Death at Friar's Inn

Rob Keeley

Description

Dinner at an Inn of Court takes an unusual turn when a corpse falls onto the Benchers' Table. A battleaxe and a rubber glove are found at the scene. A trophy has been stolen. But who could have wanted the Porter dead - and why?Aspiring barristers Tom and Becca set out to investigate.But another murder isn't far away...

Sujets

• Political
• Politics

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 08 mars 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781803139074
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

Copyright © 2022 Rob Keeley

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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For my learned friends
Kendoy
Bala
Sara
Pete and Lauren
And Imran – my own mooting partner!


Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten


Chapter One
Transferred Malice
“Nat!” Tom looked at his watch. “Come on ! It’s ten to! Doors close in five minutes.”
He made a grab for his bag. After three years of accompanying him to lectures, its handles were losing their grip. Their legal arguments had nearly been under a bus already.
He was sweating inside his thirty-quid supermarket suit. It was black, and far too hot for July. But Friar’s Inn insisted.
Except where stated, student dress for all events at the Inn is dark suit, white shirt or blouse, and a smart, dark tie (for men) .
Nat didn’t seem to have read the memo. His suit was a light grey, and unlike Tom’s, had been tailored for him. True, he had the white shirt, but his tie was salmon pink. Lawyer he might have been, but with his mop of dreadlocks and silver stud earrings, he still looked like one of the cool kids. He was walking like one, too.
“Tom, man, relax will you! We’re the barristers. They can’t start without us.”
“They close the doors at five to,” Tom panted. “No exceptions. And the moot starts at six. If the doors are shut, we’ve got to ring and ask for the Porter.”
“You’re so medieval in this country,” Nat said. “What’s with all this Inn of Court stuff, anyhow? What’s eating dinners got to do with becoming a lawyer?”
“It’s not just dinners, any more. It’s lectures, moots, careers sessions, education weekends. You’ve got to clock up ten points, before you can be called to the Bar.” He glanced at his friend. “All barristers have to belong to an Inn. It’s traditional.”
“Oh, well.” Nat’s grin brought a little bit of Trinidad to Chancery Lane. “That answers it, doesn’t it? ‘Long as it’s traditional, it’s British.”
Tom looked at his watch again. They had left their house, on the outskirts of the University of the Four Counties, at noon. As ever, the train had been late. They’d been left with a few minutes to check into their frighteningly expensive hotel in Holborn, dump their bags, and change into their suits. Neither of them had been to Friar’s Inn before, though Tom had been accepted as a student member six months previously. The online map that Tom had printed had twice sent them the wrong way and once, they had ended up in the forecourt of the Royal Courts of Justice.
Nat had none of this worry of Inns of Court or dinners or qualifying sessions. He was going to be a solicitor. After tonight he was back to Four Counties, for another peaceful year’s study for his Master of Laws. One Legal Practice Course later, he would be back home, in the family’s law firm, with more sunshine than Tom would see in a year.
Not for the first time, Tom thought the Bar didn’t deserve its reputation as the senior profession...
A few more minutes’ dash brought Tom to the archway that led into Friar’s Inn Walk. Nat strolled casually along behind. To him, this was just a quick advocacy game, then a meal out. For Tom, it was his whole future. So many important people would be here tonight. Masters of the Bench. Barristers. Judges...
Tom wished Nat would take this a bit more seriously. They were representing their University, after all. It was Tom’s last task as a Four Counties student before moving on to his postgrad year in London. They had graduated the week before, in purple hoods and mortar boards, an upper second for Tom, a first – damn him! – for Nat.
The importance of tonight was seared across Friar’s Inn’s website, and across Tom’s brain too.

