Death, Adjourned: The Kray Twins are behind bars, but London has a new threat... (Charles Holborne Legal Thrillers Book 9) by Simon Michael

Author:Simon Michael [Michael, Simon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sapere Books
Published: 2024-06-21T00:00:00+00:00

PART THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY

Charles and Peter Bateman walk down Fleet Street towards Ludgate Circus, their robes bags, red in Charles’s case and blue in Peter’s, slung over their shoulders. The briefcases in their hands bulge with case papers and law reports. Ahead of them and behind there are groups of barristers making the same journey. This is the usual route from the Temple to the Old Bailey and at this time of day it is a procession of barristers, a few even robed, chatting about their cases, arguing points of law and laughing over the latest anecdotes swirling around the Bar Mess. Most of the office workers, on the pavements, crossing the road, hopping on and off buses, pay them little attention, but a couple of tourists stop, point and take photographs.

‘Have you ever appeared before the Common Serjeant?’ asks Charles, raising his voice over the busy traffic.

The Common Serjeant is the second most senior judge sitting at the Central Criminal Court, the deputy of the Recorder of London, and has been allocated to try their case.

‘Not the new one —’

‘You need to watch out for him. Llywelyn-Jones is absolutely charming to your face and comes across as a very pleasant tribunal. Then, when you least expect it, he slips the knife in and destroys your star witness or nobbles the jury. I call him the “Smiling Assassin”.’

‘What I was about to say is…’

Charles turns to his former pupil, seeing embarrassment in his expression. ‘What?’

‘Well, although I’ve never appeared before him, I do actually know him rather well.’

‘Oh? How come?’

‘He’s a sort of family friend. When pater was Lord-Lieutenant of the county, Llywelyn-Jones was one of his deputies.’

Charles smiles wryly and shakes his head. ‘Course he was.’

‘So they’ve known one another for years.’

‘And I suppose he dandled you on his knee when you were a little chap in swaddling,’ says Charles.

‘Not exactly, but I have known him since I was a boy. It wasn’t a close relationship — he’s not my godfather or anything — but I have been to his house, and he to ours.’

Charles grimaces. ‘At least one of us is likely to get a warm reception, then. You never know,’ he adds bitterly, and more to himself than to Bateman, ‘maybe some of your “Old Pals Act” conviviality will wash off in my direction.’

They cross Ludgate Circus and climb the hill towards the Cathedral. The dome of St Paul’s glitters in the sunshine ahead of them and Charles promises himself, yet again, to make time to pay another visit to the magnificent building one lunchtime, and finally climb to the Whispering Gallery at the top. They turn left onto Old Bailey and are faced with a large crowd spilling off the pavements and into the road. Two lines of tall City of London police officers in their distinctive dark blue uniforms are holding back the crowds. There must be over a hundred members of the public, pushing and shoving to get a view of the parties and witnesses, or queueing for the public gallery.

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