Geoffrey Cousins - The Butcherbird

When Jack and his solicitor entered this inner sanctum he remained seated. ‘Good morning, Kemp. And this is obviously Mr Beaumont, about whom I have been reading with such interest.’ Jack stiffened, thinking of the newspaper articles, of which there’d now been three. ‘I refer, of course, to the documents you have provided and the brief from Mr Kemp, which is, as always, succinct, but in this case slightly mysterious. You have no court case on foot, Mr Beaumont. No one is suing you; you are suing no one; you are not being pursued by any of the authorities for heinous offences; you have not, apparently, for I’m sure Kemp would have noted it, murdered anyone. In short, none of the driving forces which usually herd people into this small, but I hope you agree, distinguished room appear to be in play. So how can I help you, Mr Beaumont?’

Jack felt he presented his case with force and confidence.

Facts and documents were in the brief and he, with the Pope’s help and analysis, understood most of them. Sometimes the linking patterns between one factor and another slid away from him when he re-read them at night in the study at the top of the house. This business was unlike anything he’d ever encountered before. You could produce almost any profit, legitimately, just by changing a few assumptions on risk or by tweaking a judgement on reserving policy or turning a dial on ‘smoothing’. The line between right and wrong was shrouded in grey mist on a distant horizon. Just when he held it clearly in sight, it merged and shifted and slipped away from him. But it had to be there-somewhere. And he was holding it firmly in sight now as he laid out his concerns in logical sequence to the impassive, watchful figure of Hedley Stimson QC.

The eyes of the old lawyer never left him throughout the nearly forty minutes of his exposition, the meat-pie hands were motionless on the desk. At one point Jack nearly lost his train of thought as he focused on those hands, rough and black under the nails, the hands of a working man, not a lawyer. It was in the workshop at the back of the house in Wahroonga, where he’d lived for the past twenty-five years, that Hedley Stimson formed the opinions that were the foundation of his legendary reputation, as the lathe whirred and shavings and sawdust flew onto the cracked concrete floor that was never swept.

Finally, Jack puttered to a halt. The lack of any visible or verbal response other than that unrelenting stare was too much. The old lawyer nodded at him. ‘Most impressive, Mr Beaumont. You have garnered an understanding of a series of most complex issues in a relatively short time. I’m sure you would greatly impress any jury if, of course, you were permitted to address them uninterrupted for a mere half-hour or so. But we have no jury, do we Mr Kemp? A great pity, it is true, for I have ultimate faith in the wisdom of juries-if only we could extend this excellent system into the world outside the sterility of courts. Fewer arguments, less war, more justice? What do you think, Mr Beaumont?’ Hedley Stimson paused briefly but in such a way as to block any response. ‘Regrettably, however, we must deal with the conventions of our time. You’ve raised a number of interesting concerns, but it’s unclear to me what actions you expect to flow from your inquiries. Are you seeking to raise these matters with the regulatory authorities, take civil actions against distinguished citizens, to terminate your contract or to alleviate your conscience?’

Jack stared back into the pools of the deep-set eyes but didn’t flinch, as so many witnesses had over the decades. These were the same questions Louise had put to him when the ice had finally thawed between them. He’d been faithful always-almost. Their fights, and there were few, were about him arriving home late without a call, or disappearing at a party for longer than a drink. No more than that.

She’d sensed a conspiracy immediately when he had told her about his exclusion from the Colonial Club, about the greasy slipperiness of it all. ‘These things don’t just happen, Jack. We’ve never before had an article about us in the press that wasn’t complimentary, and then you get blackballed. There are no coincidences. Someone is out to get you.’ And then, as her focus shifted to the perpetrators of this evil, so did her anger. She was there to defend him, to fight for their world, to attack. Louise on the hunt was as relentless a beast as he’d ever seen. So when he wavered about taking his worries to Hedley Stimson, as the Pope had suggested, she stiffened his back in minutes. ‘Darling, there’s a link between these attacks on you and all the questions you’ve been asking at HOA. There has to be. You know in your heart these people are up to something, and you have to pin the bastards, whoever they are-or you’re not the man I know you to be.’

What was the answer to the question being put to him in this book-lined room? What actions did he expect to flow now that he’d summoned the resolve to introduce legal opinion into the equation? He looked back across the desk for what seemed like minutes before answering.

‘I don’t know. That’s what I need your advice on. It’s certainly not about protecting me. I haven’t done anything wrong and I don’t want anyone’s money. But what we do at HOA affects people’s lives whether they’re shareholders or policyholders. We’re not selling baked beans or a night at the movies. I’m concerned that if the company gets into trouble through improper practice, or even mismanagement, if that’s what it is, we could hurt thousands of people. And if it’s being done to profit someone else, then yes, I want to bring them to justice.’

The gnarled hands remained flat on the desk, the eyes held his.

‘I see.’ Hedley Stimson closed the folder in front of him. ‘In order to prove what you suspect, you’d need not only the primary documents-and we’re talking about dozens of confidential company documents, not just the few you have here-’ he tapped the folder, ‘you’d also need deep actuarial and accounting assessments from the best practitioners. The support you could expect from the regulatory authorities, despite all kinds of comforting statements, would amount to very little. The forces brought to bear against you, on the other hand, would include a barrage of legal manoeuvres, and the most damaging attacks on your reputation and credibility-not only during the course of any proceedings, but continuously for the rest of your professional life, should you have any, as well as concerted and probably successful attempts to ruin you financially, aided in part by the extraordinarily high fees you would have to pay me and Mr Kemp here, over a very long period, a period we could extend almost indefinitely, given a chance. Therefore…’ there was the slight raising of the brow and the one hand was slowly lifted with the raised index finger, ‘I must advise you in the strongest terms not to consider proceeding with any of these matters in a formal legal framework. You may choose to handle them by negotiation and discussion within the company and its board, or to resign your position. That is a matter for you and not within my purview. This is the advice I must give you.’

Jack stood and began to pace the room. He had to move when he was uncomfortable, it had always been like that. But now at least he was not uncertain. Some of Louise’s anger had transferred itself to him.

‘But there is stuff here that’s wrong, isn’t there? Some of this could be a monumental fraud, couldn’t it? Are you saying there’s no breach of the law here, nothing to pursue? Are you saying-’ Jack stopped in mid-flight to scrutinise the books on the shelves. ‘These aren’t law books.’ He took one down. ‘They’re all novels.’ He turned to the old lawyer with the book still in his hand.