by Mark Dryden
Brian sighed. "What a debacle. Rex has done a wonderful job of outsmarting himself, hasn’t he? I told you that calling witnesses is dangerous, and this proves it. I probably shouldn’t have called anyone. Not Rex. Not Grimble. No-one."
She’d never seen him so depressed and full of self-doubt. It worried her a little. "Look, don’t beat yourself up about this. The alibi defence was our best bet. We had to run it. We couldn’t know Grimble would self-destruct."
Brian shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not." He half-smiled. "Anyway, what’s done is done."
She felt a wave of sympathy for Brian. But that feeling was overwhelmed by a growing unease about the day’s events. Grimble seemed too cunning to make such a bad slip-up. So maybe he didn't slip up. Maybe he was playing a deeper game and wasn't really on their side at all.
She said: "You know, I can’t understand how Grimble could have been so stupid."
"What do you mean?"
"He’s a smart guy. Surely he realized that, if he gave Rex an alibi, the cops would check his phone records. Yet he still offered to help Rex."
Brian shrugged. "Must have forgotten about the telephone call."
"No. He’s too smart to do that."
"Smart people do dumb things all the time."
"Yeah. But not when they’re as smart as Grimble. You know, it’s as if he deliberately set out to sabotage Rex’s case. Deliberately."
"Hah. Now you’re getting paranoid. This was just an old-fashioned cock-up."
"No, I think something funny’s going on."
"It’s not. But even if it is, the fact remains that our client has told two whopping lies and has no alibi - none at all. Nada. Zip. Zero."
"True. But he’s not the only person without an alibi."
"What do you mean?"
"Grimble doesn’t have one either. I mean, if he wasn’t with Rex on the night of the murder, where was he?"
Brian looked puzzled. "Who cares? You don’t think he killed Alice Markham do you?"
Robyn shrugged. "Yeah. Why not?"
"You’re kidding, right? Why would he kill her?"
"I don’t know. But maybe that’s why he destroyed Rex’s case."
Brian looked bemused and scornful. "Look, a few days ago, you thought that fake author, Richard Olsen, might be the murderer. Now you think it might be our main alibi witness. You’re getting tired and paranoid. You need a good night’s sleep."
"I do, but I’m not paranoid."
"Yes you are," he barked.
"OK. Maybe I am. But I still want to find out what game Grimble’s playing."
"Listen, he’s not playing a game. He fucked up. That’s all."
They entered their building and got into the lift. The neon lighting made Brian’s face look old and worn-out.
He said: "Look, right now, the best strategy is to get a good night’s sleep. That’s what I plan to do."
"You mean you don’t want to talk about the trial?"
The lift reached Brian’s floor and the doors opened. He put out an arm to stop them closing. "Correct. I’m all talked out. See you in the morning."
He shuffled out and the doors shut.
Robyn rode up to her floor and strolled towards her room, pondering Hugh Grimble’s evidence. How did the bastard forget making a mobile phone call that would destroy the alibi defence?
However, that wasn’t all Grimble forgot: in the witness box, he couldn’t even remember when he last saw Alice Markham alive. How was that possible? Surely, when he heard she was dead, he immediately recalled their last encounter and froze that moment in his mind.
Robyn suddenly recalled the receptionist at Grimble & Co also couldn’t remember her last encounter with Alice. The receptionist obviously wasn’t as smart as Grimble, but was surely bright enough to remember such a significant event.
So two people who worked closely with Alice Markham couldn’t remember when they last saw her. Why? Was there some turbulence between Grimble and Alice they were both trying to hide?
Robyn decided to quiz the receptionist about her forgetfulness. She glanced at her watch. If she jumped into a taxi now, she should reach the offices of Grimble & Co, in Chinatown, just before six o’clock.
Robyn rushed downstairs, hailed a taxi and reached her destination with ten minutes to spare. However, instead of entering the building she tarried outside, watching everyone leave.
After fifteen minutes, the receptionist emerged. Despite the cold, she wore a short skirt with tights, and carried a small pink plastic handbag.
