by Mark Dryden
When Brian slipped out of the room to answer an urgent telephone call, Robyn seized the chance to ask Kline if he’d read Richard Olsen’s novel, Waiting for Rain.
Kline smiled. "Of course. Brilliant novel. Absolutely brilliant."
"Richard Olsen’s a pseudonym - did you know that?"
"Of course. I think that’s even mentioned on the back cover."
"But Alice Markham knew his real identity."
"I know. In fact, I once chatted with her about Olsen."
"Really? Did she tell you his real name?"
Kline laughed. "Afraid not."
"Damn. So who do you think he is?"
"If I had to guess, I’d pick Rex."
"Why?"
"There aren’t many novelists around with the talent to write Waiting for Rain. I think Rex is one of the few."
"But why write under a pseudonym?"
"Isn’t it obvious?
"Not to me."
"Because, like most novelists, Rex writes in a genre ghetto. In his case, it’s political thrillers. Nobody expects him to write a profound work about the human condition. So if Waiting for Rain appeared under his own name, nobody would take it seriously. That’s why he used a pseudonym."
"I asked Rex if he’s Richard Olsen and he denied it."
Kline giggled. "Did he? Well, he would, wouldn’t he? I mean, why use a pseudonym if you’re just going to roll over and confess? Anyone who uses a pseudonym is entitled to lie about it." Kline put his hands on his belly and smiled. "And don’t forget, novelists are good at lying: we do it for a living."
The last character witness they interviewed was Rex Markham’s close friend, Tim Nolan. The three lawyers had met him before, when he accompanied Rex to the inspection of the murder scene.
Robyn had also met his wife, Beverley. So, when they shook hands, she said: "You know, I’ve met your wife."
"Bev? Really?"
"Yes, at Grimble & Co."
"That so? She didn’t mention that."
It soon became obvious that Tim Nolan would be a good character witness because, though he liked Alice, he was happy to claim Rex would not have murdered her.
Brian then chatted with Nolan about the Australian cricket team’s chances on the forthcoming Ashes tour of England. Robyn was mildly interested in cricket, but Brian, who attended an expensive private school which he never really left, was a tragic case. She let the boys connect.
After Nolan left, Robyn suddenly recalled her last conversation with Beverley. Something that puzzled Robyn about it now made sense.
She turned to Brian and Bernie. "You know, I haven’t mentioned it before, but Beverley Nolan is the person who told me that Alice had an affair with Terry Torkhill."
Brian shrugged. "Really?"
"Yes. Beverley knew about it because Alice told her."
Brian frowned. "Yeah. So what?"
"Well, Alice only told Beverley about her affair with Terry Torkhill. She didn’t mentioned her second affair."
"And, your point is?"
"Why did Alice tell Beverley about her first lover, but not her second?"
Brian's frown deepened. "I’m sure you’re going to tell us."
"I am. Alice didn’t tell Beverley about her second lover, because Beverley would have got very, very upset if she knew his identity."
"Why?"
"Isn’t it obvious? Alice's second lover was Tim Nolan, Beverley’s husband."
Brian frowned. "I think you’re jumping to conclusions."
"No, I’m not. It makes perfect sense."
"OK. Let’s assume you’re right and Alice was bonking Tim. Where does that get us? We can’t prove he had either a motive or opportunity to kill her. In fact, we’ve got absolutely no idea where he was on the night of the murder."
"I know. That’s why I should have another chat with Beverley."
Brian frowned. "No, don’t do that."
"Why not?"
"Because it’s not your job. I want you to focus on the trial. Leave the poking around to Bernie and his private detective."
"The private eye hasn’t turned up anything so far."
"I don’t care. Leave it to them."
"But…"
Brian scowled. "Do as you’re told." He turned to Bernie. "Can we leave this matter to you?"
The solicitor nodded. "Sure. I’ll get the private detective to check Tim Nolan’s whereabouts."
