I spent the next few days preparing for a drug importation trial. However, on the morning of the trial, I cut a deal with the prosecutor that saw my client plead guilty to one of the lesser charges against him. If he behaved himself inside, he would probably be out in about three years.
The next morning, I got a call from Clint Andersen, the solicitor at the Legal Aid Office who briefed me in the Milic matter.
"Yes, Clint, what's cooking?"
As usual, he sounded like he was still waking up. "Got another brief for you."
After losing a trial, it's always a relief when your instructing solicitor offers you another brief, even if he is from the Legal Aid Office. "Really? What sort?"
A long pause and a smile in his voice. "Murder."
My heart set up a backbeat. "Great. Who'll be leading me?"
"Nobody. You'll be on your own."
Wow. I had been at the Bar for six years, learning my trade in the lower courts, waiting for the chance to strut my stuff in a murder trial. I thought it would be several more years before I could. Now, the opportunity had jumped out of nowhere.
My hand holding the phone developed a film of sweat. "Is it set down for trial yet?"
"Yes."
I prayed I was available. "When?"
"It starts on 29 October and will run for about a week. You free?"
About a month away. I flipped open my diary and checked to make sure I was available. I was. Normally, I'd ask for a few details about a case before admitting I was available to appear at the trial. But this was the Big M. I'd work for nothing. "I'm available. Why aren't you getting silk?"
"Because Legal Aid doesn't pay enough to get good silk, and I'm tired of hiring second-rate bastards too lazy to read the brief. At least you do your homework and listen to advice."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should. I also thought of you when I saw the names of the arresting officers."
"Oh, why?"
A dramatic pause. "One of them was Detective Inspector Carl Hanrahan."
Bad memories flooded my mind and my stomach dropped. I had hoped to never hear his name again. "You're kidding?"
"Nope. And, just like last time, our client claims he planted evidence. So you'll get to duel with him again over that same issue. You ready for Round Two?"
Definitely not. My stomach clanged on the ground. "Are you sure you want me? I lost the last duel."
"Not your fault: you had no ammunition."
"Will I have any this time?"
A pause. "Ah, no, I don't think so."
I sighed. "OK. You'd better tell me the full story. Who's our client? Who's he supposed to have murdered?"
"Our client's a 25-year-old Vietnamese guy called Tuan Ho. He's got several convictions for selling heroin on the street and done three spells inside. There's no suggestion he's big-time. Anyway, about six months ago, he murdered - sorry, allegedly murdered - a drug boss called Vincent Lee in his office behind a restaurant in Cabramatta. The prosecution claims Tuan walked into the office and shot Lee dead - bam, bam, bam."
"Why? Didn't like the food?"
"The prosecution claims he robbed the safe - it was found open - and stole the contents."
"What were they?"
"Nobody knows."
"Does the prosecution have much evidence?"
"Plenty: CCTV footage shows Tuan Ho enter and leave the office about the time of the shooting, and the murder weapon was found in his apartment."
I groaned. "His apartment?"
"Yep. After he was arrested there, the next day, a forensics unit found the murder weapon in a wardrobe."
"Yet, he still claims he's innocent?"
"Sure does. He claims that, when he strolled into the office, Lee was already dead on the floor, chock-full of bullets."
"But he didn't call the police?"
"Nope. He was afraid they'd accuse him of murder."
"I get that, I suppose. But how does he explain the pistol found in his wardrobe?"
"He claims an arresting officer planted it."
"Oh, you mean, our pal Hanrahan?"
"Correct-o."
"Why did Hanrahan want to frame him?"
"Our client has no idea. Says the first time he met Hanrahan was when the guy turned up at his apartment, with another detective, to arrest him."
I felt a stab of panic. The last time I went head-to-head with Hanrahan, he handed me my arse, and I feared a repeat. But I couldn't cave in to fear. If I did, I wouldn't stop running. I had to treat this brief as a chance for revenge.
"OK. Where's our boy right now - in custody?"
"Yep, in Silverwater. He couldn't get bail: way too many priors."
"OK. Send over the brief. After I've read it, we'll go out and see him."
"Will do."
I didn't try to negotiate a decent fee. I would get the standard pittance the Legal Aid Office doled out, and no more.
After hanging up, I rose and paced around the room. In my first murder trial, I would have to cross-examine a cop who previously gave me a beating. I hoped I was ready for this challenge - I really did.