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Lies, Damn Lies and Delinquents

by by Anthony Alba
"I'm not sure," Sandra Davidson muttered uncertainly as she weighed the options before her. "Shouldn't I have my solicitor here before I do any deals with you?"

"You're a convicted delinquent," Alison Cooper pointed out smoothly and with no small amount of satisfaction. "You are not entitled to legal advice. If you're not interested there are others I can speak to." To emphasise the point she deliberately closed her legal pad and started gathering her things as if to leave the interview room.

"No, wait," Sandra said quickly. "I just want a moment or two to think about it."

"I don't have all day," Alison told her.

In truth she did not mind a few more minutes to study the change that had come over Sandra. The last time they had seen each other, Sandra had looked every inch the successful up and coming accountant in her sharp business suit. Even in the dock she had possessed a certain dignity. Now the childish school uniform she wore stripped her of any inherent gravitas she might have once had and made her look like she was seventeen instead of her actual twenty-five years of age. And the way she had flinched when the guard escorting her in had casually patted her on the bottom had been very telling.

When Alison had first shown up Sandra had been naturally bitter and resentful towards her. Alison was part of the prosecution team that was responsible for sending her here. When she had been assigned the case Alison had been over the moon. Involvement on such a high profile case had the potential to be a real shot in the arm for her career.

And then just when she was flying high everything had threatened to come crashing down. Reviewing some documents Alison discovered evidence that suggested Sandra's role in the fraud had been a lot more minor that everyone thought. Such exculpatory evidence should have been handed over to the defence team, but Alison faced a dilemma.

The real movers and shakers were protected by the 'old boys' network'. They were never going to face serious prison time but the newspapers were demanding someone be held accountable. If she were the one to point out the evidence that saw Sandra get a slap on the wrist instead of a heftier sentence the Crown Prosecution Service would blame her for derailing their grand crusade against white collar crime.

Her ultimate boss, Sir Hugh Tanner, had summed it up nicely once. "I'm the sort to sometimes shoot the messenger. It sends a message."

In the end Alison had found it remarkably easy to put self-interest ahead of justice or the rules of prosecutorial ethics. The damning document went to the shredder and the defence were none the wiser.

Sandra had been convicted and like a fish on the hook Alison now wanted to reel her in. Her involvement might have been minor but she still knew names, dates and all sorts of juicy confidential damming information.