Woods strained to hear.
With more exasperation in his voice, Thomas said, ‘You know how it is with the police. If they say I’m guilty then that’s it. I’m guilty.’
Woods heard, ‘I’m guilty. That’s it, I’m guilty.’
‘And you’re right. Doing any time at my age – well, it’ll probably kill me and you mightn’t think that’s too bad a thing in the circumstances.’
‘You’ve never in your life apologised to me for anything,’ said Michelle. ‘Do you realise that? Now you’re facing murder. What are we supposed to do if you go down?’
‘Do you believe in me? I sure as hell need you to. You’re all I’ve got. I need your alibi. Christine’s as well.’
Woods recorded Thomas’s needs.
‘I’ll think about it.’
Thomas persisted, ‘You were at home with me, right? You planned to go to the movies but you weren’t feeling up to it.’
Woods smiled as he continued writing and heard her say, ‘I’ll think about it.’
Chapter 26
A huge nor-west arch spanned the Canterbury sky, clear blue one side of an invisible line, grey the other. Trevor Thomas was uncomfortable. At 11.00 AM it was already twenty-six degrees. Dressed in a dark grey suit, he was shepherding his family into the funeral director’s chapel, ahead of Black and his colleagues. Michelle had tracked down Derek’s former wife but she hadn’t turned up.
As his wife and daughter shuffled into their seats, Thomas stood for several seconds, head bowed, in front of a large brass cross that hung at the end of the A-frame chapel.
The police team was already seated. Black, arms crossed, caught Harts eye and the men exchanged looks of disbelief.
When Thomas moved forward to speak, Hart whispered to Black out of the side of his mouth, ‘This’ll be interesting.’
Black replied, ‘Doubt there’ll be anything worth recording either for us, or posterity.’
As he looked around, Thomas was pleased to see some friendly client faces, and Finn Fitzpatrick. Thomas had fleeting thoughts of the lawyer turning on his meter, but dismissed the idea as preposterous, even for an Irishman. He’d need to shout for him, though. That wouldn’t be a problem now Derek had left him his estate – all but twenty thousand, which went to the Heart Foundation. After bills, there was the Holden, about five thousand in the bank and the apartment, which would be worth two hundred grand after the commercial cleaners had spent a grand on it. The bank was owed half of that but the remainder would help Thomas out of a large financial hole.
Seeing Fitzpatrick’s face dispelled the terrifying dream Thomas had had the previous night. He’d been in the lawyer’s office with Dench’s briefcase full of banknotes and the lawyer had made him stand in the corner like a naughty school boy while he counted the notes. ‘It’s only twenty-five. It’s only twenty-five, Titman. Not enough.’ Fitzpatrick had emptied the notes into a muslin bag and put the bag in his lawyer’s beer fridge. ‘Go and get more.’
Thomas had traipsed back around to Derek’s apartment and refilled the briefcase from bank notes stashed in the pantry while his friend’s body swung from the landing. The whole process had been repeated four times until Fitzpatrick had cleaned him out of a hundred grand. Christine told her father on their way to the chapel that she’d heard him shouting in his sleep something about taking the shirt off his back.
Thomas guided the mourners through a brief biography of Derek Donaldson. He stared hard at Black. There was no mention of Dench or any hint he ever existed. He concluded by saying he’d lost the best friend he ever had and that although he was gone, he would never be forgotten.
As the celebrant spoke the words of the committal and the larger than normal coffin disappeared behind the curtain, the sound system pumped out Derek’s favourite song, Celine Dion singing the Titanic theme, ‘My Heart Will Go On’. Thomas smiled and shook his head.
‘What’s so amusing?’ hissed Michelle.
‘He always used to say that his heart had a few more years of debauchery left in it.’
After the short service, Tyler, who’d also attended, encountered Black. Each man was holding a small plate of ubiquitous funeral food: a mince savoury, a sausage roll and a club sandwich.
‘We meet again, Detective Sergeant.’
Black nodded. ‘Sad, isn’t it?’
‘Donaldson?’
‘Nah. The fact that we’re all paid such a pittance we’ve morphed into professional mourners to get a feed.’
