by MJ Doherty
Giving up on the risk profile, Phoebe thought about all the information she had found online about Charlie over the last few days. With a plethora of hits on various legal sites, a charity organization that Charlie was on the board of and various mentions in relation to pro bono work she did from time to time, Phoebe had lots to look at. She had bookmarked an especially attractive photo. Phoebe had even read some of the judgments of Charlie’s cases from the Queensland Courts site.
From Charlie’s Queensland Bar Association details, Phoebe knew they spent their working days only two city blocks apart. She decided to start taking lunch and coffee breaks so she might have a chance of bumping into Charlie. She would make up the time by staying back later. After all, she no longer cared about getting home for dinner with her husband. Initially happy with her little plan, she suddenly had second thoughts. Am I becoming a stalker? Is this crazy? Am I throwing away my marriage to follow a stranger around?
*****
Bored, Charlie swirled a spoon around in her grande coffee, ruining the intricate design the barista had carefully created in the foam. She was sitting alone at a window table at a new ‘chocolateria’ in George Street. She sighed to herself, wishing Roman was on time for once, especially as this frivolous venue had been his choice. If he had just come to her chambers as she suggested, she could have kept working instead of wasting all this time. Uncharitably, she thought, he’s probably been distracted by something bright and shiny on his way over.
After rebuking herself for her nasty thought, she realized she had been in a bad mood all morning. It was probably a good thing she was out of the office for a bit. She hadn’t slept well and was concerned about one of her court matters. At least poor Amanda was getting a break from her bad attitude.
Deciding to try to stop being grumpy, she waved a waitress over and ordered one of the extravagant chocolate creations from the menu. Just then, Roman joined her at the little table. Scanning the menu he prudently ordered coffee and a chocolate croissant. Once the waitress had gone he eyed Charlie over significantly.
Pursing his lips, he said, “Mmmm,” his expression a mixture of disapproval and condescending solicitude.
“What?” Charlie replied, immediately defensive.
“Nothing,” he said sweetly as he eyed her chewed nails, battered handbag and scuffed shoes.
“I’ve been busy, OK?”
“I didn’t say a word,” he replied innocently.
Deciding to let it go, she asked after a mutual friend. She was aware from long experience that once he started chatting, she need not say much. He would gladly fill her in on the affairs of everyone they knew. All she had to do was nod her head occasionally and make intermittent noises of shock or approval.
Surprisingly, she enjoyed the monstrously rich chocolate extravaganza she had ordered. Negotiating her way through the complicated dish took some effort. Luckily Roman was still revealing a string of juicy details, so she could concentrate on her meal. She wasn’t paying close attention for much of the gossip anyway. That changed when he started regaling her with the tale of how his friend Phoebe fainted in the food court.
Charlie laughed at the appropriate intervals and encouraged him to reveal more. Roman didn’t saying anything about Phoebe’s personal life, sticking to general comments about the ambulance ride and the hospital, much to Charlie’s disappointment. She got the distinct feeling he was protective of her, which she took as confirmation Phoebe was having some sort of difficulty. She didn’t press him. He was way too smart for that. He could spot digging a mile away.
Roman asked after her. She explained she was still single and really not ready to dive back in.
“So to speak,” he replied archly.
Charlie gave him an evil glare for his cheekiness.
“Come to my next dinner party,” he said.
“I hate being the only single person on a table full of couples,” she complained.
He smirked, “You’re in luck.” He declared. “The next one is mostly singles. I’m having an ‘odds and sods’ night.”
“Charming,” she rolled her eyes at him, “So, now I’m an ‘odd’?”
Undaunted, he teased her, “More of a sod. You’ll fit right in.”
*****
Amanda sent an appointment request for the following afternoon entitled, ‘Rawlins Investigation Results’ to Charlie via their calendar program. Charlie could accept or modify it when she got back from her lunch with Roman. Amanda couldn’t wait to share her information with Charlie but knew she was busy this afternoon.
Amanda had suborned her father, a Senior Sergeant in the Queensland Police Service, to do checks with some very interesting, if unofficial, results. It pays to have contacts, she thought, as she made some adjustments to one of Charlie’s typed advices, placing the revised version back in Charlie’s tray.
Amanda’s email notification chimed. It was a message from Charlie’s iPhone. Short and sweet, the message accepted the calendar invitation. Clearly Charlie was interested in her work. Amanda happily set about organizing her documents for Charlie to examine the following afternoon.
*****
After a longer than usual day, Phoebe was relieved to finally be home. She opened the internal door from the garage to the house. Immediately, she felt that something wasn’t right. A slight breeze played against her skin where there should be none. The automatic light sensors were not working. The hall lights should have come on when she opened the door.
Her hackles rose in an instinctive reaction and she stood stock still, frozen in indecision. A little voice inside her told her not to go any further, to go back. Just as she was about to persuade herself not to be silly and go in, she heard a noise. It sounded like a footstep. Then there were more footsteps. Someone was running toward her.
Terrified, she dived back through the door and ran the few steps to her car, locking herself inside it. Frantically, she pressed the button to open the automatic garage doors and got the car started. The roller door rose too slowly.
