CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Once a trial started, I usually slept quite well. That night though, excitement kept me awake. I got into bed, turned off the light and tried to dismiss the trial from my mind. Impossible. Before the trial, I thought Tuan Ho's defence was hopeless. Now, an acquittal was almost within my grasp. I might even be able to persuade the Court of Appeal to overturn the conviction of Goran Milic on the basis that the man who fingered him, Hanrahan, had a habit of perverting the course of justice. I kept telling myself to calm down and not get ahead of the game. Indeed, that day's events showed a criminal trial could change direction in the blink of an eye. It was like walking through a creaky mineshaft that could collapse at any time. I had to stay focused. Still, my last thought, before I fell asleep, was that the trial could be going a hell of a lot worse that it was.
The next morning, I had no work to do before the trial resumed and didn't arrive at Thomas Erskine Chambers until just after nine o'clock. A few minutes later, I stood in my room, gazing out the window, when Clint Andersen strolled through the door, looking almost sunny.
He said: "You know, I try not to think about my job after-hours, but I thought about Goran Milic last night."
I said: "So did I. If we win this one, we can appeal against his conviction on the basis that Hanrahan has a penchant for planting evidence. I think we'd succeed. But we haven't won this one yet - we're a long way from that. Today isn't just a lap of honour."
"I totally agree. Do you think Mannix will turn up?"
"Yep. He's got no choice; he'll get into the witness box and try to bluff his way through. I've got to stop him doing that."
Helen Lawson strolled into the room, looking excited.
I said: "Hello, looking forward to Act Two?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world. Don't know how you can stay calm. I'm a mess and I'm just watching."
"Don't worry, I'm faking it."
I didn't want to talk about the trial and shifted the conversation onto the weather, of all things. Then, at 9.30 a.m., we strolled over to the Old Supreme Court Building. We passed through the security checkpoint and went down to the holding cells. A Sheriff's Officer escorted us into a small room with a table where Tuan Ho, still wearing his obnoxious suit, sat waiting, exuding his usual serenity. I wished I could buy a bottle of it.
The only issue we really had to discuss was whether he should get into the witness box to give his version of events. I strongly advised him against doing that because the jury might dislike him or he would make an unfortunate stumble. I preferred to submit that he gave no evidence because he had no case to answer. However, he shook his head defiantly. "Nope, I want to tell the jury what happened. I want to say my piece."
"I don't think you should."
"I hear that, but I want to say my piece."
I shrugged. "You're the boss."
I glanced at Clint, who scribbled those instructions on a pad to protect us from future complaint if the defence went pear-shaped.
We went upstairs. Jane Tomasic was already at the bar table, fully robed, thumbing through her brief. I bet she spent several hours the previous evening getting instructions from Detective Sergeant Mannix, and then conferring with the Director of Public Prosecutions and the police top brass about what to do. She would have recommended withdrawing the charge against Tuan Ho. They obviously said "no". Otherwise, she would have phoned me in Chambers to tip me off.
I said: "Late night?"
She spun around and smiled wanly; she looked tired and her makeup was, to my inexpert eyes, hurriedly applied. "Oh, I had a few things to do."
"I bet you did. And you're going to bat on?"
"Those are my instructions," she said without enthusiasm.
"OK. Is Mannix here?"
"Yes."
"And you're going to call him next?"
"Yes."
"He will deny shooting Vincent Lee?"
"Of course. But I'm not going to extract any evidence from him. I'm going to put him in the witness box and get him to identify himself, OK? Then it's up to you."
That is the time-honoured tactic of prosecutors who have to call a witness and don't believe a damn word he's going to say.
I smiled. "Fine. Stand back and let me go to work."
"I will." She frowned and hesitated. "You know, last night, I told them to bury this one."
"They wouldn't?"
"Course not. They're just bureaucrats who won't make a decision."
"Aren't they worried about fall-out?"
"They don't have enough imagination for that."
At 10 a.m. the judge strolled onto the bench and asked the Court Officer to bring the jury into the courtroom. When all of the jurors were assembled, he looked at Jane Tomasic with a slightly cruel smile. "Who is your next witness, Madam Crown?"
The prosecutor rose to her feet and forced some confidence into her tone. "I call Detective Sergeant Philip Mannix to give evidence."
