The Charlton Affair

by MJ Doherty

  Roman was obviously frustrated with the whole situation, even though he clearly enjoyed the intrigue.

  Ignoring his questions, Charlie’s expression was serious as she replied, “I can’t go anywhere near her, as much as I want to. And believe me. I want to. At least, not at the moment.”

  Roman frowned.

  Charlie shook her head, and admonished herself, “I never should have gone near her in the first place.” With a puzzled expression, she added, “It’s weird, but I just couldn’t seem to help it. I don’t think I’ve ever lost control like that before.”

  Charlie’s reserve was all but rubbed away by her turbulent emotions. She never confided in people that way, and especially not Roman. What’s happening to me? She trusted his discretion, but he usually relished the details far too much for her to be comfortable with disclosing her feelings to him.

  Roman nodded in understanding, “Yes, she’s a rare one. She can’t see it in herself, but there’s something extremely compelling about her. There are so many people at Nilson Banks who are attracted to her and she hasn’t got the remotest inkling. You should see her at conferences. She charms them all and stays totally clueless about it!”

  Charlie sighed, torn between needing to hear more and trying not to fuel her obsession.

  “It’s weird… I don’t even know her.” Charlie muttered, her pain obvious.

  Roman’s brow furrowed and he asked, “Charlie, if you’re that keen, why can’t you just let it happen?”

  “Look, I can’t explain it to you either. You’ll just have to trust me. There’s a very good reason for my behavior. And there’s nothing at all I can do to change it.” She replied sadly but firmly.

  Roman scrutinized her, looking for truth. Charlie held his gaze. Finding it, he sighed and sipped his coffee.

  *****

  Phoebe sat in the waiting room, early for her appointment with Doctor Briggs. He walked down the narrow hall to greet her, escorting her to the little counseling room. Having decided therapy was not such a bad idea after all, she was very glad to see him.

  Relaxing in his company, she explained what had happened recently. He gave her some practical breathing exercises and coping strategies for when she became overwhelmed with strong emotion, something previously foreign to her. He explained that these would help her with her fear of the Hamilton house as well the grief she was experiencing.

  Looking at his kind face, she said, “Grief? Is that what this is?”

  “Yes, I believe so. Grief for your marriage and grief for your lost opportunity. Of course, there will be some residual pain around your sexual identity, but we can explore that later. Let’s focus on one thing at a time. You have enough on your plate.”

  By taking her gently through the grief cycle, he was able to assist her with knowing what to expect. She felt greatly reassured. At least now she had some skills to deal with the roller-coaster ride her life had become, instead of just hanging on and praying for it to stop.

  *****

  Roman sat opposite Mark at a prime table in a new restaurant he’d been dying to try. The meal had been every bit as excellent as he’d been told it would be. Sipping his full-bodied red wine, he explained to Mark what Charlie had said, expressing his frustration.

  “What on earth could possibly be so important that she had to cut the poor woman off like that?” Roman exclaimed, the wine lending force to his animation.

  “She plainly wants to be with her. I hate not knowing all the details.” Roman continued.

  Mark looked across the table in his usual quiet style, waiting to be certain Roman had finished speaking.

  Eventually, he said, “Just think about it for a moment. Why would a barrister not be able to spend time with someone she really likes? You’ll soon figure it out.”

  Roman pondered Mark’s words for a moment and then his face lit up, “Oh my God! Mark, you’re so clever. Of course! She has a conflict of interest.”

  Mark nodded.

  “No wonder she couldn’t say anything. She’s working for Michael! What’s that scum-bag up to?”

  Roman’s mind was now fully engrossed in the possibilities.

  “What areas does Charlie practice in?” Mark asked.

  “Family, crime and tax. That’s how I met her. We had a mutual client.”

  “There’s your answer then.” Mark said.

  “Well, it’s not crime, we’d know about it if it was. Usually if the husband does something, the police interview the wife. It must be something to do with his money or maybe he wants a divorce?”

  “Divorce seems a bit simple, but getting advice on a property settlement might be it? Or maybe he’s in trouble with the tax office? I’m just guessing.” Mark replied.

  “But all she has to do is dump him. She can pass his case to another barrister.” Roman said.

  “It’s not that easy. Have you heard of the Cab-rank Rule?”

  Roman shook his head.

  Mark explained, “Barristers have an obligation to accept anyone seeking help in their area of practice. They can’t just pick and choose their clients, or some people would never be able to get fair representation. Charlie would need a very good reason to refuse to assist Michael. If she turned him away and he complained to the Bar Association, Charlie could be investigated. She’s better off trying to finish his matter and then wait a while. She could be in a lot of hot water if she gets out now. Imagine if whatever it is goes to court and Phoebe wins and Michael’s new lawyer says she won because Charlie leaked information to her? Pillow talk? Even if she said nothing, it would be a very bad look. She could lose her practicing certificate.”

  Roman’s lit up in understanding, “What a horrible situation! At least I can tell poor Phoebe there’s a good reason.”

  “Actually, you can’t say a word.” Mark replied, looking serious.

  “What? Don’t be ridiculous!” Roman chided, “Phoebe’s in so much pain over this silly situation.”

