Sasha was still standing at her window, frowning as she looked out over Cranmer Square toward the late Derek Donaldson’s apartment, when Gary Wynn arrived, beaming. She barely acknowledged him beyond a brusque ‘Thanks for coming’ before showing him the photo.
‘Is the person who looked at the Fraser-Clark records last year in this photo?’
‘Feels like I’m in the witness box now,’ he joked. ‘The tall guy in the foreground, that’s Doctor Avery Albertson, isn’t it? One of your witnesses.’
‘It was him?’
‘Yeah.’ He paused before adding, ‘Somewhere from mid to late October. He’d have paid a search fee so we can get the exact date. He wanted everything that was available but that wasn’t much.
‘Pretty basic information such as the indictment, outcome of the trial and any sentence following conviction. I explained that if he wanted access to the actual court file and the trial record, he’d need a judge’s permission. I remember saying I wouldn’t charge him another fee if he got that permission. I found out later one of our junior clerks let him look at the outside of the file. Here’s what he got to see.’
Sasha looked at the file. The outside cover was the indictment for murder drafted and lodged by the Crown Solicitor’s office. Dad’s work. It was wrapped around many papers, including a copy of the trial evidence, and tied up with pink ribbon. It was what was recorded on the outside of the court file that made her go pale.
‘Oh no. Hell, no.’
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Wynn.
‘I told Ian it was all too easy. Look at the front of the indictment and the jurors’ names listed after Justice Adams.’
‘It was 1955, Sasha, before I was born. It’s not very likely that…’
Bristling with impatience, Sasha snapped, ‘Look anyway.’ She saw his head draw back as his eyes widened and he read out the names.
‘John Stewart Dench, foreman. Trevor Ivan Thomas, Derek
Paul Donaldson and Neil Apsley.
Sasha turned away from Gary and looked out her window. ‘I’ve helped to convict an innocent man of murder, exactly as my father did.’
Chapter 45
There was a long silence from Rod Black when Sasha rang to tell him what had happened. She tried again, almost gabbling this time. ‘Fowler’s theft of Trevor Thomas’s identity would have been the platform of the defence case. He could have lifted what he liked when he was seeing Christine. Not only that, Rod, but I now know Albertson knew Mac and I had been trying to locate him and he’s avoided me. He gave evidence because he knew I didn’t know his real identity.’
More silence.
‘Well, say something for Christ’s sake. What do you think?’
‘Honestly?’ replied Black. ‘I think you’re exhausted. I think you did a fantastic job for us despite the traitor in our ranks. You mentioned your mum to me a couple of times during the trial. Remember? I think you’re stressed about her and the combined effect of everything is that you’re not thinking straight and you’re second-guessing your judgement. That’s what I think, Sasha.’
She took a deep breath. ‘I agree I’m tired and it’s kind of you to have remembered about Mum, but I’m fine. I haven’t lost the plot just yet. I need you to take another look here, Rod. I’m not stressed but,’ she struggled to find the word, ‘I am frightened. My father prosecuted the man whose pardon was in the news in March. Albert Fraser-Clark. He was hanged, Rod, and he was innocent. I couldn’t bear to repeat a similar injustice. Can you see that?’
‘Look Sasha, I’ll be straight with you,’ said Black. ‘I understand those are footsteps you don’t want to follow. But you’re not. I don’t need you taking up that mad bitch Tuck’s arguments. We had a good case the jury accepted, a defence they rejected. Even having a traitor in our team didn’t harm us in the end.
‘We should be celebrating. You did a bloody good job presenting our case. If you don’t mind me saying, you worked your arse off for us and I think you might be a bit short on sleep.’
He’s not listening. ‘But don’t you see, Rod? Albertson’s motive for killing and the link with all the victims is unassailable. This is a case of cold-blooded revenge.’
‘Hell of a long time to wait to get justice. I’d say that makes it pretty unlikely.’
