Review: The Guilty Plea by Robert Rotenberg

In February I asked out loud on this blog where I might find a Canadian legal thriller. I was mindful of the fact that most such books appeared to originate in the USA, and that the market in the UK – where I was looking to break ground with Hatred, Ridicule & Contempt – was nowhere near as well supplied, regardless of the fact that the likes of Jeffrey Archer occasionally venture into the law (it has to be said that A Prisoner Of Birth is excellent).

This led me to find “The Guilty Plea” by Robert Rotenberg, a murder mystery set in Toronto. Wealthy businessman Terrance Wyler is brutally stabbed to death in his own home and the finger of suspicion points strongly at his ex-wife: should it?

I think this book, which I found thoroughly enjoyable, had two notable triumphs.  It kept me guessing throughout the first half as to where the anticipated twist was going to come in and how, and as the second half unfolded there was no way of working out the culprit until the very end. Many potential ones, and plenty of suspense.

So if Robert Rotenberg makes a breakthrough in the UK, on the strength of The Guilty Plea, it will be well deserved. Now then, how best for me to engineer one for Hatred, Ridicule & Contempt in Canada?

What Made Me A Lifelong Eurosceptic?

As the euro nears its ignominious collapse, and opposition to the EU evidently becomes more mainstream in the UK, I find it interesting to look back on the fact that I have been a lifelong and unrepentant Anti, however much of a nonconformist and a maverick this would have labelled someone with overall centre right sympathies in years gone by.

Being one of the many who were too young to vote in the 1975 referendum on what had only just become the European Economic Community in place of the Common Market, I can still cast my mind back to my teens and recall that my own political instinct even then was to believe it wrong that foreign institutions and judges should make law that the UK did not want and still had to obey, and that we should contribute billions of pounds to EEC coffers and only get a fraction back after redistribution to other members and the cut for bureaucrats’ upkeep. And in those days there were the tales of the scandalous waste of the EEC butter mountains and wine lakes.

Yet it was still a mantra of the Conservatives, even under Margaret Thatcher, that EEC membership was good, and that only the Bennite Left and a few other eccentrics from the right wanted the UK out. Of course they glossed over the distinction between the socialist siege economy of the former and the worldwide free market thinking of the latter, and peddled this great myth that British “influence” in the EEC would bring those wayward continentals into line.

What of the eighties, as the EEC became the EC? Well, we had the Falklands War, where UK support from our so-called European partners was at best lukewarm and at worst undermined by French Exocet sales to Galtieri. We had the increasing awareness that the liberalising instincts of Maggie were being undermined by the torrent of EC regulation, as Brussels institutions steadily increased their power grabs. The great Lord Denning was moved to confirm that his earlier description of European law as an incoming tide flowing up the estuaries was now like a tidal wave bringing down our sea walls and flowing inland over our fields and houses, to the dismay of all. Had he lived beyond 100, he would probably have referred to it as a burning oil slick. And then Maggie was deposed…

Curiously, as Tory enthusiasm for what was soon to become the EU began to dampen (not that they did anything about it), Labour repudiated the anti-European stance of the Benn-Foot era. Possibly because they realised, thanks to the infamous Jacques Delors proclamation that in time to come virtually all new law and regulation would be made in Brussels, this would be a far more effective vehicle for stealth socialism than heavy direct taxation and nationalisation.

None of it affected me, though. I was just as opposed to UK membership of the EU as its predecessor acronyms, on broadly the same grounds throughout. And now I begin to wonder whether this is soon to become mainstream thought rather than the mark of a nonconformist, maverick or free thinker.

Let’s close with an ironic note that the customary labels Europhile and Europhobe owe their origin to ancient Greek – “love” and “fear” respectively. How annoying it is, though, that this time honoured ancient language should not quite be capable of providing a decent label for dislike or distrust of the EU. I have used “Eurosceptic” in the title of this article but the word is, frankly, the bastard offspring of ancient and modern and does not adequately convey the state of mind of an all out EU opponent. The prefix “mis” – think misanthrope – would be ideal but “miseury/miseurist” are not likely to catch on. There is always the thought of the suffix “apistia”, meaning mistrust, but this leads unfortunately to the noun “Eurapist”, which looks too much like a Freudian description of a Brussels squanderer to anyone unaware that the first syllable is to be emphasised. Perhaps we should have a competition for a suitable term, to run in parallel with the next Europe Day?