She walked past Robyn without noticing her. Robyn rushed up and touched her elbow. "Excuse me."
The receptionist spun around, surprised. "Yes?"
"Do you remember me? I visited your firm a couple of weeks ago. We had a chat."
"Oh, yes, I remember. You’re one of the barristers working for Rex Markham."
"Yes. I suppose you know his trial’s started?"
The receptionist blanched. "Yes, I saw that on TV. Umm, I’ve got to catch my train."
As she turned to leave, Robyn grabbed her arm. "Look, I won’t be long, I promise. I’ve just got a few questions."
The receptionist pulled her arm away, but remained stationary. "What questions?"
"Well, when we spoke before, I asked when you last saw Alice Markham…"
"Did you?"
"Yes. And you said you couldn’t remember."
"Yeah. So what?"
"I find that hard to believe. By Monday, at the latest, you knew Alice Markham had been murdered. Yet you can’t remember when you last saw her…"
"I forget things."
"Yeah, maybe. But you wouldn’t forget that. It would have stayed very fresh in your mind. So tell me, what happened the last time you saw Alice?"
The receptionist’s eyes jiggled and she spoke with a burr. "Nothing happened. Nothing."
"Really? There was a problem, wasn’t there, between her and Grimble? Some issue?"
The receptionist’s jaw quivered. "There was no issue."
Robyn had feared she was on a wild goose chase. No longer. Her heart tried to bash its way out. "Yes there was. Look, I’m not asking you to be disloyal or anything. But the trial is going really badly for Rex. In fact, the evidence of your boss was disastrous. I think he’s trying to get Rex convicted. So Rex will go to prison, unless you help. You don’t want that on your conscience."
The receptionist shook her head vehemently. "Look, I just don’t want to get involved, OK? I don’t. It’s nothing to do with me."
"An innocent man will go to gaol."
The receptionist looked ready to cry and she bleated: "I just don’t want to get involved, OK?"
She obviously wouldn’t budge, so Robyn said: "OK. OK. But if you change your mind, let me know. Here’s my card. It’s got my mobile number on it."
Robyn proffered her business card, fearing it would be refused. But after some hesitation, the receptionist snatched it and scuttled away.
Robyn strolled around for a while. Adrenalin washed out of her system and depression rolled in. The receptionist might hold the key to Alice Markham’s death. But the bloody woman wouldn’t hand it over and Robyn couldn’t make her. At least she took the business card. That gave Robyn some hope.
Robyn caught a taxi home. Veronica wasn’t there. So, after eating a salad sandwich, she took the unusual step of downing a can of beer before gloomily trudging up to bed. In her career at the Bar, this was definitely the lowest of many low points.
She fell asleep and had a familiar dream that she was in a courtroom, appearing before her dead father. As usual, the footage in her head had no sound-track. But they were definitely arguing about something. She kept scowling and waving her finger. He kept shaking his head, looking annoyed. His beetle brows twitched beneath his full-bottom wig.
She woke three times that night and each time worried about the trial. But the fourth time, just after six o’clock, she woke because her mobile was ringing. She groggily picked it up and heard a
nervous voice. "Hi, this is Justine Pearson, ah, the receptionist. Look, umm, I think we’d better talk. I’ll tell you what I know."
"About what?"
"Who killed Alice."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
At home, Brian Davis reflected on the day's events, while downing a few whiskeys, and concluded that Rex Markham’s fate was sealed. A conviction was inevitable, unless a mad juror ignored all the facts and held out for an acquittal. But a juror that crazy would have already started drooling and mumbling to himself, maybe even seeing visions, and he’d seen no signs of that.
At least he wasn't to blame for this debacle. It wasn’t his fault if their alibi witness turned out to be a dumb arse-hole. That was just a bad break. Even a top barrister like himself couldn't always twist the facts and win an acquittal. Sometimes, the truth intruded and demanded respect.
He was annoyed he wouldn't win this high-profile case and establish himself at the pinnacle of his profession. However, losing would be a temporary setback. Future triumphs in celebrity cases were inevitable. No point getting bent out of shape.
