Chapter 30: Out of Pocket

It was a nostalgic occasion. Judge Embert Wimple was about to appear in court for the last time. A man might be excused for reminiscing during the event, though no such idea was entertained by his honour as he prepared for his final day as a dispenser of justice – or as near to that as the law allowed. He would, as always, do his duty. The timing was appropriate, as this was April and a new cricket season was imminent. Imbued as he now was with the need to grasp the meaning of life, Judge Wimple was hoping that his long stint would end with a whimper rather than a bang. Furthermore, his recent proposal to Esmeralda that the two might take one of their rare holidays together had been received with enthusiasm. They were now committed to a week in Torquay. Who knew what aspects of a long union might be refreshed?

Now, what was afoot today? Newman versus Ball. Proceeding on the assumption that everything would come out in the wash, the judge did not cloud his mind with any great preparation. However, he did note that he was once more confronted with the two ends of the advocates’ age scale. The prosecution was in the hands of Lorna Perceval, making only her second appearance before Embert Wimple. The defence was represented by the now doddering Simon Fortescue. The judge intended to have a dig at him, having overheard his recent observation that the presence of fogies on the bench conveyed a negative impression to the public and that it was time for ‘Old Wimps’ to be put out to grass. Still, his honour expected Fortescue to appear at the small celebration planned for that evening. Embert Wimple had been promised a tasting of an exceptionally fine manzanilla, his partiality to sherry being well known.

Fiddling with his papers, the judge cast his eyes over the litigants. The plaintiff, Jonathan Newman, appeared to be about sixty years of age. He was dressed in a black suit, black tie, white shirt and gleaming black shoes and had both hands clasped on the brim of a black Homburg hat. The defendant, Dean Ball, was clearly well under half the age of his opponent and was, it seemed to the judge, no respecter of occasions. He wore a scruffy dark-blue windcheater, opened to reveal a stained white tee shirt, plus lavishly frayed grey denim trousers and tan shoes which the judge silently nominated as the dirtiest ever to appear before him. Still, Embert Wimple reminded himself for the umpteenth time, one must not judge books by their covers. He addressed Perceval. “Very well, let us proceed, Ms Lancelot.” As on prosecuting counsel’s first appearance before him, his honour’s train of thought had got him to the Round Table, albeit this time at the wrong seat, let alone the gender.

Being a product of both Oxbridge and the Ivy League, Lorna Perceval not only grasped all the nuances involved, but was also gratified by a fly-past of such proximity. “Thank you, Your Honour. We are dealing with an incident which took place at about one o’clock in the afternoon of the fifth of January this year, less than two hundred yards from here. My client, Mr Newman, has an office in the properties surrounding the public park which lies just across the main road from the court building. Your Honour is perhaps aware that the four short streets surrounding the square concerned are usually lined with cars, many of them deposited there for the day.”

Having spent some time at the spot in question – that of his many recent daydreams – the judge nodded. He also once more noted Ms Perceval’s distinctly horsey appearance. “Yes, I know the place. By the way, are you interested in equestrian matters?”

Again, the breeding showed. Without batting an eyelid, Perceval replied: “Only on Grand National day. I have been known to wager a pound each way on that occasion.”

“Really? I would have thought that a dashing young barrister might risk all on a straight win.”

“Caution runs in my family, Your Honour.”

Embert Wimple was delighted to note Perceval’s adroit avoidance of any pitfalls she might have fallen into by enquiring whether his comment had any relevance. Many barristers had been skewered that way, though on this occasion no trap was intended. Obviously, here was an advocate to be reckoned with. “I see. Well, we can’t chat about these things all day. You were saying... ?”

“My client had stepped out to buy sandwiches for his lunch. On the way back to his office, he walked between parked cars, intending to cross the street. At the very moment he emerged into the clear area, a Bentley limousine came along, causing him to leap backwards. He caught a foot on the pavement edge and fell against the park railings. At the same time, the defendant arrived on the scene. He got Mr Newman seated on the pavement and asked him about his condition. My client replied that, considering the economic downturn, he was doing as well as could be expected. At this point, the defendant realised that he was kneeling on Mr Newman’s wallet, which had dropped from an inside coat pocket when my client fell. No doubt motivated by opportunism, Mr Ball picked up the wallet and rushed off. In doing so, he almost collided with a large gentleman who was passing by. In an avoiding action, Mr Ball swerved and ran head-first into a lamp-post, the impact knocking him unconscious.”

“Instant karma,” said the judge, whose recent conversion to belief in reincarnation was now never far from the surface.

“Perhaps. However, by then two ladies returning from their lunch break had stopped to ask my client what was amiss. Now, while the defendant was incapacitated, the large gentleman I mentioned had obviously seen enough to grasp that the wallet, which had fallen from Mr Ball’s hand when he struck the lamp-post, belonged to my client. He returned it to its rightful owner. Before doing so, he exhibited great presence of mind, in that he noted that some items had almost slipped from the defendant’s hip pocket, He was about to push them back, when he saw that one of them was an envelope bearing what he assumed to be Mr Ball’s name and address. He wrote the details on the back of his business card, replaced the envelope and the other things in Mr Ball’s pocket, then went to offer assistance to my client. He helped Mr Newman to his feet, by which time the defendant had recovered and run off.”

“I see,” said the judge. “This left your client, the large gentleman and the two ladies on the scene, did it?”

“Yes, but not for long. The gentleman left as soon as he had provided my client with the information he needed to trace the defendant. Mr Newman seeks recompense.”

“A seemingly reasonable attitude,” said the judge, “considering that he sees himself as the victim of an intended theft.”

Ms Perceval clasped her hands. “It is not the attempted robbery that troubles my client, Your Honour, but rather the ancillary effect. Mr Newman is a stockbroker. He had several deals planned for that afternoon, none of which took place, as his affairs were disorganised by the incident. He cannot quantify the smaller transactions, but on three larger ones, he lost commission of seven hundred and twenty-three pounds. He wishes to be reimbursed.”