Harris: ‘Not necessarily. It’s quite normal for serious criminals to engage in a variety of activities. The main issue would have been if Teller’s drug dealing was cutting into Sam Deeb’s own operations. These people appreciate the benefits of monopoly.’
Mabey: ‘That’s only if Mr Deeb is actually involved in drug dealing, of course.’
Harris: ‘Of course.’
Mabey: ‘And Sam Deeb has no known business interests in western Sydney, where Teller was operating?’
Harris: ‘No.’
Mabey: ‘But Teller did some retail dealing at the City East Gym?’
Harris: ‘Correct. That might have annoyed Sam Deeb if he found out. But not enough to have someone killed. It was close to home, but it wasn’t Sam’s gym.’
Mabey: ‘Tell us about those dealings.’
Harris: ‘He was selling cocaine, both at the retail level and in bigger quantities to small-time dealers.’
Mabey: ‘Are gyms often used to sell drugs?’
Harris: ‘It’s quite common. Dealers need to be big and fit so they don’t get ripped off. They take illegal steroids to bulk up, those are traded at some gyms, so you’ve got a criminal scene right away. Illegal drug dealing is a natural fit. Most of the action happens in the morning.’
Mabey: ‘I had no idea. I’ll have to keep my eyes open when I visit my gym next time.’ [Laughter from the jury.] ‘Rafiq Habib also attended City East Gym, didn’t he?’
Harris: ‘Yes.’
Mabey: ‘I’d now like to show you a folder of twelve photographs taken by Strike Force Condor two months before Mr Teller was shot.’ [Copies handed out.] ‘Am I correct in saying number four appears to show the deceased and the accused inside the gym, chatting?’
Harris: ‘Yes.’
Mabey: ‘In the next one Habib is handing Teller an envelope, and in the next Teller puts it in his sports bag?’
Harris: ‘Yes.’
Mabey: ‘Then Teller gives Habib a plastic bag about the size of a small paperback, which is placed in his pocket?’
Harris: ‘Correct.’
Mabey: ‘If this was a drug deal, given the use of an envelope and the size of the package, do you think any drugs being purchased would have been for personal use only?’
Harris: ‘No. It suggests Rafiq Habib was a dealer himself.’
Mabey: ‘Was this the only occasion this sort of thing was observed?’
Harris: ‘We had Teller under surveillance on an irregular basis for about four months. A similar sequence involving the accused was observed on two other occasions. There may have been more.’
Mabey: ‘You’ve been in the Drug Squad some time?’
Harris: ‘Thirteen years, with a two-year break.’
Mabey: ‘Is it common for people involved in the drug trade to act violently towards one another?’
Harris: ‘Very common. There’s two situations, one involves straight rip-offs—’
Mabey: ‘You mean robbing a business associate?’
Harris: ‘Correct. The other situation involves credit. There’s a lot of credit, just like in legitimate business. And sometimes people can’t pay their bills. Or they won’t. A great deal of the violence we see involves debt collection.’
Pause.
Mabey: ‘Did Operation Condor look at the accused independently of Jason Teller, once you’d established he was buying cocaine from Teller?’
Harris: ‘Yes. We obtained evidence Habib was selling cocaine to individual users at Sydney University, and also in larger quantities to a few friends who had their own networks.’
Mabey: ‘Outside the university?’
Harris: ‘That’s right.’
Mabey: ‘Was he selling it in the clubs he frequented several times a week?’
Harris: ‘No. He would have got into trouble selling there, they weren’t his markets. But at the university and with his friends, he was creating his own small markets, and it was coke anyway which is not so common, so he was no threat to the big players. These days they tend to specialise in methylamphetamine and ecstasy.’
Mabey: ‘Did you find out anything else about the accused, in the context of drugs?’
Harris: ‘One of the things the Crime Commission helps with is looking at the cash flows of persons of interest. If someone’s financial situation changes suddenly, that can be a sign of drug-related activity. About six months before Jason Teller was killed, Rafiq Habib formed a company with a friend, Edi Sande. They opened a pizza shop in Chatswood, called The Sopranos.’
