CHAPTER TWENTY
On Friday evening, after gorging myself for a week on the facts of R v Tuan Ho, I could digest no more. I wearily rose to my feet and vowed to go home and spend the weekend not thinking about the case.
I failed miserably in that endeavour. Throughout the weekend, in the back of my mind, the trial tramped remorselessly towards me. Appearing in a murder trial required no extra skill. But I discovered the pressure was greater, on me anyway. My client was accused of committing the ultimate crime and would, if convicted, spend a huge chunk of his life behind bars. I wanted to know that, if he was convicted, I did the best job possible.
Detective Inspector Hanrahan also preyed on my mind. His involvement in the case was probably innocent and coincidental. But if he did frame my client, I wanted to expose him. I certainly did not want to receive another forensic beating.
The only time I really stopped worrying about the trial was on Sunday afternoon, when I went bicycle riding in Centennial Park with Adrian Calhoun. It would have been indulgent to keep worrying, because his problems clearly dwarfed my own. In the two weeks since he was charged with insider trading, his eyes had recessed, deep new lines had appeared on his face and he had lost a lot of weight.
We met up outside the main gate and rode along the four-kilometre cycle track inside of the park. It was a lovely afternoon, without a speck of cloud. The lazy sun extracted a small amount of sweat. Ducks in convoys voyaged around the sparkling ponds. Adrian was especially energetic and we powered around the track until we were both exhausted.
Afterward, we drank beers at a local pub. He said he had an appointment to see Dennis "Frosty" O'Toole SC in a few days' time to discuss his prospects. However, he obviously didn't want to talk about the charges against him, so we chatted about sport and friends instead.
That night, I slept better than expected, but still woke early. While dawn climbed over the balcony and sat on the end of my bed, I stared at the ceiling and listened to a breakfast announcer yabber about his wonderful weekend. I tried to savour the calm before the storm. But my gut soon turned hollow. Eventually, I got out of bed and slouched into the kitchen. It's very easy, during a big trial, to skip meals and fritter away stamina, so I forced a big bowl of porridge into my queasy stomach.
I caught a train to the city and tramped into Chambers, where I sat behind my desk and resisted the temptation to flip through my brief again. Instead, I read the Sydney Morning Herald with wavering attention. Time moved on hobbled feet. All I wanted now was for the trial to begin.
Helen Lawson appeared just before nine o'clock. She wasn't robed because she wouldn't be sitting with me at the bar table; she wore a well-cut business suit and heavy makeup instead, as if this was a special occasion. My funeral?
She looked excited. "How do you feel?"
I smiled. "Alright. But if I start panicking in court, slap me across the face, OK?"
She laughed. "Don't worry, I'll give you a big uppercut."
"Don't miss."
Wanting a distraction, I asked what she did over the weekend. She burbled about shopping for clothes and seeing a movie about Spanish bullfighting, of all things. I nodded and grunted, but my brain kept drifting off to compile a list of things that could go wrong in the forthcoming trial.
While Helen described the death of the bullfighter - was this a movie or a documentary? - the receptionist phoned and said that my instructing solicitor, Clint Andersen, had arrived. I told her to send him around.
A minute later, Clint strolled into my room, pushing a metal trolley that held the prosecution and defence briefs. His promptness surprised me. I had known him to arrive half-an-hour after a trial started. Maybe he made an exception for murder trials.
"Morning all," he chirped and looked at me. "Ready?"
"Yep, but not confident."
"Join the club. Wish we could torture our client until he pleads guilty."
"I don't think that would change his mind. Have you looked on the court website to see which judge we've drawn?"
"Yep, it's 'Wrong' Stevens."
I shrugged. "Could be worse."
Helen said: "'Wrong' Stevens? Why's he called that?"
I said: "His real name's Ron Stevens. A few years ago, the Attorney General wanted to offer a Supreme Court appointment to a silk called Ray Stevens. However, a flunky accidentally rang up Ron and offered him the gig. Ron was not a high flier. So he grabbed the offer with both hands and ran around telling everyone about his good fortune."
"My God. Why didn't the A-G say it was a mistake?"
"That would have been too embarrassing for all involved. Better to have the wrong person on the bench."
"You're kidding? So what's he like?"
"Actually, he's not bad. He's not flashy, but he calls a fair game. The only problem is that, if Tuan Ho goes down, he'll throw the book at him. He's definitely a punisher."
"That's a worry."
I turned to Clint. "Which courtroom are we in?"
"The old Banco Court."
Only a hundred metres away. "Good."
There was no point chatting about the case. So we discussed the movie Helen went to see. However, I was preoccupied with the forthcoming trial and kept losing the thread of the conversation.
At 9.30 a.m., I opened a small cupboard, fished out my gown, bar jacket and jabot, and the wig I kept in a biscuit tin, and slipped them on. I turned to the others and smiled. "Alright folks, it's court time."
As I headed for the door, Helen said: "By the way, what happened to Ray Stevens?"
"You mean 'Right' Stevens? He's still waiting for the A-G to offer him a judicial appointment."
"Poor guy."
It was good - no, great - to get moving. As I led them out of the building and along Phillip Street, my nerves started to settle.
We passed through the shadow of the 23-storey Supreme Court tower and reached the Old Supreme Court Building. The original part was built during the early days of the colony, when murder trials only lasted an hour or two and those convicted were strung up in the yard. Various extensions had created an irregular sandstone structure.
After being searched at a security checkpoint, we descended a flight of stairs to the holding cells. A Sheriff's Officer opened a heavy metal door and escorted us to a tiny cell with a white Formica table. Tuan Ho sat waiting for us, wearing an insincere suit and looking preternaturally calm.
I introduced Helen and explained that she was present for work experience and I would do all the talking in court. His shrug indicated one barrister was as good as another one.
I considered asking again if he wanted to plead guilty. But he had clearly said he didn't and, if I displayed my doubts, might lose confidence in me. So I had little to say, except warn him not to laugh, smile or otherwise annoy the jury.
We left him and climbed the stairs to the Banco Court, the most splendid courtroom in the state. Added to the courthouse in the 1860s, it had a large skylight embedded in an ornamental zinc ceiling. The furniture was all made of intricately carved cedar and included a massive canopy over the judge's bench. A slightly raised jury box on one side faced the prisoner's dock on the other. A spacious public gallery jutted out over the well of the courtroom. Everyone sat on leather cushions. It was built during the days when judges sat closer to God and courtrooms provided the best theatre in town.
I'd hoped the Director of Public Prosecutions would allocate a second-rate Crown Prosecutor to this trial. Instead, Jane Tomasic sat at the bar table, arranging her folders. She was a formidable opponent with a quick mind and lots of jury-charm. I fell in love with her pert features and big eyes the first time I saw her in court, prosecuting one of my clients. After he was convicted, I asked her out for a drink.
"I'm afraid, I must decline."
"Why? I'm told my manners are much improved."
She smiled. "I'm sure they're excellent, but my girlfriend wouldn't approve."
"Oh."
Later, I heard she lived in a Paddington
terrace with a bank executive girlfriend and two cats. What a crying shame.
Prosecutors are supposed to be balanced and impartial officers of the court, but I've seen little evidence of that. Like everybody else in the legal game, they like to win and hate trudging back to their office to tell their boss that another scumbag was back on the street because they played it nice. It was much smarter, career-wise, to hide evidence and mangle the facts. Jane was more honest than most, but less honest than she pretended. Her presence was not good news for my client.
I said: "I see I have a worthy opponent this time."
She looked up and smiled. "Brad, you're appearing for the defendant?"
"Yep."
"Not being led?"
"No. Allowed out on my own. Let me introduce Helen Lawson, who's doing her criminal reading with me."
Jane raised her wafer-thin eyebrows. But she was too polite to ask if Helen was the daughter of the President of the Court of Appeal. They shook hands. "Hello, you have my sympathy. I hope you survive the experience."
I said: "Gee, you're in a mean mood."
A sharp frown. "I'm entitled to be: your client's wasting everyone's time."
"How?"
"He's obviously guilty."
"He firmly denies that."
She laughed. "Really? Then who shot Vincent Lee?"
"I don't have to finger the culprit. That's your job." I struck a relaxed pose. "But look, I'm sure I can persuade him to plead guilty to manslaughter, if you'll drop the murder charge. What do you say?"
