Fitzpatrick drew from Cadveron the information that even when therapeutic amounts of sux had been administered, some patients needed respiratory assistance because they stopped breathing. ‘And those cases involved a qualified and experienced anaesthetist who knew what he was doing and also knew about the inherent risks of the drug. Is that correct?’
‘That is correct.’
‘How much sux constitutes a lethal dose?’
‘There would be many factors about a patient that would determine that.’
Sasha passed a note to Galbraith. Fitzy’s done his homework. Good foundation for speech later. Galbraith read it, frowned and nodded his agreement. Sasha was pleased the jury couldn’t see his look of concern.
Fitzpatrick sat down without the customary thank you and Sasha shot a look at the jury. Three seemed to nod their approval at her adversary’s performance. The rest looked neutral.
Sasha had a few questions to round off Cadveron’s evidence. Questions she intended to put to her next witness were needed now.
‘Professor, what degree of paralysis comes from a therapeutic dose of succinylcholine?’
‘Total paralysis of short duration.’
‘So once it’s been administered, a person would be quite unable to resist a noose being placed over his head, or to free himself of it?’
‘Undoubtedly.’
‘In relation to Dench’s anal injury, can you say at what point in time this would have occurred in relation to being given succinylcholine?
‘That’s not easy to answer. Given no bruising to the external part of his anus, my view is that he would have been paralysed first.’
‘If a patient is conscious but paralysed, are they able to feel pain?’
‘Yes.’
When Cadveron was a respectable distance away from the witness box Sasha announced, ‘I call Doctor Avery Albertson.’
Chapter 38
‘Good to see you, Mac. What brings you to the High Court?’ Niven stepped out from behind a large desk and offered his hand. ‘Smiling Death’, Sasha had once called him, and she was spot on.
‘I thought I’d check out the new judge for myself.’ Mac sat in one of the deep leather armchairs drawn up to an imposing coffee table. ‘How have you found the last three or four months?’
The Honourable Mr Justice Niven smiled. ‘Quite different from private practice. I’m now more accountable for opinions I could once charge for and hide from.’
Mac had felt no guilt about engaging his long-time friend and private investigator, Edgar Cunningham. The two men had already acquired Law Society photographs of the judge joining Sasha with a glass of bubbles in each hand. The date and time were in the bottom right-hand corner but that, on its own, proved nothing. A security camera over the bar was more useful, however: it captured the discreet movement as Niven tipped a small quantity of powder into one of the champagne glasses.
Further investigation produced three women outside the legal profession who had been victim to Niven’s predations. One was so distressed by her rape she committed suicide. Edgar showed Mac the photos of the three victims. All, like Sasha, were brown-eyed blondes.
‘That’s what every judge says. I’d heard whispers you were on medication to cope with the stress of the job, Peter.’
‘Good God, no. I’ve never had to take anything but the odd pill for a headache. Fit as a buck rat, me.’ He patted his chest with both hands and displayed the crooked teeth in a false smile that turned quickly into a frown. ‘Who’s been saying that?’
Mac released his own smile, disarming. ‘Doesn’t matter if I can put it right, Peter.’ Using a casual tone, he asked, ‘When you were last taking any form of medication?’
Niven tried to recall. ‘It’d be years. I had a small chest infection and took some antibiotics for about a week.’
Mac nodded his acceptance. ‘I must say, I’ve been remiss in thanking you for your invitation to your after match function at the Chateau. It was a great night.’
‘Not at all, don’t mention it. Good to see you there.’
‘I hear you had some fun after the event?’
Niven chuckled. ‘This town is a hotbed of gossip.’
Mac smiled again but remained silent, waiting for the other man to boast of his conquest. Niven tapped his nose with his index finger. ‘On the QT, I did have an exceptionally pleasant liaison with an attractive young woman.’
Mac echoed Niven’s chuckle. ‘You needn’t be coy with me, Peter. I already know it was Sasha Stace.’
‘Do I detect a little of the green-eyed monster. Or are you a bit beyond getting your leg over these days, Mac?’ This time Niven laughed.
