MURDER BRIEF

by Mark Dryden

  She lay awake for a long time, wondering if she had made a terrible mistake.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The next morning, Robyn woke with Brian snoring softly beside her and savoured her triumph in the Markham case. She’d always planned to grab plenty of glory for herself, but succeeded beyond her wildest dreams: in the biggest trial of her life, under a harsh media spotlight, she saved their client from decades behind bars. Good work, girl. Bloody good work.

  On top of that, Brian had climbed in her esteem and might even make a decent partner. Early days, and she still had doubts, but there were promising signs. She even fantasised about them bringing up cute kids together in a fine house on the harbour. OK, maybe she was deluding herself. But why not? She deserved a break from reality.

  After a while, Brian sleepily rolled over and put an arm around her. "Hi," he muttered.

  "Hi."

  He opened a bleary eye. "How ya feeling?"

  "Good. Great."

  "Don’t regret last night?"

  "No, not at all."

  "Good. Then you’re not going to tell me to back off?"

  "Not yet. But remember, you’re on probation."

  "How long will that last?"

  "Until your dying day."

  He giggled. "I can handle that. What’re we going to do now?"

  "I don’t know about you. But I’m going to work."

  "OK. And what about tonight?"

  "You get to buy me dinner."

  At the train station, Robyn purchased a copy of the Sydney Morning Herald. The splash headline said: FAMOUS NOVELIST ACQUITTED. The story below summarized the trial and gave her credit for uncovering the "dramatic new evidence" that pointed the finger of blame at Hugh Grimble. It also said her cross-examination of Grimble had "destroyed the prosecution case". Brian wasn’t even mentioned. She hoped that didn’t annoy him too much.

  At Fisher Chambers, she found her pidgeon-hole clogged with messages from friends and colleagues. Phoning them back took time because, after congratulating her, they all wanted a blow-by-blow description of the trial, which she soon got tired of giving.

  Several journalists also phoned wanting interviews. She was strongly tempted to say yes. But Brian was her leader: it was his prerogative to deal with the press. So she politely steered them in his direction. None sounded happy about that. They obviously regarded her as better copy. But she stuck to her guns.

  Numerous colleagues also slipped into her room to offer their congratulations and demand a full briefing.

  Just before noon, she got the phone call from her mother that she’d been dreading. Robyn hadn’t seen her for several weeks. But, for once, her mother didn’t accuse Robyn of neglect. Instead, she chided Robyn for not mentioning the murder trial. "It was so exciting to see you on TV. You obviously did a wonderful job - wonderful. Your father would have been so proud of you. Won’t be long now before you’re a silk, will it?"

  "Mum, that’s a long way off - ten years at least."

  "Oh, that long? But, in the meantime, it would be nice if you wore his wig. I’ve still got it here. Maybe I should send it to you?"

  "No, don’t Mum. I’ve got a wig. I don’t need it."

  "I’ll send it anyway. And come and see me soon, OK? I want to hear all about the trial - every detail. "

  Robyn knew her mother would grill her for hours, slowly sucking the joy out of her triumph. Then her mother would use the information gathered to claim bragging rights at the local lawn bowling club where she spent most of her days.

  No point insisting that her mother keep her father's wig, because she wouldn't listen. "I will visit. But I can’t talk right now. Got so much to do."

  She hung up, trembling slightly, hating the way, whenever she did something good, her mother clubbed her over the head with her father’s memory. Still, she couldn’t help wondering if her father would have enjoyed her performance in the Markham trial. Surely, he would have managed a small smile.

  She’d just started to relax when Rex Markham strolled in wearing a light-green linen suit and holding a big bunch of red roses. His eyes seemed brighter, and skin smoother and tighter, than before. There was a bounce in his step. He almost looked like the man on the back cover of his books.

  He must have sneaked past the reception desk.

  She said: "Rex, welcome. Why the roses?"

  "I woke this morning and decided I still haven’t thanked you enough for saving my worthless hide. I mean, if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have enjoyed coffee and croissants at a local cafe. So these are for you."

