MURDER BRIEF (12 page)

"The private eye hasn’t turned
up anything so far."

"I don’t care. Leave it to
them."

"But…"

Brian scowled. "Do as you’re
told." He turned to Bernie. "Can we leave this matter to you?"

The solicitor nodded. "Sure.
I’ll get the private detective to check Tim Nolan’s
whereabouts."

Robyn sighed. "What a waste of
time."

Brian lifted an eyebrow. "God,
you’re impetuous."

"I just want to win."

He frowned. "Maybe, but every
game has rules, including this one."

She’d noticed Brian was happy to
bend the rules if
he
could get away with it and
he
would benefit. He was obviously worried she might steal his
thunder. Further, like many with rubbery morals, he loved to
preach.

Soon afterwards, Bernie left and
the two barristers started loading folders onto the metal trolley
they would take to court on Monday morning.

They’d almost finished when
Brian’s secretary, Denise, entered and said the Court List for
Monday had been posted on the Supreme Court’s web site. The Markham
trial would be heard in the old Supreme Court Building, before
Justice Craig Dobell.

As Denise disappeared, Robyn
turned to Brian. "Dobell - I’ve never appeared before him. Have
you?"

"Yep. Several times. I also
opposed him quite often when he was at the Bar."

"What’s he like?"

"A brilliant lawyer. But has a
heart the size of a pea. He’ll referee a fair fight: there’ll be no
biting or kicking. But if we lose, he’ll put Rex away for a very
long time."

Robyn’s heart revved up a notch.
The case was really getting serious. "Then we’ve got to avoid that,
don’t we?"

"Yep." Brian put the last folder
on the trolley and sighed. "Anyway, I’m going home. You want a
lift?"

She’d worked hard to keep their
relationship purely professional and give him no openings. So far
he’d behaved himself and now, with the trial only a few days away,
she felt surprising affection. The pressure he was under made him
seem more human and his composure increased her respect.

She’d let him give her a lift
home, but be on her guard. "Yeah, OK."

They strolled across Macquarie
Street to the car-park under St Mary’s Cathedral, where Brian had
left his Audi.

He drove from the car-park and
glanced at her. "Look, it’s up to you, of course, but why don’t you
let me buy you dinner before I drop you home? You don’t have to say
yes. But I could do with some company right now."

He’d finally used the dreaded
"dinner" word. What to do? In the circumstances, it would be
petulant and rude to refuse. And, truth be told, she was nervous
about Monday and didn’t fancy spending the evening alone. Even
his
company would be good. But if he wanted her for dessert,
he’d go hungry.

She said: "OK. Where to?"

He smiled. "Italian?"

"Fine."

"And we won’t talk about the
case, OK? That’s
verboten
."

She
only
wanted to talk
about the case, but couldn't insist. "OK. Agreed."

He used his mobile to book a
table at an expensive Italian Restaurant in Woollahra and drove
over there.

After they were seated and
ordered their meals, Robyn asked how he planned to spend the
weekend.

"Oh, I’ll probably drive down to
my farm. I often do before a big trial. Helps me clear my
head."

"You’ve got a farm?"

"Well, not much of one - just a
hobby farm."

"Where?"

"Kangaroo Valley. Takes me about
three hours to reach it."

"How big?"

"Tiny. Just a homestead on 20
hectares."

"Any animals?"

"Sort of. The farmer next door
pays me to agist his cattle. That’s all."

"How often do you go there?"

"About once a month. The rest of
the time, I’m too busy."

"Then why have it?"

He blushed slightly. "I love
tramping around in gumboots and talking to the cattle and, to be
honest, the farm helps me minimize my tax. My accountant won’t let
me sell it."

"Sounds complicated."

"It is."

The waiter poured the wine and
Brian told some funny stories about his career at the Bar,
including some disastrous early experiences. It was reassuring to
know he’d also stuffed up cross-examinations and had judges scream
at him.

He said: "You know, during my
first two years at the Bar, I was a positive menace to my clients.
I shouldn’t have represented anyone."

"Thank God you've improved. You
worried about Monday?"