Murmurs and glances in the jury box. Jane's instructing solicitor dashed out of the courtroom and returned with Mannix. He was in his early forties with a heavy-featured and sun-blasted face. Detectives usually swagger around, particularly when approaching a witness box, but he looked like he was walking a very short plank. He sat heavily and looked around as if fearing attack.
Mannix put his hand on a Bible and swore to tell the truth without much conviction.
Jane Tomasic rose her feet. "Please state your full name for the record."
"Philip Roger Mannix," he said in a thin voice.
"You're a police officer?"
"Yes, a detective sergeant."
"In which unit?"
A long clearing of the throat. "The Western Sydney Narcotics Strikeforce."
"How long have you worked in that unit?"
The witness already had a sheen on his forehead. "About three years."
"Thank you. I have no further questions. However, I understand that my learned friend has some."
She sat and I rose to my feet. As I did, I glanced around and saw the press box was empty. That was disappointing.
I said: "Detective Mannix, yesterday afternoon you talked to Detectives Hanrahan and Mostyn outside this courthouse, didn't you?"
"Ah, yes, I did."
"You and the other two detectives are all colleagues in the Western Sydney Narcotics Strikeforce?"
"Yes, that's right."
"You have worked together on quite a few investigations?"
"Umm, some."
"So, you know the other two well?"
"I know them professionally."
"You are aware, aren't you, that this trial is about the death of Mr Vincent Lee, who was shot dead in the Kam Fuk Restaurant last year?"
"That's my understanding."
"Before his death, you knew that Vincent Lee was a major drug boss in Western Sydney?"
"I think I saw some intelligence reports that mentioned that."
"And you know he was shot dead at about 10.30 a.m. on 27 July last year?"
Mannix already had cotton mouth. "I don't know the exact date."
"But you have no reason to doubt that date and time?"
"I don't know when it happened."
"Alright. Now, tell me: where were you at 10.30 a.m. on 27 July last year?"
"I, umm, don't remember. It's so long ago. My memory isn't that good."
"Really? In fact, you entered and left the Kam Fuk Restaurant at about that time, didn't you?"
"Ah, no, definitely not. I've never been in that restaurant."
"Alright then, Detective Mannix, I want to show you some footage from a CCTV camera mounted on the pawn shop next door to the Kam Fuk Restaurant. Please keep your eye on the date-and-time stamp at the bottom."
I asked the judge to have his Associate to play the surveillance footage of Mannix walking towards the restaurant at 10.20 a.m. and then walking away from it with a small white carry bag at 10.35 a.m. On both occasions, I told the Associate to freeze the footage and asked the witnes
s to admit he was the pedestrian on the screen. That was undeniable. So, each time, he emitted a shaky: "Yes".
When the film finished, I looked at the witness. "So, you admit that you passed in front of the pawn shop next to the Kam Fuk Restaurant at 10.20 a.m. and 10.35 a.m. on 27 July last year?"
"Umm, ah, I'm not sure."
"That's what the date-and-time stamp says, isn't it?"
"Are you sure it's right?"
"Detective, are you saying you weren't in the Cabramatta shopping district on 27 July last year?"
Lines writhed on his forehead. "No, I'm not saying that. I remember going there around that time."
I expected he would concoct an innocent explanation for his presence outside the restaurant. He was obviously about to provide it. "Really? What were you doing there?"
"I was doing some, umm, shopping."
"Shopping? What for?"
"I, umm, went to buy some jeans in the shopping centre."
"Did you buy any jeans?"
The detective knew that, if he said he did, I would ask for evidence of payment. "Ah, no, I didn't."
"In fact, you didn't go there to shop, did you?"
"Yes, I did."
"You went there to rob and kill Vincent Lee in his office behind the Kam Fuk Restaurant?"
The detective sounded like he was being strangled. "That's a lie. I had nothing to do with that."
"After you killed him, you emptied his safe of money or drugs and walked back the way you came, didn't you?"
"Absolutely untrue - totally false. A lie."
"Really? When you walked past the pawn shop at 10.20 a.m. you were not carrying a bag, were you?"
"I'm not sure."
"Really? We can watch the film again if you want?"