Mac’s thoughts flashed to Nat. ‘Limited opportunities, shall we say.’
A mock pout from Niven. ‘Shame.’
Mac shrugged. ‘The word is she was unconscious when you took her to your room.’ He searched the rapist’s eyes for a flicker of panic.
‘Nonsense. Delightful surprise it was. She came on to me big time. Had her head in my lap. Thought she was going to give me a blow job on the spot. Talk about randy blondes.’ Graves on show again, pride in the conquest.
‘Not her view, Peter.’ As he was speaking, Mac pulled the photos of the three women Niven had date raped in the last four months and placed them on the coffee table. ‘Nor was it the view of these three women. This one committed suicide two weeks ago.’
Niven, confused by Mac’s calm demeanour, went for high ground. ‘This is ridiculous, Mac. What do you think you’re doing? Coming in here making allegations without proof?’
Another smile. ‘Oh, understand this, Peter. I’m here to protect our legal system. I’ve had a detective making enquiries. And in Sasha Stace, you picked the wrong target. She has the highest integrity.’
A dismissive wave. ‘She’ll never say anything.’
‘She doesn’t need to. Now these women know others have been date raped, I think that’s the expression, the floodgates will open.’
‘It’s still only the word of a dumb blonde or two against that of a High Court judge. Seriously, Mac. You’re not losing your marbles are you, old man? Who do you think the authorities will believe?’
‘Seriously, Peter, when the relevant authorities see the video of you tipping powder into Sasha’s glass of champagne, I’ve got no doubt who they’ll believe. I’ve seen it myself.’
The two legal men stared at each other in silence for several seconds before Niven pleaded in a conspiratorial tone. ‘Come on, Mac. Cut me some slack. I like the firmer flesh and breasts of a younger woman. You pretend you’re past it, but don’t give me that bullshit. Don’t tell me you don’t lust after that sometimes. Or perhaps your pecker is only for pissing through these days?’
‘Would it shock you, Peter, if I said that at my age, I don’t lust after anything and I don’t think of women in the way you’ve just described?’
Niven shrugged. ‘Spose we’re all different. But hell, Mac, what beautiful blonde twenty years my junior is going to offer up her candy box without a bit of chemical encouragement from me?’
‘Peter, no one expects a man in your position to kerb crawl Manchester Street. There’d be more sophisticated payment options, I’m sure. The point is, there are any number of women who will meet your needs without you having to drug them to unconsciousness.’
‘Come on, Mac. What do the young ones say? Chill out? It’s my thing. I prefer them that way. It’s like a warm cadaver. I get greater, more intense pleasure.’
Mac sat in silence, his jaw slack, eyes appalled.
Niven read him. ‘You don’t condemn me, Mac, do you?’
‘I’ve never understood all the things that make us different, Peter. I get to my age and I believe I’ve seen or heard it all. I’m often proved wrong, this time by you.’
With a look of disgust, Mac looked at the photos before gathering them up, He dug into his briefcase and replaced them with frame-by-frame photos that Edgar had produced from the video. He laid t
hem out in sequence, letting Niven see what everyone else might see. ‘I’ve got the actual video safely locked up, Peter.’ Mac paused, eyeballing the judge. ‘You can’t stay on the bench. With what I know, that’s unconscionable. You will resign your warrant. I suggest we craft a letter for the Attorney-General expressing your deep regret: urgent personal business will require you to live overseas for the foreseeable future.’
Niven leant into his high-backed chair and cupped his hands behind his head. ‘Christ, Mac, some grainy video and photos don’t prove a damn thing. You have lost your bloody marbles.’
Mac sat in silence. Niven reproduced his wave. ‘You know, I’d just say that it was a tonic - that young Sasha came on to me. Perhaps she wanted to bank a quid pro quo. But I took her at face value and, not wanting to disappoint, I took something to enhance my performance. You can’t prove otherwise.’
‘What tonic, Peter?’
This time Niven shook his head. ‘You miss the point. I can say it’s that. Truth doesn’t matter here because you can’t prove I’m lying.’
