Detective Superintendent Owen Saunders' investigation into the conduct of the three detectives moved a lot faster than I expected. A month later, he arrested and charged Mannix with murdering Vincent Lee. He also arrested and charged Hanrahan and Mostyn with numerous offences, including conspiracy to murder and, for planting the pistol in Tuan Ho's apartment, interfering with the course of justice.
Those charges got saturation media coverage, of course, though my role in bringing the offences to light was scarcely mentioned. Shortly afterward, I phoned Saunders and asked if he was confident of obtaining convictions.
The detective had a smile in his voice. "Absolutely. They don't have a hope in hell. I've got a mountain of evidence. Their lawyers are already hinting their clients want to rat on each other for a lesser sentence."
A week later, I appeared before three judges in the Court of Criminal Appeal and asked them to quash the conviction of Goran Milic and order his release from gaol. I pushed against an open door. The laying of charges against Hanrahan and the transcript of the Tuan Ho trial quickly convinced them that Hanrahan had poisoned the well of justice. The Crown Prosecutor opposing me flapped around for a while, without saying anything worthwhile. The judges didn't even bother to reserve their decision. They quashed the conviction of Milic and ordered his release, and said they would publish their formal reasons at a later date. Milic was released from prison the next morning. I didn't expect, or deserve, to receive a "thank you" from him, and didn't get one.
I thought I'd heard the last of the Tuan Ho trial. However, a couple of days later, I was sitting at my desk reading a law report when someone shuffled into my room. I looked up at the portly figure of Bert Tolsen. That surprised me, because the great man rarely ventured out of his room and had never ventured into mine. What on earth did he want?
He said: "You busy? Can I sit down?"
"Of course."
Sitting on each of my two spare chairs was a small pile of law reports. He gently put one pile on the desk and sat down. "You know, I chatted with someone about you yesterday."
"Really? Who?"
"Ron Stevens. Saw him in the street. He asked if you were in my chambers. I said you were. He said you appeared before him in a murder trial about a month ago and he was very impressed; said you belted the prosecution case out of the park."
"The cards fell my way."
"Really? What happened?"
I gave him a blow-by-blow account of the Tuan Ho trial, which he seemed to enjoy. When I finished, he smiled. "Well done; good job."
"I got lucky."
"Yes, you did. But, in this game, a lot of guys miss good luck. It whizzes past them like a fast car. You did the work and got the reward. Well done."
I shrugged. "Thanks. But the trial won't help my career much. I may have impressed Ron Stevens, but he won't send me any briefs."
His mottled face broke into a smile. "I was at the Bar for 15 years before my golden run started. If you keep pushing a boulder, one day it will move."
I raised an eyebrow. "You sure of that?"
He smiled. "Pretty sure. But don't try to look too far ahead; don't worry where you're going. If I've learnt one thing in life, it's that winners don't care about winning, they just love the race."