Tyler nodded as he munched on a sausage roll. When he could speak, he said, ‘I’m curious. When we were at Apsley’s funeral, you asked me about Derek Donaldson and whether he’d been of interest to us at The People.’
Black shrugged. ‘I thought he might have seen Apsley before he died. Donaldson emailed Apsley asking for a meeting and suggesting some business together.’ He took a bite of his savoury.
‘I gather you learnt Apsley was into child porn?’ Tyler caught some pastry drifting to the floor with his white paper plate. ‘I thought you might be interested to know we’ve discovered that Titman himself may be involved in porn?’
Black looked concerned. ‘Who told you that?’ He added quickly, ‘You didn’t get that from us.’
Tyler grinned. ‘You know the rules. But the same confidential source also reckoned that the so-called suicides weren’t what they seemed. That these deaths, including Dench’s, involved a break-up or takeover of a businessmen’s porn ring.’
‘I know you’re fishing, Tyler. Fair enough, you’ve a job to do. But so do I. I’ll tell you this much. We’ve arrested Thomas and he’ll have to leave here any minute now to appear in court.’
‘What charge?’
‘Attempting to pervert the course of justice. He interfered with the scene of his so-called best mate’s death and then tried to pin it on Dench.’
Tyler noticed Black was staring at his mouth and hastily wiped away the pastry remnants. ‘So what’s Thomas doing here then?’
‘On police bail.’
‘We understand you can’t rule out foul play in Donaldson’s death.’
‘Not sure how you came to that understanding. But given we found that his body is at odds with the forensic evidence, our enquiries are continuing.’
‘We understand Thomas is helping you with those, and you’ve been through his house and office.’
‘Your snout tell you that as well?’
No denial, so Tyler took the question as confirmation. ‘What’s the status with regard to Jack Dench’s death?’
‘No PM yet. Enquiries continuing.’
Thomas, crimson with rage, appeared next to Black. ‘You’ve got a bloody cheek standing here eating Derek’s food.’
Black responded, ‘He’s got no use for it where he’s going, has he? Anyway, unlike you, he didn’t carry grudges around.’
Fitzpatrick loomed up and placed a hand on his client’s arm, urging him away from the confrontation.
‘You’ll keep, you arrogant shit,’ said Thomas.
‘Want to string me up as well, Mr Thomas?’ challenged Black.
‘That’s bloody defamatory,’ shouted Fitzpatrick. ‘I suggest you leave immediately.’
Shit, thought Tyler, had Black just buggered his plan for talking to Thomas? He decided he wouldn’t raise any questions about Donaldson.
‘Mr Thomas. I’m Ben Tyler from The People and I was wondering if I could have a quick word to you about...’
Aware of the history, Fitzpatrick interrupted. ‘My client has nothing to say to you or your media colleagues.’
Maintaining eye contact with Thomas, Tyler said, ‘It wasn’t you or Mr Donaldson I wanted to talk about, but the late Jack Dench, a former business partner of yours.’
‘As I said, Mr Thomas...’
‘Hang on, Finn. Let’s hear what he wants to know first. That bastard’s dead. He’s not going to cause me any more grief. I should be able to say what I want about him. He can’t su
e me can he?
What’s your question?’
‘We have information that Dench was involved in child pornography and part of a porn ring in the city. Do you have any comment?’
‘Course he’d be into child porn. It’s obvious. He’s been using his business as a front. It’s all about money with Dench. He’s been a devious prick all his life. Made poor old Derk’s life a misery, to say nothing of my own. I hope he rots in hell.’
‘Surely not a devious prick all his life. You were in business with him a long time, weren’t you?’
‘Well, don’t like admitting it, but choosing him as a business partner was my biggest cock-up. Oh sure, the first few years he made it seem all beer and skittles, covering up what he was really like. But then the battles became so many they merged into war. Derk and I had to get out for our own peace of mind.’
Tyler put his notebook and pen back inside his jacket pocket. ‘By the way, did you know our former general manager, the late Neil Apsley?’
‘Not well, no. I think I met him once or twice many years ago when he was teaching.’
‘We have a reliable source that says you and Derek were about to do some business with Apsley. I was wondering what that might have involved.’
