MURDER BRIEF (16 page)

So two people who worked closely
with Alice Markham couldn’t remember when they last saw her. Why?
Was there some turbulence between Grimble and Alice they were both
trying to hide?

Robyn decided to quiz the
receptionist about her forgetfulness. She glanced at her watch. If
she jumped into a taxi now, she should reach the offices of Grimble
& Co, in Chinatown, just before six o’clock.

Robyn rushed downstairs, hailed
a taxi and reached her destination with ten minutes to spare.
However, instead of entering the building she tarried outside,
watching everyone leave.

After fifteen minutes, the
receptionist emerged. Despite the cold, she wore a short skirt with
tights, and carried a small pink plastic handbag.

She walked past Robyn without
noticing her. Robyn rushed up and touched her elbow. "Excuse
me."

The receptionist spun around,
surprised. "Yes?"

"Do you remember me? I visited
your firm a couple of weeks ago. We had a chat."

"Oh, yes, I remember. You’re one
of the barristers working for Rex Markham."

"Yes. I suppose you know his
trial’s started?"

The receptionist blanched. "Yes,
I saw that on TV. Umm, I’ve got to catch my train."

As she turned to leave, Robyn
grabbed her arm. "Look, I won’t be long, I promise. I’ve just got a
few questions."

The receptionist pulled her arm
away, but remained stationary. "What questions?"

"Well, when we spoke before, I
asked when you last saw Alice Markham…"

"Did you?"

"Yes. And you said you couldn’t
remember."

"Yeah. So what?"

"I find that hard to believe. By
Monday, at the latest, you knew Alice Markham had been murdered.
Yet you can’t remember when you last saw her…"

"I forget things."

"Yeah, maybe. But you wouldn’t
forget that. It would have stayed very fresh in your mind. So tell
me, what happened the last time you saw Alice?"

The receptionist’s eyes jiggled
and she spoke with a burr. "Nothing happened. Nothing."

"Really? There was a problem,
wasn’t there, between her and Grimble? Some issue?"

The receptionist’s jaw quivered.
"There was no issue."

Robyn had feared she was on a
wild goose chase. No longer. Her heart tried to bash its way out.
"Yes there was. Look, I’m not asking you to be disloyal or
anything. But the trial is going really badly for Rex. In fact, the
evidence of your boss was disastrous. I think he’s trying to get
Rex convicted. So Rex will go to prison, unless you help. You don’t
want that on your conscience."

The receptionist shook her head
vehemently. "Look, I just don’t want to get involved, OK? I don’t.
It’s nothing to do with me."

"An innocent man will go to
gaol."

The receptionist looked ready to
cry and she bleated: "I just don’t want to get involved, OK?"

She obviously wouldn’t budge, so
Robyn said: "OK. OK. But if you change your mind, let me know.
Here’s my card. It’s got my mobile number on it."

Robyn proffered her business
card, fearing it would be refused. But after some hesitation, the
receptionist snatched it and scuttled away.

Robyn strolled around for a
while. Adrenalin washed out of her system and depression rolled in.
The receptionist might hold the key to Alice Markham’s death. But
the bloody woman wouldn’t hand it over and Robyn couldn’t make her.
At least she took the business card. That gave Robyn some hope.

Robyn caught a taxi home.
Veronica wasn’t there. So, after eating a salad sandwich, she took
the unusual step of downing a can of beer before gloomily trudging
up to bed. In her career at the Bar, this was definitely the lowest
of many low points.

She fell asleep and had a
familiar dream that she was in a courtroom, appearing before her
dead father. As usual, the footage in her head had no sound-track.
But they were definitely arguing about something. She kept scowling
and waving her finger. He kept shaking his head, looking annoyed.
His beetle brows twitched beneath his full-bottom wig.

She woke three times that night
and each time worried about the trial. But the fourth time, just
after six o’clock, she woke because her mobile was ringing. She
groggily picked it up and heard a nervous voice. "Hi, this is
Justine Pearson, ah, the receptionist. Look, umm, I think we’d
better talk. I’ll tell you what I know."

"About what?"

"Who killed Alice."

At home, Brian Davis reflected
on the day's events, while downing a few whiskeys, and concluded
that Rex Markham’s fate was sealed. A conviction was inevitable,
unless a mad juror ignored all the facts and held out for an
acquittal. But a juror that crazy would have already started
drooling and mumbling to himself, maybe even seeing visions, and
he’d seen no signs of that.

At least he wasn't to blame for
this debacle. It wasn’t his fault if their alibi witness turned out
to be a dumb arse-hole. That was just a bad break. Even a top
barrister like himself couldn't always twist the facts and win an
acquittal. Sometimes, the truth intruded and demanded respect.

He was annoyed he wouldn't win
this high-profile case and establish himself at the pinnacle of his
profession. However, losing would be a temporary setback. Future
triumphs in celebrity cases were inevitable. No point getting bent
out of shape.

Having absolved himself of blame
and convinced himself his career was still on track, he got a good
night’s sleep and rose at 7.30am, feeling rather chirpy. The sooner
he got this mess over and done with the better.

When he arrived at his chambers,
an hour later, he tried not to think about the trial. He couldn’t
repair the damage Grimble had done and didn’t want to waste any
more emotional energy. So, to distract himself, he sorted through
the pile of mail on his desk.