  He handed her the roses. She sniffed them appreciatively and laid them on her desk. A strange tremor of desire ran through her. No man had ever been so grateful before. It was rather intoxicating. Didn't Kafka say that accused men are the most desirable?

  "They’re very nice. Thank you. Take a seat."

  He dropped into the chair opposite, looking a touch uncomfortable. Indeed, his eyes had a strange light.

  She said: "Did you see Danielle last night?"

  He fidgeted. "Umm, yes. But I didn’t stay at her place."

  Why mention that? "Really? And how did you sleep?"

  "Like a baby."

  "No hang-over from your ordeal?"

  Rex shrugged. "No. But I’m sure there’ll be nights when I have nightmares about what happened."

  "Maybe you should go on a holiday - get away."

  He shifted nervously. "Funnily enough, I’ve decided to go sailing. I’ve got a 36-foot yacht. I’m going to take it to New Zealand."

  "A long voyage."

  "Yeah. But I’m looking forward to it. On the high seas there are no cops, judges or reporters. It’ll be fantastic."

  "Danielle going with you?"

  "No. In fact, it doesn't look like we'll stay together."

  "That's too bad."

  "Yes. After the trauma we've gone through, I think it'll be too hard to return to what we had." He nervously stared down at the space between his feet. "But, umm, any chance that, before I go, we can have dinner - to celebrate my freedom?"

  "You mean, celebrate with Brian and Bernie?"

  A keen stare. "No, I just want to celebrate with you."

  A lump in her throat. She’d suspected he was attracted to her, but kept quiet because of the charges against him. And she certainly wasn't interested in him because he was facing 25 years behind bars. Getting emotionally involved would have been spectacularly stupid.

  So was she interested now? Having just saved him from prison, she felt some affection. But even if Brian wasn’t on the scene, she wouldn’t have wanted Rex. For a start, he didn’t make her heart race. Indeed, the longer she knew him, the smoother and slimier he seemed. The murder charge had obviously forced him to restrain his womanizing. Now he was off the leash. And she couldn’t ignore that he once struck Alice and was now cheating on Danielle. In fact, seen in that light, his offer was truly insulting. How stupid did he think she was?

  She avoided eye contract. "No, I’d rather not. I’ve got, umm, other commitments."

  He frowned. "Really?"

  "Yes."

  "You mean, someone else?"

  "Yes."

  A frown. "Anyone I know?"

  He probably suspected she was shagging Brian. But why indulge his curiosity. "No."

  A deeper frown. "You sure you won't have dinner? I would like to show my gratitude."

  Christ, did she have to stencil "Not Interested" on her forehead? "No, best not."

  He studied her closely and nodded ruefully. "OK. Well, I’m terribly grateful for everything you’ve done. I really am." He stood up.

  She smiled and shook his hand. "Think nothing of it."

  As he left, she realized that he had probably confused his gratitude to her with passion for her. She also pondered how relationships between barristers and clients usually blaze brightly for a while and quickly fade. Hopefully, she wouldn’t see him again and she certainly wouldn’t read any more of his books. Ind
eed, he'd confirmed that it’s never a good idea to meet a favourite author.

  His appearance reminded her that she still hadn’t sent a bill to Bernie Roberts, who was holding money in trust. Humming away, she abandoned herself to the thrill of typing up a hefty bill that would soon be paid. She’d almost finished when Brian Davis strolled in, smiling until he saw the flowers on her desk.

  His eyes narrowed. "Hi, nice flowers."

  "Thanks."

  "Who gave them to you?"

  "Oh, Rex."

  Brian frowned. "Really? Why?"

  "To thank me, of course."

  "He didn’t send me any flowers."

  "Not my fault."

  Brian’s frown deepened. "Not even a bottle of brandy."

  "Maybe he thinks that paying your extortionate bill will be thanks enough."

  Brian looked annoyed. "Oh, so you’re not going to bill him?"

  "Not as much as you."

  "Not my fault. How did you get the flowers? Did he send them?"

  "No, he delivered them himself."

  Brian’s frown returned. "When?"

  "About ten minutes ago."

