Triple Jeopardy Read online

  “Can they?” Patrick’s voice was bitter now. “If it’s embezzlement? What will they do? Sweep it under the carpet so no one knows? Get his father, or whoever, to put the money back, and perhaps a little extra?”

  Daniel felt the muscles in his jaw tighten so hard he heard his teeth grind. “Why, is that what they do in America?”

  Patrick’s shoulder muscles bunched and he shifted his weight, then relaxed. “Sorry,” he said.

  Daniel was not sure if he meant he was sorry for the offense, or only that he had said it aloud, because it was bad judgment. “No,” he said. “It isn’t how they do it here. At least not very often. If they’re caught, they’ll go down for it.”

  Patrick was silent for a few moments, then apparently decided to behave graciously. “I thought you were pretty good. I trusted you couldn’t be bought.”

  “I am pretty good,” Daniel said tartly. “They’ll want very good. And no, I cannot be bought. I hope I can’t be threatened or persuaded, either. But before you lose your temper again, I can’t act for the prosecution because I’m not senior enough, or for the defense—”

  “Defense?” Patrick interrupted.

  “There’s got to be a defense. You don’t want him to plead guilty or there’d be no trial! Or nothing at all will come out!” Daniel reasoned.

  “Yes. Yes, I can see that. Defend him of the charge of embezzlement but work toward exposing the assault and the theft. You’d have to be damned good to bring that about.”

  “My senior colleague Kitteridge is. He’d let me sit second chair, I think. I already told him something of the case.” Daniel was not sure if he should have mentioned that, but it was past the time of playing games. The big question, though, was whether Kitteridge would have anything to do with so dubious an idea as to defend a man on one charge in order to have him tried for another.

  “Good!” Patrick decided immediately. “How do I get in touch with this Kitteridge? And even more to the point, how do we get Sidney to choose him for his defense? That could be a flaw in your idea, rather a big one.”

  “Fford Croft and Gibson is one of the best firms in London,” Daniel said with some pride. “If Kitteridge offers, Sidney will take him if he has any sense. We’re not only good, we’re discreet. I don’t think people will be lining up to defend Sidney in this.”

  “Is Kitteridge really that good?”

  “Yes, and I’ll help him.”

  “Thank you. And…Daniel?”

  “Yes?”

  “The Thorwoods are our friends, Jem’s and mine. Particularly Rebecca. They are…they’ve been good to us. They had a son who would have been about my age. Lost him in an accident. It’s got nothing to do with guilt or innocence, but it’s got a lot to do with friendship, with debt, if you like.”

  “I understand,” Daniel said quietly. He understood loyalty, but a small part of his mind wondered if Patrick wasn’t taking his loyalty to the Thorwoods a little too far. “Just so it’s absolutely straight, I don’t want to be wondering how far I can trust the evidence. If he’s guilty, we’ll get him. It’s not as if we were looking for someone and didn’t know who it was, or what he did.” As soon as he said it, he wondered if he had gone too far. Not in provoking Patrick—that was fair enough—but in making a promise he might not be able to keep.

  “Of course!” Patrick said more gently. “Apart from the fact that I would not put you in any danger, if it couldn’t be within the law, it wouldn’t stick. He’d appeal, and we’d lose more than the case. I wouldn’t do that to you, or to myself.”

  Daniel was glad it was nearly dark now. The sun had sunk into the scarlet bank of cloud on the horizon and the garden was rapidly filling with shadows. “Let’s go inside,” he suggested. “It’s going to get cold soon.”

  * * *

  —

  THE NEXT MORNING, before going in to fford Croft and Gibson, Daniel went to see Roman Blackwell. He was a man who enjoyed his food, and for him breakfast was the prince of meals. Daniel found him still at home, at the kitchen table, surrounded by the smells of broiling kippers, fresh toast, and newly brewed tea—more delicate, but still pervasive.

  A maid led Daniel in, and Blackwell waved a hand toward the other chair. “Kipper?” he offered. And before Daniel could answer, he raised his voice. “Mercy! Any more kippers?”