Having absolved himself of blame and convinced himself his career was still on track, he got a good night’s sleep and rose at 7.30am, feeling rather chirpy. The sooner he got this mess over and done with the better.
When he arrived at his chambers, an hour later, he tried not to think about the trial. He couldn’t repair the damage Grimble had done and didn’t want to waste any more emotional energy. So, to distract himself, he sorted through the pile of mail on his desk.
Bernie Roberts turned up at 9.20am, looking downcast. "Morning. Any flashes of inspiration?"
"Afraid not. You?"
"No."
"Robyn should be here by now. Have you spoken to her this morning?"
Bernie gave a wintry smile. "No. Maybe she’s abandoned ship."
"If she has, I don’t blame her. You know, she reckons Grimble deliberately sabotaged our case."
Bernie frowned. "Why?"
"Because he killed Alice Markham."
Bernie emitted a strangled laugh. "Really? You’re kidding, right?"
"No."
"Hah. I reckon Grimble just fucked up."
"Agree."
Neither wanted to chat about the trial. So they discussed other cases they were doing together. At 9.30am, Brian said: "Well, we’d better head for court."
"What about Robyn?"
"Can’t wait for her. Let’s go."
They left the building and strode up Phillip Street, through the usual roiling media throng, into the old Supreme Court building. Downstairs, beyond the security gate, they found their client sitting in an interview room, waiting. Rex looked like he’d lost a couple of pints of blood.
Brian said: "How’re you feeling?"
"Like hell. Boy, I’m in deep shit, aren’t I?" He looked around. "Where’s Robyn?"
"Oh, she’s attending to a few things. She’ll be here soon. Have you considered what you want to do?"
Rex took a deep breath. "Yes. I won’t plead guilty - I just won’t."
"Fair enough. But you understand, don’t you, that your chances of winning this trial are bleak - very bleak?"
"I understand. But I won’t say I murdered my wife, because I didn’t."
"OK. That’s your right."
Rex rubbed his jaw. "So, can I give evidence again, to explain what happened?"
"You mean, explain how you cooked up your alibi with Hugh Grimble?"
"Yes."
Brian shook his head. "No. Quite frankly, that would just make things worse."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
Rex sighed. "I suppose you’re right."
"Good. We’ll see you in court."
The barrister and solicitor went upstairs and entered the Banco Court. As they did, Brian looked around for Robyn. Still no sign. But Grimble sat in the public gallery, stone-faced, wearing a pin-stripe suit and subdued grey bowtie. He looked marginally happier than Rex Markham.
Brian sat at the Bar table, next to Sam Mahoney and his sinister junior, Angus Tucker.
Mahoney smiled malevolently. "I told you I had a surprise in store, didn’t I?"
Brian wanted to pick up a law book and bash Mahoney’s brains out. But kill one dodgy prosecutor and another would immediately take his place. "What surprise?"
A frown. "Grimble’s phone records."
"Oh them? Non-issue if you ask me."
"Yeah? Try and convince the jury of that."
"I will." Brian swallowed his pride and tried to sound friendly. "Look, Sam, I don’t have any instructions, but if you drop the murder charge, I’m sure I can persuade my client to plead guilty to manslaughter."
Mahoney shook her head. "Sorry. No chance. It’s the Big M or nothing."
Brian tried to look confident. "Well, don’t say I didn’t give you a chance."
"Hah, you’re whistling in the dark. We both know that."
The Court Officer yelled for everyone to rise and Justice Dobell took his place on the bench.
The judge ordered the jury be brought into court. When they were seated, he looked at Mahoney. "Mr Prosecutor, do you wish to continue cross-examining Mr Grimble?"
Brian knew Mahoney would want to remind the jury of the devastating evidence Grimble gave the day before. So he wasn't surprised when Mahoney said: "Yes, your Honour. I won’t be long."
The judge sat back with a veiled smile. "No need to hurry, Mr Prosecutor. Take your time." He looked over at Grimble. "Mr Grimble, would you please return to the witness box."