The detective looked horrified at the prospect of watching it again. "OK, I think you're right: I didn't have a bag."
"But when you walked back past the pawn shop at 10.35 a.m. you were carrying a small bag, weren't you?"
For some reason, the detective decided to dig in his heels. "I'm not sure what I was carrying."
"Then we will have to watch the film again." I looked at the judge. "Your Honour, will you ask your Associate to show again the second appearance of the witness?"
"Yes." The judge nodded to his Associate who quickly and efficiently fast-forwarded the footage to just before 10.35 a.m. and hit the "play" button. When Mannix reappeared on the screen, I asked her to freeze it. A still image appeared of Mannix holding a small white carry bag in his right hand.
I looked at the witness. "You agree with me, don't you, that when you walked back past the pawn shop at 10.35 a.m. you were carrying a bag?"
"Yes."
"That bag contained the contents of Vincent Lee's safe, didn't it?"
"Of course not."
"Really? Then what did it contain?"
"My shopping, I guess."
"Your shopping? You just said that you didn't buy anything."
A lock of sweaty hair was stuck to his forehead. "I made a mistake: I obviously bought some jeans and forgot about it."
"It's not a plastic shopping bag, is it?"
"Umm, no, it doesn't look like one."
"It's not the sort of bag that shops provide when customers purchase jeans?"
The witness looked like he was locked in a sauna. "Ah, no, doesn't look like it. Maybe I made a mistake about that too." A finger shot desperately into the air. "I know, I didn't go shopping for jeans - I went shopping for a bag. Yes, that's what I did, and that's the bag I bought."
The constant chopping and changing of his story provoked titters in the jury box.
"No, Detective, you found that bag in Vincent Lee's office, didn't you, and used it to carry away the contents of his safe?"
"That's a total lie."
I looked up at the frozen image on the screen and realised the white carry bag looked oddly familiar. Why? I vaguely recalled seeing it on some other video footage. What footage? Then it struck me: the tape of Vincent Lee arriving at the restaurant. Oh, Jesus. I felt a moment of supreme bliss. If I had flapped my arms, I might have flown.
I pulled the reins on my galloping heart. "Your Honour, might the witness be shown the surveillance tape of Vincent Lee arriving at the restaurant that morning?"
The judge looked at his Associate and nodded.
While the Associate fiddled with her DVD player, Jane Tomasic gave me an exasperated look and whispered. "What's this about?"
She shouldn't have interrupted me while I was cross-examining. That licensed me to annoy her. I leaned over and spoke softly. "I'm about to deliver the coup de grace."
Her expression shifted to a scowl.
The Associate fast-forwarded the footage until just before 10.10 a.m. and then played it at normal speed. After about 30 seconds, Vincent Lee appeared on the big screens, walking towards the rear of the restaurant carrying a small white carry bag.
"Freeze it, please."
The screen froze and I studied the carry bag. It looked exactly like the one Detective Mannix carried past the pawn shop at 10.35 a.m.
I turned back to the Detective and my voice quivered. "Detective Mannix, you're aware, aren't you, that the man on the screen is Vincent Lee?"
"Ah, yes, I understand that's him."
"This footage shows him arriving at the restaurant at 10.10 a.m. He's holding a bag, isn't he?"
Mannix looked at the bag and blood drained from his face. "Umm, yes, it seems so."
"You were holding that same bag when you passed the pawn shop at about 10.35 a.m, weren't you?"
Gasps erupted around me. Prosecutors are a hardy lot and rarely show any emotion in court. However, Jane Tomasic muttered: "Oh, shit." It was that kind of moment.
The witness looked like he was a room without oxygen. His mouth moved several times as if he was slowly eating his words. Finally, some emerged. "Ah, no, it's not."
"It looks exactly the same?"
"No, it doesn't."
"Really? What's different about it?"
"It's umm, hard to say."
"Do you want to see the 10.35 a.m. footage again so you can compare the bags?"
"No, no, I don't. But they are different."
His opinion didn't really matter, because it was up to the jurors to assess whether the bags were similar, and they would have no doubt.
I said: "After you shot Vincent Lee, you used his bag, which you found in his office, to carry away the loot, didn't you?"
"No."
