MURDER BRIEF (19 page)

The hubbub abated. Rex Markham
turned and grinned. "Happy. Relieved. Ecstatic. This has been an
incredible ordeal. Thankfully, it’s turned out well. For that, I’m
profoundly grateful to my legal team and the jury."

The same voice climbed an
octave. "Did you ever suspect Hugh Grimble was the killer?"

He shook his head. "No. That
came as a great shock to me. A terrible shock."

A burly and bearded radio
reporter interjected. "How do you feel about him now?"

"Angry - angry and disappointed.
I feel horribly betrayed."

"Are you going to marry Ms
Tucker?"

"No comment."

"Are you going to write a book
about this?"

Rex half-smiled. "Probably a
whole series of books, when I have enough distance."

The burly reporter turned to
Brian. "When did you realize Grimble was the killer?"

Brian said: "Well, as you saw,
only after the trial started. The credit for unmasking him must go
entirely to my junior, Ms Parker. She dug up the incriminating
evidence and, as you saw, conducted a brilliant re-examination of
Grimble."

Every lens now pointed at Robyn.
Microphones danced under her nose. A sound-boom almost clubbed her
on the head.

A female reporter said: "Ms
Parker, is that right?"

Robyn’s moment of glory had
arrived and she was desperate to embrace it. But the best strategy
was to back into the limelight. "Oh, no. I was just part of a team.
We all worked together. I’m just glad I played a part."

"Who found the new
evidence?"

"We all did."

Brian shook his head. "Robyn’s
being too generous. As I said, she found it." On that note, Brian
held up his hands. "Now, thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen.
I think Mr Markham deserves some peace and quiet. He has been under
enormous pressure. Thank you very much."

A beefy male reporter yelled:
"Will there be a press conference later?"

Ignoring him, Brian broke
through the media phalanx with the others in tow.

A dozen cameramen and
photographers pursued them along the pavement, jostling for good
angles. They only fell away when the party entered the building
that housed the barristers' chambers.

Everybody got into a lift and
Brian turned to Rex. "How do you feel?"

Rex had the bug-eyed look of a
combat survivor. "Stunned, mostly. Christ, I need a drink."

Bernie said: "So do I."

In his room, Brian opened a
small bar fridge and handed everyone a can of beer.

Rex ripped his open and raised
it high. "Thank you all for saving my scrawny neck. I know I threw
a few - several - stumbling blocks in your way. But you managed to
push them aside, and for that I’ll be eternally grateful."

Brian said: "Like I said, you
should really thank Robyn. If she hadn’t got the receptionist to
talk, you’d now be sitting in the back of a prison van with some
very smelly career criminals."

Rex looked at Robyn: "Thank you
Robyn - thank you very much."

She blushed deeply. "It was a
team effort."

Brian said: "Did you ever
suspect that Hugh Grimble was ripping you off?"

Rex smiled. "I started to. A few
months before Alice died, I noticed my royalty stream had dipped
and couldn't understand why. So I told Hugh I wanted my accountant
to go over his books."

"What did he say?"

"Didn't object. Said I was well
within my rights. But, of course, he kept finding reasons to delay
the whole thing. And then Alice got murdered and I had bigger
things to worry about."

"Ironic, isn’t it, that
she
found out you were getting screwed?"

"Yeah. But, why'd she suddenly
discover Grimble was stealing my royalties? Why’d she start
snooping?"

"Isn’t that obvious?"

"No."

"You two were getting divorced
and she wanted to make sure you weren’t hiding any assets or
income. So she looked through Grimble’s records and discovered he
had two sets of accounts and was ripping you off."

"So she confronted him?"

"Yep, and demanded a slice of
the action. You see, she didn’t care that Grimble was stealing your
money - in fact, she was probably pleased - but she wanted her
cut."

"And Hugh agreed to that?"

"Of course. But instead of
honouring their bargain, he killed her instead."

"Pretty extreme."

Robyn shrugged and interjected.
"True. But maybe he didn’t have enough money to pay her off; or
maybe he didn’t trust her; or maybe he was just a greedy pig. I
don’t know. One thing is certain: he couldn’t let her talk."