  She appeared out of the larder doorway. “Don’t shout! I can hear you perfectly well. I knew it had to be Daniel at this hour. Good morning, Daniel. A kipper?” she offered. “It says on the label they’re Craster, but that’s as may be.”

  Craster kippers, from the coast of Northumberland, were considered the best, and Daniel knew it. They were probably also the most expensive. They would have been sent down to London on the night train, and Mercy would have gone out very early indeed to get them before they sold out.

  “I’ve already had breakfast,” he replied. “But thank you.” And then he paused, subtly indicating that perhaps he would be persuaded.

  “Then I’ll cook this one for you. You’ll need it, for what he’s going to tell you.” She gestured toward Roman.

  Daniel turned, waiting with a sense of chill for what Blackwell would say. Was Patrick’s information false, and Blackwell knew it already?

  Blackwell looked at the stove, with the kipper simmering on it. “I looked for your fellow, Philip Sidney,” he said. “For heaven’s sake, sit down! Your kipper will take a while to cook. Have some toast. And marmalade. Or blackcurrant jam. Mercy made it.”

  Daniel forced himself to accept, if only for the sake of good manners. If it was homemade, he would eat it. “What about Sidney?” he asked. “I found out only yesterday evening that he’s been arrested for embezzlement.”

  “Ah.” Blackwell let out his breath slowly. “I have heard that, too. And learned quite a bit more as well. Philip Sidney—born twenty-nine years ago. Father Wallace Sidney. Got a bit of money, nothing special. Self-righteous man. Not very pleasant. Best thing he did was die young. Left a widow and one son, Philip. So named by his mother, a gentle creature, idealistic. Lover of history, and named her son after the Elizabethan hero Sir Philip Sidney. You probably know about him?” Blackwell eyed him curiously.

  “Yes,” Daniel agreed. “Presumably she told him all the stories?”

  “Yes. She had great dreams for him.” Blackwell’s face was twisted with pity, plus resentment at having to tell Daniel something he would clearly rather not know. “She married again. Case of necessity, really. The new husband was a miserable beggar. Not literally, of course. Rather well-to-do. No style or grace, though; considerable sacrifice on her part, I should think. But he educated the boy well, along with his own sons. Young Philip came off second-best in most things, it would appear, except cards. Very good at that. Could thrash them at that. He was a damn sight better-looking than his stepbrothers, and cleverer. Forced to hide his light under a bushel, so to speak, for the sake of his mother’s survival. Caught in a cleft stick! Justify her faith in him, and outshine his stepbrothers, and lose the stepfather’s goodwill! Or dim his light a bit and stay in the family fold.”

  “I see…” Daniel said quietly.

  “No, you don’t!” Blackwell contradicted him immediately. “You’ve never had to protect your mother from anything. I’ve met her. Formidable lady. You can only imagine what it would be like to have to hide your light so your father doesn’t humiliate her. And your imagination hasn’t been stretched to that—anything like.”

  “Does that have any bearing on the case?” Daniel asked.

  “Can’t see any,” Blackwell admitted. “Except that Sidney is a good-looking, intelligent man who has had to watch his step pretty much all his life. He had an idealistic mother who was prepared to sacrifice her own happiness to give him the best start she could. Thank God, she’s gone now, and whatever happens with this, she won’t see it.” His face reflected
his emotions completely. “Stepfather’s gone. Good riddance. Sidney doesn’t keep up with the stepbrothers. They’re not in the diplomatic service. Trade. Money. Something like that. Three of them. Sidney’s well liked. Worked particularly with a fellow called Armitage at the British Embassy in Washington. Apparently Armitage speaks well of him. It was he who got Sidney out before the scandal in Washington could reach really high proportions.”

  “What about the embezzlement?” Daniel asked. “Sidney must have had limited means. Don’t suppose his stepfather was generous to him?”