  “If you tell her and she does something to jeopardize Michael’s legal or financial position or even if she just tells him she knows, and it gets discovered, Charlie will be investigated.” Mark said sternly.

  Roman groaned. It was an excruciating form of torture, being stuck between these unhappy women, unable to assist either of them. He picked up his glass and drained it.

  *****

  Phoebe threw herself into her work. Determined to maintain at least one area of her life in a functional state, she worked long hours and took on new projects. She had no desire to be at the Hamilton house. As far as she was concerned, the less time she spent there, the better. The extra work also had the added benefit of helping to distract her from her situation.

  Finally switching off her computer, she gathered her things to go home. It had been dark for hours and if she stayed any longer she would not get enough time to sleep. Even worse, Michael was due back tomorrow, and she didn’t have a clue what to say to him, or how to be around him. She felt like running off to somewhere very far away. Her sister was working at a mining project in Mongolia. For a moment she seriously considered visiting her.

  As she pulled out of her car park she noticed an unusual stain in her bay. She reminded herself to tell building maintenance about the stain tomorrow, so they could clean it away in case anyone slipped over. Driving along Kingsford Smith Drive at Hamilton, she enjoyed the gorgeous view of the Brisbane River at night. Her new Volvo was lovely and smooth to drive. Shivering, she had a flashback to the old Volvo and what it felt like reversing at speed into the garage roller door. She remembered Doctor Briggs’ advice and regulated her breathing, bringing her mind back to the present moment. It worked and she was once again able to enjoy the drive home.

  Just before the turnoff into Racecourse Road, her car started to shudder violently. Suddenly, she lost all control over the steering and brakes. She was travelling at almost sixty kilometers per hour toward a busy intersection. Unable to slow down or change direction, she shot straight into th
e intersection, frantically wrenching at the wheel, screaming in sheer terror. A truck was coming directly at her. The last thing she heard was the sound of tires screeching and a sickening thud.

  Chapter Seven

  Roman’s telephone rang at midnight. Reaching over to the side table he answered it groggily. It was someone from the emergency department at the Royal Brisbane Hospital.

  “What? Oh my God! Why are you calling me?” Roman responded, still half asleep.

  “Mr. Coustas, are you a friend or relative of Phoebe Rawlins?”

  “Yes, yes, her friend. Is she OK?” Roman replied anxiously.

  Suddenly fully alert, he nudged Mark with his other arm until he stirred. Always a sound sleeper, Mark had not heard the phone ringing.

  “Mr. Coustas, Phoebe has been in a serious motor vehicle accident. She came in by ambulance about half an hour ago. We need some information. Do you know if she has any allergies or takes any medications?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m not sure. I don’t think she takes anything. Oh my God, is she going to be OK?”

  “I’m sorry, she’s still unconscious and it’s impossible to say at this stage. Mr. Coustas, do you know who would know anything about her medical history. Her mother isn’t answering the number we found in her phone.”

  Starting to think straight, he replied, “I’ll raise the HR department and get them to call you as soon as possible. But you should contact St Andrew’s Private Hospital emergency department. She was in there only a short time ago because she fainted. They’ll have everything. Can I come and see her?”

  “I’m sorry Mr. Coustas, she’s unconscious and they’re working on her. Even if you did come down, you’d be in the waiting room for hours, possibly all night. I’ll have someone call you when she’s transferred to a ward or if she regains consciousness.”

  “Thanks. Her husband is Michael. You’ll find him in the phone, too. But’s he’s overseas and you won’t be able to reach him.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Coustas.”

  The phone went dead.

  *****

  Detective Sergeant Sally Middleton sat at her desk pondering the information in front of her. It looked very much like someone was trying to kill Phoebe Rawlins. She didn’t normally have anything to do with traffic matters, but the Forensic Crash Unit investigation came up with some highly unusual results and the crime got referred to the Criminal Investigation Branch. It landed on her desk because she had the victim’s other file.

  Phoebe’s Volvo had unquestionably been tampered with. The report outlined that the victim had attempted to drive it home after work, four days earlier. At close to 2200 hours that night, she lost control of the vehicle and it sped into the busy Racecourse Rd intersection at Hamilton, where it was all but destroyed by a truck in a multi-vehicle crash.

  Other drivers suffered minor injuries. Phoebe was still in hospital with a broken sternum. She would recover fully, and she had already given a police statement. A red light camera shot of the Racecourse Road intersection verified her story. It showed her in the vehicle, looking like she was trying to force the wheel to turn, with her mouth open, screaming.

  The Forensic Crash Unit officers said the only reason she survived was because of the safety rating of the Volvo. They also seemed to think the fractured sternum was caused by the airbag deployment. Sally decided to wait and see what the doctors had to say about that aspect of things before making any assumptions. As she looked at the images of what was left of the Volvo, she gave serious consideration to getting one for herself. If all the victim got out of that was a broken sternum, it was nothing short of a miracle, she thought. The car looked as though a train had hit it, it was so damaged. The Fire Service had to cut her out of the wreck before the paramedics could even get to her. She was stuck at the scene for over an hour before she even got to the hospital.

