Completely futile. Like everything else the lawyers had done. The meeting with the barrister, Hassam, Hassan, Has-been, whatever his name was, had been a complete waste of time.
The conversation went round in ever decreasing circles of complex legal jargon and in the end, the two lawyers seemed as lost as Corby was. To be honest, he’d switched off about half way through, more worried about the people following him. He’d first noticed the car behind the bus in Cleveland Street. It could have overtaken but it hung back. It was there again as they left the Birkenhead bus station and headed for the tunnel.
Then there was the woman who’d got off with him at Argyle Street and followed for a few blocks. When he stopped to look in a charity shop, she was still behind him after he came out. Was he just being paranoid? He turned left, then right, walked two blocks parallel and then right again, back onto Mount Pleasant. And there she was, still behind him. She turned off, and he breathed a sigh of relief. But then he noticed the man standing at a bus stop. Why would he suddenly have started walking behind him when he passed?
Now they were back at Shaikh’s and the frustration was killing. No idea whether he would be charged with whatever they could charge him with. No progress on getting compensation. Completely futile!
“We’ve to do something. Where have you got to on suing the university?”
“Don’t forget, I haven’t agreed to take on the civil case. All I agreed to do was take a look at your contract. And we were going to wait until we knew what was happening about your job.
“This is ridiculous. You can’t tell me whether I’ll be OK if they lay charges. I might be locked up for a crime I haven’t committed. And now you aren’t even going to help me to get compensation.” Corby stood up and walked over to the window. Yes. A car was parked across the road with two men sitting in it. “And what are you going to do about these people following me?”
“Following you? What do you mean?”
“Someone was following me on my way here. And they’re outside now waiting for me.”
“Following you?” Shaikh repeated. “Who was it? Are you certain?”
“Almost. A woman and a man followed me to your office and they’re outside now, waiting for me. Come and look.”
“Most likely pure coincidence.” Shaikh walked over to the window. “The police have released you. The university would have no interest in following you. In any case, no-one actually does that sort of following. Only spies on television. There are two men out there in a parked car. So what? I’ve represented dozens of people with problems with the authorities and if they were following you, you’d never notice.”
“Maybe not, but I did a presentation on my research at a conference last year and a number of people were interested enough to talk to me afterwards. If you don’t think it’s an official organisation then who could it be?”
“I’m telling you. You’re imagining this. The only people with the resources to follow people in that way would be a government. Or gangsters. And I can’t see you being of interest to them.”
“Gangsters?” The thought hadn’t occurred to him before. “Yes. I suppose if they got to hear about DENIS. If they got hold of DENIS they might see a potential to make a lot of money.”
“Nonsense.” Shaikh seemed intent on ignoring the problem. But then it wasn’t his neck on the line. “In any case, if the mob were interested, there’s nothing we could do about it.”
“So, to sum up. We don’t know if I’m going to be charged. If I’m charged, we don’t know if I have a defence. Gangsters may or may not be following me. If they are, you can’t help. And you’re not prepared to help me get compensation for the loss of my research.”
“You know that’s not fair, Doctor Corby. If the police decide to charge you, we’ll defend you and you heard the conversation with Ibrahim Hassan. There’s a good chance – a very good chance – that the prosecution won’t succeed. And I haven’t said that we won’t act for you against the university. Not definitely.”
“It amounts to the same thing. We sit here doing nothing and wait for things to happen. Perhaps I need to find someone else to act for me.”
“If you want to. And if you don’t trust my advice, you definitely should. The important thing is to behave rationally.”
“Behave rationally? Behave rationally? I’ve had my life ruined. I’m probably going to gaol. The only person – entity – I can talk to has been sent to the municipal tip. I am being targeted by some mafia or other that I’ve never heard of. And my lawyer? My lawyer wants to pick and choose what he takes on and then he tells me what? That I’m behaving irrationally!”
“Doctor Corby! Doctor Corby! Please be calmer. I understand you see the situation as grave. As I said, we will help you to the best of our ability. But we should not be emotional. Logic is everything. I apologise for the comment on rationality. The last thing I wished to suggest was that you were behaving irrationally. That was not what I meant. Not at all.”
Corby looked at the lawyer. If anyone was behaving emotionally, it was him. The man looked distraught. His tie was set off to one side. His cheap suit was shiny. Behind him, the desk was a pile of clutter that made Corby’s own look tidy. The bookshelves sagged. Was this really the lawyer on whom he would stake his freedom, his financial compensation and, yes, his revenge? “I’m sorry Mr Shaikh. This session is at an end.” He picked up his anorak folded over the chair and put it on. Two pens had slid out of the pocket onto the floor. Pausing only to pick them up, he walked out of the room and closed the door.
Corby paused in the hallway to calm himself before walking out onto the street, where he remembered with a shock that the car with his two watchers was still parked across the road. As he turned to walk down the hill, both occupants were talking on mobile phones.
The street was quiet. A few pedestrians were walking uphill and a few more down in the same direction as him. He wondered which of them was following him. The woman twenty five yards behind? Or perhaps the man he overtook coming in round the corner from a side street. Whoever it might be, he could be sure someone was.
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