The Door That Led to Where Read Online Free Page B

found to his amazement he still had a job. Stephen was furious, almost green round the edges.
    â€˜Don’t start thinking you are going to last here,’ he hissed, ‘because you’re not.’
    What AJ had seen of Mr Baldwin he hadn’t much liked. He thought of him as two-faced. One face was all cultured charm, the other, fast fury, like a sports car in seventh gear. He didn’t trust the eminent lawyer – neither could he work out why he was so interested in his family.
    â€˜Where’s your father now?’ Mr Baldwin asked one morning as AJ brought in his coffee.
    â€˜Dead, sir. I never knew him.’
    â€˜Oh, sorry to hear that. I recall that he didn’t have a will – I tried to convince him to write one. But I suppose he thought he had plenty of time. So do you have anything to remember him by?’
    â€˜Like what, sir?’ asked AJ, feeling that he was missing something behind the question.
    â€˜Oh, I don’t know,’ said Mr Baldwin. ‘A memento perhaps?’
    â€˜He left me nothing, sir,’ said AJ. ‘Not even a name.’
    Stephen looked as if he could willingly murder AJ for usurping his position but Mr Baldwin and his team soon became consumed by a forgery case and Stephen was once more indispensable.
    Two weeks later, on the Monday morning, Morton found a note Mr Baldwin had left for him, saying that he was taking a long weekend and would be back on Wednesday. Morton was not best pleased. Mr Baldwin’s mobile went straight to voicemail and he had left no other contact details. Even Stephen, who kept Mr Baldwin’s diary, was in the dark as to his whereabouts.
    â€˜Mr Baldwin is very discreet about his private life,’ he said. ‘But he may have been going to a fancy dress ball. I found this on his desk.’
    It was a receipt for the hire of a costume from Angel’s in Shaftesbury Avenue.
    â€˜I’m not asking for gossip, Stephen, I’m asking if you know where he is.’
    â€˜No, Morton, I don’t.’
    â€˜I just hope he has a good reason for dumping a hell of lot of work on Ms Finch’s plate,’ said Morton.
    It was that week that AJ’s life went from being ordinary to extraordinary in a way he could never have imagined and, like most unusual events, it started with no warning.
    Morton asked AJ to sort out some files in the Museum. AJ hadn’t seen any room in chambers that could be described as a museum and by now he knew the place well enough. As you came through Baldwin Groat’s door on the second floor, there was the reception desk with its huge, caring vase of flowers, comfy chairs for clients to sit on and a picture on the wall that showed a scene of eighteenth century London. Next to reception was the clerk’s room and Morton’s office. Morton usually liked to keep his door open so that he could see who was coming and who was going. The first room down the corridor belonged to the junior barristers, Mr Baldwin had the largest of the rooms by far and Mr Groat’s room was at the back, overlooking Gray’s Inn Gardens. There was a small kitchen, loos and a photocopying room but nothing else, so what was Morton talking about?
    The Museum turned out to be through a small door that AJ had thought was a broom cupboard. Here the archives were stored, file upon file of cases dating back decades. It was furnished with a solid table and a chair but it was the collection of bizarre objects on the table that caught AJ’s eye: a human skull, a compass, several bowler hats, pieces of jewellery and a box stuffed full of pocket watches and handkerchiefs. AJ could well imagine Fagin having once been a client of Baldwin Groat.
    â€˜What do I do with these things?’ asked AJ.
    â€˜File them in boxes and mark them to the relative cases. It will take you the best part of a week. It’s needed doing for ages.’
    One of the reasons that AJ had done so disastrously at