The Woodcutter

I said, ‘OK. Then give her my love and tell her I’ll see her very soon.’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Goodbye, Wolf.’

‘Bye,’ I said. ‘I love you.’

But she’d already rung off.

I put the phone down. The fact that Imogen hadn’t felt it necessary to refer to the monstrous allegations being made against me should have been a comfort. But somehow I didn’t feel comforted.

Medler came into the room a moment later, confirming my suspicion he’d probably been listening in.

I said, ‘Look, I need to get Mr Estover back here so that he can speed up whatever rigmarole you people put me through before my release.’

He said, ‘We’ve kept Mr Estover in the picture. He’ll be waiting at the court.’

I said, ‘The court? Which court?’

He said, ‘The magistrate’s court. The hearing’s in half an hour.’

And again, I was relieved!

Magistrate’s court, assault charge, slap on the wrist, hefty fine,

I could be out in a couple of hours organizing my own super-investigation into what the fuck was going on here.

‘So what are we hanging about for?’ I said. ‘Let’s go!’

v

When we reached West End Magistrates Court, the media were already there in force.

I looked at Medler and said, ‘I expect they were just passing, huh?’

He said wearily, ‘You’d better get used to it. You’re in the system now and the system is accessible. Wherever you’re headed, there’ll always be someone ready to make a quick buck by tipping the mob.’

Curiously, this time I believed him.

Inside I was shown into a small windowless room furnished with two chairs and a table. Toby was waiting there. He quickly disabused me of my notion that I’d be in and out in the time it took to sign a cheque.

He said, ‘You’re being charged with assaulting a police officer in the execution of his duty and occasioning actual bodily harm. The magistrate can deal with this himself or decide it’s serious enough to commit you to the Crown Court for a jury trial.’

I said, ‘Which is best for me? I mean, which will get me on my way home quickest?’

He regarded me gloomily and said, ‘There are problems either way. The magistrate has the power to jail you for six months…’

‘Six months for hitting a cop?’ I interrupted. ‘There’s people murder their mothers and get less than that, especially when they’ve got you on a retainer!’

He ignored the flattery and said. ‘If on the other hand the beak decides you’re a Crown Court job, then the question of bail arises. Medler would certainly oppose it.’

‘On what grounds?’ I demanded.

‘On the grounds that you are being investigated on more serious charges and that, with your wealth and international connections, there’s a serious risk you might abscond.’

This incensed me as much as anything I’d heard on this increasingly surreal day.

‘Abscond? Why would I? From what, for God’s sake? From these ludicrous kiddy-porn allegations? Give me twenty-four hours to have those properly investigated and they’ll vanish like snow off a dyke. And how the hell can Medler claim they’re more serious anyhow? You said I could get six months for punching his stupid face. That pop singer they sent down for having child abuse images on his computer only got three months, didn’t he?’

Toby said, ‘There have been developments. I’m far from sure exactly what’s going on, but they’ve raided your offices. Also we’re getting word that simultaneous raids are being carried out on your other premises worldwide, domestic and commercial.’

I think that was the moment when I first felt a chill of fear beneath the volcano of anger and indignation that had been simmering inside me since I met Medler coming up my stairs.

I sank heavily on to a chair.

‘Toby,’ I said, ‘what the fuck’s going on?’

Before he could answer, the door opened and Medler’s face appeared.

‘Nearly done, Mr Estover?’ he said.

‘Give us another minute,’ said Toby.

Medler glanced at me. What he saw in my face seemed to please him.

He gave me one of his smug smiles and said, ‘OK. One minute.’

It was the smile that provoked me to my next bit of stupidity. To me it seemed to say, Now you’re starting to realize we’ve really got you by the short and curlies!

I said to Toby, ‘Give me your mobile.’

He said, ‘Why?’

I said, ‘For fuck’s sake, just give it to me!’

In the Observer profile when I got my knighthood, they talked about what they called my in-your-face abrasive manner. When I read the draft, I rang up to request, politely I thought, that this phrase should be modified. After I’d been talking to the feature writer for a few minutes, he said, ‘Hang on. Something I’d like you to listen to.’ And he played me back a tape of what I’d just been saying.

When it finished, I said, ‘Jesus. Print your piece the way it is. And send me a copy of that tape.’

I made a genuine effort to tone down my manner after that, but it wasn’t easy. I paid my employees top dollar and I didn’t expect to have to repeat anything I said to them. That included solicitors, even if they happened to be friends.

I thrust my hand out towards Toby. It took him a second or two, but in the end he put his mobile into my palm.

I thumbed in 999.

When the operator asked, ‘Which service?’ I said, ‘Police.’

Toby’s eyes widened.

When he heard what I said next, it was a wonder they didn’t pop right out of their sockets.