I was now in the home straight. Time to pull together the strands of my cross-examination. "You conspired with Detectives Hanrahan and Mostyn to rob Vincent Lee, didn't you, because you all knew he was a wealthy drug boss?"
"Absolutely untrue," the witness said in a deflated tone.
"You entered the restaurant through the front entrance and forced Vincent Lee to open his safe?"
"I did not."
Then you shot him dead and robbed the safe?"
"Untrue."
"You put the contents of the safe - either drugs or money - into a bag you found in the office and left the restaurant through the front entrance, didn't you?"
"That's wrong."
"Later, when you heard that my client, Tuan Ho, was the murder suspect, you decided, with Detectives Hanrahan and Mostyn to frame him, didn't you?"
"Wrong, wrong, wrong."
"You all decided that Detectives Hanrahan and Mostyn would arrest him and plant the murder weapon in his apartment?"
"You're making this up."
"No, you are," I snarled and looked at the judge. "No further cross-examination, your Honour."
I sat and listened to a brass band play a massive fanfare in my head.
The judge looked at the prosecutor with wry amusement. "Madam Crown, do you wish to re-examine the witness?"
Jane was staring into the distance and didn't seem to hear him.
"Madam Crown, any re-examination?"
Jane lurched aloft, looking flu
stered. The prosecution case was now ruined beyond repair. Best to sidle away as quickly as possible. So, I wasn't surprised when, after a long pause, she said: "Umm, no, your Honour, no cross-examination."
"Any further witnesses?"
"No, the Crown rests its case."
"Good decision," the judge said wryly and looked at me. "Mr Norton, before you open your case, are you going to make a submission?"
At the end of the prosecution case, defence counsel can submit that the prosecution case is so weak and inconsistent that no honest jury could convict the accused. It is usually tough to convince a judge of that. But, if he is convinced, he will invite, but not compel, the jury to acquit.
His query made it clear that, if I made the submission, it would not fall on deaf ears. I was going to make it anyway. But it was nice to know he was on-side.
I said: "Yes, your Honour."
The judge looked over at the jury. "Members of the jury, I'm afraid we have another legal matter to discuss in your absence. Would you wait outside, please? This won't take long."
The Court Officer hustled the jury through a side door and the judge looked at me. "Yes, Mr Norton?"
I rose and submitted that no reasonable jury could find the accused guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. "Indeed, the inescapable conclusion to be drawn from the evidence is that Detective Mannix shot and killed Vincent Lee; then his colleagues, Detectives Hanrahan and Mostyn, planted the murder weapon in the apartment of the accused."
I spent 15 minutes summarising the evidence supporting that conclusion, including the "devastating evidence" that Detective Mannix left the murder scene holding Vincent Lee's white carry bag. "Your Honour, I don't need to discuss the demeanour of the three detectives in the witness box. The facts speak for themselves. However, insofar as their demeanour is relevant, they were clearly lying to hide their guilt. Those are my submissions, your Honour."
I sat down and the judge looked across at my opponent. "What do you say about that, Madam Crown?"
Jane Tomasic got to her feet and spent a long time arranging her robes and fiddling with her notes while pondering what to say. Her hesitation was understandable. She was a smart lawyer and knew that whatever she said would be rubbish. But she spoke bravely for ten minutes. For most of that time, she emphasised the traditional reluctance of judges to invite juries to acquit, but shied away from analysing the evidence. That did not help the judge, because he already knew the law and wanted assistance with the facts.
Justice 'Wrong' Stevens owed his presence on the bench to mistaken identity. Despite that - or maybe because of it - he was a decent judge. When the prosecutor finished, he shook his head. "Madam Crown, the defence only has to create a reasonable suspicion the accused is innocent. Mr Norton has gone light years beyond that. Your case is a smoking ruin. I am deeply concerned that the wrong person is now sitting in the dock."
Jane Tomasic had run out of fight. "Your Honour, I've made my submissions. I can't assist the court any further." She sat down.
"Thank you, Madam Crown. After hearing the submissions of both counsel, I have decided to invite the jury to acquit the accused."
