CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The next morning, while sitting in my room reading a brief, I got a call on my mobile phone and saw it was from Adrian Calhoun. That was a little odd. He didn't usually call during the day. Maybe he wanted to arrange lunch. I took the call and heard a distressed voice. "Brad, is that you?"
"Yes."
He sounded like he was being tortured. "It's Adrian. I'm in deep shit."
"Why?"
"I'm at a police station right now - the one near Darling Harbour. I've been charged with insider trading. They claim I conspired with Colin Douglas."
Oh shit. "Really?"
"Yeah, they arrested me at work and brought me down here. Marched me through the trading room, in front of everyone."
I pulled myself together and tried to think like a lawyer instead of a friend. "How long have you been at the station?"
"About half an hour. They've already charged me. I think they're about to arrest Colin and charge him too."
"Have you talked to the cops?"
His voice had a big crack in it. "They asked if I wanted to do a recorded interview. I said I wanted to talk to a lawyer."
"Good move. Don't say anything, OK? Nothing. Are they going to give you bail?"
"They said I have to apply to a magistrate."
"OK, OK. I'm heading down there right now. You'll need a solicitor. Do you want me to bring one?"
"Yes."
"OK. I won't be long."
"Thanks mate. Jesus Christ, hurry."
"I will. In the meantime, don't talk to the cops - tell them nothing."
I hung up and took a few deep breaths to compose myself. Then I phoned Sandy Westbrook, easily the best criminal defence solicitor in private practice I knew. I quickly explained the situation, and asked if he would represent Adrian and meet me at the Central Police Station.
He said: "Yes."
"OK. I'll see you outside the station in fifteen minutes."
I dashed outside. A taxi sped me down to a glass-fronted building near Darling Harbour. I was a couple of minutes early, but Sandy was already waiting.
There are two types of solicitor: those who create problems for their clients and those who solve them. Sandy was the second type. Short and thickset, with heavy eyebrows and pouchy face, he looked dodgier than most criminals he represented. But looks deceived. Apart from being very experienced and whip-smart, he really climbed down into the trenches with his clients and fought hard to save them.
I said: "Thanks for turning up. Let's go inside."
We strolled through glass sliding doors into the main foyer. A uniformed sergeant with a tight bun and tighter expression sat behind the counter.
I said: "Morning, officer. We're the lawyers representing Adrian Calhoun. You have him in custody. Can we see him?"
She glanced at a pad in front of her. "Detective Inspector Watson is the arresting officer - I'll contact him."
She picked up a telephone, called Watson and explained our mission. After listening briefly, she hung up. "He'll be here shortly."
A minute later, a lift door opened. A rail-thin man, with sharp features and wearing a blue day-glo suit, stepped out and announced he was Detective Inspector Watson. Sandy and I introduced ourselves and everyone shook hands.
I said: "I just spoke to Adrian Calhoun on the phone. He said you've already charged him."
"Correct."
"Got the charge sheet?"
Watson fished a folded piece of paper out of his jacket and handed it over. "Here's a copy. Basically, twenty counts of insider trading. We allege one of his friends, Colin Douglas, worked for a share brokerage firm. Douglas tipped off your client about big share trades the firm was going to make and your client hopped into the market first. A guaranteed money-spinner. During the last two years, they netted about $2.5 million."
Wow. If the prosecution proved those allegations, Adrian would go to gaol for a long time. "Thanks. What's happening with Douglas? You going to charge him?"
"Yes. Some detectives are heading over to his workplace right now. We're going to charge him with the same offences. We've got a strong case against both. The evidence includes phone taps and text messages. So, will your client let us interview him?"
"Pigs will fly first."
A laugh. "Though you'd say that."
Sandy said: "You going to release him now?"
"Nope, you'll have to ask a magistrate for bail. It's a serious charge. We're worried he might flee the country or contact potential witnesses."
No point arguing. "When can you get him before a magistrate?"
"We're taking a couple of other prisoners over to the Downing Court Complex in about twenty minutes. We can add him."
At least Adrian would not have to spend the night in the cells before applying for bail. "I'll be obliged if you do."
"I'll arrange it."