Payment Protection Insurance (PPI) Scam from 01274

Last week on 25 April I found a rather unusual voicemail message on my answerphone service. Not one of the many silent calls that plague us all so much nowadays. It was plain that this one was from a would be scammer. How do I know this? Because he failed to hang up on me properly, and moved onto his next call, oblivious to the fact that he was broadcasting both sides of it to my number. After the initial ring tone and some opening mumbles, Victim and Scammer continue their dialogue, transcribed below as best as I could follow it: -

V: Hello?

S: Hello, my name is Jason Wayne, based in our PPI claims department. I’ve called to let you know that we’re going to be refunding your money back to you now.

V: For?

S: OK. You know about your payment protection insurance?

V: I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.

S: We’ve had 27 million customers from the UK, ever since we’ve heard from the Ministry of Justice, we’re needing to get the money back to all these cheated people.

V: I don’t remember taking anything out.

S: Are you sure, madam, ‘cause you see, you know about this PPI and everything, do you know how much you’re getting back? You’re getting roughly £2,000 back, your loan was £5,000, you never used the PPI, therefore you’re fully eligible for your refund, OK?

V: (Hesitant semi-approval, semi-understanding.)

S: I’ll put you on hold and transfer the call to one of my supervisors.

V: OK.

Unfortunately, with the victim hanging on and evidently nursing a crying baby in the background, my message time limit ran out and I heard no more. My incoming calls displayer revealed the call to have been from 01274. This is the area code for Bradford. It tallied with the fact that S’ accent combined the tones of Yorkshire with those of the Asian subcontinent.

I typed the full number into Google. The second entry on the first page confirmed “7 people think it’s a scam number”. The third: “Another PPI Insurance pestering call.” The fourth: “if you answer, you go straight onto hold with a recorded message…” The overall impression was that S’ goal was to harvest credit card details from gullible victims who thought that there was an accidental windfall coming their way.

Scam communication is a pestilence. It is also something that has fascinated me for some time, above all the sub-genre of turning the tables back on the perpetrators via scambaiting. Indeed, going one step further, it has partly inspired the plot for my legal and political suspense follow up to Hatred Ridicule & Contempt, currently a work in progress where a plot to defraud a firm of solicitors runs in parallel with the 2010 general election and the dark arts of candidate selection.

Oh yes, that phone number. Would you like me to publish it in full? Just ask.

Nadine Dorries MP: burning her boats in style

What are we to make of the manner in which Nadine Dorries MP chose to express her low opinion of the Prime Minister and Chancellor? “Two arrogant posh boys who show no remorse, no contrition, and no passion to want to understand the lives of others - and that is their real crime.” Words that many a Labour backbencher may have thought were just too strong to use about their two most prominent opponents on the Government side. But Nadine Dorries is a member of the Conservatives, the same party as David Cameron and George Osborne.

Clearly she feels she has nothing to lose. No hope of holding office, a seat under threat from the Boundary Commission and increasingly slim chances of finding another, and a presumed sense of lingering resentment at the PM’s “frustrated” slap down of her many weeks previously. And no doubt a touch of joy at the publicity, especially with UKIP on the prowl for possible defectors. She might be too eccentric for her own good. But you’ve got to admire her for it.

Did I ever entertain the idea that Alex Harris, the solicitor fighting the battles at the heart of Hatred Ridicule & Contempt, might refer to his firm’s managing partner and marketing partner in similar terms? Perhaps briefly, even though there is a world of difference between playing the man rather than the ball. But if I had ever wanted an MP character for the book, I am sure that Nadine would have fitted the bill rather than the legions of lobby fodder elsewhere on the Commons benches.

PS: for anyone interested in a print version of Hatred Ridicule & Contempt, Lulu are running a 12% discount offer until 27th April. Code EARTHUK. Click here.

Musical Eccentricities 3

Time for another set of musical eccentricities, this time with a rather loose spiritual theme.

John Kongos – Tokoloshe Man: Not long back from South Africa, so why not recall a long forgotten Johannesburg guitarist from the early 70s whose 'hairy tidal wave' appearance may have been a shock to viewers of Top Of The Pops. Dig a little deeper and you’ll find that the song is all about how to avoid the attention of a mischievous, evil and well endowed dwarf spirit (“make your bed up high, pray into the sky”). Infectious tribal beat and guitar riffs too. Curious that he was only ever a two hit wonder, along with “He’s Gonna Step On You Again”.

Gillan – No Laughing In Heaven: Enjoyable comic stomp from the former lead singer of Deep Purple, covering the perils of trying to lead too good a life in the hope of favours in the afterlife. Underlying message, be very careful about what you wish for. Classic section from the ‘heavy rap’ verses: “I gave money to the poor/Until I was poor/But at least I ensured/That I would go up there/Instead of down below/To the inferno/Where the evil flames of desire/Burn higher, and higher, and higher…”

Saxon – Suzie Hold On: At first sight, just a slow rock standard, not quite a ballad. But look more closely at the lyrics and you’ll find it’s all about a dying cancer victim. Probably one of the saddest songs that any band from the New Wave of British Heavy Metal ever wrote. Quite a contrast to ‘Wheels of Steel’ and ‘747/Strangers In the Night’, but no less effective.