The judge told the Court Officer to bring the jurors back into the courtroom. When they had regained their seats, he said: "Members of the jury, you have heard a good deal of evidence about the conduct Detectives Mannix, Hanrahan and Mostyn. Those detectives are not on trial; I am not here to judge them. However, in my opinion, there is a strong inference that Detective Mannix shot dead Vincent Lee and conspired with the other two detectives to plant the murder weapon in the apartment of the accused. Therefore, I invite you to acquit the accused without hearing any further evidence. I strongly recommend that you take that step. However, I cannot compel you to take it. You may decide that you want to hear further evidence. That is a matter for you. If you decide to acquit, your decision must be unanimous. Now, please retire to consider what you want to do."
The Court Officer again hustled the jurors out of the courtroom, and the judge told Jane Tomasic and me that he would return to his Chambers. When he had gone, Jane slid over to me. "Congratulations. You're going to have a big win."
Though confident the jury would acquit, I didn't want to jinx myself. "Thanks. But it's not in the bag yet."
"Are you kidding? The judge almost begged the jurors to acquit and several were smiling on the way out. They've had enough. They just want to bury this one. So do I."
During the cut-and-thrust of a trial, it is easy to forget that you have a flesh-and-blood client who depends on you. I suddenly remembered mine and strolled over to the dock, where I explained to him what was happening.
Tuan Ho said: "Will they do what the judge wants?"
"I'll be very surprised if they don't. But I don't trust juries. They do all sorts of crazy things."
"What happens if they don't acquit?"
"The trial goes on as if my application didn't happen."
"Gotchya. Then I give evidence, right?"
"I strongly advise you to go nowhere near the witness box. You can only do yourself damage."
A shrug. "You've said that before. But I want to tell the jury what really happened."
I sighed. "That's a matter for you. Hopefully, you won't get a chance." A Sheriff's Officer stepped up beside me. "Can we take him downstairs now?"
I nodded. "I've finished."
"Thanks."
The Sheriff's Officer and a colleague took Tuan Ho down the stairs to the cells, and I went over to see Clint and Helen. "Alright, let's go have a cup of coffee."
I gave the Associate my mobile phone number so she could contact me when the jury was ready to return, and we left the courtroom.
I did not have to wait long for her call. Thirty minutes later, while I drank coffee with my team at an outdoor table in Macquarie Street, basking in the sunshine and their praise, my phone beeped. I answered it. The Associate said that the jury had finished their deliberations.
My heart rapped against my breastbone. "Thank you."
I hung up and conveyed that information to my companions.
Helen said: "That was quick. Is that a good sign?"
"Yes. I'll be very surprised if they agreed this quickly to tell the judge to get stuffed."
Clint smiled. "Don't worry, it's in the bag."
I paid for our coffee and we strode back to the courtroom, where Jane Tomasic already sat at the bar table, wearing a look of resignation. Once again, I noticed the press box was empty.
The judge came onto the bench and asked that the jurors and accused be brought into the courtroom.
The jurors filed back into jury box looking happy and relaxed, as if they were already half-way out the door. That was a good sign, though I remained suspicious. My client trotted up the stairs into the dock, wearing a cheeky grin and winked at me. He had obviously convinced himself that he would be acquitted. I hoped he was right.
The judge asked the foreperson, a matronly woman, whether the jury had reached a decision.
She rose. "We have, your Honour."
"What is it?"
Despite my near-certainty that the jury would acquit, my gut started twisting. Maybe this jury was about to go rogue. My pulse raced. God, I felt like a drink. A schooner of beer would have raced down my gullet.
In a clear, steady voice, the foreperson said: "We want to acquit your Honour; we don't want to hear any more evidence."
I smiled at Tuan Ho in the dock. He laughed and gave me a big thumbs up.
The judge nodded. "Thank you. I now want to get the jury's formal verdict. Please listen to my Associate."
The judge nodded to his Associate, who read out the murder charge against Tuan Ho and asked the jury for its verdict on that charge.
The foreperson said: "We find the accused, Tuan Ho, not guilty, your Honour."
The judge looked pleased. "Thank you, Madam Foreperson." He turned to the prisoner in the dock. "Mr Ho, in the light of the jury's verdict, you are free to go."
Tuan Ho bowed extravagantly to the judge. "Thank you, your Honour."
