bloodstained mop.
“Finn?” asked Delroy. “What the hell you up to now?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. Worrying wasn’t going to help. Talking to Delroy might have helped, but it was too late for that.
“I’ve printed out the form for you,” said the helpful bloke at the Solicitors’ Regulation Authority. He looked younger than me, in apinstriped suit that was too big for him, and his big head wobbled on his skinny neck like those nodding dogs you sometimes see on the back shelves of cars driven by old ladies in strange hats.
I picked up the form. I really hated forms, though this one at least wasn’t as densely packed with gibberish as the ones Nicky used to wave at me. My reluctance must have been obvious from the way I held it, because the clerk piped up, “It’s only six pages long. And three of those are a diversity survey. You know, race, sexual orientation—they’re not strictly necessary.”
“And how long will it take to get compensation?”
I was trying to avoid looking directly at his face because of its magnificent crop of pimples, but I saw him grin proudly. “We aim to deal with your case within thirty days as a rule. Unless it’s complicated. But from what you’ve said, this doesn’t sound complicated.”
“Thirty days?” He didn’t seem to notice the desperation in my voice.
“If you fill it in now, I’ll submit it straight away. Do you need a pen?”
Ignoring his acne I stared at him. Was there any point explaining that in thirty days’ time I might well be in plaster from the neck down, eating my meals through a straw?
“You can take the form home with you if you prefer.”
Back at Nicky’s building, a few streets away, the receptionist tried to tell me the offices of Hale and Vora were closed, but I wasn’t having any of it. From where I stood I could see Vora in a cubicle at the back, photocopying a heap of papers, and I insisted on talking to him. Perhaps the receptionist was too mad to care, because Nicky had done a bunk without paying her bills, but she let me through.
Maybe Nicky didn’t want me to find her, and maybe she did think I’d get my money back. Or maybe somebody had got to her. Either way I had to know, and that meant following every lead I could find.
Vora stared at me with trepidation when I entered. He seemed less panic-stricken than the last time I’d seen him, and had recovered some of his style, but his skin was grey with stress and he looked tired and old. I felt sorryfor him, till I remembered that he had got out of the firm when it was still solvent. Probably with a generous pension.
“I’ve just been to the Law Society and the SRA,” I said.
He nodded in resignation. “You should get compensation, Finn,” he said. “It’s an open-and-shut case.”
“You think so?”
“I—don’t know what you mean.”
“Do you really believe Nicky would do a runner?”
“Last week, I would never have believed it, no.”
“Did you know she was getting death threats? Via email?”
“Yes, I knew. She used to be on Twitter, and Facebook, but the abuse got so bad she gave them up. It happens, especially to women.”
“Why didn’t she report it?”
“She did, for all the difference it made.”
“And she never found out who was behind it?”
“Some creep. You can’t respond to these idiots—she never took it seriously.”
“Maybe she should have.”
Vora thought about what that meant and frowned.
“What cases was she working on?” I asked.
“She mostly dealt in corporate affairs, nothing high-profile or controversial. But she did have a few personal clients, like you …”
“Any chance you could put me in touch with these other clients?”
“That would be unethical. Unprofessional—I could get struck off.”
“So what? I thought you’d retired.” Vora rubbed his forehead, looking older by the minute. “Look,” I said, “I’m not convinced Nicky ran off with my money, and I don’t think you are
“Finn?” asked Delroy. “What the hell you up to now?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. Worrying wasn’t going to help. Talking to Delroy might have helped, but it was too late for that.
“I’ve printed out the form for you,” said the helpful bloke at the Solicitors’ Regulation Authority. He looked younger than me, in apinstriped suit that was too big for him, and his big head wobbled on his skinny neck like those nodding dogs you sometimes see on the back shelves of cars driven by old ladies in strange hats.
I picked up the form. I really hated forms, though this one at least wasn’t as densely packed with gibberish as the ones Nicky used to wave at me. My reluctance must have been obvious from the way I held it, because the clerk piped up, “It’s only six pages long. And three of those are a diversity survey. You know, race, sexual orientation—they’re not strictly necessary.”
“And how long will it take to get compensation?”
I was trying to avoid looking directly at his face because of its magnificent crop of pimples, but I saw him grin proudly. “We aim to deal with your case within thirty days as a rule. Unless it’s complicated. But from what you’ve said, this doesn’t sound complicated.”
“Thirty days?” He didn’t seem to notice the desperation in my voice.
“If you fill it in now, I’ll submit it straight away. Do you need a pen?”
Ignoring his acne I stared at him. Was there any point explaining that in thirty days’ time I might well be in plaster from the neck down, eating my meals through a straw?
“You can take the form home with you if you prefer.”
Back at Nicky’s building, a few streets away, the receptionist tried to tell me the offices of Hale and Vora were closed, but I wasn’t having any of it. From where I stood I could see Vora in a cubicle at the back, photocopying a heap of papers, and I insisted on talking to him. Perhaps the receptionist was too mad to care, because Nicky had done a bunk without paying her bills, but she let me through.
Maybe Nicky didn’t want me to find her, and maybe she did think I’d get my money back. Or maybe somebody had got to her. Either way I had to know, and that meant following every lead I could find.
Vora stared at me with trepidation when I entered. He seemed less panic-stricken than the last time I’d seen him, and had recovered some of his style, but his skin was grey with stress and he looked tired and old. I felt sorryfor him, till I remembered that he had got out of the firm when it was still solvent. Probably with a generous pension.
“I’ve just been to the Law Society and the SRA,” I said.
He nodded in resignation. “You should get compensation, Finn,” he said. “It’s an open-and-shut case.”
“You think so?”
“I—don’t know what you mean.”
“Do you really believe Nicky would do a runner?”
“Last week, I would never have believed it, no.”
“Did you know she was getting death threats? Via email?”
“Yes, I knew. She used to be on Twitter, and Facebook, but the abuse got so bad she gave them up. It happens, especially to women.”
“Why didn’t she report it?”
“She did, for all the difference it made.”
“And she never found out who was behind it?”
“Some creep. You can’t respond to these idiots—she never took it seriously.”
“Maybe she should have.”
Vora thought about what that meant and frowned.
“What cases was she working on?” I asked.
“She mostly dealt in corporate affairs, nothing high-profile or controversial. But she did have a few personal clients, like you …”
“Any chance you could put me in touch with these other clients?”
“That would be unethical. Unprofessional—I could get struck off.”
“So what? I thought you’d retired.” Vora rubbed his forehead, looking older by the minute. “Look,” I said, “I’m not convinced Nicky ran off with my money, and I don’t think you are
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