‘Isn’t revenge a dish that’s best served cold? Besides, Albertson first had evidence his mother was alive in October last year. With the certainty his father was wrongly executed, this has pushed him over the edge. Look, it even answers the questions about Donaldson’s hairs in Apsley’s apartment.’
‘How?’
‘Donaldson was under Albertson’s care at the hospital, remember? That hair evidence was planted. And the killings started with Apsley about 9 March. This was Albert Fraser-Clark’s birthday and forty years to the day since his execution. Are you going to tell me that’s just a bloody coincidence?’
‘Christ, Sasha. What about the case against Thomas you just left with the jury? In the porn war he had every reason to do Dench in. Donaldson both betrayed him and left him a small fortune. He and Apsley’s links to Dench…’
‘I know what I bloody well said.’ Sasha was almost shouting. ‘But it’s nowhere near as solid as Albertson’s motive. Then there’s Fowler’s connection with Dench and Thomas. And he’s living with Albertson, who has access to sux.’ She listened for a moment. ‘Another series of bloody coincidences? No way. It explains why and how Thomas could be framed as he said he was. Fowler’s in on it. I was always uneasy about him and his defence in that bloody attempted rape case.’
Black spoke again. ‘You’re assuming Albertson just took sux from the hospital?’
‘He must have.’
‘He didn’t. We checked all the records. I hadn’t briefed you on that because we were never saying Thomas got it from the hospital. But neither did Albertson. There’s none missing.’
Exasperated, Sasha replied, ‘Well, he must have made it or got it from somewhere. I’d back him ahead of Thomas to do that, wouldn’t you?’ She rushed on. ‘Look Rod, if the defence had what I know now, it would have been dynamite in our case.’
‘Is that what’s happening next? You’ll tell Fitzpatrick and he’ll apply for a retrial on new evidence.’
‘It’s not that easy for him,’ she said. ‘This is just a theory based on a series of circumstances. The Court of Appeal will need more than that.’
‘I couldn’t have put it better myself. I’m glad you’re seeing sense.’
‘Hang on. I’m saying the evidence will be there. You’ve never looked for it regarding Fowler or Albertson because, to be fair, there’s been no reason before now. If you’d had this information before Thomas was charged, the course of the investigation would have been different. The two of them gave each other alibis without us knowing they were connected. Remember? Please, Rod, you need to check them out.’
His tone grudging, he replied, ‘I’ll sleep on it. I suggest you do so as well.’
Heather came in to see her boss standing by her desk. ‘You don’t look too good, Sasha. You feeling okay?’
‘Fitzy said during my cross-examination of Thomas, he’d had better days. I know what he means.’
‘Look, I’m sorry I’ve got to dash,’ said Heather, ‘but I’m glad I waited. A nice man dropped off this for you while you were seeing Mrs Fulton. No envelope. He handed it to me saying he was on your jury. It’ll cheer you up.’
Sasha nodded.
Dear Ms Stace
I wanted you to know that the jury was very pleased you had the chance to cross-examine that awful man Thomas. You exposed him for the vengeful murderer he is and in so doing helped us do justice for the community – just as you asked us to do when you began the trial. We’re sorry if we disappointed you with the verdict in relation to Mr Apsley.
It wasn’t just because he was a paedophile that we let Thomas off that charge. We also wanted you to know how helpful you were in counting of
f the ridiculous number of coincidences necessary for Thomas to be innocent.
Kind regards,
Maurice Teague (Foreman)
Sasha let the note drop to the floor.
Chapter 46
Black’s promise to sleep on the new circumstances and reopen the investigation proved fruitless. He still had other unsolveds and his team was sick and tired of the whole Thomas/Tuck saga and happy to have it behind them. Despite O’Connell extending an olive branch, Black was still wounded inside police ranks. A successful murder prosecution wouldn’t give him much kudos for long. It was what hadn’t been solved that got the attention and played with a detective’s mind.
Sasha realised that when Black discovered the Thomas/Tuck relationship he’d be happy to let Thomas rot in prison. If he was going to do anything, it would be focusing on finding Tuck. Getting her back to face charges. It was obvious the rest of the investigation team were in Black’s camp. Like him, they felt betrayed. They wouldn’t be lifting a finger to reopen any aspect of the inquiry.