The judge obviously wanted to tell him to stay out of trouble, but restrained himself. Instead, as Tuan Ho stepped out of the dock, the judge thanked the jury for their efforts and released them from jury duty for the next ten years. As they filed out of the jury box, he turned to Jane and me. "Do either of you have any applications to make?"
Clint leaned forward and stage-whispered to me. "Ask for costs."
I rose to my feet. "Your Honour, the accused asks for an order that the prosecution pay his costs."
The judge looked at the prosecutor. "Do you oppose that?"
In view of the way the prosecution case flew straight into a mountain, there was no point. She said: "No, your Honour."
"Then I order that the prosecution pay the costs of the accused."
Unfortunately, I would not see any of that money. It would go straight into the coffers of the Legal Aid Office.
The judge said: "Finally, I order that the registrar of this court write to the Commissioner of Police and the Chairman of the Police Integrity Commission, and ask them to investigate the conduct of Detectives Mannix, Hanrahan and Mostyn in relation to the death of Vincent Lee. The registrar should attach a copy of the transcript of this trial. I also order that the court retain the exhibits, but provide access to the Commissioner and Chairman." The judge eyed Jane and me. "Alright, thank you both for your assistance during this trial. I adjourn sine die."
He gave me a tiny nod of approval - the biggest compliment I'd ever get from a judge - and half-sprinted off the bench, obviously looking forward to spending an afternoon out of court.
Tuan Ho now stood beside me, looking uncertain. "I can go now?"
"Yep. You're a free man. You'll have to go back to Silverwater to pick up your gear, but they can't hold you there."
"And they can't charge me again?"
"No, they only get one chance - just one. This is over."
A lovely smile. "Good, good. Then thank you - thank you very much. You were great."
I didn't want to drown my big win in treacly false modesty. "Thank you."
I considered giving him a stern feel-good lecture about how lucky he was and how he should stay out of trouble. But, as usual, I restrained myself. I was a barrister, not a priest.
Clint appeared and shook hands with Tuan Ho. While they chatted about the trial, I turned and saw Jane Tomasic, sitting at the bar table, eyeing me. She sighed. "I thought that was an open-and-shut case. Boy, was I wrong."
I shrugged. "I thought the same until I saw Mannix chatting with the other two detectives in Queens Square."
She got to her feet. "Silly bugger. Anyway, congratulations. That was quite a win. In a way, I'm relieved. I know you won't believe me, but prosecutors don't like seeing miscarriages of justice either."
Actually, I didn't believe her - prosecutors just like winning. But why be churlish? "I know."
She shook her head and sighed again. "You know, before the trial, I had conferences with Hanrahan and Mostyn. I didn't think much of Mostyn. He was obviously a thug. But Hanrahan seemed very charming, for a cop. He even seemed honest."
"Don't blame yourself. He's a smooth bugger who fooled lots of juries over the years. But I knew he was crooked."
"How?"
I explained how Hanrahan planted 200 grams of cocaine in Goran Milic's wardrobe and I couldn't shake him during cross-examination.
"And today you got your revenge?"
I smiled. "Big time."
"Congratulations. Is Milic still inside?"
"Yep, doing six years, minimum."
"So, you'll use the evidence in this trial as the basis for an appeal?"
"Of course."
"The appeal should succeed. Good luck."
"Thanks."
I went back to my side of the bar table. The head of the Homicide investigation, Detective Superintendent Owen Saunders, had spent most of the trial sitting in the back of the courtroom. Now, his big battered face loomed in front of me. "Congratulations, Mr Norton. You destroyed months of police work and made me look like a fool. But I'm impressed. It's not every day someone solves a murder during cross-examination."
I laughed. "Oh, it's a simple trick. So, you think the three detectives were behind the murder?"
"Of course they were. I always thought there was something suspicious about the way Hanrahan and Mostyn appeared out of the blue and arrested your client. Now I know what they were up to. The murder of Vincent Lee is again an unsolved crime, and I'm going to pin it on the Three Amigos."
"You sound confident."
"I am. There's plenty of evidence against them already, thanks to you, and I should be able to dig up some more. I bet they had lots of dealings with Vincent Lee - that was how they knew what was in his safe. They're going to get kicked off the force and serve long spells behind bars; they made me look like a fool, and they'll pay for that."