Mabey: ‘Is Mr Sande known to police?’
Harris: ‘He has two drug-related convictions.’
Mabey: ‘What sort of business was it? A restaurant?’
Harris: ‘Takeaway only. They specialised in home delivery, there were a couple of motorcycle riders working under false names.’
Mabey: ‘You were interested in the pizza shop?’
Harris: ‘Yes. For a start, we were interested in where they’d got the funds to open it. At the time, Habib was a university student and Sande was on unemployment benefits.’
Mabey: ‘What did you discover?’
Harris: ‘We already knew that Rafiq Habib had met with Jason Teller at McDonald’s at West Ryde a month before the pizza shop opened. We observed this but we couldn’t photograph it. The deceased gave the accused a large envelope, bigger than the one we just saw in the photos. The accused didn’t give him anything in return.’
Mabey: ‘In your experience, are drugs normally kept in envelopes?’
Harris: ‘No.’
Mabey: ‘What about cash?’
Ferguson: ‘Objection!’
Mabey: ‘I withdraw that. How did the pizza business go?’
Harris: ‘It burned down two weeks after it opened.’
Mabey: ‘Do you know the cause of the fire?’
Harris: ‘The accused told police there’d been an accident in the kitchen, but fire investigators discovered an accelerant had been used. There were three ignition points.’
Mabey: ‘Was the business insured?’
Harris: ‘The building was, but that was leased. The kitchen fit-out, the furniture and the bikes weren’t, and they were all destroyed. They would have cost about fifty thousand dollars.’
Mabey: ‘Was anyone charged with the arson?’
Harris: ‘A man named Dave Romney. He was a nom with the Wolves outlaw motorcycle gang.’
Mabey: ‘What’s a nom?’
Harris: ‘A nominee, like an apprentice or probationer. They spend a period doing some of the more, ah, basic work before they get their full bikie colours.’
Mabey: ‘Did Mr Romney say why he’d done this?’
Harris: ‘No. He declined to make a statement.’
Mabey: ‘Is it true members of the Wolves at the time sold drugs in the Chatswood area?’
Harris: ‘Correct.’
Mabey: ‘So they would have regarded the pizza shop as being in their territory?’
Harris: ‘Correct.’
Mabey: ‘So let us see if I have the sequence right. For some months Jason Teller and the accused engage in transactions at least once every few weeks at the City East Gym. In January, Jason Teller gives a large envelope to the accused. A month later, the accused and a friend who’s a convicted criminal open a pizza shop specialising in home delivery at Chatswood. I suppose none of the customer records survived the fire?’
Harris: ‘Unfortunately not.’
Mabey: ‘A fortnight after the grand opening, a member of a local motorcycle gang involved in drug sales burns down the pizza business. At that point, the accused and his partner are possibly out of pocket to the tune of some fifty thousand dollars they presumably borrowed, from a person or persons unknown, to open their business. And a week after that, as we heard from a previous witness, the accused’s Porsche ends up in Jason Teller’s possession.’
Harris: ‘Correct.’
Mabey: ‘In your experience, are takeaway pizza shops ever used
to distribute drugs?’
Ferguson: ‘Objection!’
Mabey: ‘No further questions.’
In his cross-examination, Ferguson pushed Harris hard, but politely. The inspector came across well in the box, stood straight and glanced directly at the judge and jury when he answered. He was impressive, and the barrister must have known there was no value in attacking a war hero too directly. Even so, there was work to be done.
Ferguson: ‘Would you look at this photograph, Exhibit F, it shows Jason Teller shaking hands with my client outside 140 Carlow Street, Darlinghurst. The building is fronted by a hoarding. This was taken on the mobile phone of one of your officers?’
Harris: ‘Yes. Detective Sergeant Jim Marsden.’
Ferguson: ‘It’s apparently significant, as Detective Sergeant Knight explained a few days ago, because it is alleged to show the two men meeting on 17 March, meaning they had some sort of relationship about a month before Jason Teller’s death. At the minimum, they recognised each other and shook hands. You agree?’
Harris: ‘Yes.’