Judas Priest – Beyond The Realms Of Death: An actual rock ballad this time, about a depressed person who decides to leave this life at a time of his own choosing as friends look on. The last verse line “Is knowledge worth this bitter cost?” once made me think it was all about the arguable futility in preserving helpless victims on life support machines when they would have no quality of life ever again. Tricky issues.

Scorpions – Wind of Change: Now for something more uplifting – a commemoration of the spirit of the Russian people as they took their tentative steps towards freedom after the fall of the Berlin Wall and the collapse of Communism, inspired by the group’s Moscow concert on the tour that preceded the release of the Crazy World album. Would the Russians ever want a return to the old days when the Cold War was a reality, when their living standards would be not far off those of the modern day North Koreans, and when they’d have no Western rock music easily available? Thought not.

Stop Rhino Poaching - With Fingernails?

One sad moment from an otherwise outstanding safari in South Africa was to hear about the ongoing threat to the black rhino from poaching. An issue that was graphically illustrated via a poster in the Bayethe lodge in the Shamwari reserve, showing the carcasses of two well known rhino that had been butchered for their horns in the reserve as recently as last November. The absurd superstition – let’s not mince words here – in certain parts of the world that consumption of rhino horn improves health continues to endanger this great animal.

What is rhino horn, anyway? It’s keratin. The same substance that animals’ hooves are made from. And indeed human fingernails and toenails. We can only wonder what possessed the misguided fool who first looked upon the unique attribute of a rhino in the dim and distant past, oblivious to the hooves on the thousands of antelopes sharing the wild plains, and thought that if he killed the rhino, cut the horn off, ground it up and consumed the end product, he would end up strong and healthy. As for the malevolent intermediaries who encouraged the superstition to profit from it while the black rhino became ever more endangered...

OK, so here’s a couple of solutions. First, how about collecting a few tons of fingernail and toenail clippings, moulding them into the form of rhino horn via whatever ingenious process of glueing, dyeing and heat treatment might be devised, and selling them to the traffickers? All with a view to blowing the whistle a few months down the line when the consumers will have unwittingly ingested a substance that they would otherwise have clipped off themselves and discarded after wrinkling their noses at its characteristic odour. Surely that would crash the market and show up the superstition for exactly what it was.

As for the poachers, handlers, traffickers and other associated members of the process, I can do no more than recall a conversation with an experienced South African tourist guide in Knysna shortly after the safari came to an end. My suggestion that anyone caught red handed in connection with rhino poaching ought perhaps to be spared trial and conviction, and simply turned loose in the remote bush without food or water, produced an immediate response: “Kneecap them first.”

Dining with Donors in Downing Street

What's all the fuss about, we may ask, when reading of the Peter Cruddas resignation and the tales of exactly how the UK governing class are said to be interacting with those who finance their hopes of re-election? Isn't that what politicians do? Of course, there may be no defending the attributed comments as to how much cash would be necessary to rub shoulders at the highest level, but it all has an air of farce about it. A tale of merriment for the coming of spring. Which neatly leads into a parody of Poisoning Pigeons In The Park, one of Tom Lehrer's finest works: -

Spring is here, spring is here
Life is skittles and life is beer
I think the loveliest time of the year
Is the spring. I do. Don't you? Course you do.
But there's one thing that makes spring complete for me
That makes every springtime a treat for me

All the world seems in tune
On a spring afternoon
When we're dining with donors in Downing Street
Every weekend you'll see
My Chancellor and me
As we're dining with donors in Downing Street
When we see them coming
We really should try and hide
But we still go for wallets
With great power to buy inside
The future is bright
Everything seems so right
When we're dining with donors in Downing Street

We've gained notoriety
And caused much anxiety
In ordinary society
With our games
They call it impiety
And lack of propriety
And quite a variety
Of unpleasant names
But we care not a jot for these moaners
When we're wining and dining the donors

So if Sunday you're free
You'll see George, Sam and me
When we're dining with donors in Downing Street
And we'll set a pew
For a tycoon or two
When we're dining with donors in Downing Street
We'll rake in their cash amid laughter and merriment -
The logical sequel to Labour's experiment -
Our pulse will go funny
When we're shown the money
Ignoring the groaners
The whingers and moaners
We're dining the donors in Downing Street!