She shook her head. "Nope. I couldn't sell that to the Director. He pleads guilty to murder or nuffin'."
A defiant shrug. "You'll live to regret your stubbornness."
"Why?"
"Wait and see," I said, trying to sound ominous. "Anyway, did you get our letter saying who we want available for cross-examination?"
She frowned. "Yep, they'll be here when needed."
"Good."
"Though why do you want to cross-examine Hanrahan and Mostyn? All they did was arrest your client? Let me just read out their witness statements."
I shook my head. "No, I want to cross-examine them. They're probably not important, but I've got to look like I'm earning my fee."
A suspicious look. "You're up to something, aren't you?"
A bland smile. "Of course not."
"Yes, you are." Raised eyebrows. "Oh, I get it: you're going to accuse them of planting the murder weapon, aren't you? You won't get anywhere with that and you'll just piss off the jury, big time."
It was hard to fault her reasoning. But I remembered Bert's injunction to look confident at all times. "Be patient and all will be revealed."
I moved over to my side of the bar table and started taking folders off the metal trolley and arranging them on the table. Clint and Helen sat behind me.
I finished my chore and glanced around at the dozen or so spectators, mostly elderly, in the public gallery. They looked like murder-trial groupies rather than relatives or friends of Tuan Ho. Half-a-dozen reporters sat in the press box next to me. The nearest was Carol Rolfe from the Sydney Morning Herald, who I knew quite well. Chubby and good-humoured, she spent a lot of time chewing on the end of a pencil, which she was doing right now. Occasionally, when she wrote an article about a trial in which I appeared, some of her reporting was accurate.
I said: "Hello Carol, will you be here for the whole trial?"
She looked shocked. "Of course not. I'll probably just stay for the prosecution's opening address and shoot through."
"That's not very balanced."
"Tell my editor. He expects me to be in three courts at once. At eleven, I've got to cover the bail hearing of that rugby league player charged with rape."
"You can't miss that," I said sarcastically.
"Of course not." She grinned. "But I might come back for the prosecution's closing address."
"What about mine?"
"I'll pop in, if I'm not busy. I like listening to you."
I rolled my eyes. "Thanks."
A minute later, the invisible hand of the Judge's Tipstaff rapped three times on the door behind the bench. Everyone stood and the Tipstaff led Justice Ron Stevens through the door. The judge, wearing a wig and a scarlet robe with grey silk facings, scurried onto the bench like a fugitive. I sometimes wondered if he knew a mistake put him on the bench. He acted like he did.
As usual, at the beginning of a trial, my nerves subsided. There was no point worrying anymore about whether I had done enough preparation or would do a good job. The prosecution would soon start pumping out evidence and there would be no time for doubts or second thoughts.
The judge had a fluty voice. "Morning, everyone."
Jane Tomasic said: "Morning, your Honour. I appear for the prosecution."
"Thank you, Madam Crown."
"And I appear from the accused, your Honour."
"Thank you, Mr Norton." He turned to the Sheriff's Officer loitering at the side of the court. "Alright, Officer, bring up the accused."
A minute later, Tuan Ho climbed the stairs that finished in the dock, with two burly Sheriff's Officers behind him. He sat down and smiled deferentially at the judge, the prosecutor and me. He looked too young and fresh-faced to have murdered anyone.
The judge asked his Associate, sitting just below him, to arraign the accused and I signalled for Tuan Ho to stand. The Associate read out the murder charge and asked Tuan how he pleaded. He spoke nonchalantly: "Totally not guilty".
I leaned over to Jane Tomasic. "You see, I told you so."
She didn't smile.
A Sheriff's Officer led twenty prospective jurors into the courtroom and sat them in the public gallery. Each received a small disc with an identification number. The Associate drew numbers from a ballot box until twelve were selected and sat in the jury box.
The judge told them the case would last about four days and asked if any had a pressing reason to be excused. When several cited work or family commitments, he apologetically said those reasons were not pressing enough.
Jane Tomasic made no preemptory challenges and I challenged a couple of sour-looking old guys who probably didn't like Vietnamese toughs. They were quickly replaced and each of the jurors swore an oath to faithfully discharge their duty.
The Associate read out the charge again and the judge turned to the jury. "Members of the jury, you will have to decide whether the accused, Tuan Ho, murdered Mr Vincent Lee at the Kam Fuk Restaurant on 27 July last year. During the trial, I will give you guidance about the law and the facts. You will now hear the opening address of the Crown Prosecutor." He looked at Jane Tomasic. "Madam Crown ..."
She rose and looked at each juror in turn, as she was taught to do at forensic skills seminars. "Members of the jury, we are here because, on 27 July last year, Mr Vincent Lee was shot dead in his office at the rear of the Kam Fuk Restaurant in Cabramatta, which he owned. The prosecution case is that, at about 10.40 a.m., he was working alone in his office. The accused entered with a pistol and forced him to open his safe. We don't know what was inside the safe. But, whatever it was, the accused stole it. Then he shot Mr Lee three times and fled.
"The next day, two detectives arrested the accused at his apartment in Canley Vale. They took him to the Cabramatta Police Station, where Homicide Squad detectives interviewed him. You will be shown a videotape of that interview. During the interview, the accused denied killing Vincent Lee. He claimed that, when he entered the office, he found Vincent Lee on the floor, already dead. The prosecution will ask you to disbelieve his denial. It says a large amount of evidence proves the accused shot Vincent Lee.
"In particular, the prosecution will rely on two key pieces of evidence. The first is footage from a CCTV camera mounted behind the restaurant. It shows that, at 10.10 a.m., Mr Lee parked his car behind the restaurant and entered the rear office carrying a small bag; it also shows that, at 10.40 a.m., the accused parked behind the restaurant and entered the office. Seven minute
s later, the accused ran out of the office, got into his vehicle and drove off. A cook arrived at the restaurant shortly afterward and found Mr Lee's dead body. The cook contacted the police.
"The second key piece of evidence is that the murder weapon was found, the next day, in the accused's apartment. Two detectives from the Western Sydney Narcotics Strikeforce - Detectives Hanrahan and Mostyn - will give evidence that, at about 2 p.m., they raided the accused's apartment and arrested him. Later that afternoon, a team from the Police Forensics Unit searched the apartment and found the murder weapon hidden in a wardrobe. Obviously, members of the jury, only the murderer would have had that weapon."
Her delivery was relaxed and calm, and the jurors were transfixed. The prosecution certainly had a strong case against my client. My goodness, it did. I feigned boredom while fighting an internal war against defeatism.
As Jane Tomasic sat down, all of the reporters scurried out of the courtroom with just enough time to file their copy before attending the bail hearing of the rugby league player.
Defence counsel is entitled, after the prosecutor's opening address, to outline his client's defence. I had very little to outline. So I rose to my feet and smiled. "Good morning, members of the jury. My name is Brad Norton and I appear for the accused, Mr Tuan Ho. I will keep my remarks brief at this stage. I just want to make it clear that Mr Ho denies that he murdered Vincent Lee. Yes, he visited the restaurant as the prosecution alleges. He went there to ask Vincent Lee for a job as a waiter. However, when he walked into the office, Vincent Lee lay on the floor, already dead. Obviously, at that point, he should have called the police and the ambulance service. However, he panicked and ran away. That makes him a fool, not a murderer. Further, he denies ever having the murder weapon in his possession and denies putting it in his wardrobe. Thank you, for your time."
The judge looked a little surprised at my brevity. However, he quickly turned to my opponent. "Madam Crown, are you ready to go into evidence?"
"Yes, your Honour. First, I want to show footage from the CCTV camera behind the restaurant. I don't think its authenticity is in doubt."
The judge glanced at me and I said: "It's not, your Honour."
"Alright then, let's see it."
Jane gave a DVD to the Associate, who inserted it into a DVD player. Sharp colour footage of the area behind the restaurant appeared on the big screens that hung on each side of the courtroom. The footage had a rolling date-time stamp in the bottom left-hand corner. The Associate hit the "play" button and the jurors watched Vincent Lee walk from the car park into the rear of the restaurant. Jane then asked the Associate to fast-forward the footage to 20 minutes later. The Associate obeyed and pressed "play" again. After about a minute, Tuan Ho also walked from the car park into the rear of the restaurant, wearing a duffle coat. Seven minutes later, he rushed back out and disappeared into the car park.