"Good. Can we see him now?"
"Of course. He's down in the cells. Follow me."
Watson led us over to the lifts and we caught one down to the basement. On the way, I skimmed through the charge sheet to confirm it alleged 20 counts of insider trading over the last two years.
We all stepped from the lift into a small area where two uniformed officers sat watching a wall of surveillance screens. Watson unlocked a heavy iron gate and led us down a passage with cell doors on each side. The last door was open. Inside, Adrian, wearing a designer suit and no tie, sat on a bare foam bed. Plenty of my clients have looked upset or frightened after being arrested. None looked as disoriented as Adrian. He had always had the "success" card in his back pocket. Now he had tumbled from heaven and landed in a strange world. His worst nightmares did not prepare him for this. "Brad. Thank Christ. This is unbelievable."
"We're here to help."
The Detective Inspector said: "I'll come back when it's time to take him to court."
I said: "Thanks."
Watson left and I turned to Adrian. "This is Sandy Westbrook. He's a solicitor with lots of criminal law experience."
Adrian nervously shook Sandy's hand. "Thanks for coming."
I said: "You're in a right pickle, aren't you?"
"I know. But it's bullshit - all bullshit."
The charges didn't sound like bullshit to me. Adrian was an old and close friend, and I wanted to believe him. But he often gambled on shares and horses. Maybe he needed quick money. My mind flashed back to Adrian and Colin in the Grease Monkey Bar, several weeks ago, high-fiving to celebrate a successful transaction. Was that transaction an insider trading scheme? I bet it was. "I understand. But we don't need to discuss the details right now."
"OK. Do you know if they've arrested Colin? The cops claim he was my accomplice."
"Watson said they expect to arrest and charge him sometime this morning. But forget about him. Your top priority right now is to get out of here. I guess you've been told you need bail?"
"Yes."
"The police will take you to Downing Court Complex in about twenty minutes. Sandy and I will wait for you there. When you're brought up before a magistrate, I'll ask for bail."
"Will I get it?"
"Yes. There will be conditions. But it won't be a problem."
He put his head in his hands. "Jesus, I just want to cry."
"I understand."
Sandy and I explained how the court system would deal with the charges against him, and his options, until Watson returned on schedule.
Watson said: "Alright, time to take him to court. I'll let you two gentlemen out first."
Sandy and I farewelled Adrian and followed Watson up to the foyer, where we said goodbye to him. It took us ten minutes to walk to the Downing Court Complex and catch a lift up to the fifth floor, where a dozen courtrooms surrounded a large waiting area.
We located the courtroom in which the Local Court bail magistrate was sitting. It was crowded because she was also sentencing drink-drivers who had pleaded guilty. We found a couple of seats in the gallery and listened to the police prosecutor and
the solicitors for the defendants argue over the appropriate punishment. Driver's licences were cancelled willy-nilly. After about twenty minutes, Detective Inspector Watson and a female colleague entered and approached the bar table. Watson spoke briefly to the bulky police prosecutor and gave him some documents.
When the magistrate finished sentencing the defendant before her - another cancelled licence - the police prosecutor announced that prisoners wanted to apply for bail. Those in custody always had priority. The Magistrate ordered that the first prisoner be brought into court.
The side door behind the dock opened and a couple of hard-looking Sheriff's Officers escorted Adrian into the dock. He sat down and everyone stared at him. He was less well-groomed and poised than usual. But he obviously belonged to a social class that rarely intersected with the criminal courts. It was as if he got lost and accidentally wandered into the dock.
The magistrate said: "Is the prisoner represented?"
As I headed for the bar table, I glanced around to see if Watson had tipped off any journalists about the bail application. No sign he had. Excellent. I looked at the Magistrate. "As the Court pleases, my name is Norton. I appear for the prisoner."
"Thank you, Mr Norton."
The police prosecutor provided the Magistrate with the charge sheet and a fact sheet that summarised the main allegations against Adrian. He provided me with copies of both documents. I skimmed through the fact sheet, which alleged that Adrian and Colin used inside information to make 20 different share trades that netted them approximately $2.5 million. There was a list of each trade and the profit made.
