As the murder trial drew close, a metal band around my head slowly tightened and I lost an hour of sleep every night. The best antidote to stress is preparation. So I spent the week before the trial soldering the facts of the case into my brain, planning cross-examinations and rehearsing submissions to the jury. The Legal Aid Office would not pay a penny for any of that work.
I was not concerned that the prosecution could prove Tuan Ho entered and left the Kam Fuk Restaurant around the time Vincent Lee was murdered. Tuan Ho's claim that he found Lee dead and then panicked was at least plausible. But I was deeply concerned about the evidence that the murder weapon was found in his apartment the following afternoon. I had to create at least a reasonable suspicion that Hanrahan and Mostyn planted it. Otherwise, the jurors would not draw a breath before convicting my client.
However, creating a suspicion would be hard because, as I knew from personal experience, if they handed out an Academy Award for Best Witness, Hanrahan would win every year. I also had no doubt that Mostyn would give him stiff competition. Further, if I wanted to convince the jury that Hanrahan and Mostyn planted the pistol, I had to allege they had a motive to do so. As far as I could see, the only possible motive was that they murdered Vincent Lee and wanted to transfer blame. But I had absolutely no proof of that.
That meant I was desperate to watch the CCTV footage taken outside the Cash is King pawn shop around the time of the murder. Maybe, if I was spectacularly lucky, it would show Hanrahan or Mostyn passing the pawn shop on their way in or out of the Kam Fuk Restaurant. For that reason, I had badgered Clint Andersen to write to the DPP and ask for that footage and any other surveillance footage the police collected after the shooting. I also told him to request the entries that Hanrahan and Mostyn made in their notebooks on the day of the shooting and the next day. He eventually succumbed and grumpily wrote the letter.
The trial was due to start on a Monday. On the Thursday beforehand, Clint phoned me. "The DPP responded to my letter: there's good news and bad news."
"The good news first."
"OK. They have the CCTV footage from the pawn shop; they didn't include it in the prosecution brief because they didn't think it was important."
The DPP obviously thought Tuan Ho's guilt was beyond dispute, so the only CCTV footage that mattered was from the rear of the restaurant. "Is that the only surveillance footage they've held back? Is there any more?"
"Nope. They say that's the lot."
"Have you looked at it?" I was being polite. Clint was too lazy to watch the film.
"I haven't had a chance; it's about 12 hours long."
"OK, and the bad news?"
"They sent me extracts from Hanrahan and Mostyn's notebooks."
"And?"
"No entries on the day of the shooting: they were both rostered off."
"Both?"
"Yup."
"And the next day?"
"The entries just mention that they arrested Tuan Ho. That's hardly controversial."
Damn. That meant the pawn shop CCTV footage was probably my last chance to pin the murder on one of the detectives. "OK, will you send over the footage straight away?"
"Yep, we'll even pay for a courier."
"I'm honoured. Thanks."
Two hours later, a courier delivered a small parcel from Clint containing a flash drive. I stuck it into a computer port and saw, on the screen, the pavement outside the pawn shop. The colour footage had good resolution and showed clearly the faces of passing pedestrians. I had found, on the internet, a photograph of Mostyn escorting a manacled prisoner into a police station, so now I knew what both detectives looked like. I fast forwarded the footage to 10 a.m. and played it at normal speed, hoping one of them would appear. Sometimes, I even froze the screen to study the face of a pedestrian who looked a little unusual. However, during two hours in front of the screen, I saw no sign of Hanrahan or Mostyn. Indeed, most of the pedestrians looked innocuous. The only one who really piqued my curiosity was a bulky guy in a leather jacket and jeans. He scuttled in the direction of the restaurant at 10.20 a.m. and returned at 10.35 a.m. carrying a small bag. However, I didn't recognise him and dismissed him from my mind.
Of course, the mere fact that Hanrahan and Mostyn did not appear on the surveillance footage did not clear them of murder. One of them could have easily approached the restaurant from the other direction or from straight across the street. However, the fact remained that, after viewing the footage, I had no evidence that either detective was involved in the murder of Vincent Lee.
That put me in an ethical bind. I could accuse the detectives of planting the pistol in my client's apartment, because my client gave me clear instructions, based on first-hand knowledge, that they did. But I could not go further and, based on pure speculation, accuse them of murder. If I did, I would piss off everybody in the courtroom, including the judge, who would probably abort the trial and report me to the Bar Association. As a consequence, my defence of Tuan Ho would be hamstrung: I could accuse the detectives of planting the murder weapon, but not say what their motive was. Perhaps, if I was lucky, the jury would insert the missing piece. But I would be surprised if they did.
Maybe I was being too precious about throwing mud at the detectives. The greatest benefit of belonging to a set of chambers is that you can quickly buttonhole a veteran barrister for advice, and he is honour-bound to provide it. I wandered along the corridor and into Bert Larsen's room, where he sat behind his desk, reading a newspaper.
I said: "Bert, got a moment?"
He folded the paper and tossed it onto his desk. "Of course. Take a pew."
I dropped into a battered leather armchair. "I've got a murder trial coming up and need some advice."
"Is this your first one?"
"Yup."
"Congratulations. You nervous?"
"Definitely."
A smile. "Good. No tight gut, no music. What's the problem?"
I summarised the prosecution case against Tuan Ho and his allegation that the two detectives planted the murder weapon in his apartment. "I know I can accuse them of planting it. The big question is whether I can go further and accuse them of murdering Vincent Lee. I reckon that's the only way they could have got their hands on the murder weapon. But that's pure speculation on my part. I've got no evidence. So I don't think I can accuse them of murder, even if that leaves a big hole in my case."
A wrinkly smile. "You're right. You can't go that far. That's a damn heavy accusation that needs at least some concrete evidence to support it."
I sighed. "That gurgling you hear is the sound of the defence sinking to the bottom of the ocean."
A wry smile. "Maybe, if you're lucky, the evidence you need will turn up or one of the detectives will drop a clanger in the witness box."
"What if that doesn't happen?"
"Do what all good barristers do when they've got a lousy case."