Robyn sighed. "What a waste of time."
Brian lifted an eyebrow. "God, you’re impetuous."
"I just want to win."
He frowned. "Maybe, but every game has rules, including this one."
She’d noticed Brian was happy to bend the rules if he could get away with it and he would benefit. He was obviously worried she might steal his thunder. Further, like many with rubbery morals, he loved to preach.
Soon afterwards, Bernie left and the two barristers started loading folders onto the metal trolley they would take to court on Monday morning.
They’d almost finished when Brian’s secretary, Denise, entered and said the Court List for Monday had been posted on the Supreme Court’s web site. The Markham trial would be heard in the old Supreme Court Building, before Justice Craig Dobell.
As Denise disappeared, Robyn turned to Brian. "Dobell - I’ve never appeared before him. Have you?"
"Yep. Several times. I also opposed him quite often when he was at the Bar."
"What’s he like?"
"A brilliant lawyer. But has a heart the size of a pea. He’ll referee a fair fight: there’ll be no biting or kicking. But if we lose, he’ll put Rex away for a very long time."
Robyn’s heart revved up a notch. The case was really getting serious. "Then we’ve got to avoid that, don’t we?"
"Yep." Brian put the last folder on the trolley and sighed. "Anyway, I’m going home. You want a lift?"
She’d worked hard to keep their relationship purely professional and give him no openings. So far he’d behaved himself and now, with the trial only a few days away, she felt surprising affection. The pressure he was under made him seem more human and his composure increased her respect.
She’d let him give her a lift home, but be on her guard. "Yeah, OK."
They strolled across Macquarie Street to the car-park under St Mary’s Cathedral, where Brian had left his Audi.
He drove from the car-park and glanced at her. "Look, it’s up to you, of course, but why don’t you let me buy you dinner before I drop you home? You don’t have to say yes. But I could do with some company right now."
He’d finally used the dreaded "dinner" word. What to do? In the circumstances, it would be petulant and rude to refuse. And, truth be told, she was nervous about Monday and didn’t fancy spending the evening alone. Even his company would be good. But if he wanted her for dessert, he’d go hungry.
She said: "OK. Where to?"
He smiled. "Italian?"
"Fine."
"And we won’t talk about the case, OK? That’s verboten."
She only wanted to talk about the case, but couldn't insist. "OK. Agreed."
He used his mobile to book a table at an expensive Italian Restaurant in Woollahra and drove over there.
After they were seated and ordered their meals, Robyn asked how he planned to spend the weekend.
"Oh, I’ll probably drive down to my farm. I often do before a big trial. Helps me clear my head."
"You’ve got a farm?"
"Well, not much of one - just a hobby farm."
"Where?"
"Kangaroo Valley. Takes me about three hours to reach it."
"How big?"
"Tiny. Just a homestead on 20 hectares."
"Any animals?"
"Sort of. The farmer next door pays me to agist his cattle. That’s all."
"How often do you go there?"
"About once a month. The rest of the time, I’m too busy."
"Then why have it?"
He blushed slightly. "I love tramping aro
und in gumboots and talking to the cattle and, to be honest, the farm helps me minimize my tax. My accountant won’t let me sell it."
"Sounds complicated."
"It is."
The waiter poured the wine and Brian told some funny stories about his career at the Bar, including some disastrous early experiences. It was reassuring to know he’d also stuffed up cross-examinations and had judges scream at him.
He said: "You know, during my first two years at the Bar, I was a positive menace to my clients. I shouldn’t have represented anyone."
"Thank God you've improved. You worried about Monday?"
"Not yet."
"But you will start worrying?"
He frowned. "Oh yes, definitely. But let’s forget about that."
She deeply sympathized with the weight on his shoulders. Now the moment of truth had arrived, she preferred taking a back seat. Suited her fine.
While they chatted, she polished off most of the wine bottle and felt her mood lift. He only drank a few glasses.
