‘Did he tell you a last name?’
‘No.’
‘When did Steve speak to you?’
‘After the other men took me home,’ she said, now controlling the tears, starting to detach herself from where she was, and her pain.
‘How much later?’
‘I don’t – it was daytime. Morning.’
‘Did he tell you to tell the police that the cocaine was Mr Matheson’s?’
She shook her head. ‘He told me Justin had killed Elena.’
‘Did you believe him?’
She took in a deep breath, and looked at the ceiling, and closed her eyes. Massive tears ran down either side of her face. ‘I don’t – I didn’t know.’
‘What else did he say?’
‘He said Justin was going to say that the cocaine was mine. That Justin had wealthy parents, tha– he said if Justin was believed, I could go to jail for years.’
‘What did this man tell you then?’
‘He told me . . . he told me to say the drugs were Justin’s. That John –’ she shook her head, and smiled through tears, ‘– that John would back me up.’
‘What else did he say?’
‘He . . . he said Justin had – there’d been a struggle, Justin was drunk, Elena’s head had hit the table –’
‘But Mr Matheson was with you, not Elena Mancini. He was in a bedroom with you, wasn’t he?’
‘I know that,’ she screamed, and her chin crumpled and shook, and she started to cry again. ‘He said he must have gotten up . . . that he –’ She started to cry again, and Tanner was forced to wait.
Aitken stood to ask for a break, but his heart was no longer in it, and the judge waved the objection away.
‘They said I would go to jail if I didn’t say what they told me to. They said they would help me. If – if I just said the drugs were Justin’s, and that I went home with John . . . they told me it would be best to say I wasn’t with Justin – that way Justin couldn’t blame the drugs on me. I didn’t know what to do. Elena was dead . . . they said they’d help me, help my family . . . I just – He went out and came with a – they had a statement for me.’
‘Who did?’
‘The man . . . Steve . . . he talked to me, told me what to say, then he left. He came back later. He had something typed. He made me read it and read it and read it. Then they said I had to go to the police the next day. And that’s what I told the police.’
‘You don’t really think Mr Matheson hurt Elena Mancini, do you, Miss Dabrowska?’
Aitken objected, but the judge said she could answer. She made herself stop sobbing for a few moments. She shook her head. ‘Justin was with me,’ she said faintly. ‘Justin was with me.’
Tanner paused. It was almost done. ‘The apartment in London. Who bought it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You must have some idea?’
‘When – when I got back to London, I had some numbers to call. I rang when I knew I was pregnant. I met a man.’
‘What man?’
‘He never said his name. Not once.’
‘And?’
‘And he asked me to have an abortion.’ There was a new wave of anger and tears. ‘He said they would pay me.’
‘Who?’
‘Who do you think?’
‘I don’t know, Miss Dabrowska. You have to tell us.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You said you wouldn’t have an abortion?’
‘Yes, I said that!’
‘And then?’
‘Then . . . later they told me what to say about my ear.’
‘Who is “they”?’
‘There were two of them. Only one spoke whenever we met.’
‘And the apartment?’
‘I told them they had to help my family. That’s what they promised. They said it would be property, not money. They said Dad could leave his share to my brother and sister if he wanted.’
‘And this was so you wouldn’t say the baby was Mr Matheson’s, and so you would say to this court what they told you to?’
‘Yes.’
Tanner paused, then looked at the judge. ‘There’s more I could ask, your Honour, but that can be someone else’s job.’
Aitken asked Klaudia Dabrowska one question in re-examination – whether she’d told the police the truth when interviewed, or whether she’d now told the truth to the jury. She said she’d told the jury the truth, and he let it go. When he sat down, Tanner said he’d apply for a directed verdict in the morning. The judge asked Aitken to formulate the Crown’s position by no later than three that afternoon, and to convey it to Tanner. He then adjourned the court.
• • •
When Tanner, Porter and Jane Ross walked into the interview room to wait for Matheson to be brought to them, Ross slammed the door behind them.
‘Why didn’t you fucking tell us?’
‘Because you would have said we had to tell the client.’
‘And why would that be wrong, Pete?’
‘Because he might have stopped me. Because he might have pleaded guilty to something he didn’t do.’
‘Shouldn’t that be up to him?’
Tanner shrugged. ‘No.’
‘But you –’ She stopped when the door opened. Justin Matheson was brought in by a sheriff’s officer, and looked like he might take a swing at all of them.
‘Before you say anything, Justin,’ Tanner said, ‘Charles and Jane didn’t know.’
‘You found out through that investigator?’ Matheson said. He stood, facing Tanner directly.
‘Yes.’
‘The fucking investigator my parents paid for?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you didn’t tell me?’
‘I didn’t tell you.’
The muscles in Matheson’s jaw bulged, and his right fist was clentched. ‘Do you – do you know what you’ve done? My wife had to fucking sit through that. My fucking parents – do you know what you’ve done?’
‘I’ve got you off a murder charge, Justin. That’s what I’ve done.’
‘You arrogant fuck. How could you not tell me?’