The police prosecutor said that bail should only be granted on the basis that Adrian report to a police station every few days, surrender his passport and agree not to approach Colin Douglas or any potential witnesses. I said the prisoner accepted those conditions.
The Magistrate then granted bail on those conditions and stipulated that, if Adrian breached any, he would forfeit $50,000. Because she released him on his "own surety", he didn't have to lodge the money with the court.
The Magistrate looked at Adrian. "Mr Calhoun, after you've signed a copy of the bail form, you're free to go."
The Magistrate's Associate typed up a bail form on her computer and printed it out. She gave it to Sandy, who got Adrian to sign it. Sandy handed it back and Adrian stepped out of the dock, clearly shaken.
I nodded goodbye to Watson. We strolled out of the courtroom and caught a lift to the ground floor. As we descended the front steps, I looked around nervously for TV cameras or reporters. None, thank God. The cops love running media campaigns in high-profile cases. This time they were obviously a bit slow off the mark. But they would soon issue a press release that announced the charges. It would get saturation news coverage.
I said: "I think a cup of coffee's in order."
We went around the corner to a crowded cafe that Sandy and I sometimes frequented. Adrian slumped in a chair, looking shattered. A waiter appeared and we all ordered coffee.
Adrian sighed. "Thank God I'm out of there."
I said: "You haven't spoken to your parents yet, or Rowena, have you?"
He looked ashen. "Not yet."
"Do that as soon as possible. The Federal Police will put out a press release fairly soon saying you and Colin have been charged with insider trading. Then the balloon will really go up."
He looked like I had slapped him. "Oh, Christ."
"Do you want me to come with you when you talk to them?"
"No, I'd better do that myself. Rowena's office is about a block from here. I'll see her first, then my parents."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
I was secretly relieved to avoid what would be painful scenes.
Adrian grimaced and stretched his arms. "Christ, this is a nightmare. The charge is total bullshit, of course. But, umm, if I'm found guilty, will I go to gaol."
Judges rarely get to sentence white-collar criminals and, when they do, like to show the legal system punishes the high and low with equal vigour. So, if Adrian pleaded guilty, a judge would probably give him about four years, non-parole. If he was convicted after a trial, he would probably get a couple more years. "That's almost certain."
"Hell. So what happens next?"
"Obviously, you've got to comply with your bail conditions. Don't play games. Sandy will also have to instruct a barrister to represent you at the next court date, when you'll be expected to enter a plea. The barrister will advise you on your prospects and how to plead."
"Will you represent me?"
I shook my head. "Sorry, I don't represent close mates - it's not smart - and you can afford the best, so you should get the best. Sandy will organise someone."
"I want you."
I shook my head. "Mate, it's not an option. I could not be objective; my judgement would be distorted."
A frown. "You sure?"
"Yes."
A sigh. "OK. So, who's the best?"
I looked at Sandy. "Frosty O'Toole?"
A nod. "I'd pick him."
Adrian said: "He's good?"
I could count on the fingers of one hand the number of silk I admired. Dennis "Frosty" O'Toole was one of them: a vinegary warrior with good judgement and plenty of courtroom cunning. If he thought Adrian should plead guilty, he would not mince words. "He's excellent. In your shoes, I'd brief him."
"OK." Adrian turned to Sandy. "Will you bring him onboard?"
"Sure."
Our coffees arrived. Adrian hastily gulped his down, lurched to his feet and emitted a long sigh. "I'd better speak to Rowena and my parents before they hear about this on the news. Jesus, this is going to be hell. My life is now a smoking ruin."
I tried to keep my distance from clients caught in the maw of the criminal justice system. Getting personally involved did not help them or me. But I felt Adrian's pain. He had entered a long tunnel from which he might never emerge.
I said: "You sure you don't want me to go with you?"
"No, I've got to do this on my own."
"OK. But we'll go bike riding on Saturday morning, right?"
"Of course."
I rose and gave him a long hug. "Life is hell right now, but things will get better - believe me."
A long, grey sigh. "I doubt that - I really do. OK, I'll speak to you both later."
He tried to straighten his shoulders, without success, and stumbled off into a dark future.