"Bravo."
The cop looked uncomfortable. "Now, before I go, I'd better apologise to your client. I don't usually do that after an acquittal, because I know the accused is guilty. But this time is different. Will he talk to me?"
I smiled. "He's a very affable chap."
"OK."
We strolled over to Tuan Ho, talking to Clint and Helen. The low-level drug dealer looked a little surprised when the hulking cop loomed over him.
Saunders tugged his right ear. "Look, umm, we obviously got the wrong guy. I'm sorry about that."
Despite being wrongly accused of murder, spending six months in prison and being dragged through a murder trial, Tuan Ho smiled magnanimously, one professional to another. "Forget it - no hard feelings. You were just doing your job."
The cop looked surprised. "Thanks. Anyway, I'll be in touch. I'll want you to give evidence against the three detectives."
"Sure, no problem. I hope you get the dirty bastards. Let me know."
"OK. What's your number?"
Tuan Ho recited his mobile number and the cop jotted it on a pad.
"Thanks, I'll speak to you later."
After saying goodbye to me and Jane Tomasic, the detective strolled out of the courtroom. Jane and her solicitor quickly packed up and followed him.
Tuan Ho looked at me. "OK, I'd better get going. Thanks for everything. Next time I get charged with something, I'll use you."
"Well, remember this: I'm not so hot if you're guilty."
A grin. "That's too bad." After thanking Clint, he said: "See you guys around."
As he strolled jauntily towards the rear door, I predicted a future dotted with criminal trials and spells in gaol. I might well see him again.
I turned to Clint and Helen. "Alright, let's have lunch."
Clint phoned his office and asked someone to collect the mental trolley holding his court documents. Meanwhile, I slipped my wig and gown, and brief, into my bar bag. I slung it over my shoulder and we all headed out of the courtroom.
In the hallway outside, I saw Carol Rolfe, from the Sydney Morning Herald, steaming towards us, holding a pad. She slowed and looked puzzled. "Hi Brad. I popped over to see what's happening. Why are you leaving?"
"You're too late, I'm afraid, the trial is over."
She looked surprised. "Oh? What happened?"
"The judge invited the jury to acquit and they accepted his invitation."
Raised eyebrows. "Really? Sounded like a strong prosecution case to me. What happened?"
I shrugged. "Oh, it became clear that a police detective was the real murderer, and two other detectives planted the murder weapon in my client's apartment."
She looked stunned. "Holy, shit. Was anybody else there?"
"You mean, in the press box?"
"Yes, of course."
"No."
She clutched her chest and emitted a dramatic sigh. "Thank God. That's a relief. If nobody was there, it didn't happen, right?"
"I guess not."
"Anyway, got to run."
> She spun around and rushed out of the courthouse.
We followed her into the blinking sunshine and strolled across Queens Square, past the po-faced statue of Queen Victoria. The world outside seemed bigger and fresher than the last time I saw it.
Helen said: "That's unfair. You deserve some press coverage."
I shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Carol's one of the better court reporters. But she probably would have misreported everything that happened and not mentioned me. Anyway, newspaper stories don't get you briefs."
Office workers were pouring out of buildings to enjoy their lunch hour. We grabbed a pavement table at our regular cafe in Macquarie Street, and ordered sandwiches and coffee.
While consuming them, we relived the highlights of the trial and laughed at the horror on the detectives' faces when they realised they had switched from being hunters to prey. It was great fun. I tried to sound modest, without much success. But, every so often, it occurred to me that, if I hadn't seen Mannix with the other two detectives in Queens Square, Tuan Ho would have received a very ugly sentence for a crime he didn't commit. That thought generated a shiver each time.
After about an hour, Helen looked at her watch. "I'm afraid I've got to go to an appointment." She smiled at me. "Thank you for letting me tag along. That was fantastic. I still have to do another week of criminal reading. Let me know if you've got any more interesting trials."
"WilI do. But this is probably the high point of my career. It may even be my last acquittal."
"I doubt that."
"You have been warned."
She said goodbye to Clint and strolled off.
My instructing solicitor watched her until she disappeared around the corner. The angle of his gaze indicated he was a legs man. "Attractive woman."
"I've noticed that."
