CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The following Tuesday, at 10 a.m., Helen Lawson and I strolled out of Thomas Erskine Chambers and headed for the car park under St Mary's Cathedral where I left my Honda Hatchback. I was going to drive us to the locus delicti.
As we strolled between the Morton Bay Fig trees in Hyde Park, she said, casually: "Have you heard about the claim against Derek Hoogland?"
I had to be cautious. She was his junior in at least one big commercial case and might already be an acolyte. "I've heard a bit about it."
"It's a claim for sexual harassment, right? A receptionist has sued him?"
"That's what I've heard."
"She claims he groped her?"
"So I'm told."
"Wow. Is it true?"
Of course it was true. But I still didn't know where her allegiances lay. "I wasn't there and haven't cross-examined either party. We shall see."
"Surely, Derek wouldn't do something like that."
Surely, he would. "Hard for me to say: I don't know him very well."
A suspicious stare. "You're not rushing to his defence, are you? In fact, nobody's rushing to his defence."
"That's because he's not very popular."
"Why not?"
Because he does a good imitation of a Bond supervillain. I shrugged. "Not for me to say."
"You're being very obtuse."
I smiled. "I am, aren't I?"
"OK, so who's appearing for the receptionist?"
I smiled. "Someone you know too well."
"Really?"
"Yes. In fact, he's on our Floor."
She laughed. "You're kidding?"
"Nope."
"Who?"
"Wayne Newhouse."
"Shit. Why did he get involved?"
"Because he detests Hoogland and likes the receptionist."
"Why does he detest Derek?"
"Wayne doesn't like people with power and authority; he prefers to cut them down to size."
"Are people on the Floor upset that he's acting for the receptionist?"
"I don't think so. He's just doing his job in his usual abrupt and insensitive manner."
"He doesn't care if Derek gets upset?"
"That will be a bonus as far as he's concerned."
"He's an interesting guy."
"Fascinating. But please don't try to copy his style. That would be a mistake. At least, during your early years at the Bar, you should try to make friends, not enemies."
She smiled. "I guess you're right."
We entered the underground car park and got into my vehicle. I drove around to the tall glass building that housed the Legal Aid Office. Clint Andersen stood on the pavement, holding a small backpack and looking like he slept the night in his car. I had warned him that Helen was coming along. He climbed onto the back seat and nodded to her. "Hello, I'm Clint Andersen."
"Hello, Helen Lawson."
As I pulled away from the curb, Clint said: "Brad said you're Richard Lawson's daughter."
"That's right."
"He has a big reputation. I haven't read any of his judgments, I'm afraid, because he only hears civil appeals, but I'm sure they're very good."
I said: "You don't read any judgments - full stop."
A grin. "Mmm, I guess that's true. My brain won't process any more law." He glanced back at Helen. "So, you're doing your criminal reading with Brad?"
"Yes. I hope you don't mind me coming along."
"Of course not. The more the merrier."
"Do you usually go out to crime scenes?"
"No, but this is a murder case and I'm feeding off Brad's enthusiasm."
"He's enthusiastic?"
"Very. I haven't seen such a hungry barrister for ages."
"That's good, isn't it?"
A dramatic sigh. "Yes, but very tiring."
I had to laugh. I negotiated the tight streets of the city centre and swung onto a freeway heading west. The roads grew wider, gaps started appearing between buildings, the pavements sprouted cracks, the graffiti grew more despairing, and the air became hotter and dustier. Big trucks rumbled back and forth.
The Cabramatta shopping area - "Little Saigon" – was full of Vietnamese stores and even had a Buddhist temple. Little old men played mah-jong in the park. I drove past the Kam Fuk Restaurant. The front windows were shuttered and a big "For Lease" sign stood on the awning.
I circled the block and parked in the huge car park behind the restaurant - the one Vincent Lee and Tuan Ho used on the fateful morning. As we got out, I saw it mostly serviced the Coles Supermarket next to the restaurant. We strolled around to the front of the restaurant, which had a laneway running down the side.
A uniformed policeman stood on the pavement, waiting for us. The pride of the force is rarely sent to give defence lawyers access to crime scenes. This guy had several layers of un-jolly fat and a suspicious stare. He should have got a job that didn't require him to tuck in his shirt.
Clint introduced the three of us and he identified himself as Constable Wilson, from the local station. The constable unlocked the dragon-engraved front door, told us not to disturb anything and led us inside. His rolling gait emphasised the big pistol clanking on his hip.
The large dining area had hanging scrolls on the walls and a sick-green carpet, but no furniture. The huge fish tank in the middle was empty. The odour of soy sauce hung in the air.
"I used to eat here," the police officer said wistfully. "Good food."
"I assume that, after the shooting, it didn't reopen?"
"Correct."