Jane said to the Associate. "That's enough, thank you."
The screen went blank and the Judge said: "Alright, Madam Crown, call your first witness."
The prosecution had to prove that Vincent Lee was murdered, rather than died of a bee sting, a food allergy, a mighty stroke or some other natural cause. Therefore, the first prosecution witness was a female forensic pathologist called Eileen Smail, who wore round metal glasses and looked a bit corpse-like herself.
Jane Tomasic got her to explain that Vincent Lee died because someone fired three bullets into his chest from close range. Death quickly followed. I didn't bother cross-examining her.
The next witness was the cook at the restaurant who arrived at work at 11.05 a.m. and found Vincent Lee shot dead on the floor of his office. He immediately called the police and ambulance services, which arrived ten minutes later. I didn't cross-examine him either.
Jane Tomasic then called the first police officer to reach the scene. Constable Victor Herron was in his mid-twenties, with clean-cut features and a barrel chest. He clearly enjoyed being the centre of attention in a murder trial, instead of refereeing domestic disputes or handing out speeding tickets.
He described how he arrived at the restaurant at 11.15 a.m. and found Vincent Lee on the floor of his office in a pool of blood.
The prosecutor said: "What did you do next?"
"After confirming that the deceased was, well, deceased, I immediately sealed off the office to prevent any contamination of the crime scene."
"Thank you."
I did not bother to cross-examine him either.
Constable Herron departed and Sergeant Vincent Sturgeon, a balding crime scene technician in the Forensics Unit, got into the witness box. He described how, when he arrived at the crime scene, about an hour after the shooting, the corpse was still on the floor.
The prosecutor said: "You filmed the crime scene?"
"Yes."
The jury was shown that 20-minute film. The Sergeant's camera lingered for a long time over the blood-spattered corpse, almost in a foetal position. Then it zoomed up to show an empty safe in the wall behind the desk.
When the film stopped, the Sergeant described how, after the corpse was removed, his team examined the crime scene and bagged all evidence.
"The deceased was shot three times?"
"Yes, three times in the chest, from close range. One bullet lodged in his chest; the other two passed through his body and lodged in the wall behind him."
The prosecutor gave the witness, via the Court Officer, three plastic evidence bags containing bullets. "Are those the bullets fired into the deceased?"
"Yes."
She tendered the bullets and I did not object. The Associate attached exhibit stickers to the bags and passed them to the female jury foreperson, who handed them to the other jurors for inspection.
Jane Tomasic turned back to Sergeant Sturgeon. "Now, the next day you attended the apartment of the accused in Gunning Drive, Canley Vale?"
"Yes."
"Shortly after the accused was arrested?"
"Correct. He was already gone when we arrived. There was a uniformed officer guarding the scene."
"You were in charge of the team that searched the apartment?"
"Yes, there were three of us."
"And, during that search, you personally discovered a pistol in a wardrobe in the apartment?"
"That's right."
Jane handed the Court Officer a Luger pistol in a plastic bag and he gave it to the witness. "That's the pistol?"
"Yes."
"You examined the pistol for DNA?"
"Yes."
"Did you find any?"
"Yes, I found the accused's DNA."
She looked at the judge. "No further questions, your Honour."
The judge looked at me. "Mr Norton?"
I hadn't crossed swords with Sturgeon before and did not know his strengths and weaknesses. This would be a crash course. However, one thing was certain: he would not help me. Experts, even police experts, were supposed to be independent and above the fray. But I had never met one who was. They all rode for the brand.
"Sergeant Sturgeon, you told my learned friend that your tests showed the Luger pistol had the accused's DNA on it?"
"Yes, I did."
"You don't know how his DNA got onto the pistol, do you?"
"Umm, no. That would be conjecture."
"For instance, if someone took that pistol and rubbed it on the accused's bedclothes, that would put his DNA on the pistol, wouldn't it?"
"If his DNA was on the bedclothes, yes, it would."
"Most people leave their DNA on their bedclothes, don't they?"
"I guess so."
"You examined the pistol for fingerprints?"
"Yes."
"You didn't find the accused's fingerprints on it, did you?"
"There were no fingerprints on it. It looked like it had been rubbed clean."
The Sergeant's attempt to help the prosecution gave me an opening. "If someone rubbed the pistol on my client's bedclothes, that would rub it clean of fi
ngerprints, wouldn't it?"
He frowned. "I guess so."
I picked up my winnings and moved on. "Now, my client, Mr Ho, wore a duffle coat when he entered the Kam Fuk Restaurant, didn't he?"
"Umm, I'm not sure about that."
"Well, you were sitting in court earlier when CCTV footage of him entering the restaurant was played, weren't you?"
"Yes, I was."
"He wore a duffle coat, didn't he?"
"Oh, now you mention it: yes, he did."
"Your team found that duffle coat in his apartment, hanging in a wardrobe, didn't it?"
"I'm not sure. I'll have to look in the evidence register."
"Please do."
"It's in my briefcase, which I left over there." He pointed at the public gallery.
I looked at the judge. "Can the witness get his briefcase?"
The judge looked at the witness. "Go ahead."
The Sergeant ducked out of the witness box and recovered his briefcase from under the seat where he previously sat. Back in the witness box, he opened it, pulled out a bulky folder and leafed through it. As I expected, he nodded. "Yes, a duffle coat was taken from the wardrobe. In fact, we photographed it." He studied the photograph closely. "It looks like the one your client wore into the restaurant."
"Please give me the photograph."
Sergeant Sturgeon handed the photograph to the Court Officer, who passed it to me. It showed the duffle coat laid out on a flat surface. I tendered it, without objection.
I said: "Did you or any of your colleagues test that coat for gunshot residue?"
"We tested all the clothes found in the apartment for that."
"And you found no gunshot residue, did you?"
"Correct. We found nothing of interest on any of his clothes."
"Thank you." I glanced at the judge. "No further questions, your Honour."
While cross-examining the Sergeant, I sensed Jane Tomasic next to me was getting edgy. That was no surprise. It was now very clear to her that I would accuse Hanrahan and Mostyn of planting the murder weapon in the apartment.
As I sat down, she shot to her feet and asked for leave to re-examine the witness. I knew exactly what she planned to ask and that it was pointless to object. So, I didn't bother.
She turned towards the witness. "Sergeant, when someone fires a pistol, does that normally leave gunshot residue on that person's clothes?"
"Sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn't. The pistol shot creates a small cloud of particles in front of the pistol. Someone would only get residue on their clothes if they walked through that cloud. Further, it is quite easy to wash off the residue. After all, it's only a collection of small metal particles."
"Thank you."
I got to my feet and told the judge I had questions arising out of that answer. He told me to proceed.
I looked at the witness. "Sergeant, if a man fires three shots from a pistol in a small room, and then spends seven minutes moving around in that room, he will get gunshot residue on his clothes, won't he?"
The Sergeant saw the danger to the prosecution case. "I prefer not to speculate on that."
"You mean, you don't want to give an answer that will help the accused?"
Jane Tomasic jumped to her feet. "I object."
The judge looked at me. "Don't be argumentative, Mr Norton."
"Yes, your Honour." I'd made my point to the jury and moved on. "Sergeant, you told Madam Crown that it is possible to wash off gunshot residue, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did."
"You meant 'wash off' by putting the clothes through a washing machine, didn't you?"
"That's one method. Dry cleaning would also remove the residue."
"OK. And there are really no other ways to remove it, are there?"
"Not really, I guess."
"And you have no evidence at all that the duffle coat was dry cleaned after Vincent Lee was shot, do you?"
"Umm, I guess not. I didn't investigate that."
"And you have no evidence it was put through a washing machine either, do you?"
A frown. "Um, no, I don't."
"Indeed, if a heavy item like a duffle coat was put through a washing machine, it would take a long time to dry, wouldn't it?"
"I don't know. I haven't tested that."
"Well, heavy clothes take longer to dry than light ones, don't they?"
"That sounds right."
"Indeed, it would take the duffle coat at least 24 hours to dry, wouldn't it?"