‘I think we can call it a day, Mr Tyler,’ said Fitzpatrick. He wasn’t fooled by the disappearance of the notebook.
Ignoring the lawyer, Tyler continued. ‘Look, as a matter of fairness to you, Mr Thomas, we’ve received information, documents to be precise, that suggest you’ve purchased child pornography on the internet. We’re looking for an alternative explanation for your credit card being used in that way.’
‘Fuckin’ bullshit,’ said Thomas.
Fitzpatrick was quick to challenge the journalist. ‘If you print that, we’ll bankrupt that rag of yours.’
‘You don’t want to see the transaction details?’ asked Tyler.
Thomas thought of the burnt paper, realising the media now had what he’d been desperate to destroy. ‘Piss off,’ he sneered. ‘You pricks are all the same.’
Chapter 27
Sasha knew Niven was in the city for a race meeting, but why did he have to come into court today, of all days? It was her day. Not just a day of recognition but a day of celebration. Justices Singh and Bowen, also presiding, were invited to the after match. Surely he doesn’t intend to gate-crash? She didn’t want a scene.
Existing Queen’s Counsel were separated from the rest of their legal colleagues at the front tables in the well of the court. Other counsel sat behind, everyone in wigs and gowns for the ceremony. As was traditional, one of the QCs would move Sasha’s call to the inner bar; she’d asked Paul Diplock QC to do the honours.
The court was full and even the jury box was occupied by family and friends. Ron Point was in one seat. Next to him, a seat for Tyler who hadn’t made it. Next to the spare seat was an old colleague of Sasha’s from Wellington. She and Wendy Helpern had been admitted to the bar together more than twenty years ago. Wendy no longer practised law but the pair had stayed in regular contact. Next to her were some of Sasha’s mentorees, junior counsel with minimal experience at the bar. In the back row of the box sat a few musicians with whom she jammed from time to time.
Marshall Hall had flown in from Wellington and he sat between Sasha and her law professor at Canterbury, Gerald Havers. Although Havers spent most of his professional life at the university, he maintained a practising certificate for his sporadic appearances in court. Sasha had never met anyone to match Havers in his enthusiasm for the law and legal research. She knew he’d provided enormous assistance for some counsel, often without fee.
When everyone had settled, Bowen asked whether any counsel present had a motion for the court in respect of a calling to the inner bar. Sasha looked over at Diplock, smiling, but saw him turn and grin without making any effort to get to his feet. Then she heard the voice she knew so well, the one she most wanted to hear.
Bowen asked the court attendant to hand Sasha the declaration card. But she’d memorised it. If a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well. Her mother was present in spirit, if not in body.
‘I, Sasha Stace, do declare that well and truly I will serve the Queen as one of her counsel learned in the law, and truly counsel the Queen in her matters when I shall be called and duly and truly minister the Queen’s matters and sue the Queen’s process after the course of the law and after my cunning. I will duly in convenient time, speed such matters as any person shall have to do in the law against the Queen as I may lawfully do without long delay, tracting, or tarrying the party of such lawful process in that that to me belongeth. I will be attendant to the Queen’s matters when I shall be called thereto.’
‘Thank you, Ms Stace,’ responded Bowen. ‘I know that your late father, himself a Queen’s Counsel, would be a very proud man today. On behalf of my brother judges, please accept our congratulations and take your rightful place.’
‘Thank you, Your Honours.’ Niven flashed his disgusting smile at her. Sasha, wearing her new black silk gown, went to take a seat next to Mac, who had now moved from the back of the court where he’d slipped in unseen.
No sooner had judges and counsel bowed to one another than Sasha threw her arms around Mac, whispering into his ear, ‘You may be a trifle deceitful, but you’re a wonderful man.’ She felt his embrace and he kissed her on the cheek. As she pulled away, she noticed a tear in his eyes.
As she received congratulatory handshakes and hugs from colleagues, she spotted Tyler out of the corner of her eye. ‘Where did you get to?’
‘I saw it all. I was just a fraction too late to get to the jury box but I’ll fill you in on why when we’re back at the club. Mac and I walked into court together so I didn’t think it appropriate to charge into the box from the back of the courtroom.’