‘A tonic taken by you doesn’t make your victims unconscious, though, does it, Peter?’
The plea was in Niven’s voice again. ‘Come on, Mac. I realise that you and Sasha are, how shall we put it, friends. You’ve done what you need to. I’ll consider my card marked. How’s that?’
Disgusted by the other man’s sneer, Mac answered, ‘Inadequate.’
‘If I have to tell a few white lies to dispose of your flimsy proof, there’s no harm in that.’
‘With someone else, I might feel apologetic about this, Peter. But on this occasion, I’m struggling to find a scintilla of guilt.’ Mac pulled audio equipment from the breast pocket of his suit jacket. The machine also transmitted a signal to Edgar’s car in Durham Street. He pushed the stop button and rewound the tape. It’s my thing. I prefer them that way. It’s like a warm cadaver. I get greater, more intense pleasure. Mac pressed fast forward. You miss the point. Truth doesn’t matter here because you can’t prove I’m lying.
‘You don’t want me producing that, the video camera evidence and the statements of these women, do you?’
Niven crossed his arms and laughed. ‘You know that’s not admissible evidence.’
‘We both know there are circumstances where it might be. But you know, Peter, an old man like me who’s lost his marbles tends to lose other things from time to time. Important things, like audiotapes of people who say they like warm cadavers with, how did you put it, firm flesh breasts and candy boxes? They can find their way into the wrong hands. I hasten to add that I do find them again. Or some kind soul finds them for me.’
Chapter 39
‘Liar,’ screamed Thomas from the dock. ‘You low-life liar.’
The attendant called for silence three times before any semblance of order was restored. The gallery observers talked to new-found best buddies. A radio journalist ran from the court to break the news live on the hour. Fitzpatrick went to the dock to repeat his warning to Thomas about outbursts.
As the surgeon responsible for overseeing the care of Derek Donaldson, Albertson told the jury of the advice and options he had given his patient during his two visits to hospital. Although mood changes were common for people in Donaldson’s condition, he said the man had no mental health problems and was unlikely to be suicidal. He said Thomas had impressed him as a loyal friend although he was a little perplexed when he’d asked about anaesthesia and succinylcholine in particular.
Bowen decided to take a short adjournment and asked to see counsel in chambers. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked Sasha.
‘As you can see from his deposition, Your Honour, that came as a surprise to us.’
‘I submit that it’s highly prejudicial, Your Honour,’ said Fitzpatrick, his voice an octave higher than usual. ‘I ask you to declare a mistrial and discharge the jury. Nothing can be done to overcome this.’
‘I’m not inclined to do that,’ responded Bowen. ‘You and I both know that, in the rough and tumble of trials, things don’t always go according to plan. The doctor might have surprised us all but it doesn’t mean he isn’t telling the truth. You’ll have the opportunity to expose the difference between what he said earlier and now.’
Back in court, Sasha had Albertson focus on his knowledge and use of succinylcholine, its legitimate purposes for intubation and its effects as a drug to induce paralysis. He confirmed that the drug wasn’t a painkiller and would need to be used in conjunction with other drugs to prevent a patient from experiencing pain. As Sasha was finishing, Fitzpatrick stole glances at the jury. He’d noted the empathetic smiles and nods at Albertson. They liked him and why wouldn’t they? Especially the seven women jurors. He was the proverbial tall, handsome doctor. Well built, well presented, cleft chin, similar height and hair colour to Thomas but hair longer, a younger look befitting a younger man.
Fitzpatrick attacked him, drawing concessions that he saw Donaldson only twice, wasn’t a psychologist and couldn’t be certain that Donaldson wasn’t suicidal. He got Albertson to agree on the importance of being accurate when being a witness, and then to agree that he’d made no comment to police on Thomas’s alleged inquiry about sux.
‘Has any police officer suggested that you should omit that from the statement to mislead the defence?’
‘No.’
Fitzpatrick knew that would be the answer but wanted to seed the idea in the jury. ‘So, knowing the importance of accuracy, you chose to leave this out or you forgot. Which is it?’