"Like I said, I haven't tested that."
"In fact, if the accused washed the duffle coat after Vincent Lee was shot dead, it would have still been wet when your team found it in the apartment, wouldn't it?"
"I can't say."
"But you agree it wasn't wet when found in the apartment?"
"I don't know whether it was wet or not; I can't even remember who bagged it."
"If it was wet, whoever found it would have noted that, wouldn't they?"
"I guess so. But it could have been put next to a heater to dry."
"You have no evidence it was, do you?"
"No."
"You're just doing your best to help the prosecution case?"
"No, I'm not."
I looked at the judge. "No further questions, your Honour."
The next witness was a police ballistics expert. Sergeant Colin Hoth was an owlish man with grannie glasses suspended on a neck chain. On the one previous occasion I cross-examined him, he struck me as pompous and afraid to admit fault.
After eliciting evidence about his academic qualifications, Jane Tomasic asked him if the Luger pistol recovered from Tuan Ho's apartment fired the three 9mm bullets that killed Vincent Lee.
"Yes it did."
"On what basis do you draw that conclusion?"
"The rifling marks in the barrel of the pistol found in the wardrobe and those on the three bullets fired into Mr Lee are the same."
"Are 9mm bullets heavy calibre?"
"Yes."
The prosecutor looked up at the judge. "No further questions."
She looked a little surprised when I rose to cross-examine the Sergeant. What could I want to ask?
I said: "Sergeant, Mr Lee was about 175 centimetres tall, wasn't he?"
"Yes."
"He was standing when the bullets went through his chest?"
"Yes."
"And two of the bullets went through him at a slightly downward trajectory."
"Umm, yes, it appears they went slightly downwards."
"Please assume that the accused is 160 centimetres tall. If he shot Vincent Lee, the bullets would have taken a slightly upwards trajectory, wouldn't they?"
"Umm, I guess that's possible. But it depends on where he held the pistol. If he held it at eye level, the bullets would have taken a slightly downward trajectory."
"Most people don't hold a pistol at eye level when they shoot, do they?"
A shrug. "I don't agree. Everyone is different."
"Whoever shot Vincent Lee shot him from a distance of about one metre, correct?"
"Yes."
"There was no need to sight along the barrel from that range, was there?"
"Maybe not, but everyone is different."
Having, I hoped, inserted another seed of doubt in the minds of the jurors, I told the judge I had finished my cross-examination and sat down.
The judge looked at the witness. "Sergeant, you are free to go."
"Thank you, your Honour."
As Sergeant Hoth left the witness, the judge studied the wall clock which said it was 11.30 a.m. He adjourned for the 20-minute morning tea break.
I nodded goodbye to Tuan Ho as the Sheriff's Officers bossed him to his feet and escorted him down the stairs to the cells.
I turned to Helen: "Hope you're not bored."
"You kidding? This is fantastic. You're doing well."
I shook my head. "I'm just nibbling at the edges. The main battle is yet to begin. Anyway, if you've got
other work to do, you should do it. You don't have to hang around for the whole trial."
"You'd have to drag me away, kicking and screaming."
I smiled. "Good. I'm going for a quick stroll to clear my head. Be back in 15 minutes."
After dropping my wig and gown onto the bar table, I strolled out of the courtroom and, to my surprise, saw Detective Inspector Hanrahan sitting on a wooden bench next to Detective Sergeant Mostyn.
As I passed them, Hanrahan gave me a quizzical look, obviously wondering why I looked familiar. A smug smile blossomed. "Oh, you again."
I slowed down. "Good morning."
A frown. "Why are we here?"
I fought to keep my smile relaxed. "To ensure justice is done, of course."
"I hope this won't take long."
"Don't worry. You'll be back crime-fighting before you know it."
A scowl. "Good."
I strolled out of the courthouse, across Queens Square and down the main path running through Hyde Park for several hundred metres before doubling back. At first, I focused on the scenery. Then my mind snapped back to the trial. I won a few concessions from witnesses I would use later to muddy the water. But they were not significant. The main game would only start when I cross-examined Hanrahan and Mostyn and accused them of planting the murder weapon in Tuan Ho's apartment. Too bad I would be fighting barehanded.
When the trial resumed, the Crown Prosecutor called to the witness box the Homicide detective who led the murder investigation. Detective Superintendent Owen Saunders had a big craggy face with a nose smeared over most of it. I wondered what happened to the guy who broke it. His grey suit looked like it wanted to hide in a wardrobe.
My opponent had called him so she could draw the threads of her case together. After getting him to explain that he headed the murder investigation, she said: "Detective Superintendent, how long after the shooting of Vincent Lee was the accused arrested?"
"The next day."
"Why did you suspect he was the culprit?"
"There was a CCTV camera behind the restaurant. We studied the surveillance film - I think the jury has already seen it - at Cabramatta Police Station with a couple of waiters from the restaurant. One of the waiters recognised the accused. I issued an arrest warrant and put an alert on COPS."
"You're referring to the Computerised Operational Policing System?"
"Yes, it's our operational database."
"Who arrested him?"
"Two officers from the Narcotics Strikeforce saw the alert and got a source to tell them where the accused lived. They went to the apartment and arrested him. Then they brought him to the Cabramatta Station and handed him over to me. I told him he had the right to remain silent and asked if he was prepared to let us conduct a recorded interview. He said he was. So, I interviewed him with one of my detectives.
"That interview was filmed?"
"Yes."
Jane turned to the judge and said she wanted to play the tape of that interview.
He looked at me. "Any objection, Mr Norton?"
"No, your Honour."
Detective Superintendent Saunders remained in the witness box while the interview with Tuan Ho was shown on the two big TV panels. I had watched it several times before and didn't bother this time. Instead, I studied the jury as Tuan Ho vehemently maintained that he only visited Vincent Lee to ask for a job and found him dead on the floor.
The interview lasted only 30 minutes. Then the prosecutor asked the Detective Superintendent what happened after the interview.
"The accused was charged with murder and remanded in custody."
"Thank you."
The judge looked at me. "Any questions, Mr Norton?"
I rose to my feet. "Just a few, your Honour." I turned towards the witness. "Detective Superintendent, the two detectives who arrested the accused were Detectives Hanrahan and Mostyn, weren't they?"
The detective ruminated for a while before nodding. "That's right."
"Neither belonged to the Homicide Squad, did they?"
"That's correct."
"In fact, they were members of the Western Sydney Narcotics Strikeforce?"
"Yes."
"They had no role in the murder investigation?"
"Only when they made the arrests."
"Indeed, it's unusual for someone outside the Homicide Squad to arrest a murder suspect, isn't it?"
The detective looked suspicious. "Umm, no, I wouldn't say that. I mean, we issued an arrest warrant and sent out an alert. After that, any officer who located the fugitive could make the arrest. I understand an informant told the detectives where the accused lived and they decided to arrest him."
"They didn't contact you before doing so?"
"No."
"It was standard practice for them to do so, wasn't it?"
The detective shifted a little uncomfortably. "I would have preferred that they contacted me first, but things can move very fast on the street."
"They didn't move fast in this case, did they?"
"What do you mean?"
"The detectives had plenty of time to call you before they broke into the apartment and arrested the accused?"
"I, umm, don't know. You'll have to ask them."
"It's also standard procedure for officers to call for back-up before trying to arrest a murder suspect, isn't it?"
"Yes, but, like I said, things can happen very fast. They may have feared the accused would try to escape before back-up arrived."
"You're just speculating, aren't you?"
"I guess so."
"So, you agree with me that, if there was no special urgency, the detectives should have called for back-up."
The detective twitched a few times. "Umm, yes."
"That back-up would have included the heavily armed Tactical Response Unit?"
"Yes."
"Instead, they arrested the accused and took him to the police station themselves?"
"Yes."
A time-honoured tactic of defence counsel in murder trials is to put the victim on trial. I embraced that tradition. "Detective Superintendent, Vincent Lee was known to the police, wasn't he?"
"Yes."
"Indeed, he had a number of convictions for drug trafficking?"
"Yes."
"For which he spent a total of 11 years in prison?"
"That's right."
"Indeed, according to police intelligence reports, at the time of his death, he was a major drug boss in Western Sydney?"
"The intelligence unit believed that was the case."