  Sally considered the case. The victim had been subjected to two violent crimes in short succession. If the same person was responsible, he was determined and resourceful. Car tampering was highly unusual. Even more unusual was that the crash appeared to have been caused remotely. The Forensic Crash Unit found unmistakable evidence of the modification of the Volvo’s onboard computer system to accept wireless commands. According to the report, a small device allowing for remote connectivity had been physically attached to the vehicle at some stage post manufacture. They were trying to resurrect the command history in the computer and maybe even find something to identify the controlling device. But they might never be able to do it due to the heavy damage it sustained.

  Sally had drawn up a constellation of Phoebe’s associates, friends and family. In her experience it was usually someone the victim knew. An examination of her life would reveal the direction the investigation would take. Of course, as with any crime against a wife, the first person to examine was the husband. Her inquiries so far had yielded extremely interesting results. However, she needed to tie up a loose end that was bothering her before she went any further. Chewing on her pen, a bad habit she never seemed to be able to conquer, she looked up a number in the system and dialed it.

  “Indooroopilly Police Station,” came the response.

  “Hi, Sally Middleton from Nundah Station. I’m looking for Bob Jessop.”

  “Hang on.”

  “Sally?”

  “Hi Bob, how are you?”

  “Not bad, Sally. How about you?” Bob’s laconic reply filled her ears. She remembered he was a little deaf and tended to speak too loudly.

  “Bob, small problem.”

  “How can I help?”

  “It looks like you’ve been looking at a Michael Rawlins in the system, without any obvious reason to do so. Look, I’ve got no intentions of taking that anywhere.” Sally paused, then added, “If you tell me his name was similar to someone you were looking at as a potential witness, well, then I’d make a note to that effect in my file. But Bob, I really need to know, between you and me, why were you looking at him?”

  Bob paused before saying grumpily, “Listen, I know we shouldn’t look people up as favors for anyone, but you and I both know everyone does it.”

  “Yeah mate, I know. But you know what Ethical Standards are like. If they get a whiff of it, it’ll be investigated and go on your record. You’d only get a slap on the hand, but it’s a painful process.”

  Bob sighed and said, “Look it was just a favor for my kid. She works for a barrister and apparently he’s the client. She thought he was a bit dodgy, so she wanted some background. Turns out his whole family were murdered.”

  “What?” Sally was shocked.

  “Just google his name before it was changed. You’ll see it all. Boston. Thirty years ago.”

  “Right Bob, thanks. I’ll need to speak to your daughter.”

  “Bloody hell! What for?” Bob exclaimed angrily. “Look it’s one thing reporting me, but don’t you get my kid involved!”

  Soothingly, Sally replied, “Bob, I’m not reporting you. And the boss might not even notice it in the material. But this bloke’s wife is the subject of an attempted murder and I need to get to the bottom of it, OK? If your daughter has anything that’ll help, I need to speak to her.”

  “Don’t even bother, Sally. She’s not stupid. She’ll never say anything if she think’s it’s going to compromise her boss. Anyway, I’ve already told you what she found. Leave it at that. I’ll take whatever’s coming, but if you try to use this to put my kid in a compromise, you’ll be the one that gets investigated.”

  Bob hung up on her.

  That went well, Sally thought sarcastically.

  She sat, chewing on her pen, googling the name Jefferson Charlton. She was amazed at the results. She sat reading the screen avidly for about half an hour. After printing off the relevant material, she placed it methodically in her investigation file. Carefully, she made a list of leads to follow up with regard to Rawlins, aka Charlton.

  *****

  Charlie looked up to see Amanda standing nervous
ly in her office doorway.

  “Charlie, there’s something you need to know,” Amanda said.

  Charlie frowned, “What?”

  “Well, you remember how I spoke to my Dad about Michael Rawlins?”

  “Yes?”

  “I just spoke to Dad again and he said someone tried to murder Phoebe Rawlins.” Amanda blurted out.

  Charlie stared at her, open mouthed. She felt as if the pit of her stomach had fallen to the floor. She demanded, “Is she OK?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Just give me a moment.” Charlie directed Amanda. She started dialing Roman’s number before Amanda had even left.

  “What the hell is going on? Is she OK?” Charlie barked the moment Roman answered.

  Roman replied tersely, “Don’t panic. She’s going to be fine, her sternum is broken. She gets out of hospital late today.”

  Feeling less shaky, Charlie demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me? And what happened?”

  “Car crash. I couldn’t tell you. She was unconscious for the first day and then she didn’t want me to.” Roman explained, adding snidely, “I take it your ‘client’ told you?”

  “I can’t speak about that,” Charlie replied automatically, her mind racing ahead to the implications for her and her client.

  “Yes,” Roman replied, extremely frustrated, “Nobody can bloody speak about anything, and I’m stuck in the bloody middle.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You love drama,” Charlie accused him.

  “Not this sort, I don’t,” Roman groaned. “I was scared out of my skin for her. They kept her in an induced coma for a whole day.”

  “I’m sorry, Roman. This is a really shitty situation. I won’t ask you for anymore details.” Charlie replied sympathetically.