"Not yet."

"But you will start
worrying?"

He frowned. "Oh yes, definitely.
But let’s forget about that."

She deeply sympathized with the
weight on his shoulders. Now the moment of truth had arrived, she
preferred taking a back seat. Suited her fine.

While they chatted, she polished
off most of the wine bottle and felt her mood lift. He only drank a
few glasses.

She said: "You haven’t drunk
much?"

"I’m driving."

"And if you weren’t?"

He smiled. "I’m not a big
drinker. I have many vices, but boozing isn’t one of them."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?
What vices?"

He laughed. "You’ll have to find
out."

Maybe she had misjudged him. He
was arrogant and supercilious - no doubt about that. But he was
also handsome, witty and could be surprisingly self-deprecatory,
though never comfortably so.

When he recommended her for the
Markham brief, she feared he just wanted to get her into bed. The
jury was still out on that. But so far, at least, he’d behaved
himself, maybe too much.

However, the big test - when he
drove her home - was still ahead. Would he make a move when they
got there?

And, if he did, would she
resist? To her surprise, she wasn’t sure. She’d drunk a fair bit
and hadn’t been to bed with a man for a long time. She was also
tired of being too judgmental and ending up alone. Maybe it was
time to hold her nose and take a few risks; maybe he was a frog who
would turn into a prince.

He paid the bill and escorted
her out to his car. She felt a little unsteady, but the cool breeze
freshened her up.

Fifteen minutes later, after
lots of idle and slightly tense chatter, he pulled up outside her
terrace in Glebe. She grabbed the door-handle. "Thanks. That was
very nice."

He looked nervous. "Yes, it was,
wasn’t it? In fact, I’d like to do it again, if possible."

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to
or not, but had to be polite. "OK. So would I."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Then, to her horror, he cleared
his throat, squeezed the steering wheel and stared straight ahead
as if he had
a lot
on his mind. "Look, you know, I’ve made a
lot of mistakes in my life. I’ve been pretty stupid where women are
concerned. But, umm, I know it sounds corny, but I’ve never met a
woman like you - I really haven’t. I think you’re fantastic."

Christ, the moment of truth had
arrived. Her brain split in two. She was desperate for sex,
company, love, and Brian had risen in her estimation. Their shared
mission had brought them closer together. But she also knew she had
drunk far too much booze and was in no fit state to make a proper
assessment. She tried to subtract the influence of the booze from
her grading of him and got more confused.

He leaned closer. "You want me
to park the car?"

What a fucking stupid line.
Sleazy bastard. The spell was broken. Now, she just wanted to get
away from him. "No. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you on Monday."

She pushed the door open and
jumped out.

"Wait."

"Monday. See you then."

She scuttled across the road and
into the terrace, heart thumping. Fuck, that was close.

The next morning, Robyn woke
with a hangover. Edgy thoughts rattled through her stone-dry brain.
She slowly and painfully sifted through the events of the previous
night and realized how close she came to sleeping with Brian. Thank
God she didn't. Somehow, despite being half-pissed, she’d escaped
his creepy embrace. In the cold light of day, she realized he was
the last man she needed in her life. Womanisers like him never
change. He would act sincere until he got her into bed - then the
nightmare of infidelity would begin.

She was desperate to put some
distance between them but, until the trial was over, they were
stuck together like Siamese twins. Somehow, she had to be
diplomatic and reduce any tension, without making any concessions.
That wouldn’t be easy.

An hour later, she gingerly
descended the stairs and found Veronica in the kitchen, wearing
bicycle shorts, eating toast.

Veronica grinned. "Hi. You came
in late last night."

"Yeah, I had dinner with
Brian."

Veronica’s eyes and mouth
widened. "Your leader?"

"Yeah, my leader." Robyn sighed.
"I know, I know. It probably wasn’t a smart move. But nothing
happened. When he dropped me off, I didn’t invite him in."

Veronica frowned. "You’re
unbelievable - you really are. You should have dragged him in here
and fucked him to death. I would have. Would have made this
building shake."