"So he would have had a lot of enemies, wouldn't he?"
"I wouldn't like to speculate."
"He was a drug boss, wasn't he? He didn't work for the Salvation Army?"
"That's correct."
"And you would expect a drug boss to have a lot of enemies?"
"It is possible, definitely."
"And one of those enemies could have shot him in the restaurant?"
"I have no evidence that occurred."
"You didn't try to identify the enemies of Vincent Lee, did you?"
"I didn't need to."
"Because you saw Mr Ho on the CCTV footage and excluded all other possible culprits?"
"Well, the next day, the murder weapon was found in his apartment."
"By narcotics detectives?"
"Yes."
"Police officers didn't find any valuables in the apartment, did they?"
"What do you mean?"
"They didn't find any drugs or money that might have come from the safe in Vincent Lee's office?"
"They found no valuables."
I looked at the judge. "No further questions, your Honour."
The judge thanked the Detective Superintendent and said he was free to go.
As the witness strode across the well of the court, the Crown Prosecutor said to the judge. "Your Honour, can I have a moment to confer with my learned friend?"
"Of course."
Jane leaned over to me
and spoke in a whisper. "Hanrahan and Mostyn are outside. Are you sure you want to cross-examine them? I can just read out their witness statements."
If I wanted to submit to the jury that the two detectives planted the Luger pistol, I had to put that squarely to them during cross-examination. She obviously hoped I would back off. That wouldn't happen. "Nope, you'd better call them."
She frowned. "Alright. Which one first?"
"Let's start with Hanrahan."
"OK."
Jane turned back to the judge. "Your Honour, I call Detective Inspector Carl Hanrahan to give evidence."
Jane's young female instructing solicitor ducked out through the rear door and returned with Hanrahan, who strode towards the witness box as if he expected a medal to be pinned on his chest.
My stomach did gymnastics. I was about to accuse a senior police officer of planting a murder weapon, despite having little proof and him being a brilliant liar. This cross-examination was going to be a disaster. Suddenly, instead of wanting to win our duel, I just wanted to emerge with a shred of self-respect. Jesus.
Hanrahan sat calmly in the witness box and casually rotated his handsome head. A hot-shot cop without a care in the world. The Court Officer gave him a Bible and got him to swear an oath to tell the truth, which he did with fresh-faced sincerity. Then Jane Tomasic, using his witness statement as a guide, questioned him about how he and Detective Mostyn came to arrest Tuan Ho.
Hanrahan said he and Mostyn were driving a police car through the Fairfield shopping district when they saw, on the computer screen attached to the dashboard, an alert to arrest Tuan Ho. "I saw he had previous convictions for drug dealing. So I asked some informants if they knew where he lived. One of them gave me an address in Gunning Road, Canley Vale. It wasn't far away, so we headed over there."
"What did you do when you arrived?"
"The apartment was on the fourth floor. We climbed the stairs and heard the sound of a television playing inside; we broke down the front door and entered with our weapons drawn."
"What happened next?"
"The accused was sitting on a couch, watching TV. He ran towards the balcony, but I tackled him and Detective Sergeant Mostyn handcuffed him. We took him downstairs and waited for uniformed officers to arrive and guard the crime scene. Then we transported him to the Cabramatta Police Station and handed him over to Detective Superintendent Saunders of the Homicide Squad."
Thank you." The prosecutor looked at the judge. "No further questions, your Honour."
The judge looked at me. "Mr Norton?"
"I have a few, your Honour."
"Please proceed."
My stomach lining started to dissolve as I stood and stared at Hanrahan, who continued looking relaxed and respectful. "You say that, when you reached Mr Ho's apartment, you heard the sound of a television inside?"
"Yes."
"At that stage, you knew Mr Ho was a murder suspect?"
"Yes."
"That he was accused of shooting someone dead the day before?"
"Yes."
"In those circumstances, it was standard police procedure to call a back-up before entering the apartment, wasn't it?"
"That was an option."
"In fact, that was standard procedure, wasn't it?"
"I wouldn't go that far. It was an option."
"You didn't wait for back-up, did you?"
Hanrahan shook his head. "I was concerned your client might get away."
"He was stuck in the apartment watching TV - he had no escape route, did he?"
"He could have left through the balcony."
"The balcony was on the fourth floor?"
"He could have climbed onto another balcony."
"If he was a monkey."
Jane Tomasic leapt up and roared. "I object."
The judge sighed. "Move along, please, Mr Norton."
I turned back to the witness. "If you waited for back-up, the back-up would have prevented a balcony escape, wouldn't it?"
The detective shrugged. "Maybe, but I like to get things done. I'm that sort of guy."
"You mean, you don't follow standard police procedure if you don't feel like it?"
Hanrahan kept his cool, unfortunately. "In police work, nothing is carved in stone."
"After you arrested the accused, Detective Mostyn took him down to your vehicle, didn't he?"
"No, we both took him down there."
"You mean, you left the apartment unattended?"
A flicker of concern. "Umm, yes, I guess so, very briefly."
"That's not standard procedure either, is it?"
"There was no danger that someone would enter it."
"In fact, Detective Mostyn took Mr Ho down to your vehicle and you remained alone in the apartment for about ten minutes, didn't you?"
"That's not true."
"And while you were there, you planted a Luger pistol - the weapon used to shoot Vincent Lee - in the wardrobe of the apartment?"
A few jurors gasped. The witness showed a flash of well-contrived anger. "I certainly did not."
Jane jumped up and looked at the judge. "I object."
"Sit down," I growled.
"No, I object. Can I address your Honour in the absence of the witness and the jury?"
The judge, who now looked vaguely interested, sighed. "Yes, alright."
He turned towards the jury box. "Members of the jury, we have a legal issue to discuss. Would you please wait outside? Hopefully, we won't be long." He looked at the witness. "Would you kindly do the same?"
"Yes, your Honour."
After the jurors and witness had tramped out, the judge turned to Jane Tomasic. "Yes, Madam Crown?"
"Your Honour, I object to this line of questioning."
"Why?"
"Mr Norton is attacking the honour of a highly decorated police officer with no basis whatsoever."
The judge looked at me. "Mr Norton?"
"My client has instructed me that the pistol was planted in the wardrobe. I cannot ignore that. I'm here to put his case, not worry about the witness's feelings."
The judge looked back at Jane. "If that is what Mr Norton's client alleges, surely Mr Norton is entitled to put it to the witness."
"I think it's improper, your Honour."
"Madam Crown, it's not Mr Norton's job to question his instructions. Anyway, Detective Hanrahan is a big boy - he knows how the game's played. I disallow the objection." The judge turned towards me. "However, Mr Norton, do you intend to go further and suggest that this witness was, umm, involved in the death of Mr Lee?"
Despite the happenstance that put him on the bench, the judge was no fool.
I said: "At present, your Honour, my instructions and the evidence do not allow me to go that far." I smiled. "But watch this space."
The judge smiled back. "I will, with great interest."
The judge glanced up at the clock. "It's almost one o'clock. This is a good time to adjourn for lunch. I will resume at two o'clock." The judge turned to the Court Officer. "Please tell the jurors and witness about the adjournment."
"I will, your Honour."
"Thank you. I now adjourn."
The Court Officer ordered that everyone rise and the judge scuttled off the bench with his small team in tow.
I stepped over to Tuan Ho, who looked like he was watching the trial of someone else. "How are you going?"
A shrug. "OK. You're doing a good job."
I shook my head. "Not good enough. I'll need to do a lot better to get you off. I'll see you after lunch."
"Sure."
A couple of Sheriff's Officers, obviously impatient to have lunch, hustled Tuan Ho down the stairs to the cells.
I dropped my wig and gown onto the bar table, sighed and turned towards Clint and Helen. "Right, let's go have lunch."
We strolled out of the courthouse and across Queens Square to a cafe in Macquarie Street, where we seized an outdoor table. A waiter appeared and we ordered sandwiches, which soon a
rrived. Despite my tight gut, I forced myself to eat. I was burning lots of nervous energy and risked brain fade around mid-afternoon.
Helen bit into her sandwich and broke the silence. "How are we going?"
I said: "Right down the tubes."
She glanced at Clint. "What do you think?"