Tanner picked up a folder from the table. ‘I’m going to apply for a directed verdict in the morning, Justin. That’s where the judge tells the jury they have to find you not guilty. I’m going to prepare for it now. If the prosecutor tells me it won’t be opposed, I’ll send Jane up this afternoon to apply for unconditional bail. I imagine you’ll get it.’
He stood still, watching Matheson, knowing he had to walk past him to get out the door.
‘Answer the fucking question!’ Matheson yelled. ‘How could you not tell me?’
Tanner said nothing.
‘Can you answer me? Why make Sarah go through that, you arsehole?’
‘I didn’t fuck Amanda Weatherill or Deborah Edelman,’ Tanner said calmly. ‘You did. And you had coke with your mate Jack Richter the night a young woman got her brains smashed in while you fucked someone else and got them pregnant. You made Sarah go through that, not me. I didn’t hire myself to defend you. No part of my role is to worry about your marriage. You hired me to get you an acquittal. I’ve done my job. Now unclench your fucking fist, and get out of my way.’
Matheson glared at Tanner for a little longer, but the anger left his eyes.
Tanner brushed past him and left the room.
55
In any criminal trial, a duty falls on the judge to direct an acquittal if the prosecution hasn’t led evidence that could sustain a guilty verdict at the close of its case.
When Tanner sat down from making such a submission to Justice Philip Knight, Richard Aitken rose and told the judge that the application was not opposed. The Crown had called John Richter to give evidence, and it had called Klaudia Dabrowska: they couldn’t both be telling the truth. Having made further inquiries with Miss Dabrowska yesterday, the Crown no longer had confidence in its prosecution.
The judge accepted the a
rguments of the defence, for the reasons it proffered. He asked the court officer to get the jury back in.
‘Members of the jury,’ he began, ‘having heard argument this morning, I have reached the conclusion that the evidence as it stands could not establish the ingredients of the offences with which the accused is charged. I am now going to ask you to return a verdict of not guilty. As a matter of law, you must follow my ruling.’ He paused to check that they’d understood him.
‘Madam Forewoman, do you, in accordance with my direction, find the accused Justin William Matheson, not guilty of the murder of Elena Mancini? Please stand and respond.’
The forewoman rose from her seat. ‘Yes, your Honour,’ she said. ‘Not guilty.’
‘And in accordance with my direction, do you find the accused not guilty of the manslaughter of Elena Mancini?’
‘Yes. Not guilty.’
The judge discharged the jury from further service, with the thanks of the court. His associate took her pen, and on the back of the indictments for murder and manslaughter wrote the words not guilty, and then the date and time. She handed it to the judge to initial and date himself.
The judge then looked over at Matheson in the dock. ‘You’re free to go, Mr Matheson,’ he said. He adjourned the court, and the show was over.
Justin Matheson left with his parents without speaking to Tanner or the other lawyers. He’d hired a media spokesman, who was waiting for him in the foyer of the court to address the press.
‘It’s customary to thank your legal team if you get an acquittal,’ Tanner said to Jane Ross, still sitting in his seat at the bar table as the court emptied. ‘Do you think that’s happening out there at the moment?’
‘No.’
‘Have you seen Sarah Matheson? The least we can do is recommend Sally Cook to her, isn’t it?’
Jane shook her head. ‘Jesus, Pete.’
As she spoke, Charles Porter poked his head inside the court door, and then walked over to where they were sitting. He pulled over what had been Aitken’s chair, and sat. ‘The Mathesons have told me they want to make a complaint to the bar.’
Tanner shrugged. ‘I don’t think you’ll find many lawyers being sanctioned for failing to tell their client they’d become a father again.’
‘You should have told us, Peter.’
‘You would have told him.’
Porter nodded. ‘I’ll try and talk them out of it.’
‘Thanks. And I appreciate your assistance throughout this case, even if you did say at the beginning I wasn’t your first choice.’
‘I said the clients wanted someone else.’
‘Justin would still be unaware of the birth of his third child if you’d retained their first choice.’
‘I’ll put it to him that way when I ask them to forget about the complaint,’ Porter said.
• • •
When he returned to his chambers, colleagues drifted into Tanner’s room to congratulate him, wanting to talk about the trial. He got rid of them quickly, and took a cab home.
When he heard the front door open at about four, Tanner walked out of his study and saw Dan heading into his room. Tom Cable walked in just after the boy, followed by Karl.
‘Dan all right?’ Tanner asked his father.
The old man glared at him, shook his head, then walked past him to the back of the house.
The boy had thrown his bag in a corner, tie already on the ground, and laptop on. He looked up when Tanner walked in. He sat in his big red chair, legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. They looked longer than last time Tanner had noticed them. ‘Hi,’ the boy said casually, as though his father was there every afternoon when he got home from school. ‘You won?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I thought so.’
‘Why?’
‘You look like you won.’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘You’ve got that look.’
‘What look is that?’
‘Not like you won Wimbledon or anything, but . . . like you beat someone at something.’
‘I guess I did.’
‘Did the other guy kill her?’ Dan said, sounding too casual for Tanner’s liking. ‘The rich guy?’
