by Mark Stewart
“YOUR HONOR, the witness has stated he’d been drinking heavily on the night of the alleged fraud and the disappearance of Mrs. Annette Craven. I believe the witness’ statement has been soiled,” insisted Naomi.
“Objection your Honor, we have already established my client consumed no more than three drinks,” bellowed a tall heavy-set man wearing a black Italian suit.
“Where’s this leading to?” asked the Judge. “The court has already heard all this.”
“Your Honor, I’m trying to discredit what the witness, Mr. Burrows, is telling us,” replied Naomi.
The Judge waved an open palmed hand. “Get to the point.”
“At 1:00am on Tuesday the eighth of November 2005, Mr. Burrows’ statement reads, and I quote his exact words. ‘I saw the accused, Mr. Luke Craven deliberately and with a degree of accuracy, wearing a determined expression on his face walked across the room, sat opposite a man and commenced to write out a cheque for 5,000 thousand Australian dollars.’ Is this statement of yours correct?”
“Yes.”
“How close were you to the scene?”
“About ten metres,” replied Burrows.
“Your statement reads; ‘you followed the man who you have stated was Mr. Luke Craven to his home and hit a man over the head using a beer bottle. You then drove the victim to the hospital.’ Is this correct?”
“No.”
“It’s your statement to the police,” chirped Naomi, throwing the paper she held in his face.
“I’m confused,” mumbled Burrows, starting to drum his fingertips together.
“You’re confused due to the fact you witnessed nothing. Luke Craven paid you so he could have an airtight fraudulent alibi. There was no attacker; no beer bottle for you to use as a weapon. Your Honor, this farce has gone on long enough. This so-called witness is, in fact, nothing more than a hired man who has been paid to lie to this court. To sum up, I have proof; two airline tickets were purchased; both are a one-way trip to England, one for Mr. Craven and one for Mrs. Craven.”
“Objection,” yelled the other lawyer.
“Over-ruled,” advised the Judge.
“Okay,” yelled the man. He pounded the desktop using a tight fist before standing and pointing a stubby finger directly at Naomi.
The security guard grabbed his arm, forcing him to sit.
“Craven had swindled millions of dollars from a lot of people and devised a way to protect his wealth while keeping them off his back. He asked me to help him fake his death. If I agreed he’d pay me a million dollars. He signed over everything he owned into his wife’s name. Four weeks after his funeral I was to buy an airline ticket to England. The moment I arrived, he’d hand over a further five percent of his cash. It’s a mere pittance of the amount in his Swiss bank account. He didn’t know I wanted everything. His cars, his mansions, his summer home in Hawaii and his entire Swiss bank account containing thirty million dollars. To top it off, I had planned to make Craven’s fake death real. His passing would give me the green light so Miriam, his wife and I could have a great life together. We’ve been secretly seeing each other for over ten years.”
The Judge stared at the man. “Case closed. Arrest the witness. I will also send a message to the police to arrest Luke Craven.”
The gavel came down pending the court case. The large room erupted into a loud ruckus.
“Naomi, you were awesome,” boasted Brandt. He waited patiently while she packed her black leather attaché case. “Behind your beauty is a clever mind.”
“Thanks for the compliment.”
“Lunch?” asked Brandt.
“I want to take a walk first. The walls have ears in a café.” She looked directly into Brandt’s eyes. “Please, don’t take the idea of a walk the wrong way. After the courtroom fiasco, I’m a little drained. I always have a walk after a legal battle. You’re more than welcome to join me.”
Brandt and Naomi strolled across the road, entering the Melbourne botanical gardens. The path appeared to be weed free. The smell of freshly cut grass still hovered in the air.
“If you have a problem, I’m here to listen,” hinted Brandt.
“Thank you. If I may be blunt, I’m concerned about moving into a new relationship.”
“I think you have a case of cold feet.”
“I think it’s something more.”
“Why?”
“The last man I loved turned out to be a bigamist. I found out the ugly news standing at the altar in my wedding dress the day before my twenty-fourth birthday.”
“I’d never do anything so horrible. I believe a woman should be admired. She should also be treated affectionately at all times.”
Brandt ushered Naomi along the path towards a garden seat situated under a large gum tree. A young couple walking in a loving embrace glanced their way. Brandt gave them a dirty look. Keeping up his stare he watched them scurry off towards the road. Brandt waited for Naomi to sit on the wooden seat before he mirrored her posture. Reaching out he took hold of her hand. Naomi felt uncomfortable over his unsolicited move. She waited patiently for an elderly couple to shuffle past before pulling her hand away.
“Enough about my background,” insisted Naomi. “Tell me what you’re working on?”
“I have to think up a slogan for hair shampoo.”
“How’s it coming?”
“Great. Want to hear it?”
“Okay.”
“I based the slogan on someone I know.”
“Who is the person?”
“You,” he boasted.
“We don’t know anything about each other.”
“We don’t have to. The moment I saw you on the dance floor you stirred my imagination. The slogan is still untitled, though I’m thinking along the lines of; ‘To catch your mate in seconds.’ The whole add will run something like this. ‘Two trains come together. The girl looks up when a man in the other train notices the shine in her hair. He sets out to find her. Eventually, they get married. The actors will say a punch line something like the following; using this shampoo, men will notice you even when you’re on another train.’
“Corny,” advised Naomi.
“What do you mean?”
“I think our time together is over.”
“I can’t allow it,” demanded Brandt.
“Please respect my wishes when I tell you I never want to see you again.”
“You can’t walk out of my life. You’re my soul mate.”
“I certainly am not,” grumbled Naomi, seriously.
“Please, give me a chance. It’s the only thing I ask.”
“Thanks again for the flowers.”
Naomi stood to leave. She extended her hand to attempt a businesslike handshake. She waited for Brandt to copy.
He never did.
“Do you believe in love at first sight?”
“No, I don’t. There’s no such thing.”
Naomi retracted her hand, placed her handbag on her shoulder and picked up her briefcase. Brandt watched the woman walk along the solid brick path back towards the road. Standing, he stretched before strolling after her.
CHAPTER SEVEN