by Mark Dryden
"I'll see you downstairs and let you in."
I turned off the phone and turned to Barbara. "Why'd you turn up?"
"I had a drink with a friend who's going overseas. Then I came back to collect my backpack. Saw the light on in your room and decided to say hello. Instead I found you getting molested. Was he going to hurt you?"
"Depends. If Meredith had told him too, he would have broken my neck."
"What's this all about?"
Instead of answering, I used a small step-ladder to drag down Volume 1 of the New South Wales Law Reports. I removed the charge sheet and slipped it inside my jacket.
Barbara said: "What's that?"
"It's what they were searching for."
"What is it?"
"I've got to go downstairs and let the cop into the building. I'll tell on the way."
We strolled across the deserted floor to the lift. She looked remarkably composed for someone who'd just kicked a thug in the thigh. I'd thought she was nice and a bit flaky. Now I realised she had a ribbon of steel running through her.
As we got into the lift, I described how I found the drink-driving charge sheet and the complications that ensued. I finished my story out on the pavement. I'm sure that, if she hadn't recently seen me get man-handled by a monster, she'd have accused me of pulling her leg.
Finally, she put her hands on hips. "Why didn't you tell me any of this before?"
That option never crossed my mind. "Because I didn't have time."
"God, it's all so unbelievable. So you think the judge killed Terry to stop him blabbing about the charge sheet?"
"I don't think the judge did the dirty work himself. Nor did Meredith. It sounds like they've both got good alibis. I reckon they got Schultz to kill Terry. Anyway, that's now a matter for the police. They can work out who's responsible."
She smiled wryly. "Meredith won't brief you anymore."
"Good. He was always a slow payer."
She frowned. "You're still appearing before Sloan, aren't you?"
"Yes, back before him tomorrow morning."
"Bet you're not looking forward to that."
"I'd rather chew glass."
A grim smile. "What are you going to do?"
I shrugged. "Ask him to abort the hearing."
"On what grounds?"
"Dunno. I'll think of something."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
When Detective Sergeant Malloy arrived, I introduced him to Barbara Carmichael and we all caught a lift up to my room, where he studied the shambles. "Quite a mess. You'd better tell me what's going on." He looked at Barbara. "I want to chat with Mr Kennedy alone, if you don't mind. I'll chat with you later."
She shrugged. "Fair enough. I've got some work to do. I'll be in my room."
The detective and I sat on the couch in the reception area. I explained how I found the drink-driving charge sheet in one of Terry Riley's law reports and it showed that Justice Sloan was intoxicated when he crashed his car and killed his wife. I described how Terry and Bob Meredith went to the police station and helped cover up the crime.
I said: "Terry obviously kept the charge sheet in case he needed it later. When he got into financial difficulties, he used it to blackmail the judge into bailing him out. However, instead of playing ball, the judge obviously murdered him - or, at least, arranged for him to be murdered."
The detective nodded. "OK, so what happened tonight?"
I described my meeting with the judge and how, when I returned to my room, I caught Meredith and his henchman searching for the charge sheet. Then I described how I Barbara rescued me.
The cop sucked in his cheeks and looked like I'd just handed him a spluttering stick of dynamite, which I had. "That's quite a story. So you think the judge murdered Terry Riley?"
"He claims he's got an alibi. So does Meredith. My guess is that they'll check out, because they sent Schwartz along to do their dirty work."
"Sounds logical, though Schwartz might have been told to intimidate Terry Riley and got carried away: he seems to lack impulse control." A wry smile. "Anyway, if you're right, you'll be in the clear."
"You were investigating me?"
"Of course. I'm sure you had an affair with Doris Riley. So I was going to focus on you two."
My gut turned cavernous. I'd almost become the prime suspect in a murder investigation. "I'm glad I've set the record straight."
"So am I, because I like to avoid miscarriages of justice, if possible." His smile didn't reach his eyes.
"That's a relief."