"Brad's right. Not his fault, of course. The only evidence we've got that the pistol was planted is the word of our client, which is worth nothing."
"You think the jury will believe Hanrahan?"
"Of course. He's a cop, he's kinda cute and we've got no ammo to fire at him."
She looked at me. "So, what's your plan?"
"I'm going to ask him lots of questions about what he did on the day of the shooting and the next day, when he arrested Tuan Ho, and hope he makes a slip."
"I thought you weren't supposed to ask a question without knowing the answer?"
"That's usually true. But sometimes, when your back is to the wall, like now, you've got no choice. You've got to throw out a net and hope to catch something."
"And if he does make a slip, you'll accuse him of murder?"
"If it's a big enough slip - but it will have to be big."
Clint and Helen chatted for a while about an Impressionist exhibition at the Art Gallery they recently attended, while I stared into the distance, trying to think up questions to ask Hanrahan while suppressing my rising panic. Stay calm, stay calm.
I wanted to get back to the courtroom early and review my cross-examination notes, so I paid the bill and we strolled back across Queens Square towards the Old Supreme Court Building. Detectives Hanrahan and Mostyn, and a third man, stood beside a coffee trolley, chatting and drinking from paper cups. The third man had a bulky frame tucked into a faded brown suit that defied all trends. He seemed vaguely familiar. Why?
The three men didn't pay any attention to us. We entered the courthouse and I noticed a CCTV camera high on a wall. Suddenly, I realised I had seen the third man before on some film. Indeed, he looked like a pedestrian I saw on the CCTV film obtained from the Cash is King pawn shop. Oh, Christ. Oh, bloody Christ. My brain ran hot.
I turned to Clint. "Mate, did you see Hanrahan and Mostyn outside, with a third guy?"
"Yes."
"Good, slip outside and use your phone to photograph them together. Make sure you include the third guy. Don't let them see what you're doing."
A puzzled frown. "Why?"
"I'll tell you when you get back. This very, very important."
Looking mystified, Clint dug around inside his suit jacket and pulled out his phone. "Will do."
He went back outside and I rushed towards the courtroom with Helen behind me. Thankfully, a court officer had unlocked the door. I strode into the courtroom, sat at the bar table and glanced at the wall clock. Ten minutes before the trial resumed. I hastily turned on my laptop and located the pawn shop footage.
Helen sat next to me. "What are you doing?"
"I'll tell you soon."
When I watched the footage in my Chambers, I especially noticed a bulky guy in a leather jacket and jeans pass in front of the pawn shop at 10.20 a.m. Was he the third guy? I fast-forwarded to that time, froze the screen and studied the pedestrian with mounting excitement. He was definitely the third guy. My God.
I vaguely recalled seeing him walk back past the pawn shop. I fast-forwarded the footage until ten minutes later and saw him retrace his route, now holding a small bag.
Someone was using my heart as a punching bag. Just when I thought I had no chance of winning this trial, a miracle landed in my lap. The pedestrian in the footage was obviously a detective colleague of Hanrahan and Mostyn. He murdered Vincent Lee and stole the contents of his safe. Then he gave the murder weapon to the other two detectives, to plant in Tuan Ho's apartment, probably in return for a share of the spoils. In hindsight, it was silly of him to turn up to court today and chat with his mates. However, he had absolutely no reason to think that I, or anyone else, had obtained CCTV footage of him passing in front of the pawn shop.
I reviewed my deductions, looking for a flaw in my reasoning, and saw none. I must be right. I wanted to dance on the bar table. "Jesus."
"What?"
"I don't have time to explain. But, if I was you, I'd hang around. There's going to be fireworks."
"Don't worry, I will."
"Good."
Clint Andersen strode into the courtroom, smiling.
I said: "How did you go?"
"Got a couple of group pics that include your man."
"Good. Let me see."
He held up his smartphone and showed me two photographs. Though taken from strange angles, they clearly show the third man - the man on the CCTV footage - drinking coffee with Hanrahan and Mostyn in Queens Square.
"Well done, well done. Did they see you?"
"I don't think so. What's going on?"
"The third guy murdered Vincent Lee."
Clint would probably not blink if space junk crashed through the ceiling of his house and destroyed his television. Now, his eyes and cheeks bulged. "He what?"
"He's the murderer."
"How the hell do you know that?"
I didn't get a chance to answer because Jane Tomasic strolled into the courtroom, fully robed, and made a beeline towards me. She frowned and put a hand on her hip. "So, Brad, how much longer are you going to cross-examine Hanrahan?"
What she really meant was: how much longer are you going to waste everyone's time? I shrugged. "Oh, not long."
"Good."
A smile. "Yes, it won't take me long to tear him apart."
She laughed. "Very funny."
I looked grave. "I'm not joking. I'm about to make him roadkill."
Her laugh had less conviction. "Bullshit."
"No, I'm serious."
She looked suspicious. "You're kidding, right?"
I smiled again. "Hang around and find out."
There were three raps on the door behind the bench and the Court Officer called for everyone to rise. The judge entered and Jane scurried back to her side of the bar table. My wig and gown lay on the bar table. I was still throwing them on as the judge sat down.
The judge looked at Jane Tomasic and me. "Are the parties ready to resume?"
"Yes, your Honour", we said in unison.
"Good." He looked at the Court Officer. "Please bring back the jury."
While the jury filed into court through a side door, I glanced over at the dock and saw that the Sheriff's Officers had brought Tuan Ho up from the cells. We exchanged quick smiles.
When the jurors were all seated, the judge looked at Hanrahan, sitting in the gallery. "Detective Hanrahan, please return to the witness box." When Hanrahan had obeyed, the judge said to him: "I remind you that you are still under oath."
"Yes, your Honour."
The judge looked at me. "Ready to resume, Mr Norton?"
"Yes, your Honour." There was a brief pause during which I heard my heart thudding. It wasn't going to slow down anytime soon. I looked at the witness and tried to sound casual. "Detective, as I strolled back to court about ten minutes ago, I saw you chatting to two men outside. Who were they?"
Hanrahan hid most, but not all, of his surprise. "Umm, I was talking to Detective Mostyn."
"I know that. But there was another man - a second man - with you."
Hanrahan stiffened and shifted in his chair. "I, umm, don't know what you're talking about?"
"Really? My instructing solicitor, Mr Andersen, used his smartphone to take two photographs of the three of you together." I turned towards the judge. "You Honour, will you permit Mr Andersen to approach the witness and show him the two photographs he took?"
The judge's eyebrows almost got tangled in his wig. "Do you intend to tender those photographs as evidence?"
"Yes, your Honour, as soon as we can get them off the smartphone."
The judge looked at my opponent. "Madam Crown, do you object to the witness being shown the
photographs?"
Jane Tomasic stood up, looking puzzled and annoyed. "Your Honour, I have no idea what this is all about, but I don't suppose I can object."
The judge looked back at me. "Your solicitor can approach the witness and show him the photographs."
Clint approached the witness box and held his smartphone in front of Hanrahan, who looked calm and relaxed, except for his white-knuckle grip on the side of the witness box.
I said: "You see that, on the phone, there are two photographs of you with Detective Mostyn and another man?"
"Yes."
"Who is the other man?"
The witness flinched slightly. "Oh, that's Detective Mannix."
"What's his first name?"
"Umm, Phil, I mean Philip."
"He works with you?"
"Yes."
"In the Western Sydney Narcotics Strikeforce?"
"Yes."
"What's his rank?"
"Umm, Detective Sergeant."
"Why were you talking to him outside the Court?"
Hanrahan's voice was getting a little dry. He thirstily glanced at the glass of water near his elbow, but knew that drinking from it would show he was under pressure. "Oh, he's in town for another trial and he popped over for a chat."
"What did you chat about?"
Hanrahan was not just a fair-weather liar: he produced the goods when the chips were down. Despite his knuckles getting whiter, he sounded off-hand. "Oh, sport and friends, and stuff like that."
I turned to the judge. "Your Honour, it will assist the jury if the photographs on the phone are displayed on the television screens. Is that possible?"
"Let me confer with my Associate."
The Associate stood and had a quiet chat with the judge. After about a minute, the Associate sat down and the judge turned to me.
"I think we have a solution. If your instructing solicitor emails them to my Associate, she will try to put them up on the screen."