  “No, he wasn’t. Mean as dirt. Nor to the stepbrothers either, as far as I can tell. But Sidney’s used to living within moderate means, and I found no trace of debt to anyone. Still good at the cards, drinks only in moderation. I’ll look further. How much longer have we got before the embezzlement trial?”

  “I don’t know,” Daniel admitted. “But very little time, I think. The Thorwoods are in Britain settling up the aunt’s estate, but that won’t take long. I daresay they’ll push with all their diplomatic power to get it heard soon. And I believe they have both money and reputation.”

  “And this brother-in-law of yours?”

  “Four weeks altogether, unless there’s a reason why the Washington police will let him stay longer…”

  The kippers were ready, but Daniel found that he had lost his taste for them. He did not want any part of this case, either to prosecute Sidney or to defend him. It was painful to see the pattern of someone’s life and the collapse of it, whoever’s fault it was. Sometimes it was a fight for justice. Sometimes it was just a plain tragedy. This looked like the latter. But he couldn’t let Patrick down now—or, more truthfully, Jemima, who would take Patrick’s side in everything, and who was a friend of Rebecca’s.

  “Thank you,” he said for the kipper, wondering how he would be able to eat it.

  CHAPTER

  Five

  ASKING KITTERIDGE TO defend Philip Sidney for embezzlement was one of the most difficult things Daniel had to do. But he had promised Patrick that he would, so there was no alternative.

  Anyway, if Daniel avoided doing it, then Patrick would probably ask Kitteridge himself, which would make matters worse in every way. And whether Sidney was guilty or innocent, to step aside was no answer at all. All that proved was that Daniel had the choice between facing an awkward situation with the possibility of failure, and running away from it altogether. Rather than being disliked by some for the first choice, he would be despised by all for the latter, and that “all” would include himself.

  He knocked on Kitteridge’s door, then went in and closed it quietly behind him.

  Kitteridge looked up from his desk. “What happened?” he asked, looking at Daniel’s expression with misgiving.

  Daniel sat down in the visitor’s chair. There was no point in trying to be subtle or evasive. “The police have arrested Sidney for embezzlement from the British Embassy in Washington. He’s being charged, and Patrick asked me to appear for his defense. Which is pointless. I’m not competent to…yet…and Sidney would know it. He’ll get somebody of his own, if he hasn’t already, and we will lose control of matters altogether.”

  Kitteridge’s eyebrows rose. “We have control of something in this wretched affair? I must have missed that bit.”

  “No, but we can.” Daniel was aware of making assumptions, but they would be implicit whether he spoke them or not. “If we defend him, we have as much control as anyone ever has…”

  “You have control if you know all the evidence, and it indicates your client’s innocence,” Kitteridge said coolly. “And better yet, someone else’s guilt! We don’t even know what the evidence is. We’ve seen none of it, and we have no idea if our client is guilty or not. And we believe he is guilty of a much worse crime, which he is only charged with by word of mouth, of the victim’s family. And far from defending him for that, we actually want to expose him for it. A beautiful case, Pitt! Is there anything else you’ve omitted, that could make it even worse? Oh, yes, I forgot to mention that the accusers are foreigners, due to stay here only a month or so, and half your family is involved—who are also due to be here only for a month or so! And we don’t know if our client—and by that, I presume you really mean my client—even wants our services. You have exceeded yourself.”

  “There is…there is something else…”

  “Rubbish! Even I can’t imagine anything else!”

  “I asked Roman Blackwell to look into Sidney a bit—background, reputation, et cetera…”

  Kitteridge shut his eyes. “What?” he asked with excessive patience. He was used to Daniel’s passion for understanding every point of view, however little it seemed to be relevant. He did not pretend to agree, but he knew that it mattered to Daniel. Kitteridge thought it was something he had learned from his father.

  “He seems to be an exemplary young man. Honest, likable, good humor, even quite fun…”

  “Oh God!” Kitteridge groaned. “How did we ever get into this…this…fiasco? I don’t suppose Patrick is some kind of practical joker?”