Brian said: "So, when Grimble
heard you’d been charged with murder, he must have been ecstatic.
If you ended up behind bars, he’d get away with murder
and
fraud
and,
as a bonus, could keep stealing your money. You
know, his plan was fiendishly clever."

Rex shook his head. "I still
can’t believe he killed Alice and betrayed me. I mean, we were
close as brothers."

Robyn rolled her eyes. "Now
you’re being naïve: he was just a bullshit artist who, in the end,
outsmarted himself."

Rex sighed. "I’m so lucky you
unmasked him."

"Well, I wasn’t always on the
right track."

"What do you mean?"

"At one stage, I thought Richard
Olsen might be the killer." No point mentioning she also suspected
Rex’s mate, Tim Nolan.

Rex smiled. "You did?"

"Yes, and I
still
don’t
know his real name."

"I’m afraid I don’t know
either."

"You mean,
you’re
not
him?"

"Correct."

"Really?"

"Yes. I know I’ve told you a lot
of porkies. But this time I’m telling the truth."

Robyn crossed her arms and
frowned. "Mmm. Looks like I’ll have to do a bit more snooping."

"Good luck."

They spent the next hour
drinking beer while recalling the highs and lows of the trial.
Grimble and Sam Mahoney were the main targets of ridicule.

But their celebration grew
sombre as it slowly dawned on each that the trial could have easily
ended in disaster.

Just after seven o’clock, Rex
stood up, looking incredibly tired. "Well folks, I’d love to keep
drinking, because I owe you so much. But there’s someone I’ve got
to see and thank."

Robyn said: "What’re you two
going to do? Get married?"

Rex shrugged. "I don’t know.
Recent events have done a lot of damage. I’ve got a lot of repair
work to do." He dropped his beer can in a bin. "Do you think the
journos are still downstairs?"

Brian peered out the window.
"Yeah. There’s quite a few across the road."

"Damn. Is there a back way out
of here?"

"Yep. Go down the fire-escape.
It leads to a side-lane."

"Thanks."

Bernie stood up. "I’ll go with
you."

"OK. Let’s go."

Rex thanked the two barristers
again and left with Bernie.

Brian turned and half-smiled at
Robyn. "Congratulations. You’ve covered yourself with glory - you
really have."

Robyn wondered if her efforts
really won the trial. Or would the jury, irrationally, have
acquitted Rex anyway? She’d never know. But she was happy to take
the plaudits, deserved or not. "Thanks. And thanks for giving me
the credit when you talked to the press."

Brian’s grin widened. "Hey, I
may be a bastard, but I’m not a
fucking
bastard."

Her tone softened. "I know
that."

He shuffled slightly and looked
down. "Well, umm, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Want to
join me for dinner? It’s up to you."

Should she accept? She had to be
very careful that her triumphant mood and the boozed she'd drunk
didn’t artificially boost his appeal. But he had risen dramatically
in her estimation. During the trial he showed plenty of grace under
pressure and, afterwards, generously praised her efforts. Most silk
would have elbowed her aside and grabbed all the bouquets. Maybe
she could knock off his rough edges and create a good finished
product.

She stood on the edge of a
precipice. Should she jump or not? Oh hell, why not? She took some
huge risks during the Markham trial and triumphed. Why not take
some more? She was on a roll.

The last time he took her out to
dinner, she only just escaped his clutches. Tonight, she wouldn't
even try to run. "I’ve got a better idea."

He frowned. "What?"

"Come over to my place and I’ll
cook you something."

A broad smile. "You’re
kidding?"

She slowly shook her head.
"No."

He drove them over to her
terrace in his Audi and parked outside. Fortunately, Veronica had
gone out for the night.

In the hallway, Robyn said that,
on reflection, she wasn’t in the mood to cook.

He raised his eyebrows, knowing
where events were heading. "Then what do you want to do?"

A smile. "Come upstairs and I’ll
show you."

Now that she had committed
herself, her inhibitions disappeared. When they reached her
bedroom, she clawed off his clothes and almost fucked him to
death.

Afterwards, he lay on his back,
sweating and breathing hard. "That was great. You know, I’ve been
crazy about you for months. Like I said before, I’ve never met
anyone like you. I know I’m rushing things and I know I sound
stupid, but I want to get old and senile with you. I really
do."