A heavyset man in a balaclava came running at her car. She saw a claw hammer in his hand. He took a wide overarm swing. Her windscreen smashed violently. With a horrible wrenching sound, glass shattered and flew everywhere. Not caring about the roller door or the glass all over her, she slammed her Volvo wagon into reverse and jammed her foot on the accelerator pedal. The man jumped onto the driver-side footplate. Before he could reach around into the car to grab her, she shot backwards out of the garage, scraping the bottom of the roller door and throwing him off. Wheels spinning, Phoebe flew out onto the street. After shifting up, she raced away, heart pounding wildly. She had trouble seeing properly with the wind whipping into her eyes through her shattered windscreen and wrecked roof.
Pulling over several blocks away, she rang Roman. She fell to pieces when he answered. She tried to explain, but became completely hysterical. The only coherent thing she managed to impart was her location.
It seemed like forever, but Roman eventually arrived. She fell gratefully into his arms, crying inconsolably.
*****
Roman stood in Phoebe’s walk-in wardrobe, holding open a large bag while Phoebe threw random items into it. A police officer stood not far away. The house had been thoroughly trashed, with windows smashed open, and valuable items missing.
Phoebe had been too distraught to give anything other than a notebook statement to police. She would have to go and give a full statement tomorrow at the police station. Roman decided he would take the day off and go with her. He had already called her insurers and organized for her windows to be sealed up and an assessment done on her car, along with the delivery of a suitable hire car for her.
Scenes of crimes officers were combing the house, looking for any telltale incriminating signs, fingerprints, hair or even blood that might have been spilled when the windshield was shattered. They were taking photos of the house, the garage and Phoebe’s violated Volvo, which looked like a giant can opener had half-peeled
the lid off it.
Roman closed the bag when it was full and took it to his car. Returning to Phoebe he helped her pack up her bathroom items.
The Detective in charge, Ross Linden, had tentatively said he thought Phoebe might have disturbed a burglary, but that her description of the attack didn’t quite fit the profile. It seemed too violent for a typical house breaking. It was more like a home invasion. Roman could tell he didn’t really know what it was about. It was obvious the police believed Phoebe’s description, unlikely as it sounded. Not because she was convincing, but because the evidence supported it. The state of her car and the pattern of shattered glass in the garage along with the abandoned claw hammer had fitted in exactly with her version of events.
It was clear to Roman that someone had perpetrated a vicious attack on Phoebe. Only her quick thinking and sound instincts had gotten her out of it. As they finished packing the bag, Detective Linden contacted Michael. Roman was standing with his arm around Phoebe when the Detective got off his phone and said that Michael was on his way back from Noosa tonight. He would call Phoebe shortly.
Always sharp, Roman picked up immediately on Michael’s location even though Phoebe was too distraught to notice. Michael had told Phoebe he was at work in Papua New Guinea, not lounging around in Noosa. This whole situation is starting to stink, thought Roman. Her life has gone from pleasantly boring to completely awful. What’s he doing in Noosa without her? I can guess. The dirty bastard. He squeezed his friend’s shoulders reassuringly and said, “Come on sweets, let’s get out of here.”
With his arm around her, he escorted her outside and into his waiting Range Rover. Carefully and considerately, he drove her to his perfectly restored old Queenslander home in New Farm.
Chapter Four
A sudden tropical rain fell heavily on Michael’s sporty Audi as he sped southwards back to Brisbane through the night. The torrential rain was so heavy he had to slow down, as he was unable to see very far ahead. The two-hour drive would become much longer if this continued. He hoped the rain didn’t get in and cause even more damage to his Hamilton home.
Frustrated with having to slow down, he called Phoebe to explain the delay. She was too disturbed to even speak about what had happened. In fact her speech was slurred, something he had never previously encountered in his always well-behaved and careful wife. Roman eventually took the phone from her and explained to Michael that Phoebe had taken a calmative and need to go off to get some sleep. While Roman did not sound outright hostile, Michael could hear the challenge in his tone.
“I understand, Roman. I’ll keep an eye on the house tonight and come get her in the morning. I’ll take her to the police station, too.” Michael replied firmly, “Thanks for looking after her.” He ended the call and focused on the road ahead.
*****
Phoebe woke with a pounding headache. Her head throbbing, she looked blankly around the gorgeous but unfamiliar room. Suddenly it all came back to her, the attack, and Roman’s assistance. She shook with horror at the memory.
After rising slowly, she headed for the en suite where she found the bag containing her toiletries. She fished around for some headache tablets. Swallowing two, she washed her face with cold water, pressing a cool washcloth against her throbbing forehead to gain momentary relief. Several minutes later the pills began to work and she was able to have a quick shower and make herself presentable.
Roman was in his large gourmet kitchen, sipping coffee at the breakfast bar. Smiling, he rose to hug her when she entered. Roman’s silent, muscle-bound partner, Mark, poured her a freshly brewed coffee and sympathetically offered her some toast and cereal.
“Oh, you poor love,” Roman said, “what a night!”
Phoebe looked at him, shaking her head. “I can’t believe it,” she replied, “I suppose I’d better get ready to speak to the police.”