Ferguson: ‘Would you look at this different photograph of the same building, copies for His Honour and the jury.’
[Copies distributed.]
Judge: ‘This will be Exbibit M.’
Ferguson: ‘Inspector, would you read the caption out loud.’
Harris: ‘One-forty Carlow Street. Handover 20 February. Pol-lock and Kirby.’
Ferguson: ‘They were the builders, and that was the day they handed over the completed building. Do you see a hoarding out front, as shown in Exhibit F?’
Harris: ‘No.’
[Murmurs in the court.]
Ferguson: ‘Would you look at this now, copies for the jury, His Honour and the Crown.’
[Copies distributed.]
Judge: ‘Exhibit N.’
Ferguson: ‘Thank you, Your Honour. Inspector, what are we looking at?’
Harris: ‘Surveillance photographs of Teller and the accused outside the same building, apparently taken by Operation Condor in October the year before last.’
Ferguson: ‘You say “apparently”—’
Harris: ‘Taken. They were taken then.’
Ferguson: ‘You can tell from the text on the photo, it indicates a police camera was used?’
Harris: ‘Yes. It’s normal.’
Ferguson: ‘Are these photographs part of the Crown case in this trial?’
Harris: ‘I don’t know.’
Ferguson: ‘But you gave them to the investigators looking at Jason Teller’s death?’
Harris: ‘Yes.’
Ferguson: ‘Just as you gave them the photograph taken by Detective Sergeant Marsden, Exhibit F? The one without any text?’
Harris: ‘Yes, of course. They were all given to the defence too.’
Ferguson: ‘Ah. You do know that then?’
Harris: ‘It’s standard procedure.’
Ferguson: ‘And we’re very grateful for it. It allows us to look at the evidence that has been withheld by the Crown—’
Mabey: ‘Objection!’
Judge: ‘Sustained. Mr Ferguson—’
Ferguson: ‘I do apologise, Your Honour. It allows us to look at the facts the Crown has decided are not relevant to the case. Inspector?’
Harris: ‘I’m not sure what you want me to agree with. If—’
Ferguson: ‘Was Detective Sergeant Marsden involved in the surveillance of Jason Teller back in October, six months before he died?’
Harris: ‘Yes.’
Ferguson: ‘Would you agree the photo he took on his iPhone, allegedly in March, bears a strong resemblance to these photos in Exhibit N, taken with a police camera the previous October? The hoarding, the men’s clothes?’
Harris: ‘Yes.’
Ferguson: ‘Is it possible, now you’ve seen the two photographs together, that Sergeant Marsden took his photograph while doing the surveillance in the year before the murder, and later pretended it had been taken much later, just a month before Jason Teller was killed? Inspector?’
Harris: ‘I don’t know why anyone would do that.’
Ferguson: ‘Do you want me to tell you? Might it be to support the prosecution claim that Jason Teller and my client were still in a business relationship at the time of Mr Teller’s death, when the truth is they hadn’t had any dealings in many months?’
Mabey: ‘Objection!’
After Harris’s cross-examination, when they were adjourning for lunch, Karen said to Ferguson, ‘Nice play.’ Being pleasant was sometimes the easiest way to confuse an opponent. ‘How’d you spot it?’
Ferguson considered her: he would tell the truth, but only if that would inflict the most damage. ‘Anonymous tip. One of the cops.’
‘In your dreams.’
She sent Martin back to the bureau on another confected errand and walked past the cafe, found herself in David Jones, spent lunch going up and down on the store’s escalators. A strange activity for a senior Crown prosecutor, and not one she would confess to another human being, including Stephen. She tried to consider the trial but kept crossing to Ian, so she thought about Paris instead, which was more successful. The Jardin du Luxembourg and Berthillon on the Île St-Louis, the Place des Vosges. The French could be as awful as anyone, but at least they’d chosen to be awful in elegant surroundings.
At two she returned to court without having eaten; in recent months food had become increasingly unimportant. Several friends had told her how well she was looking.