  Daniel thought of Patrick’s anger, but far more persuasive was Jemima’s belief in him. “No,” he said unhappily.

  “You’ve only just met him!” Kitteridge pointed out.

  “But I’ve known Jemima all my life. Do you think I haven’t looked for a way out?”

  “No, of course you have. About five days too late! You should have found it the day he mentioned the whole miserable mess. You are not only softhearted, you are thoroughly softheaded as well. You do realize that if we—if I—take this case—and, please God, Sidney has his people and will refuse us—I will have no choice but to look very thoroughly into the evidence against him?”

  “Of course,” Daniel said stiffly.

  “I’ll ask you now, are you sure Patrick didn’t create it, or help it along?”

  Daniel was angry and, above all, afraid. He did not really know Patrick Flannery. All he knew for certain was that Jemima loved him. He was her husband, and her children’s father. Would loyalty demand she believe him, whatever the evidence suggested?

  “Pitt!” Kitteridge demanded.

  “No, of course I don’t know. Although I don’t see how he could. The information about the embezzlement came from inside the British Embassy in Washington. He has no access to that.”

  “Then how did he come by it?”

  “He didn’t! For heaven’s sake, the police arrested Sidney. The London police.”

  “I’ve heard about the long arm of the law, but London to Washington is a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?” Kitteridge asked, the sarcastic edge to his voice getting even sharper.

  “Thorwood!” Daniel said quickly. “He’s the only one who has come to London from Washington. He could have friends there powerful enough to have had a hand in this.”

  “True,” Kitteridge said thoughtfully. “Would he?”

  “I don’t know! But the evidence exists, or the London police wouldn’t have it.”

  “Well then, I had better make inquiries, I suppose.” Kitteridge stood up. “I imagine you are going to work on this, too? We’d better ask Marcus for permission. Perhaps I am being mean-spirited and unimaginative, but if Sidney even accepts me, has he any money? Or did you not think to ask such a pedestrian question?”

  “I don’t know.” Daniel stood as well. “But if he hasn’t enough to pay us, then he hasn’t enough to pay anyone else either, so he’d be very grateful to accept us.”

  “Pitt, sometimes I think you are a complete ass!”

  Daniel had no answer to that. He tried to think of a rationalization and failed.

  “Well, come on!” Kitteridge said, standing in the doorway. “Ass or not, you can’t imagine I’m going to Marcus with this by myself!”

  Daniel realized he had been imagining exactly that. His mind was
preoccupied with the thought that he needed Kitteridge, not only because he was an extremely good trial barrister, but because he was honest, completely so. He had no wish to tell a lie, and no imagination to think of one, or a series of them, on his feet. That had annoyed Daniel, because at times he was tedious. And occasionally Kitteridge missed the truth when it seemed absurd. But he also had the ability to accept it, even when it was against him, even when he had to backtrack and eat his own words. That was a quality Daniel admired without reservation. He feared he had yet to acquire it with any grace. “No, no, of course not!” he exclaimed.

  “That took you awhile,” Kitteridge said with a twisted smile. All the same, he’d given Daniel time to hesitate.

  Three minutes later, they were outside Marcus fford Croft’s office door. He was the founder and head of the firm, and his office reflected that. Kitteridge knocked, not giving either of them time to think any longer and lose courage.

  It was answered immediately and they were invited in to sit in the client armchairs. Kitteridge obeyed; Daniel remained on his feet. Marcus was of an indeterminate age, somewhere between his late fifties and seventy. He was portly and not very tall. His hair was white, thick, and at the moment looked like a haystack in the middle of a good tossing. He wore a velvet waistcoat over his mauve shirt, and a bow tie that might have been straight when he dressed in front of a mirror, but was very much turned in a counterclockwise direction now.

  “Well?” he said with interest. “What have you? Not another will or contested land boundary, I hope. I am so bored with bequests, I could paper the Sahara with them! Speak up, Kitteridge! What have you brought Pitt for? Moral support?”