‘I think that’s likely.’
‘Has he been arrested?’
‘One day.’
‘Will they get him for murder?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe it was an accident.’
Dan nodded.
‘What are you looking at?’
Dan shook his head, and looked back at the screen. ‘I’m in the school’s system, Dad. I’m looking at my assignment.’
‘You want something to eat?’
‘Sure.’
Tanner turned to go to the kitchen.
‘You told me once that not all rich people are bad,’ Dan said.
‘I did?’
‘I don’t remember why, but you told me that.’
‘I was wrong.’
Dan looked up from the screen, a crooked smile on his face. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was your client happy?’
‘Not really.’
‘I didn’t think so,’ Dan said.
‘Why?’
‘Tom had the radio on this morning. A man said something about him having a baby with a witness.’ He looked up, and Tanner nodded. ‘His wife’s going to be angry, right?’
‘She’s more likely to be . . . vengeful.’
Dan nodded, then paused, like he was thinking about something, or wondering if he should say it. ‘I remember Mum once was vengeful with you.’
Tanner looked at him, partly amazed at the segue, and yet not surprised at all. ‘Not like this.’
‘You forgot to get me from preschool. You said you thought Granddad was. When you got home, I remember her yelling.’
‘You can remember that?’
‘That’s the only time I can remember her yelling at you.’
‘She was very forgiving.’
‘I bet.’
Tanner paused, not sure what to say next.
‘Are you happy?’ Dan said.
‘What?’
‘About the trial. You don’t look happy.’
‘I though you said I looked like I won.’
‘Yeah, but you don’t look happy.’
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
The boy raised his eyebrows. ‘You tell me.’
56
‘It felt like you were avoiding me,’ Lisa said. They were sitting on the steps that led down to the backyard at the rear of Tanner’s house. It was dark, but still warm. Winter had ended, spring had been skipped. ‘At least until you called on Monday night.’
‘I was.’
‘Why?’
‘Short temper. Unremitting anxiety.’
‘Is this during every trial, or just this one?’
‘Most.’
‘That’s not healthy.’
He nodded. ‘This is a litigator’s life. Anxiety, trial. Anxiety, trial. Anxiety, trial. Retirement. Near immediate death follows.’
‘Maybe you should try something else?’
‘No.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Is that because you feel so good now that you’ve won?’
‘Now that I’ve won,’ he said, picking up a piece of pizza from a box, ‘I feel hungry.’
• • •
‘Can we talk about Anne Warren’s report now?’ Lisa asked after the others had gone to bed. They were sitting on a couch, finishing a bottle of wine.
‘Is tomorrow okay?’ he said. ‘I need to decompress tonight.’
‘I’d like to tell my client.’
Tanner put his glass on the coffee table and sat up straight to look at her. ‘We didn’t get it legally, Lisa. We lose control once we go beyond –’
‘She’s the president of the Bageeyn Action Group, Pete. She won’t –’
‘We have to decide what we’re going to do with it before we share it.’
/>
Lisa picked up her wine. ‘We have to get it out there, Pete. We can try to challenge the water and ecology evidence all we like if the mine gets approved, but Warren could blow them out of the water before it gets a green light.’
‘There will still be a gold mine, Lisa. It just won’t be Citadel.’
‘Hey,’ she said, her tone sharp, ‘what happened to fighting the fights we can win? We can only defeat one enemy at a time. At the moment it’s Citadel. We can’t wait for long, Pete.’
‘We’re not going to change the world with one report.’
‘Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.’
‘You told me when I first met you that these people were criminals, Lisa,’ he said. ‘Now I know.’
‘And that’s why I don’t understand why we’re not talking to the police right now. It’s why I don’t understand why we haven’t already given Anne’s and Gaby’s reports to –’
‘There’s another thing,’ he said. ‘Joe’s sentencing – it’s next month. We have to sit on Warren until after that.’
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ he said more loudly than he intended. ‘There’s a state-owned Chinese company involved in this, not just Citadel. We can’t do anything that might make things worse for him. Leaking this report might get him more jail time. It might – We have to wait until he’s been sentenced. That’s non-negotiable, Lisa. We have to.’
She looked at him for a few moments, and then nodded. ‘We can’t wait longer than that, Pete. I’ve got an obligation to my client. So do you.’
He nodded slowly. ‘It’s only a month.’
She took a sip of wine, and looked up at the ceiling. ‘I want to screw these bastards,’ she said. ‘Don’t you?’
He leant back and tried to smile. ‘How badly do you want to do that?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re a class action specialist, aren’t you?’
She nodded.
‘Can you help me with a pleading for one?’
She raised her head. ‘A pleading?’
He picked up his glass and took a sip. ‘Something that looks like it could be filed here, or in the States – or even in Europe,’ he said. ‘Anywhere there’s a representative actions scheme.’
‘What are we alleging?’
‘Catastrophic pollution. Unlawful killing. Fraud leading to the loss of investors’ money and shareholders’ equity.’
Cyanide Games: A Peter Tanner Thriller Page 38