On Saturday morning, kitted out in helmets and Lycra gear, Adrian Calhoun and I rode our bicycles around Centennial Park. Adrian had lost even more weight, and was withdrawn and moody. I did not blame him. He had gone from being a master of the universe, with the world on a string, to unemployed and facing years in prison. He was entitled to be traumatised. I suspected part of him wanted to slough off his friends, including me, and not live under anyone's gaze. He even confessed to me that he sometimes wished his girlfriend, Rowena, would abandon him, but she had stuck fast.
After riding around the park for a couple of hours, we repaired to a local pub called The Red Lion, sat at the bar and ordered a few beers. Exercise always improved his spirits and he became chattier. He even asked about my work, though he barely listened to my responses.
I said: "Have you had a conference with "Frosty" O'Toole yet about your prospects?"
"Yes, Sandy and I saw him yesterday, at his Chambers."
"What did he say?"
Adrian stared at the wall of bottles behind the bar. "He said the prosecution case is very strong and I should plead guilty to get a reduced sentence."
"Are you going to do that?"
"I've got no choice. O'Toole said that, if plead guilty, I'll probably spend four or five years inside, if I behave myself. If I fight the charge and lose, it'll be six or seven. I'd be about forty when I got out. Shit."
"If you plead guilty, you'll have to admit that you are guilty?"
He turned and looked exhausted. "Mate, I'm tired of lying to everyone. I was losing money on the horses and on shares - losing badly. I needed funds. Colin came up with the scam and I went along with him."
This was the first time he had admitted guilt. I shrugged. "We all make mistakes."
"I made a monster one. O'Toole said I should also offer to give evidence against Colin - the judge will like that and might lop some more time off my sentence. "
"You going to do that?"
Adrian again studied the bottles above the bar. His voice quivered. "I spoke to my parents about that."
"What did they say?"
"They told me to make the offer."
"Are you going to do that?"
His glass shook and he looked haunted. "I don't know - I really don't. This is so hard, because Colin's a mate; I've known him forever."
"Maybe. But he's probably getting the same advice as you. If he makes the first offer, the prosecutor might not need you."
"I don't think he'd betray me."
"Really?"
A long sigh. "What do you think I should do?"
When advising clients, I gave legal rather than moral advice. I apprised them of their legal options and the consequences of each, and left them to their fate. That was a hard habit to break. "I can't tell you. You've got to live with the decision, not me. But, whatever you do, I'll support you."
He broke down and sobbed. Other patrons looked at him with concern. Feeling, I'm ashamed to say, a little embarrassed, I led him over to a booth in the corner and cradled his head. Soon, I started crying.
Five minutes of sobbing purged our black moods and we spent the next couple of hours in good spirits, drinking and chatting about everything except the criminal charges. It was almost like old times. However, after we split up, I rode home feeling battered and bruised. The prosecution case against Adrian was obviously watertight - he had been a clumsy criminal - so I was glad he had decided to plead guilty. However, I had no idea whether he should give evidence against Colin. Legal knowledge will only guide you for a short distance along life's road. Then you've got to find your own route.