He sighed. "I'm not surprised the cops at the station shat their pants. Any cop who charged a judge with anything, let along manslaughter, would get posted to Wilcannia. Better to let the whole thing slide."
"What about you? You going to let it slide?"
"I wish I could. But don't worry - I've got a job to do and I'll do it. Where's the charge sheet?"
I shrugged. "Close."
He scowled. "Don't mess about. Where?"
I reached inside my jacket and took it out. "Here."
The detective reached into his back pocket, pulled out a plastic evidence bag and opened it with practised ease. "Good. Pop it in here."
"You won't bury this, will you? You're not afraid of killing your own career?"
He looked sincere, on the surface at least. "Don't worry. I'll do the right thing."
Too late for doubts. I dropped the charge sheet into the evidence bag with relief and trepidation.
Looking unhappy, he sealed the bag, scribbled on the seal and rested it on his thigh. "Do you want to bring charges against Meredith and Schultz?"
""For what?"
"Trespass, assault - you tell me, you're the lawyer."
"No, no point."
He got to his feet. "OK then, you can go home. Sometime in the next few days, come down to police headquarters and give me a full written statement."
"Sure."
"And tell your colleague that I don't need to talk to her right now – though I might give her a call later."
"Will do."
He smiled. "You say she kicked Schwartz in the leg?"
"Yes."
"Does she do criminal work?"
"Don't think so. Mostly does building & construction cases."
"That's too bad. I'm always on the look-out for prosecutors with a bit of aggro. Most of them are so limp-wristed." He shrugged. "Anyway, I'll be in touch."
He strolled off towards the lifts and I wandered into Barbara's room where she sat at her desk, reading a brief. She looked up quickly, obviously waiting for me.
"Finished?"
"Yep. The cop said he doesn't need to talk to you right now, though he might contact you later."
A shrug. "OK."
I glanced at my watch - nine o'clock. "I'm off home. Flat out exhausted. Thanks for your help. You may have saved my life."
She smiled. "I'm sure you could have looked after yourself."
I laughed. "We both know that's rubbish. So thank you very much. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Ciao."
I strolled out thinking I could have handled that conversation better. However, that was true of many things I'd done recently.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
After three hours of agitated sleep, I woke just after seven o'clock. As the events of the previous day marched through my head, I wondered if I was reliving a nightmare. No such luck. I soon realised they were distressingly real. And the day ahead would be even worse. The Arnold hearing resumed at ten o'clock. When it did, I'd have to appear before a judge who had some very dirty secrets - including murder - that I shared. Further, my instructing solicitor, in cahoots with the judge, had ransacked my room with a huge thug. What started out as a garden-variety personal injuries hearing had hurtled around several hair-pin bends and would soon go off a cliff.
At ten o'clock, I'd ask Sloan to disqualify himself for bias, without going into details. If he was smart - which he was - he'd grab the chance to abort the
hearing. I certainly didn't intend to dredge up the charge sheet and start a firestorm that would engulf both of us.
However, I wouldn't have to make that application if I settled the case before ten o'clock. Wild Bill had already offered $200,000 and signalled he had more in the kitty. Further, my client would accept $350,000. We weren't far apart, though settlement negotiations can easily go off the rails because a litigant changes his mind, egos get in the way, or greed and irrationality take hold.
When I reached my room in Thomas Erskine Chambers, there were still books strewn around the floor. It took me twenty minutes to shove them back onto the shelves, out of order.
I robed and stared out the window. I was desperate to resume settlement negotiations and kill off the hearing, but didn't want to arrive at Court too early and look desperate. Eventually, at 9.45 a.m., I strode past Denise and across the road into the Supreme Court Building. Outside Court 13A, Mick Arnold slouched on a foam bench. Bob Meredith was, not surprisingly, nowhere to be seen.