"I think she likes you."
"You've said that before."
"And I think I'm right. You interested?"
"I haven't really thought much about her, to be frank. I've had something else on my mind."
"Oh, what?"
"A murder trial."
"Maybe it's time you did."
"Why? She's probably married anyway."
"No ring."
"You really are a sticky-beak."
"Give it some thought." He downed the last of his coffee. "Now, I don't usually drink booze at lunchtime, but we should celebrate your magic trick. If I buy a bottle of wine, will you help me drink it?"
I feigned shock. "You'll buy it?"
He grinned. "Yup, this is a once-in-a-lifetime offer, so you'd better not miss it."
I didn't usually drink at lunch either. But this was a special occasion. "How can I say no?"
"Good." Clint called over a waiter and ordered a mid-priced bottle of chardonnay. The waiter returned and poured the wine into a couple of glasses. We both took a sip.
Clint raised his glass to me. "Here's to you, mate. No matter how long you are at the Bar - or how many trials you do - this one will always be your masterpiece. I've been a criminal defence solicitor for more than thirty years and Tuan Ho had one of the most hopeless defences I've seen. But you saved his bacon."
I tried to sound modest. "I got lucky."
"You got lucky because you did the work and stayed alert. Not many of your brethren do that. Hell, you even forced me to do some work, and that's not easy."
I laughed. "Thank you."
He grinned. "So remember this trial the next time you lose half-a-dozen on the spin and you think you're completely hopeless."
"I will."
We spent the next two hours polishing off the bottle of wine, and a second one he ordered. At first, we reminisced about the trial. Then we gossiped about barristers and solicitors we knew. It was amazing how frequently they changed jobs, partners or sexual orientation. Then Clint took the discussion off-road and told me about the two years he spent, after university, backpacking through India and China, smoking heaps of dope. He obviously led an interesting and adventurous life before he shrank into a dull job and disappeared into the warm and squishy arms of the 'burbs.
Eventually, he summoned a waiter and, over my objections, paid for both bottles of wine. Then he glanced at his watch and jumped to his feet. "Jesus, it's almost four. If I don't get moving, I'll miss my train. I'll speak to you tomorrow morning."
I decided to take advantage of his good mood. "OK. Just one last thing: about my fee; you said you'd only pay for two days of prep; I think I deserve a third."
His eyes narrowed to pinpricks, as I expected. Nobody at the Legal Aid Office cared if he lost every case he touched. He'd only get in trouble if he went over-budget. "I'm not sure about that. Money is tight."
"Come on. I did more than a week of prep and you won't have to pay me for the rest of the trial."
He pursed his lips. "OK. I'll try to get it past my boss."
"You will?"
"Yes."
That meant I would make about $6,000 for the whole trial. Not much for such hard work. But I probably would have done it for nothing.
I said: "And what about Goran Milic? You'll contact him?"
"Yep. I'll tell him what happened and ask if he wants to appeal. He'll say 'yes', of course. When I've got instructions, I'll send you a brief."
"Good."
"Hooroo."
He strolled off, a little unsteady. I really liked Clint: he was a nice guy and an excellent lawyer on the rare occasions he put his shoulder to the wheel. But I hoped he wasn't briefing me in ten years' time. If he was, I'll be stone motherless broke.
I strolled back to Chambers and realised that I was too euphoric and too full of booze to work. Instead, I caught a train to Bondi Junction and strolled a couple of blocks to my apartment.
Later, after sobering up, I cooked stir-fry vegetables while glancing out the window at the winking lights of the city centre. Not being able to share my forensic triumph with a partner made me feel lonely. That, in turn, made me think about Helen Lawson. Was she single? And, if she was, should I chase after her? A little to my surprise, I realised I wasn't interested in her. She was smart, attractive and vibrant. However, because she had spent her whole life pushing against open doors, she was also a little complacent and bland.
I hadn't thought about Patricia Ransome for several weeks. Now she pushed her way past Helen into the front of my mind. Too bad I couldn't tell her about the trial. She would have asked smart questions and we would have had a good laugh. She certainly would have kept my feet on the ground.
I pondered contacting her one last time and asking for forgiveness, but decided I had bothered her enough. Time to accept my punishment and move on.