She said: "You haven’t drunk much?"
"I’m driving."
"And if you weren’t?"
He smiled. "I’m not a big drinker. I have many vices, but boozing isn’t one of them."
She raised an eyebrow. "Really? What vices?"
He laughed. "You’ll have to find out."
Maybe she had misjudged him. He was arrogant and supercilious - no doubt about that. But he was also handsome, witty and could be surprisingly self-deprecatory, though never comfortably so.
When he recommended her for the Markham brief, she feared he just wanted to get her into bed. The jury was still out on that. But so far, at least, he’d behaved himself, maybe too much.
However, the big test - when he drove her home - was still ahead. Would he make a move when they got there?
And, if he did, would she resist? To her surprise, she wasn’t sure. She’d drunk a fair bit and hadn’t been to bed with a man for a long time. She was also tired of being too judgmental and ending up alone. Maybe it was time to hold her nose and take a few risks; maybe he was a frog who would turn into a prince.
He paid the bill and escorted her out to his car. She felt a little unsteady, but the cool breeze freshened her up.
Fifteen minutes later, after lots of idle and slightly tense chatter, he pulled up outside her terrace in Glebe. She grabbed the door-handle. "Thanks. That was very nice."
He looked nervous. "Yes, it was, wasn’t it? In fact, I’d like to do it again, if possible."
She wasn’t sure if she wanted to or not, but had to be polite. "OK. So would I."
"Really?"
"Yes."
Then, to her horror, he cleared his throat, squeezed the steering wheel and stared straight ahead as if he had a lot on his mind. "Look, you know, I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. I’ve been pretty stupid where women are concerned. But, umm, I know it sounds corny, but I’ve never met a woman like you - I really haven’t. I think you’re fantastic."
Christ, the moment of truth had arrived. Her brain split in two. She was desperate for sex, company, love, and Brian had risen in her estimation. Their shared mission had brought them closer together. But she also knew she had drunk far too much booze and was in no fit state to make a proper assessment. She tried to subtract the influence of the booze from her grading of him and got more confused.
He leaned closer. "You want me to park the car?"
What a fucking stupid line. Sleazy bastard. The spell was broken. Now, she just wanted to get away from him. "No. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you on Monday."
She pushed the door open and jumped out.
"Wait."
"Monday. See you then."
She scuttled across the road and into the terrace, heart thumping. Fuck, that was close.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The next morning, Robyn woke with a hangover. Edgy thoughts rattled through her stone-dry brain. She slowly and painfully sifted through the events of the previous night and realized how close she came to sleeping with Brian. Thank God she didn't. Somehow, despite being half-pissed, she’d escaped his creepy embrace. In the cold light of day, she realized he was the last man she needed in her life. Womanisers like him never change. He would act sincere until he got her into bed - then the nightmare of infidelity would begin.
She was desperate to put some distance between them but, until the trial was over, they were stuck together like Siamese twins. Somehow, she had to be diplomatic and reduce any tension, without making any concessions. That wouldn’t be easy.
An hour later, she gingerly descended the stairs and found Veronica in the kitchen, wearing bicycle shorts, eating toast.
Veronica grinned. "Hi. You came in late last night."
"Yeah, I had dinner with Brian."
Veronica’s eyes and mouth widened. "Your leader?"
"Yeah, my leader." Robyn sighed. "I know, I know. It probably wasn’t a smart move. But nothing happened. When he dropped me off, I didn’t invite him in."
Veronica frowned. "You’re unbelievable - you really are. You should have dragged him in here and fucked him to death. I would have. Would have made this building shake."
"Maybe. But I don’t really like him."
Veronica sighed, as if dealing with a troublesome child. "You’re kidding? He’s a legal superstar and quite dishy besides. If you decide you don’t want him, I’ll take him off your hands."
"Be my guest."