Sasha phoned Fitzpatrick. No response. She left a message about a development with Thomas he needed to know about. But she knew the Irishman’s reputation for going on a ‘bender’ after difficult trials. His consumption of Guinness was legendary and he’d been known to threaten the publican at the local Irish bar, that if he continued to put his score of hundreds of pints consumed on the honours board, he’d take his custom elsewhere. She didn’t expect to hear from him.
She had Albertson’s witness brief in front of her and his hospital contact details. She’d pretend not to know the truth and talk to him about meeting his mother and her illness. She pushed the numbers on the phone pad. No luck. She rang back and spoke to the relevant hospital administrator. Albertson was rostered off work for the next two days. She lied about needing to talk to him about his evidence in a criminal trial, but she was refused his mobile number.
She rang Mac but remembered, before his voicemail message kicked in, that he was in a directors’ meeting on the board of a Sydney bank.
Tyler’s mobile was busy. Another voicemail. Christ, is no one available? She drove to Merivale Mall: for some reason her instinct was to be close to Albertson’s house. She felt like a large vodka but settled for coffee. It was late afternoon and, as forecast, the weather was getting worse. The noise of hail on the roof was distracting. Better off with the drums. If she was to see this inquiry through to a just outcome, she’d have to take the lead. By doing what? Not by sipping espresso.
Her jaw tightened as she mulled over Dorothy Fulton’s visit. Fowler and Albertson may have been ‘partners’ but Christine didn’t fit unless Fowler was bisexual. There was a great deal more to Fowler’s trial than she realised. Christine was only a pawn to help Fowler set her father up for a huge fall.
Fowler’s visit after Dench was killed was a ruse to create an alibi for Albertson and himself at the time of Dench’s death. The police mentioned it was Albertson who produced Fowler’s x-ray. Did he really have a broken arm? Fowler worked for Dench, gaining his confidence until the time was ripe to dispose of him. Fowler, the creator of documents showing Thomas’s activities, the paper’s news source, the planter of physical evidence provided by Albertson.
She realised she hadn’t seen past Thomas as a driven, controlling and an unprincipled liar. But would he have mortgaged his house to gamble a financial recovery? Fitzpatrick was right. Everything he did in business, even his most unscrupulous actions, was designed to shore up his financial security, not threaten it.
To hell with this. She headed home and left a twenty-second message on Tyler’s phone.
‘Ben, this will sound bizarre, but Thomas has been framed – he’s innocent. My witness Albertson, the anaesthetist, is in fact Michael Fraser-Clark. It was him who murdered those men and his partner, my client Freddie Fowler, helped him. The victims were all jurors in Albert-Fraser Clark’s trial. It’s cold-blooded revenge. I need to think, so I’ll be drumming. But I reckon we need to head to their place in Rugby Street. Ring Heather for the street number.’
****
Dressed in sweatpants and T-shirt, Sasha had been drumming for an hour, pausing to select songs and sip water. She reviewed her thought processes and concluded that everything fitted a frame-up by Fowler, except for Vickers’ evidence and that from the Flanagans. As Fitzpatrick had said, Vickers could have been motivated by a grudge. The Flanagans could have been driven by fear that their neighbour had been murdered in their building. The People coverage, including Thomas’s photo, didn’t help.
But for the difference in their hair, Thomas and Albertson were similar in appearance, at least from a distance. Once the Flanagans had convinced themselves it was the same man on both days, there’d be no turning back.
The evidence was fitting into place. How had everyone missed it? More importantly, how had she?
You know what Dad and Mac will say, don’t you?
They’re good people. They won’t judge me.
But you stuffed up. How can any competent senior counsel not have seen what was obvious?
But it wasn’t obvious. There was skilful manipulation of evidence.
Come on. Thomas was too obvious. You said yourself the cross-examination was too easy.