Grimble walked stiffly towards the witness box and sat heavily. As he did, Robyn rushed breathlessly into the Court, robes swirling, and sat next to Brian.
Brian glared at her. "Where the hell have you been?"
Still puffing, she whispered: "Grimble killed Alice Markham."
Her wild theories were really starting to annoy him. "You’ve said that before."
"I know. Now I’ve got proof."
Brian’s heart accelerated. "What’re you talking about?"
Before she could answer, Mahoney started his cross-examination and they both turned to listen.
Mahoney said: "Mr Grimble, do you recall that, yesterday, I asked whether Rex Markham dined at your house the night his wife was murdered?"
Grimble stared straight ahead. "Yes."
"And you said you couldn’t remember, correct?"
"Yes."
"And that’s still your evidence, isn’t it?"
Grimble rubbed his temples ferociously. "No, it isn’t. I’ve thought about that overnight and now I’m sure I didn’t have dinner with Rex."
Mahoney’s smile shone into every nook and cranny of the courtroom. He looked back at Grimble and trilled: "You didn’t?"
"That’s right."
"Then why did you say you did?"
"I got confused."
"Confused?"
"Yes."
"So now you’re certain you didn’t have dinner with Rex Markham on the night his wife was murdered?"
Grimble kept staring at the back wall. "That’s correct."
"Then where were you?"
"As I recall, I went over to the casino and did some gambling."
"For most of the night?"
"Yes."
Christ, Brian thought. This was the fucking coup de grace. Grimble seemed to be deliberately making sure Brian had no wriggle-room in his final address to the jury. Maybe Robyn was right: the bastard was trying to bury Rex.
Mahoney smugly looked at Justice Dobell. "Your Honour, I have no further questions."
The judge looked at Brian. "Mr Davis, do you wish to re-examine your witness?"
Brian saw no point. Better to get Grimble out of the witness box as soon as possible. "No, your Honour."
Robyn rose and interjected loudly. "Yes we do, your Honour."
Brian couldn’t believe her impudence. He grabbed her arm and muttered. "What the hell are you doing?"
She whispered i
nsistently. "Let me re-examine him."
"About what?"
"Leave that to me."
Justice Dobell looked genuinely amused. "Well, is the defence going to re-examine or not?"
Robyn said loudly: "Yes, we are your Honour."
"That right, Mr Davis?"
Brian glared at Robyn, hoping she’d back down. But she shot back a steely gaze. If he opposed her, she’d obviously cause a big scene: she was that sort of girl. That was the last thing he wanted.
He muttered to her: "I hope you know what you’re doing."
"Of course I do."
Brian looked up at the judge and shrugged. "Yes, your Honour. We want to re-examine this witness. My learned junior will conduct the re-examination."
The judge frowned. "Alright then, get on with it."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
When Robyn answered her mobile that morning and heard the receptionist, Justine Pearson, say she wanted to talk about who killed Alice, her heart went crazy and assaulted her breastbone.
Robyn gulped in air. "What do you know about that?"
"I know about … about … what happened at the office that Friday."
"You mean, the day before Alice Markham got killed?"
"Yes."
Robyn now had the receiver in a death-grip, mouth dry as dust. "OK. Tell me."
Haltingly, Justine described how, at about three in the afternoon, a courier arrived with a package for Hugh Grimble marked "urgent". Justine reckoned it was probably just another unsolicited manuscript from a desperate author. But, in case it wasn’t, she decided to take the package straight to Grimble.
When she reached Grimble’s office, the door was slightly ajar. She was about to push it open when she heard Grimble and Alice Markham yelling at each other on the other side. Justine couldn’t hear everything they said. But Alice accused Grimble of stealing her husband’s book royalties. When Grimble denied that, Alice said she’d discovered two sets of accounts showing Rex Markham’s royalties - one true, one fake - which she had photocopied. She tossed the photocopies onto his desk and told him to have a look.
Grimble glanced through the photocopies and told Alice not to tell her husband. If she kept quiet, he’d make it worth her while.
At that point Justine, afraid she’d be noticed, retreated to her desk.