He led us through the kitchen into a small office where two gunmetal grey filing cabinets stood behind a pinewood desk. A framed photo of Chiang Kai-Shek hung, for some reason, on the wall.
Cleaners had removed all traces of blood. The only signs of violence were a high-backed swivel chair lying on its side and a couple of bullet marks in the side wall. The small wall safe behind the desk was still open and still empty.
I closely inspected the safe and the bullet holes in the wall, because I felt obliged to do so. I idly pulled open the desk drawer. Just stationery and several packs of chewing gum.
I turned to the police officer. "I understand Lee was a big drug boss."
He shrugged. "You'll have to ask the detectives. I just pound the pavement. Finished?"
"Yup. But we'd better have a look out the back."
We followed the police officer out of the office and through a side door which took us onto the lane running down the side of the building. We followed it for about five metres until we reached a large concrete apron behind the restaurant. Beyond an open gate was the car park in which Vincent Lee and Tuan Ho parked before Death came prowling. I glanced up and saw the CCTV camera that filmed them enter the restaurant and Tuan Ho leave.
Visiting the scene had taught me nothing new. I sighed and looked at the cop. "OK, that's enough sleuthing. Let's get out of here."
We followed him back through the dining area and out the front entrance. The cop locked the front door and slouched off, pistol still clanking.
Helen looked cheeky. "Have you cracked the case?"
"Nope, but I am hungry." I glanced at both of them. "What about lunch? There's a great Vietnamese soup restaurant around the corner. Went there the last time I visited a crime scene out this way."
They both nodded and followed me around the corner to a shabby-looking restaurant with a big lobster tank against one wall. It was just before noon and there were plenty of empty tables. We sat near the back and Helen went off to the toilet.
Clint muttered. "She's a good looking sort."
I squinted at a menu. "I didn't know you were paying attention."
"I'm as horny as the next man. In fact, after being married for twenty-five years, I'm a lot hornier than the next man. Anyway, I think she's interested in you."
That made me peer over the menu at him. "No, she's not."
"Yes, she is. I can tell."
"How?"
"Whe
n she looks at you, her eyes get bigger."
"No, they don't."
"I'm sure they do. Is she seeing anyone?"
"I have absolutely no idea."
Helen returned, sat down and looked at me with, I thought, normal-sized eyes. What was Clint squawking about? She said: "You know, last week, I inspect some sewage pipes that broke and flooded a factory. This is a lot more exciting. I've always wanted to do some criminal defence work."
I said: "You've watched a lot of courtroom dramas, haven't you?"
A faint blush. "A few."
"You're right: the work is exciting and interesting. But there are drawbacks: the stakes are high, the money is lousy and your clients are often dumb, poor or flat-out crazy. Lots are rapists or child molesters. Life has treated them like shit and they've hit back. And, if you get them off one charge, they'll end up in gaol for another. If Tuan Ho wins, he won't be free for long."
"But you still enjoy the work?"
"Of course."
Clint snorted. "He enjoys it because he can get up in court and spout a lot of crap to juries. The government rounds up 12 innocent victims, puts them in a jury box and makes them listen to him. They can't run and they can't hide. It's cruel."
It was hard to believe I promised to pay for his meal. "That's not true. I enjoy the job because I can raise the rusty sword of justice to protect the weak and innocent."
He snorted and displayed mock horror. "Oh, God, you're a do-gooder. I never realised."
I grinned. "I'm not ashamed of that."
"You should be."
When our food arrived, Clint shovelled his down and finished first.
I said: "How was it?"
He dabbed his mouth with a serviette. "I'll be back."
When Helen and I finished, a waiter brought the bill.
She said: "I'll chip in."
I shook my head. "Don't you dare. One of the great traditions of the Bar is that the senior barrister always pays for lunch."
Clint leaned forward. "... including the solicitor's lunch."
"Correct. The last time a solicitor tried to pay for lunch, the barrister had a heart attack and was never the same again."
She frowned. "That doesn't seem fair. These days, solicitors often earn a lot more than barristers."
Clint said: "I'm just a public servant."
She rolled her eyes.
After I paid the bill, we strolled out onto the pavement. I looked up and down the street, now packed with shoppers and office workers hunting for lunch, and switched my mind back to the Tuan Ho case.
Clint said: "'We heading back to town?"
"Not yet. If Hanrahan and Mostyn planted the murder weapon in Tuan Ho's apartment, they obviously acquired it before that."
"Of course."
"In other words, one of them must have used it to murder Vincent Lee."
"That sounds right. But you're assuming our client told the truth about the pistol being planted."
"Of course. But it's for the jury to poke holes in his story, not us."
"Fair enough."
"So, if one of them shot Vincent Lee, how did he enter and leave the restaurant? He obviously didn't use the rear exit, because he doesn't appear on the CCTV footage. So, he must have used either the front entrance of the side lane."