"Maybe. But I don’t really like
him."

Veronica sighed, as if dealing
with a troublesome child. "You’re kidding? He’s a legal superstar
and quite dishy besides. If you decide you don’t want him, I’ll
take him off your hands."

"Be my guest."

Robyn soon forgot about Friday
night and focused on the Markham trial, now only a few sleeps away.
Brian had told her not to investigate Tim Nolan’s whereabouts on
the night of the murder. But they couldn’t wait for the private eye
to turn up something. Surely, she had to make her own
enquiries.

She hesitated until Sunday
afternoon, when she finally decided to act. But who could tell her
where Tim Nolan was that night? The only candidate was his wife,
Beverley.

Robyn considered driving over to
the Nolans’ house and confronting Beverley face-to-face. But if she
did, her husband would probably be there.

She eventually decided to phone.
True, that would give Beverley a better chance to dissemble or even
hang up. But Robyn had little confidence Beverley would tell her
anything anyway and wanted to minimise her own embarrassment. Yes,
one quick call and then she’d bury this issue.

Heart thumping, she found the
Nolans’ phone number on the internet and dialled it, praying
Beverley would answer. Thankfully, she did.

"Hello", Beverley said.

"Beverley. This is Robyn Parker,
the barrister for Rex Markham."

Beverley sounded guarded. "Oh,
hi Robyn. What can I do for you?"

"Umm, I’ve got a few questions
to ask, if you don't mind." Robyn heard kids screaming in the
background.

"Now?"

"Yes. I won’t take long."

"What about?"

No point shilly-shallying. Robyn
took a deep breath. "Well, I’ve been wondering why your best
friend, Alice Markham, only told you she had
one
lover when,
in fact, she had
two
."

Beverley’s voice quavered. "What
do you mean?"

Robyn cringed inside. "Have you
talked about that issue with your husband?"

Robyn heard an intake of breath
and feared Beverley would hang up. But, after a long pause,
Beverley whispered "Yes, I have."

"What did he say?"

"That’s none of your
business."

"Maybe. But he admitted sleeping
with Alice, didn’t he?"

"Christ, you’re very rude."

"It’s true, isn’t it?"

Beverley’s voice cracked
slightly. "Yes, he did, the bastard."

"I’m sorry to hear that. That’s
tough news."

"You’ve got no idea. We’ve got
two children - two."

"I understand." Robyn was
already embarrassed about her intrusive questions. But they were
mild compared with those to come. She opened the bomb doors. "Look,
I hate having to ask you this: but where were you and your husband
on the night Alice was murdered?"

Beverley sounded affronted.
"You’re not suggesting, are you…?"

Like a good cross-examiner,
Robyn kept her questions flowing. "No. That’s why I need to know:
to eliminate you two. Where were you?"

Long pause. "OK. That’s easy. We
were at home."

"By yourselves?"

"Yes, with our kids."

The kids screaming in the
background sounded very young. Hardly competent witnesses.

Robyn said: "Tim didn’t go
out?"

A slight pause. "No, definitely
not."

"You’re sure about that?"

"Yes. He definitely stayed
home."

Robyn wasn’t sure whether to
believe her. But there was no point accusing her of lying.

Robyn said: "OK. So what’re you
two going to do now? You’ll stay together?"

Beverley’s voice cracked
slightly. "I don’t know. At the moment, we’re still sleeping
together, and he’s promised to stay faithful. But I’ll never really
trust him again. I’m not sure what to do."

"I hope things work out. I’m
sorry if I’ve offended you; I’m just trying to help my client."

"That’s all?" Beverley said,
sounding relieved.

"Yes, thanks."

Hand shaking, Robyn put the
receiver back on its stand. Their conversation had resolved some
issues, but not the biggest: where Tim Nolan was on the night Alice
was murdered. Beverley could easily be lying about that. But the
trial started in the morning and Robyn had run out of time. If Tim
Nolan was the murderer, he was in the clear.

Obviously, there was no point
telling Brian about her conversation with Beverley. The information
was irrelevant and he wouldn’t appreciate her efforts at all.