Universities Mooting Competition Final
and Grand Moot Dinner

Saturday 20th July at 6.00pm
in the Cromwell Room

University of the Four Counties (appellants)
v.
Chatteridge College, Oxford (respondents)

Judges:
Lord Justice Langbourne (Master Deputy Treasurer)
Mr Justice Singh (Master Singh)
Josephine Chan, QC (Master Chan)

To be followed by drinks in the Gardens and dinner in Hall

Bar students: this event counts as 1 Qualifying Session. Please sign the register after dinner to claim.

They had been working towards this for six months, travelling all over the country, meeting and beating fellow Law students from other universities. They had mooted in lecture theatres, library training rooms, even a Wooden Parliament in the open air.
Tom had spent most of that time telling friends from outside the law what a moot actually was.
“It’s like... a sort of mock trial. It’s an appeal case, where you debate points of law in front of a judge. It tests you on the law, as well as advocacy.”
Friends’ eyes glazed over. They made no comment.
The semi-finals had been in Manchester, a ghastly problem about planning law. Tom didn’t know much planning law, but fortunately their opponents had known less. At least someone had chosen a fun criminal case for the final. The law wasn’t too complex.
But they were up against Oxford. Plus an appeal court judge, a High Court judge and a Queen’s Counsel, one of the senior members of the profession. With a full audience of Friars. Tom’s polyester shirt was sticking to him, and the ham and cheese croissant he’d had on the train was coming back for more. He was dying to sneeze, as well. It was hay fever season, and the grass and tree pollen counts were high.
They passed beneath the arch. Tom only had time for a glance at the ornate lettering.
The Honourable Society of Friar’s Inn.
Along Friar’s Inn Walk were several sets of barristers’ chambers, with their white-painted, glass-panelled doors and the names of the barristers displayed outside.
The two young lawyers entered the main square. Ahead of them lay the ancient buildings, part-medieval, part-Victorian rebuild, all imposing. A flight of vast stone steps led to the doors to Hall. Tom skidded to a halt.
“Shit! They’re shut! All the doors are shut!” He glanced at his watch again. “We’re too late.”
“Best ring for the Porter, then,” said Nat. He glanced around. “Try over here.”
He headed for a smaller, black-painted door, to the left of the main building. Tom ran after him.
“Nat! You’d better not... no, I don’t think... it says Benchers’ Entrance !”
Nat was already prodding the bell-push.
Tom stood behind him, uneasily. He knew this door was for very superior people.
The door flew open. A stocky middle-aged man in a smart grey uniform appeared. He had a shaven head and a weather-beaten, deeply-lined, incredibly rascally face. His grin revealed a gold tooth.
Tom blinked. This wasn’t what he’d expected at all. This man looked like something out of Dickens.
He had the accent to match.
“Mr Barton? And Mr Webber?”
The two lawyers nodded.
“They’re all waiting for you, sirs. You’d best come in.”
Tom entered. He felt a sudden obligation to wipe his feet. Nat drifted after him.
“I’m Lewes,” the Porter said. Without further explanation, he led them across a square entrance hall and up a pink-carpeted staircase to the first floor.
There was a half-open pair of doors, giving Tom and Nat a glimpse of an oak-panelled room with bookshelves and portraits. Several rows of Friars sat in suits and black gowns, waiting. This was clearly the Cromwell Room.
Lewes pushed open a door to a small, adjoining room.
“This is your robing room. You brought gowns?”
Gowns? Shit and double shit! No one had said anything about gowns!
Lewes smiled as he saw the look on Tom’s face.
“Full wig and gown for the student final, sir. No worries, we’ve got some spares. Gowns on the racks – practitioner’s gown, not student gown, please sirs. You’ll need student gowns for dinner after. Wigs and bands are on the table. They’re donated by the wives of Benchers who’ve passed away.”
He had closed the door before Tom’s mouth had time to fall open.
“Hi.”
Tom turned, and his mouth stayed where it was.
Standing before him, dressed in full barrister’s gear, was the most gorgeous girl he had ever seen. She looked to be biracial, with a golden brown complexion, and a big mane of dark frizzy hair jutting out from beneath a