‘Fair enough.’ She kissed him on the lips. ‘But can you take our guests over to the club and sign them in while I finish up here?’
‘Sure but I can’t stay, Sash. I need to get back to work with the Thomas story. We want something in for tomorrow and I haven’t got long for the deadline. In fact, I’m going to have to sweet talk production as it is.’
Tyler ushered the guests out. When Sasha turned around, a tall figure with lank, brown hair and a sun-deprived complexion was standing in front of her, arms out for a hug. It was Gary Wynn, who’d decided he would be court registrar for the occasion – and who had a hopeless crush on Sasha. She thrust out her right hand and said, ‘Thanks, Gary.’ He adjusted the shoulders of his gown and pumped her hand. ‘Well deserved, Sasha, very well deserved.’
Ceremonial gear discarded, Sasha’s invited guests, drinks in hand, waited for her arrival at the Canterbury Club. She entered largest and brightest of several rooms to a warm round of applause, and was soon pleased to learn that Niven had gone to his race meeting. The light from the chandeliers glinted on an assortment of jewellery worn by her female colleagues, some of whom had gone to some trouble for the occasion, changing from professional to cocktail attire.
At 4.30 PM, with the party starting to wind down, Sasha turned her mobile phone back on and heard the beep of a voice mail message. It was Ian Galbraith from the Crown Solicitors’ office. He’d received a call from Detective Sergeant Black advising that Thomas was in custody and seeking a conference with a senior prosecutor. They’d assembled further evidence against him and were seeking an independent opinion on whether they should proceed with charges of murder.
Chapter 28
Sasha decided that responding to Galbraith could wait. Mac, on the other hand, could not. Tucking her arm into his, she steered him to a quiet corner of the wood-panelled room. ‘So traveller, tell all. What’s the latest on Michael?’
‘Well, we had a bit of a breakthrough. As I told you, Chalky and I ended up in Paris. Michael skipped the UK from St Pancras and took the Chunnel across to Lille, where he drove to the South of France. I must say Chalky’s been quite brilliant. I would??
?ve thought it difficult to get information about people on the move without having another language to contend with. But his Interpol connections are terrific.’
She shook her head in disbelief. ‘So you found him in the end, then?’
Mac smiled. He’d tell it in his own way. ‘We got to Provence and a very old and little working class village off the beaten track called Orgon. We tracked him to a place called Mas de Bazarde, a family business managed by a chap Jose and his wife on behalf of a UK-based company renting apartments. We waited for Michael to show up.’
Sasha rotated her hand encouragingly. ‘You got to speak to him, yes?’
Mac grinned, teasing. ‘Well, we learnt a lot about him.’
‘Come on, Mac. No games, please. Not after all this time.’
‘I’m afraid this chap wasn’t who we’re after. He assumed Michael’s identity. I’ll explain why in a minute. The two men knew each another when they met in foster homes as twelve-year-olds. Four years after he left New Zealand with his Aunt Eileen, she up and died of a heart attack.’
Sasha’s jaw dropped. ‘Poor Michael. As if he hadn’t had enough tragedy in his life.’
‘Exactly. But it got worse. He was sexually abused by his foster father, who also prostituted the boy. To cope, I guess, Michael and a mate became hooked on drug and alcohol – supplied by the foster father and paid for by the money Michael earned for him. An unspeakable life, I’d have thought.’
Sasha shook her head in silence.
‘He had this friend, the man we spoke to in Orgon. But the friend knifed his abuser and served a borstal sentence until he turned eighteen. I shouldn’t say this, but by the sounds of things, the bastard got what he deserved. The young lad was charged with murder but convicted of manslaughter. His defence was, as you can imagine...’
‘Provocation,’ interrupted Sasha, keen to cut to the chase. ‘But what happened to Michael?’
‘From what we can deduce, from the friend and Chalky’s research and personal knowledge, the police helped him to get clean.’ Mac raised his bushy eyebrows. ‘Turns out Michael has a photographic memory, very useful as an informant. He was and probably one of the youngest ever. That meant he went into a witness protection programme.’