Whipped: An Arthur Beauchamp Novel(70)
It was time. They headed off to the gleaming modern Calgary Courts Centre, Canada’s largest house of justice, seventy-three courtrooms in two towers separated by an even taller atrium, on busy Fifth Street. Farquist v. Blake had been allotted one of the roomiest of them, on the thirteenth floor, the lucky one, Arthur hoped.
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Chief Justice Cohon-Plaskett was trying to wrap up a boring chambers issue — about a presumed trust, as far as Arthur could make out — and was goading counsel to finish their submissions.
Arthur had done a duet with Cohon-Plaskett many years ago, as co-counsel on a bookmaking conspiracy. Her quickness of mind had impressed him, her brisk, edgy demeanour complementing his cooler, folksier style. Short, stout, and pug-nosed, a tough little package. Right now, she was nagging a harried-looking lawyer. “Is this submission included in your memorandum of law?”
“Yes, Milady.”
“Then why do you need to repeat it?”
Next up would be Farquist v. Blake. Arthur had a motion of his own, to set a peremptory date for discovery — the other side had been stalling.
Sharing the barristers’ bench with Arthur and Nanisha, but several empty places down, were George Cowper Jr. and two attendants. Cowper, a tall, dignified septuagenarian with a sad, weary expression, must be uncomfortable, Arthur figured, with having to come cap in hand to ask for a delay of the trial.
Cohon-Plaskett reserved her ruling on the trust issue, and counsel packed their book bags and filed out as a clump of reporters pushed in. Her Ladyship waited for the rustling to stop, then asked Cowper why he wished to adjourn the trial.
“Unanticipated matters have caused extreme time pressure, Milady.”
“That seems rather vague, Mr. Cowper.”
His sad face creased into a smile. “Let me be plain. It has been widely reported that my client is seeking the leadership of the Conservative Party of Canada. The convention has been scheduled for late in March. It is surely too much to ask Mr. Farquist to proceed to trial under such pressing circumstances. Nothing will be lost if the trial goes over to the September sittings.”
Measured, concise, and to the point, the way the no-frills judge liked it. As Cowper recited the salient points of Farquist’s two-page affidavit, Arthur asked Nanisha to fish it out, and flipped to the last paragraph: Farquist’s complaint that democracy would be ill served were he forced to lose focus on his leadership campaign. It seemed an overly blunt afterthought, maybe at Farquist’s insistence.
He was no shoo-in for the leadership, but remained the favourite. So far, two others had announced, including Clara Gracey, the finance minister, a penny-pinching economist but liberal on social issues, and friendly with Margaret. Arthur would be willing to bet that the Chief Justice, a Red Tory, would find herself more comfortable in Gracey’s camp than Farquist’s.
“Mr. Cowper, it was only about ten weeks ago, on September 3, that you came before me, saying” — the Chief Justice checked a transcript — “saying it was vital that your client’s name be cleared as quickly as possible. You sought an early trial date. Mr. Beauchamp consented. I was forced to do some difficult juggling to free up a court for early March.”
“As I say, Milady, we were not anticipating the former prime minister’s resignation and a leadership contest.”
“Might you not have seen it as a reasonable possibility? And am I to be accused, as seems implied in your client’s affidavit, of acting undemocratically by declining to delay the trial?”
“I beg your Ladyship to believe no such imputation should be found.”
Once again, the Chief Justice seemed to be doing Arthur’s work. He hoped he wasn’t being set up. Beware the overly supportive judge, giving counsel every break, then calmly throwing him under a truck at the end. Who then would accuse her of harbouring bias against the defendant?
“What’s your position, Mr. Beauchamp?”
“I oppose. We are eager to go to trial. My learned friend sought an early date — may I quote him — due to the ‘massive and unseemly publicity this case has roused.’ Nothing has changed in that regard. The defendant equally has an interest in putting this matter to bed without further delay.”
“You also have a motion to speak to, Mr. Beauchamp?”
“To require the defendant’s timely attendance at examinations for discovery. Your Ladyship will recall, when setting the March 2 date, instructing counsel to arrange for early discovery. Our several efforts to bring the plaintiff to the table have been to no avail.”
Cowper went to bat again, strove mightily, but went down swinging.
“The motion to delay the trial is denied,” Cohon-Plaskett said. “Reasons for judgment reserved. Now let us agree on a discovery date.”
They spent half an hour digging through calendars for free days. Cowper finally, candidly, conceded that Emil Farquist had booked a post-Christmas holiday in the Bahamas. He looked more lugubrious than usual as Cohon-Plaskett cancelled that holiday and set discoveries for Friday, December 27, and the following Monday and Tuesday, which would be New Year’s Eve. Farquist would be examined first.
Watching the courtroom empty out, Arthur noticed a portly gentleman in a suit pause at the door: Francisco Sierra, an unexpected guest appearance. He acknowledged Arthur with a slight nod before he disappeared. Arthur packed his valise, apologized to Nanisha, and hurried out.