  "That so? And what did you talk about?"

  She smiled. "Why do you want to know? Jealous, are you?"

  Brian managed a low-watt smile. "Me, jealous? Why would I be jealous?"

  She shrugged. "Because you’ve been worried I like him."

  Brian gave a hollow laugh and pushed his hands into his pockets. "No, I haven't. But what did you two talk about?"

  She was enjoying herself. "Oh, he thanked me, of course, for saving his hide and asked me to have dinner with him."

  Brian looked shocked. "Dinner? Why?"

  "He said he wanted to celebrate his freedom."

  "Without me?"

  "Yep. Just the two of us."

  "He's got the hots for you, hasn't he?"

  "Looks like it."

  "But the dirty bastard’s already in a relationship with Danielle."

  "He claims that's on the ropes."

  "What an arsehole: cheated on his wife and now his mistress. What did you say?"

  She loved teasing him. "Guess."

  "You said ‘no’, right?"

  She gazed out the window and let him dangle for a while, twisting in the breeze, before looking back. "Of course I said ‘no’."

  He looked relieved. "Good. And you’re not interested in him, right?"

  She was tired of this game. "Of course not. In fact, call me crazy but, right now, I’m only interested in you."

  "Really?"

  "Yes."

  A broad smile. "Great. Fantastic. So, I'm buying you dinner tonight?"

  "Definitely."

  "And I was thinking that maybe, this weekend, we can drive up to the Hunter Valley, visit a few wineries and stay overnight."

  "Sounds good."

  He slipped around behind the desk and kissed her on the lips. "OK then, I’ll speak to you later."

  "Sure."

  When he’d gone, Robyn finished typing her bill and faxed it off to Bernie Roberts, before returning more calls from well-wishers. In her spare moments, she thought about Brian. He really seemed more sensitive and thoughtful than she'd originally believed. Maybe she could knock him into shape. But that prospect made her a little afraid. If she wasn’t careful, she’d fall in love with him and find herself on very dangerous ground indeed.

  Robyn desperately wanted to discuss her triumph with Silvia Tyler. But Silvia spent most of the day in court, not returning until four-thirty. When she did, Robyn slipped into her room and found her unbuttoning her bar jacket.

  Silvia smiled. "Oh, it’s our very own superstar. Well, girlie, I can’t watch TV or read the paper without seeing your ugly mug. It’s pathetic. Can I kiss your hem?"

  "Only if you’re sincere."

  A smoky laugh. "No chance." She hung her bar jacket in a small wardrobe. "Want a drink to celebrate?"

  "Why not?"

  Silvia reached into a desk drawer and fished out a whiskey bottle and a couple of glasses. She filled them and handed one to Robyn. "Congratulations. No stopping you now."

  "Thanks."

  They both sipped the whiskey.

  Silvia raised an eyebrow. "You know, you got more publicity than your esteemed leader, Brian Davis."

  "Not my fault."

  "I know. But I must say, he was very generous after the trial. A lot of glory-hogging silk would have airbrushed you out; they’d have preferred their client got convicted rather than share any credit."

  "I know. In fact, I think I’ve misjudge him."

  "How?"

  "I thought he was arrogant and superficial."

  Silvia arched both eyebrows. "And he’s not?"

  "Well, he’s not as bad as I thought."

  "Goodness. Sounds like you’re starting to like him."

  Robyn flushed slightly. Was it the whiskey? Embarrassment? Both? "Actually, I am."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, in fact, umm …"

  "In fact what?"

  "In fact, we’ve got quite close."

  Silvia giggled. "How close?"

  "Very."

  "You mean, you’re shagging?"

  "Well, yeah."

  "When did that start?"

  "Why do you want to know?"

  "Because, dearie, I want all the grubby details."

  "OK then. Last night."

  "A sort of victory celebration?"

  "Yes. But I think it's more serious than that."

  "Really? You think he’s capable of being serious?"

  "Maybe. He says he’s ready to settle down."

  Silvia shrugged. "You know him better than me. But if I’ve learnt one thing in life, it’s that you can’t trust men until they’re stone dead and the coffin lid has been screwed on tight."