"He will do that, your Honour."
The Associate wrote down her email address and the Court Officer passed it to Clint. Then, while everyone watched, Clint fiddled around with his smartphone for a couple of minutes before announcing that he had emailed the photographs to the Associate.
The Associate studied her computer. After about a minute, she gave the judge a nod.
The judge said: "Alright, show the photos on the screen."
One of the photographs of the three men that Clint took appeared on the screen. Hanrahan squirmed in his chair and used the distraction to take a big sip of water.
I said: "Now, Detective, that is one of the photographs that my instructing solicitor just showed you, isn't it?"
Hanrahan's discomfit was becoming apparent. "Ah, yes."
"And it shows you talking to Detective Mostyn and Detective Mannix outside this courthouse during the lunch break?"
"Yes."
Now chock-full of confidence, I leaned over to Jane Tomasic, nervously turning the pages of her brief, and whispered. "This is when I make him roadkill."
She frowned and kept turning the pages.
I looked back at the witness, now showing definite signs of nerves. "Detective, the pawn shop next door to the Kam Fuk Restaurant has a CCTV camera mounted outside it. I want to show you footage that camera took around the time that Vincent Lee was shot dead." Fortunately, the flash drive containing the footage was in my bar bag. I rummaged around and fished it out. "Your Honour, the surveillance footage is on this drive."
The judge said: "How long will it take to watch?"
"Only about 15 minutes."
"Has your opponent seen this footage?"
I suppressed a smile. "I expect so. The prosecution supplied it to my instructing solicitor late last week."
The judge looked at my opponent. "Is that correct?"
She said: "Can I have a moment to speak to my solicitor, your Honour?"
"Of course."
After turning and speaking hurriedly with her instructing solicitor, she stood and fidgeted with her gown. "Your Honour, I am instructed that we supplied this footage to the accused's solicitor last week. However, I haven't had an opportunity to watch it."
"But it comes from your side?"
The normally super-cool prosecutor looked flustered. "Umm, yes."
"And you accept it comes from a camera mounted outside a shop next-door to the restaurant?"
"Yes."
"On the day of the murder?"
"Yes."
"Then this is your big chance to watch it." The judge looked back at me. "Please give the flash drive to my Associate."
I handed the flash drive to the Court Officer, who conveyed it to the Associate, who inserted it into a computer port. The Associate gave me an inquiring look.
I said: "Please fast-forward to 10.19 a.m. and then play it at normal speed."
She fast-forwarded the colour footage until the rolling date-and-time stamp at the bottom showed 10.19 a.m. on 27 July. Then she pushed the "play" button. At normal speed, the features of pedestrians were easy to discern.
Pedestrians passed back and forward for about a minute until one in a leather jacket and jeans, clearly Detective Mannix, appeared on the screen.
I said: "Freeze the footage."
The screen froze and I heard gasps all around me. Maybe even the judge joined in.
Hanrahan looked like he'd just heard a cat bark. I thought of all the lies the bastard told during the Milic trial - and my inability to expose them - and felt a surge of joy. "Now, Detective Hanrahan, you agree with me, don't you, that the man on the screen is Detective Mannix?"
The witness looked longingly at the rear door, desperate to sprint through it and keep running. His crimes were now tumbling towards him, gathering speed, like a landslide. Soon they would bury him. Even the toughest witnesses have their breaking point. Hanrahan, who knew he was about to be implicated in a murder, had obviously reached his. His suavity evaporated. He looked like a wild animal in survival mode. "Ah, umm, yes, it looks like Detective Mannix, I guess."
"You mean, the man you were chatting with outside of court a few minutes ago?"
"Umm, yes."
"What was he doing out the front of the Kam Fuk Restaurant just before Vincent Lee was shot dead?"
Hanrahan shook his head ferociously. "I don't know - you'll have to ask him. I don't know why he was there."
I turned back to the Associate. "Would you please fast-forward the film to 10.34 a.m. and hit 'play' again?"
The Associate did as requested. After she hit the 'play' button, everyone watched a couple of pedestrians pass in front of the pawn shop. Then Detective Mannix re-appeared, scurrying in the opposite direction, holding a small leather bag.
"Freeze it please."
Once again, the detective dominated the screen. More gasps. "Jesus," a juror said, or maybe it was the judge.
I considered leaning over and gloating to Jane Tomasic, but reminded myself that I was a classy guy. I turned to Detective Hanrahan and mentally rubbed my hands together. "You see the man on the screen?"
The detective seemed to spot something interesting on the floor between his feet. "Yes," he mumbled.
"You agree that man is Detective Mannix?"
He lifted his head as if it was granite. "It, umm, certainly looks like him."
"Do you know why he walked away from the Kam Fuk Restaurant at 10.35 a.m on the day of the murder?"
"Ah, no."
"A total mystery to you?"
"Yes."
"Do you know what he had in the small bag he was carrying?"
"No."
"So, you agree with me that Detective Mannix was in front of the Kam Fuk Restaurant around the time that Vincent Lee was shot dead?"
"I don't know when he died."
"The prosecution case is that he died around 10.30 a.m., isn't it?"
"I don't know much about the prosecution case."
I strongly suspected that Hanrahan, Mostyn and Mannix cons
pired to rob and murder Vincent Lee, and Mannix was tasked with doing the dirty work. Maybe one of the others drove the getaway car. In any event, after Tuan Ho stumbled upon the dead body and became the murder suspect, they decided to frame him by planting the murder weapon in his apartment.
I said: "You knew that Detective Mannix was going to rob Vincent Lee on the morning of 27 July, didn't you?"
The prosecutor leapt to her feet. "I object."
The judge sighed. "I take it you want to raise your objection in the absence of the witness and jury?"
"Yes, your Honour."
I was worried about Hanrahan talking to Mostyn before I cross-examined him. I said: "Before your Honour sends the witness outside, perhaps you could remind him not to talk to any other potential witnesses."
"Yes, of course." The judge looked at the detective. "Did you hear that Detective Hanrahan? You are not to talk to anyone outside, do you understand?"
Hanrahan nodded dumbly. "Yes, your Honour."
The judge sent the witness and jury out of the courtroom. As they trooped out, I glanced meaningfully at Clint Andersen, who immediately knew what I wanted. He got to his feet and followed Hanrahan outside to make sure he didn't warn his colleague that the jig was up.
When they had all disappeared, the judge looked at the prosecutor. "Madam Crown, what is your objection?"
"Your Honour, I can see where my learned friend is heading with his questions: he is going to accuse Detectives Hanrahan, Mostyn and Mannix of being involved in the death of Vincent Lee. He has no basis for making such a monstrous allegation."
The judge looked at me. "Is that where you are heading, Mr Norton?"
"Yes, your Honour."
A tiny smile. "Watch this space, huh?"
"Yes."
He looked back at my opponent. "Why was Detective Mannix outside the restaurant around the time of the shooting?"
She nervously rearranged her gown. "I haven't had an opportunity to obtain instructions about that."
"Well, I suggest you obtain them as soon as possible. But, whatever they are, I think Mr Norton is entitled to allege - I put it no higher - that the three detectives were involved in the shooting."
"That is pure speculation, your Honour."
"I think the allegation has a good deal more substance than that. I overrule the objection. Don't worry, if Mr Norton goes too far, I will step in. But he has not reached that point."
I don't think Jane Tomasic expected the judge would side with her. She was just protecting herself against later criticism. She nodded and looked poker-faced. "As the Court pleases."
The judge turned to the Court Officer. "Please bring everyone back."
As the Court Officer departed, I rolled my chair close to Jane's. "It's amazing how quickly a trial can shift, isn't it?"
A grumpy look. "You haven't won yet. What do you want?"
"I think you'd better start looking for Detective Mannix."
"Why?"
"I'll want to cross-examine him after I've finished with these two."
"We'll see about that."
"We definitely will."
As the witness and jury trooped back into the courtroom, Clint appeared next to me.
I said: "What happened?"
He smiled. "Hanrahan started edging towards Mostyn. Then he saw me and backed away."
"Good work."