The boredom of Bec’s waiting was intense, days spent on yet another hard wooden bench. Work phone calls, lots of emails. One involved a weird job, a fat truckie had come into the station and broken down, explained how he’d fucked a young woman he’d picked up, a hitchhiker. Forced herself on him, the way he told it, and afterwards announced she was only sixteen, produced her birth certificate. She’d been blackmailing him for a year, nine thousand bucks. He wanted her charged, even though his wife might find out. He was broke.
Now he’d decided not to sign his statement.
Leanne Walton called to say Tony Morrow was applying for an eighty per cent pension for life on the grounds of post-traumatic stress. Retiring Hurt on Duty.
‘Baby Bethane’s death was the last straw,’ Walton said, ‘and he says your failure to check on Stern’s previous history contributed to that.’
Bec jumped up and strode down the loggia, trying not to yell into the phone. ‘That’s a frigging lie.’
‘A frigging lie, boss.’
‘It was Officer Morrow’s operation, and he did not ask me to run a check. Boss.’
‘Did he say he’d done it?’
‘There’s nothing in my notebook about any such request. What about his?’
‘You raise an important point. I can’t possibly answer that, but I do urge you to stick to your guns.’ Her voice was flat.
‘Boss.’ For a moment Bec felt empty. ‘How am I going?’
‘What?’
‘In the job. Am I any good?’
‘We have the annual evaluation. Last year—’
‘July. It was interrupted, you said we’d get back to it later.’
‘Things have been busy. But I signed off on it. There were no significant problems.’
‘That’s it? No problems?’
‘You’re a fine young officer. I respect your work.’ Walton’s voice lifted. ‘Some colleagues have a problem with your manner, that formal way you sometimes speak. The word weird gets used, but only by some.’
‘I’m glad it’s only some.’
‘That does not concern me. Maybe you sometimes talk too much, because you think too much. What we do here is pretty simple, taking out the garbage. You learn by doing rather than thinking, in my experience. Okay?’
‘Wow, boss. We’re having a conversation.’
‘Don’t push it. I keep a lot of my life separate from the job, it’s my way of coping. Do you do that?’
Bec thought of Magda, and h
er mother. Tiny, lots of Tiny: how she’d walked away from Dubbo and Dubbo had followed her over the mountains. ‘I think the job is my way of coping.’
‘Try to change that.’
‘Ma’am.’
Latin dancing? A bushwalking club?
Bec rang her navy friend and asked him to find out why Knight had had to return to Adelaide. On reflection the big man’s departure seemed implausible. She walked restlessly in patches of sun, avoiding the bench where John Habib was still sitting, still playing games although now on a tablet. Talked to cops who came by, going to other trials in the building. She brooded about how courts worked in favour of the accused, about what Rafiq Habib might say if he went into the box. She hated the waiting, knew her mind was spinning its wheels. At one point Martin Thomson came out and chatted, flashed his teeth as though he had a chance.
She had lunch with Karen Mabey, who thanked her for helping Ian on the weekend and told her about Harris’s evidence. Then they moved on to trials in general, and Bec started to moan about the right to silence. The boredom had made her sour.
‘Cornerstone of justice, Bec.’
‘Frigging outrage. Just like hiding the accused’s past from the jury.’
‘Just because they did something wrong in the past—’
‘So the jury in a rape case can’t be told the accused has raped before. In the same circumstances—’
‘If there’s a pattern, they can be told. Come on.’
In theory yes, but in practice: bullshit. But she couldn’t argue with Mabey, couldn’t quote chapter and verse. ‘I just don’t see why a right to silence is necessary. And don’t talk to me about Henry the Eighth.’
She’d had this discussion with lawyers before, and they always went back to history. It was like a vicar tying everything to God.
Mabey said, ‘You don’t agree it’s better for ten guilty men to go free than for one innocent person to go to prison?’
‘Why’s it always ten? What about a hundred—is it better for a hundred crooks to go back on the street than for one innocent bloke to get locked up?’
‘Of course.’
‘What about a thousand?’
‘Your point?’
Mabey was getting chilly, doing that stillness thing educated folk did; when they wanted to express disapproval, they ceased all movement.
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