She lay next to him. "You think
that now. But that won’t last."

"Yes it will."

For the first time since she’d
met him, he sounded sincere.

She said: "Well, I want to see a
lot more of you. I really do. But let’s not go overboard just yet?
One step at a time."

He nodded. "OK. But I won’t let
you down. I promise."

"Let’s see how we go. Just
remember this: I’m not a forgiving girl - your first chance is your
last chance."

He grinned. "Don’t worry, I’ve
worked that out."

Soon afterwards, he fell asleep
and snored gently.

She lay awake for a long time,
wondering if she had made a terrible mistake.

The next morning, Robyn woke
with Brian snoring softly beside her and savoured her triumph in
the Markham case. She’d always planned to grab plenty of glory for
herself, but succeeded beyond her wildest dreams: in the biggest
trial of her life, under a harsh media spotlight, she saved their
client from decades behind bars. Good work, girl. Bloody good
work.

On top of that, Brian had
climbed in her esteem and might even make a decent partner. Early
days, and she still had doubts, but there were promising signs. She
even fantasised about them bringing up cute kids together in a fine
house on the harbour. OK, maybe she was deluding herself. But why
not? She deserved a break from reality.

After a while, Brian sleepily
rolled over and put an arm around her. "Hi," he muttered.

"Hi."

He opened a bleary eye. "How ya
feeling?"

"Good. Great."

"Don’t regret last night?"

"No, not at all."

"Good. Then you’re not going to
tell me to back off?"

"Not yet. But remember, you’re
on probation."

"How long will that last?"

"Until your dying day."

He giggled. "I can handle that.
What’re we going to do now?"

"I don’t know about you. But I’m
going to work."

"OK. And what about
tonight?"

"You get to buy me dinner."

At the train station, Robyn
purchased a copy of the
Sydney Morning Herald
. The splash
headline said: FAMOUS NOVELIST ACQUITTED. The story below
summarized the trial and gave her credit for uncovering the
"dramatic new evidence" that pointed the finger of blame at Hugh
Grimble. It also said her cross-examination of Grimble had
"destroyed the prosecution case". Brian wasn’t even mentioned. She
hoped that didn’t annoy him too much.

At Fisher Chambers, she found
her pidgeon-hole clogged with messages from friends and colleagues.
Phoning them back took time because, after congratulating her, they
all wanted a blow-by-blow description of the trial, which she soon
got tired of giving.

Several journalists also phoned
wanting interviews. She was strongly tempted to say yes. But Brian
was her leader: it was his prerogative to deal with the press. So
she politely steered them in his direction. None sounded happy
about that. They obviously regarded her as better copy. But she
stuck to her guns.

Numerous colleagues also slipped
into her room to offer their congratulations and demand a full
briefing.

Just before noon, she got the
phone call from her mother that she’d been dreading. Robyn hadn’t
seen her for several weeks. But, for once, her mother didn’t accuse
Robyn of neglect. Instead, she chided Robyn for not mentioning the
murder trial. "It was so exciting to see you on TV. You obviously
did a wonderful job - wonderful. Your father would have been so
proud of you. Won’t be long now before you’re a silk, will it?"

"Mum, that’s a long way off -
ten years at least."

"Oh, that long? But, in the
meantime, it would be nice if you wore his wig. I’ve still got it
here. Maybe I should send it to you?"

"No, don’t Mum. I’ve got a wig.
I don’t need it."

"I’ll send it anyway. And come
and see me soon, OK? I want to hear all about the trial - every
detail. "

Robyn knew her mother would
grill her for hours, slowly sucking the joy out of her triumph.
Then her mother would use the information gathered to claim
bragging rights at the local lawn bowling club where she spent most
of her days.

No point insisting that her
mother keep her father's wig, because she wouldn't listen. "I will
visit. But I can’t talk right now. Got so much to do."

She hung up, trembling slightly,
hating the way, whenever she did something good, her mother clubbed
her over the head with her father’s memory. Still, she couldn’t
help wondering if her father would have enjoyed her performance in
the Markham trial. Surely, he would have managed a small smile.