“Michael said he’d come over this morning to take you.”
Phoebe was instantly conflicted. On one hand she was grateful he cared and relieved to have the safe harbor of her husband back again. On the other hand she felt slightly dishonest letting him look after her, unsure that she wanted his attention. Shrugging it off, she tried to think about something else, anything else. The situation was too painful to contemplate.
*****
The Nundah Police Station was a large and daunting concrete-grey multi-story complex. Only a short distance from Hamilton, it didn’t take long to get there from New Farm either. Michael and Phoebe sat together in the waiting room at the front entrance. After about ten minutes, a Detective Constable appeared and Phoebe began the arduous process of making a full statement in a small cramped interview room.
Michael, sitting next to her, was silently appalled as he listened to what she had suffered. Squeezing her hand in sympathy, he tried to comfort her as she described her fear to the Detective Constable. He blanched when she detailed how the heavyset man had chased her. Triggered by her attack, his memories took him back to a place he’d sooner forget. After struggling to change his thought pattern, he focused on an image of his raunchy Spanish beauty in his mind as he solicitously handed his distraught wife another tissue.
*****
Amanda placed two freshly brewed coffees on the coasters on Charlie’s large old-fashioned wooden bureau. Sitting down, she sipped hers while she waited excitedly for Charlie to finish perusing her spreadsheet and notes.
After reading the notes, Charlie looked at her, eyebrows up, “Are you sure?”
Amanda nodded, “Pretty sure. Have a look at the old photos from the Boston newspaper archives and see what you think? It looks like him as a child, but it’s hard to absolutely certain. There could be another Michael Rawlins out there that fits the bill. But I really don’t think so.”
Charlie thoughtfully spread out the images and examined them.
“I can see why he lied. Actually, he didn’t outright lie, he was just economical with the truth. With good reason. If that was in my past, I wouldn’t want anyone to know about it.”
“Not even your wife?” Amanda replied.
Charlie thought for a moment before answering, “Good question. You’ve just reminded me how hard it is to truly put myself in someone else’s shoes. I’d hope to have someone in my life I didn’t have to keep such an awful secret from. But I don’t really know what’s it like to have lived through something like that. Maybe for Michael it’s so horrible he can’t bear for anyone at all to know?”
Amanda looked sadly at some of the old articles and excerpts she had gathered from the web. The Charltons were an old money Boston family, incredibly wealthy socialites who had suffered a catastrophic event nearly thirty years earlier.
Jefferson Charlton had shot and killed his wife Mary and their ten-year-old daughter, Honore, in their beds at night. He had stalked his two sons, who had managed to hide, one in a small attic space, and the other in a laundry cupboard. After he was unable to find them he turned the gun on himself, blowing his own brains out.
Stillman, aged thirteen, had emerged from his hiding place to get help. Jefferson Junior, aged six, was found cowering in a small cupboard in the attic the next day, still utterly terrified. Both boys told the Boston police a horror story of being stalked by their enraged drunken father and then hearing shots. None of the reports gave any explanation about why it had happened. The papers preferred to speculate on the millions Stillman and Jefferson Junior inherited as the only survivors.
Charlie shook her head gravely, “Extreme domestic violence. Perhaps mental illness?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been able to find anything more specific about the family,” Amanda replied. “There’s plenty about their wealth, though.” Amanda pointed to a couple of printouts. “In a nutshell, the Charltons were old tobacco. They diversified into manufacturing early in the 1900s, eventually making a lot of money out of the two world war effort efforts. The companies were sold off after the scandal and the money invested in a trust for the two boys.�
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Charlie followed on from Amanda’s summary, “Little Jefferson gets shipped out to a maternal uncle here in Queensland. His name is changed and he starts a new life. What happened to Stillman?”
“I don’t know.” Amanda replied, “I can follow it up if you like?”
“Don’t bother. We have enough here for our purposes.” Charlie replied.
Amanda didn’t bother hiding her disappointment. Not for the first time, she wondered if she should follow her father and join the police service. She reminded herself once again that her husband would hit the roof if she did that.
“This is going to make the advice a nightmare.” Charlie moaned, “I bet he didn’t tell his wife who he really is or how much money he had when he made the Financial Agreement with her. If that’s true, it’s going to be almost impossible to hold it up. I mean, how could it be valid when she didn’t know what she was agreeing to forego?” Charlie rubbed a tense spot in her neck and added, “He would never want a messy public trial either, not with that in his past. If she finds out about this, she could have him completely over a barrel. Not only that, but how do I even raise it with him?” Charlie shook her head, not requiring an answer from Amanda.
“Poor bugger,” Amanda said, her attitude towards Michael now completely reversed. She wondered how he felt about people knowing and if he hated the sort of sympathy they would automatically give him. No amount of money can heal wounds like that, she thought.
“And the only way you got this was because your Dad let slip that there’d been a name change?”
“Yup. They changed his name here in Queensland. He got into some trouble as a kid and that’s why his identifying information, including the alias, is in the police system. Nothing too serious, just joy riding with some other young boys. Still loves fast cars as you can see.” Amanda nodded at the list of assets including an Audi sports car.