‘You’re welcome,’ I said, trying to sound as cool as possible while inwardly wondering if I could possibly hide my glee at all this desperately needed money.
‘I’d also be grateful–and I’d imagine you would too–if you would accept this additional sum as a retainer.’ He handed me another cheque–this one was for eight hundred and twelve thousand, two hundred and seventy-two pounds, and sixty-five pence. I stared at it. The amount was bizarre…and familiar. Confusion reigned on my face. Dr Marshall coughed to get my attention.
‘It’s the exact amount of the bank overdraft of Lothian and St Clair WS as at close of business last Friday,’ he said.
‘How the hell did you get our bank details?’ I asked in a voice much calmer than I expected. Most law firms have overdrafts–expenses are high and client fees can be slow in coming in. The banks are happy to extend credit because they have the deeds of the partners’ houses, but recently Lothian and St Clair had rather overplayed this side of things. Added to a credit crunch and overall financial meltdown, we were in deep shit. I was pissed that Marshall had investigated our finances, as well as being amazed that he’d got through every shred of data protection there was, but, on the other hand, the fee plus the retainer would pay the bank off and maybe I would sleep easier at night. It was a tricky one. I didn’t even want to imagine at this stage what I was going to have to defend.
‘No,’ I said, handing the cheque back to him. I never had claimed to have any business sense. ‘No thank you, Dr Marshall.’
‘Oh dear. I’m sorry, Ms McLennan. I’m sorry. I thought it was standard business practice to know about a lawyer before hiring their firm, so believed that if you agreed to act for me you could have the fifty thousand pounds consultation fee and put the rest in the firm, account as a retainer.’ This time there was no smile on his face. I said nothing. ‘I may not need your expertise–one can only hope–but if I should, then I would expect you to drop everything and act on my behalf.’
‘Do you have a case outstanding?’ I asked, unable to stop myself from trying to find out more.
‘I’d prefer not to discuss the potential legal action until it happens. You do have my sincere apology if there was anything about this whole business that you might have found distasteful. Do we have a deal, Ms McLennan? One thing I can assure you of, if I am charged I am innocent.’ He held out his hand again. I’d cooled down and needed to think about this second chance, not that I wanted him to know that.
I imagined Lavender’s face–and words–if I turned down this much money.
And Kailash.
And Grandad.
And the other partners.
Shit, shit, shit.
‘Deal.’ I shook his hand.
When the door closed behind Graham Marshall, I waved the cheques in the air and did my victory dance. I was slightly disgusted at myself for being bought, but I was also delighted that things might be on more solid ground with the firm. And, as Marshall had said, he might not even need me–in which case, it would be the easiest fifty grand I’d ever made.
The office clock showed it was late–there was probably no point in going to The Vineyard. I picked up the phone and called Kailash. I didn’t even get to speak before I heard her imperious voice snap, ‘It’s late. Get over here now. Another wasted evening.’
She closed the phone on me and I sighed deeply. I didn’t want to go to my mother’s but I knew I had to. Kailash would still have been working, waiting for my call. Glasgow Joe took care of the casino, so I would have to break bread with my mother in her Danube Street brothel. Did all families work this way? I wondered, knowing the answer full well, even as I thought of the question.
There was something much more obvious on my mind, though–who in God’s name was Graham Marshall? I couldn’t help but think he must be guilty as sin if he was offering me this much cash for an appointment without being accused of anything. That wasn’t the lawyer in me talking–that would be the thought of any sane individual faced with a well-known figure and a stash of money being thrown at her. Now, all I had to do was wait and see exactly what it was I would be expected to do.
The door was no different to any of the other respectable doors in the road. It was painted a conservative black in accordance with planning regulations, and the brass plate beside the bell gave the number of the house but not the identity or occupation of its inhabitants.
Thankfully.
When I parked the bike outside it I was in a good mood again. The cheques from Graham Marshall were in my pocket and I was certain they wouldn’t bounce. I had Googled Marshall before I left the office and his fame was more widespread and greater than even Lavender had led me to believe. The man was world famous. He operated alone in a small private hospital in Edinburgh; celebrities and the filthy rich came here from all over the world, just to be nipped and tucked by him. I had decided that it was a good sign that he chose me; my reputation was known amongst the criminal fraternity but he was an outsider. Naturally I was curious about the nature of his potential case–not to mention his manners–but many professionals and businesses retain legal firms for all sorts of reasons. The mistake ‘respectable’ people often make when getting into trouble is to instruct one of the big-name commercial firms, who may be excellent at drawing up a lease, but don’t know their arse from their elbow when it comes to court work.
I rang the bell and waited, but not for long. Kailash’s staff knew better than to keep a punter hanging around on the doorstep. Malcolm opened the door. He looked well. As usual his make-up was impeccable. His eyes flicked over me and I was found wanting. Helmet hair and unidentifiable squashed things on my leathers meant that I didn’t pass his grooming test. I handed him my helmet and walked in.
‘You’re in trouble,’ he warned as I marched down the Georgian hallway. The brothel (or ‘club’, as Malcolm preferred to call it) was very upmarket, more like a chic boutique hotel than a sex joint. In my mind, no matter what colour the paint job was, it was still a knocking shop. I half turned to face him. Like a child I pulled the cheque out from my inside pocket and waved it in his face. He shrugged his shoulders.
‘She won’t be impressed. Kailash could write you a cheque for twice that amount from her housekeeping and never even notice it was gone.’ He reached out and held my elbow. ‘You only have to ask her, Brodie–she’d love to help you if you need it. She doesn’t want you to struggle like she did.’ Only Malcolm could compare the financial struggles of an Edinburgh lawyer with Kailash’s past. He had been Kailash’s dresser for decades. They’d met in Amsterdam when she was an underage runaway. He patched her up when the punters got too rough, and he was with her when she made the momentous decision to become a ‘top’, the one who wields the whip. I had become acquainted with the world of bondage, domination and sadomasochism when we were reunited.
Malcolm moved ahead of me and removed the thick blue rope that barred the stairs down to the private quarters. I followed him down into the kitchen, where Kailash sat at a substantial oak table surrounded by shiny red Poggenpohl units. A couple of girls, between clients, were at the other end of the table drinking tequila. Kailash poured me a mug of tea and passed it across. I sat down beside her, feeling like something stronger than tea–but having seen the look in her eye, I wasn’t going to ask.
‘So…who is this VIP client, the one who ranks above us?’ she asked immediately.
Kailash