We’re arresting you, Mr Pelham, on suspicion of downloading and possessing indecent images of children.’
The officer in charge, Detective Inspector David Barnes, laid it out for him. They had information that he was a paedophile. They had search warrants, for his home and his office, and they were looking for child pornography. When the searches were done, he would be taken to the police station for questioning.
He stared at the detective, his face tight with fury, ‘You cannot be serious. I’ve got a young daughter of my own. Jesus, what sort of man do you think I am?’
Barnes stared back. It was clear from the slight curl of his mouth what the answer to that question was.
‘We’ll need to take your computer to check the hard drive,’ he said.
‘Look,’ Harry took a step towards him, ‘I am not a paedophile. The idea disgusts me. Understand that.’
‘That’s what we’re going to check, sir.’ Barnes’s face was expressionless now but his voice oozed disbelief. He was big with broad shoulders, reeking of ambition and confidence, bordering on arrogant. Harry wanted very much to hit him.
‘There’s personal stuff on my computer. What right do you have to look at that?’
‘We can look at whatever we want,’ said Barnes and paused, watching Harry for a reaction, then added, ‘But in fact we only read the things that are relevant to the investigation. We’ll be scanning the photo files and doing key word searches connected to the child pornography we think has been downloaded.’
‘I’m telling you there’s none of that filth on my computer,’ Harry snarled.
‘In that case, sir, you have nothing at all to worry about.’
The urge to smash his fist into Barnes’s poker face was almost uncontrollable but as well, growing stronger all the time, were feelings of fear. Barnes’s assured attitude worried him.
‘What evidence have you got?’ he said more quietly, ‘I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding that I can explain.’
‘We’ll go through that at the station,’ said Barnes smoothly.
They started searching downstairs, clearing cupboards, tipping out drawers, shaking books and magazines to see if anything incriminating would fall out. They made it clear he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere on his own, without supervision. He must stay with them, in their sight, so they could be sure he wasn’t destroying evidence. When he went to the bathroom, one of them followed and waited outside.
They spent most time in the room he used as an office which was a bit of a mess. The cleaner who kept the rest of the large house in good order, didn’t go in there because Harry preferred it undisturbed. They sorted through methodically, taking files from shelves and a cabinet, sifting the contents, collecting up memory sticks, CDs, his laptop and iPad, putting everything they were taking away in a pile on the floor. They fired up the main computer, checked it was working properly, then closed it down and separated the parts before taking them out to their van.
They drove it all, and Harry, to the police station at Hollingbury. The place was heaving; busy with the fallout from a drugs raid, and the only free interview room was the size of a small box with one tiny window high up in the wall. Harry paced up and down in it waiting for Ronnie Seymour to arrive and for the interview to begin. There was a tape recorder bolted to a table. The table was bolted to the floor.
Ronnie had had a not very satisfactory conversation with Barnes before coming to see Harry. The detective had been cagey, reluctant to give away too much of his case but Ronnie, whose long experience had given him a sixth sense about these things, suspected Barnes had something to justify his bullish approach. As he entered the interview room there was a frown on his round, sleek face.
‘What’s going on, Harry?’ he said.
‘I’ve no idea. What have they told you?’
‘That they think you’re involved in child pornography and they can prove it.’
‘It’s not true. You know that, don’t you?’ Harry demanded.
‘I’m sure it’s not true,’ the lawyer was impatient, ‘But why are they saying it?’
‘I don’t know. I wish I did.’
‘All right. Let’s see what they’ve got.’
Barnes and a detective constable called McLaren, one of the officers who’d searched his home, conducted the interview though Barnes asked almost all the questions. His bulky presence dominated the small room, and right from the start, Harry, who was a big man himself, complained that he felt cramped and claustrophobic, like there was not enough air for all four of them to breathe. McLaren inserted two separate cassettes into the tape recorder and set them running simultaneously. He stated the time and who was present and asked Harry to confirm that he had been cautioned prior to the interview. Then Barnes took over.
‘Mr Pelham, what credit cards do you have?’
‘Hang on a minute,’ Ronnie said at once, holding up his hand, ‘before my client answers anything, I think it’s only fair that you tell him what grounds you have for making these very serious allegations against him.’
Barnes considered. He hadn’t encountered Ronnie Seymour before, but he knew he had a reputation as a wily and effective criminal lawyer. No need to make this difficult, Barnes thought, no need for confrontation. After all, the evidence was clear.
‘OK,’ he shrugged and sat back, putting his hands behind his head with his elbows menacingly pointed out, looking sure of himself, ‘We have information, and material, that implicates Mr Pelham in child pornography, possibly as part of a paedophile network. We have discovered that indecent images of children were downloaded from websites, paid for by a credit card registered in his name.’