  "But what about Geoff? You trust him, don’t you?"

  "No. He looks meek and mild, and I’ve never caught him cheating. But he’s got a dick, and that makes him as rational as a suicide bomber."

  "Well, if I catch Brian cheating, he’ll be toast. No second chances."

  "None at all?"

  "Nope."

  "Good."

  They downed a couple more whiskeys while Silvia peppered Robyn with questions about the Markham trial. Eventually, Robyn put down her glass and got unsteadily to her feet. "I can’t keep drinking, I’m afraid. Got work to do."

  Silvia said: "OK. But just out of curiosity, what happened to the dog-bite case Gary Monaghan did for you?"

  Shit. Robyn had forgotten about that. The hearing was several days ago. Goodness. "I don’t know. I haven’t seen Gary around. Have you?"

  "Not for a few days."

  Robyn already felt guilty for asking Gary to take the case in the first place. She only did so because Silvia mentioned he was keen on her. As a result, she feared she'd trifled with his affections.

  And now she hadn’t even bothered to ask him what happened. Very haughty and naughty.

  However, she wouldn’t beat herself up too much. This was a triumphant time in her life. Why ruin it with a guilt trip?

  Still, courtesy demanded that she talk to Gary about the case. In fact, she'd best do that right now, while she had some whiskey in her system.

  Robyn said: "I’ll go and ask him what happened."

  "OK. Let me know. And, congrats."

  "Thanks."

  Robyn strolled across the corridor and stepped into Gary’s spookily neat room, and was relieved to find he wasn’t there.

  She strolled around to the floor’s receptionist, Wendy, a middle-aged woman with a huge bosom whose default expression was boredom. Barristers on the floor often complained she was lazy, but were too lazy to do anything about it. She probably had the most secure job in Sydney.

  As usual, she was polishing her nails. When she broke one, she cursed like a top athlete who’s pulled a hamstring.

  Robyn said: "Wendy, is Gary around?"

  Wendy slowly shifted some gum
from one cheek to the other and gave Robyn a blank stare. Words dribbled from her lips. "Gary? He’s in Canberra. Got a hearing in the Federal Court. Should be back tomorrow morning."

  "You sure?"

  "That’s what he said. I can give you his mobile number, if you want?"

  Robyn preferred to delay her chat with Gary. "No, don’t bother. I’ll speak to him tomorrow."

  Wendy returned the gum to its original location and used her tongue to fix it in place. "OK."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  That evening, after dinner in a nice restaurant, Robyn took Brian back to her place for another bout of torrid sex. The next morning she again left the house before him, keen to get to work. Phone calls and visits from well-wishers kept her busy until mid-morning. Then her conscience demanded that she ask Gary Monaghan about the fate of Mad Mrs Muldoon and her stupid dog.

  He sat at his desk, head bowed over a law report, exposing the razor-sharp part in his lank dark hair. He was actually quite good-looking in a very regular and non-descript sort of way.

  She cleared her throat. "Hi."

  He looked up, surprised. "Hi and, umm, congratulations."

  "For what?"

  "The murder trial. You got a lot of publicity and obviously did a fantastic job."

  He spoke with a frankness and sincerity she rarely encountered, especially at the Bar. What was wrong with him? Did he grow up in the country? Was he the son of missionaries? Did he study for the priesthood? "Ah, yes, thanks."

  "You’ll have to tell me what happened."

  "Yes, I will. But first tell me about Mrs Muldoon."

  He frowned and looked crestfallen. "Oh, bad news there I’m afraid. She was convicted and fined $500."

  "And the dog?" The dog’s fate was much more important.

  "Better news. Touch and go, but the magistrate gave it a reprieve."

  "Good. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?"

  "I wanted to. But you were very busy with your case."

  Goodness, he was nice in a slightly saccharine way. "OK. Thanks. So how did Mrs Muldoon take the verdict?"

  "She’s very angry, as you can imagine."

  "Over $500?"

  "Yep, she wants to appeal."

  "You’re kidding right?"

  "No."