That’s just hindsight thinking. Any fool can do that.
You were right about one thing, though. You’re not in Mac’s class and the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
My father was a good and honourable man. He’d have been a judge.
He helped to kill an innocent man and so have you. You know
Thomas will never leave prison alive.
Thomas is a lying, cheating prick who doesn’t hesitate to do wrong to anyone who gets in his way.
But you know he’s not a murderer, don’t you? You’re trying to pretend that liars and cheats deserve life in prison now.
Not so.
And the victims? Oh, that’s right, they’re just a fat man, a foul-mouthed womaniser and a pervert. They don’t need the real killer caught.
That’s not how it is.
What did the foreman say? You helped them do justice for the victims and the community. Just how did you do that, Sasha?
This is ridiculous. None of that was negligence on my part.
Keep telling yourself that. That’ll make things a whole lot better. Face it. You’ve let everyone down. You always knew you would. It’s back to legal aid now. That’s if the court will have you on their list of competent counsel.
****
The phone rang.
Ben.
At last.
Sasha grabbed the towel, wiping her face and neck as she reached for the phone, but it had rung out. In frustration she flung the towel toward her stool, hitting the cymbal, which emitted a strangled sound.
Heather’s message said that a Mr Albertson from the hospital was wanting to get in touch with her, that there’d been some new development with regard to the Thomas trial and he’d asked for her to meet him at home.
He wants me to know.
Why? The question occupied her mind in the shower.
She felt infinitely better after it, the hot water somehow washing away more than her perspiration. She pulled on jeans and a pink shirt, then grabbed a brown leather jacket.
She tried Ben again. Straight to voicemail.
Why have you got your phone off?
She’d play along with Albertson, follow his agenda, whatever it was. She couldn’t be sure whether he still believed she knew nothing about his true identity. But given the effort he’d gone to commit these murders, she couldn’t rule out that she’d been watched every moment in the trial – and since.
What are my options? Do nothing? It’s not just justice at stake, it’s Dad. It’s Mac’s faith in me. It’s my shot at redemption.
Try Black again? Nothing had changed as far as he was concerned. Albertson’s attempts to contact her would mean nothing and in Black’s eyes, he’
d committed no crime.
I need his confession. The only way to get Black to look again is to record it. Start with the encounter you’ve had with his mother, how she claimed to have met you in Sydney. Get him to explain his crimes. He’ll be proud of his achievements.
But how will you stay safe?
Chapter 47
Albertson attended to the frozen succinylcholine only minutes before he drove his black BMW sedan through the gates to Paparua Prison. He still had twelve and a half minutes before it reached one degree Celsius. He placed it under the crepe bandage on his wrist, along with a needle and syringe. The stainless steel needle wouldn’t set off the metal detector. Freddie had made sure of that: the routine had been rehearsed and the measurements checked wherever Fowler found a metal detector.
If discovered, he’d flash his Medic Alert bracelet, claiming he was a forgetful diabetic; that he had to keep his life-saving insulin on his person at all times. The paralysing agent had an efficacy tolerance in temperature from two to eight degrees, so there’d be no problem with a small variation in planned time. As he walked towards the main entrance he noticed two bays, occupied by uniformed men – a vigilant duo with identical sneers – and the metal detector to their right. At reception he affirmed his appointment to see Superintendent Ronald Point on a personal matter. ‘The name’s Battersby.’
Albertson felt his heart beating quicker than normal. This one was different to the other three executions; this one marked the winning post. Eight and a half minutes to go. Point came out, gestured his visitor to move under and through the electronic metal detector.
He asked to see inside the purpose-built briefcase with the false bottom. Under the lid, a file: ‘Recovery – Ronald Point, Christchurch, NZ.’
Albertson had phoned Point during the trial, to arrange this visit, and noted the superintendent’s eagerness to receive the six-figure bank cheque. Making sure Point saw the file, Albertson removed it from his briefcase, revealing no other contents except some Blu-tack. As Point flicked through the sheets of paper, Albertson smiled with self-assurance.