CHAPTER TWENTY
Robyn soon forgot about Friday night and focused on the Markham trial, now only a few sleeps away. Brian had told her not to investigate Tim Nolan’s whereabouts on the night of the murder. But they couldn’t wait for the private eye to turn up something. Surely, she had to make her own enquiries.
She hesitated until Sunday afternoon, when she finally decided to act. But who could tell her where Tim Nolan was that night? The only candidate was his wife, Beverley.
Robyn considered driving over to the Nolans’ house and confronting Beverley face-to-face. But if she did, her husband would probably be there.
She eventually decided to phone. True, that would give Beverley a better chance to dissemble or even hang up. But Robyn had little confidence Beverley would tell her anything anyway and wanted to minimise her own embarrassment. Yes, one quick call and then she’d bury this issue.
Heart thumping, she found the Nolans’ phone number on the internet and dialled it, praying Beverley would answer. Thankfully, she did.
"Hello", Beverley said.
"Beverley. This is Robyn Parker, the barrister for Rex Markham."
Beverley sounded guarded. "Oh, hi Robyn. What can I do for you?"
"Umm, I’ve got a few questions to ask, if you don't mind." Robyn heard kids screaming in the background.
"Now?"
"Yes. I won’t take long."
"What about?"
No point shilly-shallying. Robyn took a deep breath. "Well, I’ve been wondering why your best friend, Alice Markham, only told you she had one lover when, in fact, she had two."
Beverley’s voice quavered. "What do you mean?"
Robyn cringed inside. "Have you talked about that issue with your husband?"
Robyn heard an intake of breath and feared Beverley would hang up. But, after a long pause, Beverley whispered "Yes, I have."
"What did he say?"
"That’s none of your business."
"Maybe. But he admitted sleeping with Alice, didn’t he?"
"Christ, you’re very rude."
"It’s true, isn’t it?"
Beverley’s voice cracked slightly. "Yes, he did, the bastard."
"I’m sorry to hear that. That’s tough news."
"You’ve got no idea. We’ve got two children - two."
"I understand." Robyn was already embarrassed about her intrusive questions. But they were mild compared with those to come. She opened the bomb doors. "Look, I hate having to ask you this: but where were you and your husband on the n
ight Alice was murdered?"
Beverley sounded affronted. "You’re not suggesting, are you…?"
Like a good cross-examiner, Robyn kept her questions flowing. "No. That’s why I need to know: to eliminate you two. Where were you?"
Long pause. "OK. That’s easy. We were at home."
"By yourselves?"
"Yes, with our kids."
The kids screaming in the background sounded very young. Hardly competent witnesses.
Robyn said: "Tim didn’t go out?"
A slight pause. "No, definitely not."
"You’re sure about that?"
"Yes. He definitely stayed home."
Robyn wasn’t sure whether to believe her. But there was no point accusing her of lying.
Robyn said: "OK. So what’re you two going to do now? You’ll stay together?"
Beverley’s voice cracked slightly. "I don’t know. At the moment, we’re still sleeping together, and he’s promised to stay faithful. But I’ll never really trust him again. I’m not sure what to do."
"I hope things work out. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you; I’m just trying to help my client."
"That’s all?" Beverley said, sounding relieved.
"Yes, thanks."
Hand shaking, Robyn put the receiver back on its stand. Their conversation had resolved some issues, but not the biggest: where Tim Nolan was on the night Alice was murdered. Beverley could easily be lying about that. But the trial started in the morning and Robyn had run out of time. If Tim Nolan was the murderer, he was in the clear.
Obviously, there was no point telling Brian about her conversation with Beverley. The information was irrelevant and he wouldn’t appreciate her efforts at all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Brian Davis’ greatest strength as a barrister was his self-confidence. Because he’d convinced himself of his ability, he was good at convincing others; because he looked in control, people thought he was in control. He learnt early in his career that clients didn’t want to hear his doubts and fears. They wanted to be led towards the promised land. And that was what he did, even if he didn’t know where it was and their journey often ended in prison.