"That makes sense."
"So, let's see if any CCTV cameras cover the front of the restaurant."
Clint's sigh said he wanted to return to his office and have a nap. "OK."
We strolled around the corner to the front of the restaurant and saw no CCTV cameras attached to the building. Damn. The building on the right was a grey brick Coles Supermarket. No CCTV cameras on its façade either. Shit.
On the other side was a pawn shop called Cash is King. I strolled over to the front entrance and saw a CCTV camera tucked under the awning. Great.
I turned to my companions. "I want to pop into the pawn shop."
Clint said: "Why?"
I pointed at the camera. "That."
Inside, metal racks running around the walls were laden with guitars, stereo systems and other pawned items. At the back of the store was a glass-topped display counter. A ginger-haired guy with freckles and matching gold ear studs stood behind it, telling an elderly customer that a cordless drill on sale was in top condition. The wary-looking customer said he'd speak to his wife about it and strolled off.
Ginger-nut turned and eyed us suspiciously. A tattooed dragon was wrapped around his right arm. An ex-con?
I said: "Hello, my name's Brad Norton. I'm a barrister. I act for the guy charged with murdering Vincent Lee last year."
"You mean, the guy murdered next door? Wow. What're you doing here?"
"We're checking out the crime scene. The trial's about two weeks away."
"You mean, your client pleaded not guilty?"
"Yep."
A snaggle-toothed grin. "You going to get him off?"
Why be coy? "Of course, that's my job."
"Shit, you're confident. Wish I had you when I was on trial."
"What were you charged with?"
A dismissive wave. "Not relevant. But I bet your client goes down. It's fuckin' obvious he was the shooter."
I grinned. "Why do you say that?"
"He wuz seen running from the restaurant and had the murder weapon in his apartment, didn't he? Open and shut case."
"He says the murder victim was already dead when he arrived."
A loud snort. "Yeah, right. Then why did he run like a jackrabbit?"
Hopefully, this guy wouldn't be a juror. "He feared his presence at the scene might be, well, misconstrued."
His laugh made heavy ginger eyebrows waggle violently. "You'll need a hell of a lot more than a big word to keep him out of gaol." A shrug. "Or maybe not. Lots of dumb-shits around. If you're lucky, there'll be some on the jury."
I almost nodded. "Were you in this shop when the shooting happened?"
"Yeah, but I didn't hear any shots or anything. In fact, I didn't know anything was up until I heard the police sirens."
"When you heard them, did you have customers?"
A wrinkled brow. "Hard to remember; I don't think so."
"Did you go outside?"
"Just onto the pavement to watch the cop cars arrive. Then I stayed in here until a couple of uniformed cops turned up an hour later."
"What did they want?"
"Wanted to know if I saw anything."
"And you said you didn't?"
"Exactly."
"You're got a surveillance camera outside, haven't you?"
"Yep, one outside and one inside."
"What does the one outside film?"
"It's on the screen up there." He pointed to a wall-mounted television at the end of the counter. The split screen displayed colour footage from both cameras. The outside camera filmed the pavement in front of the entrance, but not as far as the restaurant.
I said: "Do you still have the film the outside camera took on the day of the shooting?"
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"The cops took it."
"Which cops?"
"The ones I just told you about. They asked for any surveillance footage in case it showed the shooter; said that was their standard M.O."
"You gave it to them?"
"Of course. I like to stay tight with the cops, 'cos they can put me out of business if they want. I gave them twelve hours of film. Said they'd need plenty of popcorn, hah, hah."
"What was the film stored on when you gave it to the cops?"
A scowl. "It was originally stored on the hard-drive of my computer. I transferred it onto a big flash drive, which the bastards still haven't given back, of course."
"What happened to the film on the hard-drive?"
"Got erased, of course. It's on a seven-day loop."
Damn. "And you didn't keep a copy yourself?"
"Why would I?"
I looked at Clint. "Did the DPP send you that footage?"
"Nope. Either the cops didn't give it to the DPP or the DPP didn't think it was worth passing on."
I bet the DPP got the film and decided it wasn't relevant. But I wanted to make my own assessment of that. "OK. Will you ask for it and any other CCTV footage they might have? We don't have much time."
Clint was a reluctant worker. However, for once, probably to impress Helen, he sounded decisive. "Will do."
"Thanks. And ask them for Hanrahan and Mostyn's notebook entries on the day of the shooting and the next day when they arrested Tuan Ho."
"OK."
We returned to my car and I drove them back to town. I probably should have turned the crime scene over in my mind like a good sleuth. Instead, I wondered if Clint was right about Helen being interested in me. I really had no idea. But one thing was certain. At least, for the moment, I wasn't interested in her. She was pleasant and attractive. But I had a murder trial coming up and I had to focus on that. The rest of my life had to go on hold.