When everyone had reclaimed their seats, I looked at Hanrahan. I had already hit him with my best shots. Now, I just had to ask a set of questions that summarised my allegations. I was freewheeling towards home. "I repeat my question: you knew that Detective Mannix was going to rob Vincent Lee on the morning of 27 July, didn't you?"
Hanrahan's suntan had evaporated and he spoke in a raspy voice. "Of course not."
"And, soon after that robbery, you spoke to Detective Mannix again, didn't you?"
"I did not."
"And Detective Mannix told you he shot Vincent Lee and stole valuables from his safe?"
If Hanrahan shook his head any harder, it would have spun off. "You're wrong - entirely wrong."
"Then you discovered there was an arrest warrant out for my client, Tuan Ho. So you contacted Detective Mannix and got him to give you the murder weapon?"
"You're barking up the wrong tree."
"You said that you and Detective Mostyn would arrest Tuan Ho and plant the pistol in his apartment?"
"No."
"And that is what you and Detective Mostyn did?"
"Totally untrue."
"And, in return, Detective Mannix gave you and Detective Mostyn a share of the loot?"
"He did not. That's ridiculous."
I turned to the judge. "No further cross-examination, your Honour."
The judge looked at the prosecutor. "Any re-examination?"
After a long pause, Jane shook her head. "No, your Honour."
"Alright." He looked at the witness. "Detective Hanrahan, you are free to go. However, I warn you that you must not talk to Detective Mostyn or any other potential witnesses about what has just transpired in court. Do you understand?"
"Yes, your Honour."
I rose to my feet. "Would you Honour please give the witness a special instruction in relation to Detective Mannix?"
The judge nodded and turned to the witness. "Detective Inspector, so you are in no doubt, you must not talk to Detective Mannix, understand?"
The detective looked sour. "Yes, your Honour."
"Good. You may leave the witness box."
As Hanrahan left the witness box, dark-faced and trembling, I remembered his smile and taunts after the Milic trial. He was now a different man.
I glanced at Clint, who knew what I wanted. As Hanrahan left the courtroom, Clint trailed after him to ensure he did not communicate with Mostyn.
The judge, looking rejuvenated, turned to Jane Tomasic. "Alright, Madam Crown, please call your next witness."
I looked down at her and whispered. "Mostyn, please."
She frowned and whispered back. "I want to confer with him first."
"Don't be stupid. You can't do that. Put him in the box."
If she conferred with Mannix she would, inevitably, reveal the thrust of my cross-examination of Hanrahan, which she was not allowed to do. After a long hesitation, she realised she was cornered and got to her feet. "Your Honour, I call Detective Alexander Mostyn to give evidence."
Once again, her instructing solicitor dashed out of the courtroom. The solicitor returned with Mostyn, who wore a pure synthetic suit and brown shoes - the standard uniform of detectives. Clint wandered in just behind him. His smile said he saw no funny business.
However, Mostyn had obviously picked up some sign - probably from Hanrahan's body language - that the prosecution ship was sinking, because he robot-walked to the witness box, sat heavily and looked around nervously. After he swore an oath to tell the truth, Jane Tomasic, now thrown off stride, nervously questioned him about the arrest of Tuan Ho. His evidence dovetailed perfectly with Hanrahan's evidence-in-chief. They obviously rehearsed together. The detective's confidence grew and, when she finished examining him, he looked pleased with himself.
The judge gave me a hint of a smile. "Any cross-examination, Mr Norton?"
I smiled back. "A few questions, your Honour."
My cross-examination of Mostyn followed the template I adopted with Hanrahan. I got the Associate to display, on the TV screens, the photographs of him standing outside the courthouse with Hanrahan and Mannix, and forced him to admit that Mannix was a drug squad colleague. Then I got the Associate to display the CCTV footage of Mannix outside the pawn shop around the time Vincent Lee was murdered. Finally, I accused Mostyn of conspiring with Mannix and Hanrahan to murder Vincent Lee, and helping Hanrahan plant the murder weapon in Tuan Ho's apartment.
Mostyn boosted my respect for Hanrahan as a witness, because Mostyn cracked much earlier. He denied all of my allegations, of course. But, as soon as he saw the photographs of him talking to Mannix
outside the courthouse, he started shaking. After that, he looked like someone had slipped a noose around his neck. It was a most unconvincing display.
When the detective finally slunk out of the witness box and headed for the rear door, the judge, who had been following my cross-examination with keen interest, looked at the wall clock. "I see it's almost four o'clock. Time to adjourn for the day. I will resume at 10 o'clock tomorrow morning." He looked at the jurors. "Members of the jury, please make sure you are back here by that time. Don't be late. Alright, this trial is now adjourned until then."
As the judge rose and scurried out of court, with his Associate and Tipstaff in hot pursuit, Clint and Helen stepped up beside me. For once, Clint's seen-it-all face wore a broad smile. "Well done - fantastic job. You really pulled a rabbit out of a hat."
I grinned. "I got lucky."
"You make your own luck in this game."
Helen also had a big smile and, maybe, big eyes. "Wow, that was brilliant. Are murder trials always this exciting?"
"I don't know. This is my first one. But don't get too excited. We're still a long - and I mean, long - way from an acquittal."
I stepped over to Tuan Ho, sitting in the dock, looking amused, if anything. He certainly looked less excited than his legal representatives. "I told you those cops were dirty bastards, didn't I?"
"You did."
"But I didn't know that Mannix guy was the shooter. You're doing good."
"Thanks. But there is still a long way to go."
"I know. The jury will get a chance to be stupid, and maybe it will be."
The two hulking Sheriff's Officers standing beside the dock looked restive. One looked at me. "Can we take him down now?"
"Yes, I'm finished." I looked at Tuan Ho. "I'll see you in the morning, OK, before court?"
"Sure. Bloody good work."
"Thanks."
I turned and saw Jane Tomasic, still seated. Her wig lay on the bar table like a dead rodent. She stared at me with a mixture of exhaustion and exasperation. "I guess you're feeling very pleased with yourself?"
I smiled. "Yup, I've hit peak self-satisfaction - top of the dial."
She sighed. "Jesus, I thought this trial would be easy. How did you find out about that CCTV footage from the pawn shop?"
"I visited the crime scene."
"Wow. I always thought they were a waste of time."
"So did I."
She shook her head. "Then Mannix, the moron, turns up to have a chat with his mates. Anyway, I assume you now want me to put him in the witness box?"
"You bet."
"Why should I?"
"Because he's a material witness. You're obliged to call him. If he has a good excuse for being outside the restaurant around the time of the shooting, he should give it. If you don't call him, I will scream to the jury until I'm hoarse that you've deliberately hidden him."
A frown. "I'm sure you will."
"And they will believe me."
"OK. But I've got to tell him, before he gets into the witness box, that you're going to accuse him of murder."
I shook my head. "You can't tip him off like that."
"Normally, you'd be right. But, if you're going to accuse him of murder, I've got to get his instructions before he gives evidence. What if he wants to claim the privilege against self-incrimination?"
"Hah, he won't do that. He's going to deny everything."
"Maybe. But it's theoretically possible."
She had a point. The rule that witnesses must be kept in the dark was, like all legal rules, subject to exceptions. This was surely one of them. I shrugged. "OK, tell him. I guess it doesn't matter, anyway."
"Why?"
"Because I'm 100 per cent certain that Hanrahan will tell him what happened in court today. He will give him a full briefing."
She frowned. "The judge told Hanrahan not to talk to him."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, give me a break - you're not that naïve."
She paused and nodded. "I get your point."
"Anyway, I'll see you - and Mannix - tomorrow morning."
I would not need my brief overnight. It was easiest to leave it in the soon-to-be-locked courtroom. I also dropped my wig and gown onto a chair, and turned to the others. "Alright, let's get out of here."
I said goodbye to Jane Tomasic and headed out through the rear door, with the others behind me. Outside, I came face-to-face with Detective Hanrahan, sitting on a bench, obviously waiting to talk to Jane. He looked like a man heading for the protective wing of a prison, which he was.
I stopped with the other two just behind me and smiled. "Well, that was an exciting afternoon."
He scowled. "You prick."
I shrugged. "I'm sorry you feel like that. Anyway, when the time comes, I'll be happy to represent you."
Helen giggled musically behind me.
"Fuck off."
I shrugged and kept walking, wishing I could bottle that moment.