The two Bills stood in the hallway, chatting quietly. Wild Bill usually arrived late and made a dramatic entrance. Why was he here so early? Anxious to settle the matter? A small door opened in my chest and a silvery bird of hope flew out. I closed it and headed towards Mick.
But Wild Bill intercepted me, trying to look casual. "Ben, can we chat?"
I slowed. "OK. But I'd better see my client first."
He looked extra-peeved. "Oh sure. When you're ready."
Mick didn't bother to rise.
I said: "Hi."
"Hi. Where's Bob? I called him on his mobile. He didn't answer."
"I don't think he'll be here today."
"Why not?"
"Umm, he's not feeling well."
"You spoke to him?"
"Yes, last night."
Mick shrugged. "OK."
"So, tell me, do you still want to settle for 350 thousand?"
He stood up. "Yeah. I thought about everything overnight and, you know, I reckon this judge hates me guts. If they'll pay 350 large, I'll be bloody happy. Then I'll walk away with about 200 grand, right?"
"Yes." Though I was desperate to settle, I'd never sold out a client and didn't intend to start. "Are you sure about that? I reckon that, if you push them, you can get more. It's a risk, of course, but I think you can."
"Really? Why?"
"I smell a rat. All of a sudden, they seem anxious to do a deal. They're worried about something. Maybe you should hold out for more."
"What're they worried about?"
I shrugged. "Not sure. It's just a hunch."
He paused and shook his head. "You may be right. But I reckon the judge hates me. I'll take 350 thou, if I can get it. That'll do. I want out."
My job was to advise and sometimes cajole. But clients called the shots. "OK, I'll see what I can do."
As I strolled over to Wild Bill, he analysed my body language, while I analysed his. I casually put my hands in my pockets and smiled. "Bill, you wanted to chat?" He could broach settlement.
"Yes. We going to settle this matter or not?"
Wild Bill's natural instinct was to fight rather than settle, even when staring defeat in the face. So his eagerness was a surprise. His strong aftershave didn't mask the smell of a big rodent lurking in the vicinity. He still hadn't produced any documents about the removal of the surveillance camera. Maybe that was why he'd gone from a goat to a sheep.
I said: "Before we discuss settlement, I want to see the documents I called for."
A mechanical frown. "What documents?"
"The ones about the removal of the camera. I called for them on Monday and renewed my call yesterday morning. Where are they?"
His gaze slid over my shoulder and drilled into the wall behind me. "Oh, them. Well, umm, we're still searching for them."
His forte was heavy-handed bullying, not barefaced lying. I took a half-step forward. "Really? Look me right in the eye and tell me you don't have any of the documents I called for - not one."
His gaze wandered and words stumbled out. "Like I said, we're still looking."
"You haven't answered my question."
"Yes I have."
"No you haven't. I asked whether, right now, you have any of the documents I called for."
Wild Bill went red. "Look, do you want to settle this case or not?"
I was desperate to settle. A couple of minutes of haggling would get my client $350,000 and I could wash my hands of this terrible case. However, Wild Bill still hadn't answered my question, and I couldn't let him get away with that.
I spoke louder. "You've obvious got an important document you're withholding from me." My stare challenged him to deny that, but he stayed mute. "So, when the hearing resumes, I'm going to renew my call. And when you produce that document, as you are required to do, I'm going to raise hell until I'm told exactly when it came into your possession."
I'd been under a mountain of stress for 48 hours and sounded slightly hysterical.
I half expected Wild Bill to launch a blustery counter-attacked. Instead, he looked anxious. Though he loved winning, why risk his reputation to win such a trivial case? He'd pushed the envelope as far as he dared.
Mild Bill who, unlike his father, had some moral fibre, shifted on his feet, hands twitching, obviously the weak link.
I turned to him: "Do you agree with what your dad says?"
Mild Bill stared eloquently at his father, who finally frowned and said: "Shit, give it to him."
Mild Bill looked relieved. "The invoice?"
"Yes, the fucking invoice."