‘Neither. I didn’t consider it relevant at the time. I get lots of chat from patients and their families. The purpose of this statement, at the time I made it, was to comment on Mr Donaldson’s hospital care and prognosis.’
‘So you added to your statement today at the suggestion of the police?’
‘No. They couldn’t have known about the conversation I had with Mr Thomas. When they first approached me they were attempting to learn whether there was a substance that could disable a person but remain undetectable. That’s when I told them about succinylcholine. It was a very general inquiry and I didn’t make a written statement at that time. Later I made a statement about Donaldson.’ He held up a document. ‘This one. I hadn’t connected the two separate lots of questions until after I recognised it was your client that was charged with murder.’
Sasha glanced at the jury to gauge how this was going. She saw a couple of jurors nodding.
Fitzpatrick shook his head. He’d been grimacing through the previous answer. ‘You’ve seen my client’s reaction to your evidence. Isn’t possible you could be mistaken in making the connection and that, in fact, someone other than Thomas enquired about this drug?’
‘I don’t believe so, no.’ The jury saw Thomas redden, then shake his head ferociously.
When it was her time to re-examine, Sasha wanted the jury reminded of the heavy punch. ‘Doctor Albertson, you told my learned friend that you often get involved in chats with patients and their families.’
‘Indeed.’
‘How often have you been asked about succinylcholine by a patient or a person connected with a patient?’
‘Other than Mr Thomas’s inquiry, I cannot recall another single occasion.’
‘My friend also asked you about the efficacy of the drug and patient conditions that might be relevant. For someone who had the desire to learn about sux, would you regard it as impossible to do so?’
‘Certainly not. I had to do it myself.’
As Sasha sat down, there was a muffled cry of ‘Bullshit’ from the dock. Thomas held his head in his hands.
Chapter 40
‘How do you think it’s going?’ Sasha asked. She was sitting at her breakfast bar, already dressed for court, eating toast and turning pages of The People. National Radio was on in the background. ‘You seem to be giving Fitzpatrick a pretty fair go. Fit of conscience?’
Ben poured himself a
cup of tea. ‘What do you mean conscience?’ He sounded annoyed.
‘I warned you to be careful about those documents.’
‘Never mind that. I went to use your car yesterday, as agreed. Remember?’
‘Hmm’, Sasha mumbled, chewing. ‘What of it?’
‘When are you going to get those bloody doors fixed? If you’re out, you can’t get in. If you’re in, you can’t get out. It’s a bloody disaster. I thought the Germans knew about making cars. Why don’t you get yourself a nice Japanese car like most sensible people?’
Sasha grinned. ‘Heavily edited, were you? I was wondering why your column space was so meagre. Your turn to feel the subs’ knife last night, was it?’
‘Seriously, Sash. It’s a bloody hazard!’
‘I realise that. As it happens, the replacement parts have to come from Auckland. In the meantime, there’s a tricky little knack to the way you jiggle it. I thought you’d know all about that.’ She winked at him but he wasn’t playing.
Sasha heard a reference to her trial and tuned in. There was some speculation about progress and whether Thomas would give evidence. She knew Fitzpatrick hated putting his clients in the witness box and for good reason. Some of them were the best witnesses for the crown. Sasha switched off the radio when she heard the pips signalling the top of the hour. Ben had already gone.
****
Sasha began the third day of the trial by asking Galbraith to lead the evidence of the two elderly women who collided with Thomas’s car at Hagley Park.
Fitzpatrick worked hard on getting Hilda and Elsie Forest to shift their recall of the time the incident occurred. He also tried to show that they may have exaggerated the rage they saw in Thomas, given the light and limited opportunities for observation. He was unsuccessful on both counts.
Sasha’s final witnesses were the police officers and technical experts involved in the investigation. Quentin Baker came and went with little fuss. Fitzpatrick laboured the point that his memory of what was on the missing computer was prompted by Hart showing him documents. ‘Just like a one-man ID parade,’ he said to the jury’s amusement.