Mild Bill opened his large notepad, took out a small piece of paper and handed it to me. "This is what you're after."
I snatched it. "What is it?"
"An invoice, from the electrician who removed the camera."
I shook with excitement: the invoice showed that the surveillance camera was taken down a week after Mick Arnold commenced his action in the Supreme Court.
It hurt the defendants in many ways. For a start, Taggart and Fuolau both gave evidence that the camera was removed before Mick Arnold was injured. The invoice proved they were lying. Further, the removal of the camera so soon after the action commenced suggested it filmed something that hurt the defendants' case. Certainly, that was how I'd spin it.
Christ, I just might win this claim.
Then I remembered that, in a few minutes, I'd have to ask the judge to disqualify himself. Bloody hell. Still, l managed a broad smile. "Wow. No wonder you've been hiding this document."
Wild Bill scowled. "We've hidden nothing."
"Rubbish. And the film? What happened to the film in the camera?"
A nervous laugh. "We don't have it."
"You mean, you destroyed it?"
"Of course not. Nobody keeps film that old."
Only slight disappointment. The invoice alone gave Mick's case an enormous boost.
I glanced at my watch. "Alright. The way I see it, we can resume the hearing at ten o'clock and I'll cross-examine both of your clients about this invoice. Or, we can ask the judge to stay off the bench while we negotiate." I crossed my arms. "Up to you."
Wild Bill's scowl showed he was recovering his poise. "I suppose that, if there's a chance of settlement, we should explore it."
"OK. Let's speak to the Associate."
We strolled into Court and found the Judge's Associate arranging her boss's materials on the bench.
I said: "Morning. Will you please tell his Honour that the parties are engaged in settlement negotiations and request that he remain off the bench for a while."
She usually looked ready to bite someone. Now, she gave me an especially dirty stare, obviously for upsetting her judge. "Alright, I'll call him." She picked up a phone and conveyed our request to the judge. Most judges are happy to stay off the bench when asked and use the opportunity to plough through their chamber work. I bet Sloan was doing cartwheels.
The Associate hung up. "His Honour said you can
take as much time as you want; just let him know when you're ready to resume."
We both thanked her and left the courtroom. I strolled over to Mick, who rose expectantly: "Settled?"
"No."
He frowned. "Why not?"
"There's been a development."
"What?"
I told him about the invoice.
Blank expression. "So what?"
I explained why it hurt the defendants' case.
A watermelon smile. "Oh, yeah, now I get it. Told you I was telling the truth, didn't I?"
For the first time, it struck me that maybe he did deserve to win this case. "Yes, you did. Of course, the invoice isn't conclusive. It all depends on how much weight the judge gives it. If he wants to reject your claim, he can give it little or no weight."
"He can do that?"
"He can say black is white if he wants."
"But the invoice is better than nothing, right?"
"Definitely. It's certainly got our opponents frightened and will make settlement easier."
"Do you think I should ask for more than 350 thou?"
"Yes."
"How much more?"
Though it was very helpful, the invoice didn't guarantee victory. Further, if I didn't settle this case now, I would have to ask the judge to abort it. Holding out for top dollar would be greedy and stupid.
I said: "I reckon that if you get about $750,000 - out of which you'll have to pay your legal costs - you'll do well."
Mick looked surprised. "Really? You think I should settle for that much?"
"Yes, about that figure."
Mick smiled and nodded. "OK then. You get me that much, I'll be over the moon."
I was warming to the bogan runt. "I'll do my best. Leave it to me."
Of course, if I put that figure straight to Wild Bill, he'd assume I was making an ambit claim and Mick would settle for a lot less. So I told him Mick now wanted $1 million.
Wild Bill grunted loudly and said that was a ridiculous amount. "You only asked for half a million yesterday."
I shrugged. "Your clients should have accepted that offer, shouldn't they? Now it's been adjusted for inflation and a change in circumstances."
"What circumstances?"