Bernie Roberts turned up at
9.20am, looking downcast. "Morning. Any flashes of
inspiration?"

"Afraid not. You?"

"No."

"Robyn should be here by now.
Have you spoken to her this morning?"

Bernie gave a wintry smile. "No.
Maybe she’s abandoned ship."

"If she has, I don’t blame her.
You know, she reckons Grimble deliberately sabotaged our case."

Bernie frowned. "Why?"

"Because
he
killed Alice
Markham."

Bernie emitted a strangled
laugh. "Really? You’re kidding, right?"

"No."

"Hah. I reckon Grimble just
fucked up."

"Agree."

Neither wanted to chat about the
trial. So they discussed other cases they were doing together. At
9.30am, Brian said: "Well, we’d better head for court."

"What about Robyn?"

"Can’t wait for her. Let’s
go."

They left the building and
strode up Phillip Street, through the usual roiling media throng,
into the old Supreme Court building. Downstairs, beyond the
security gate, they found their client sitting in an interview
room, waiting. Rex looked like he’d lost a couple of pints of
blood.

Brian said: "How’re you
feeling?"

"Like hell. Boy, I’m in deep
shit, aren’t I?" He looked around. "Where’s Robyn?"

"Oh, she’s attending to a few
things. She’ll be here soon. Have you considered what you want to
do?"

Rex took a deep breath. "Yes. I
won’t plead guilty - I just won’t."

"Fair enough. But you
understand, don’t you, that your chances of winning this trial are
bleak - very bleak?"

"I understand. But I won’t say I
murdered my wife, because I didn’t."

"OK. That’s your right."

Rex rubbed his jaw. "So, can I
give evidence again, to explain what happened?"

"You mean, explain how you
cooked up your alibi with Hugh Grimble?"

"Yes."

Brian shook his head. "No. Quite
frankly, that would just make things worse."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

Rex sighed. "I suppose you’re
right."

"Good. We’ll see you in
court."

The barrister and solicitor went
upstairs and entered the Banco Court. As they did, Brian looked
around for Robyn. Still no sign. But Grimble sat in the public
gallery, stone-faced, wearing a pin-stripe suit and subdued grey
bowtie. He looked marginally happier than Rex Markham.

Brian sat at the Bar table, next
to Sam Mahoney and his sinister junior, Angus Tucker.

Mahoney smiled malevolently. "I
told you I had a surprise in store, didn’t I?"

Brian wanted to pick up a law
book and bash Mahoney’s brains out. But kill one dodgy prosecutor
and another would immediately take his place. "What surprise?"

A frown. "Grimble’s phone
records."

"Oh them? Non-issue if you ask
me."

"Yeah? Try and convince the jury
of that."

"I will." Brian swallowed his
pride and tried to sound friendly. "Look, Sam, I don’t have any
instructions, but if you drop the murder charge, I’m sure I can
persuade my client to plead guilty to manslaughter."

Mahoney shook her head. "Sorry.
No chance. It’s the Big M or nothing."

Brian tried to look confident.
"Well, don’t say I didn’t give you a chance."

"Hah, you’re whistling in the
dark. We both know that."

The Court Officer yelled for
everyone to rise and Justice Dobell took his place on the
bench.

The judge ordered the jury be
brought into court. When they were seated, he looked at Mahoney.
"Mr Prosecutor, do you wish to continue cross-examining Mr
Grimble?"

Brian knew Mahoney would want to
remind the jury of the devastating evidence Grimble gave the day
before. So he wasn't surprised when Mahoney said: "Yes, your
Honour. I won’t be long."

The judge sat back with a veiled
smile. "No need to hurry, Mr Prosecutor. Take your time." He looked
over at Grimble. "Mr Grimble, would you please return to the
witness box."

Grimble walked stiffly towards
the witness box and sat heavily. As he did, Robyn rushed
breathlessly into the Court, robes swirling, and sat next to
Brian.

Brian glared at her. "Where the
hell have you been?"

Still puffing, she whispered:
"
Grimble
killed Alice Markham."

Her wild theories were really
starting to annoy him. "You’ve said that before."

"I know. Now I’ve got
proof
."

Brian’s heart accelerated.
"What’re you talking about?"

Before she could answer, Mahoney
started his cross-examination and they both turned to listen.

Mahoney said: "Mr Grimble, do
you recall that, yesterday, I asked whether Rex Markham dined at
your house the night his wife was murdered?"

Grimble stared straight ahead.
"Yes."

"And you said you couldn’t
remember, correct?"

"Yes."

"And that’s still your evidence,
isn’t it?"

Grimble rubbed his temples
ferociously. "No, it isn’t. I’ve thought about that overnight and
now I’m
sure
I didn’t have dinner with Rex."

Mahoney’s smile shone into every
nook and cranny of the courtroom. He looked back at Grimble and
trilled: "You didn’t?"

"That’s right."

"Then why did you say you
did?"

"I got confused."

"Confused?"

"Yes."

"So now you’re certain you
didn’t
have dinner with Rex Markham on the night his wife
was murdered?"

Grimble kept staring at the back
wall. "That’s correct."

"Then where were you?"

"As I recall, I went over to the
casino and did some gambling."

"For most of the night?"

"Yes."

Christ, Brian thought. This was
the fucking
coup de grace
. Grimble seemed to be deliberately
making sure Brian had no wriggle-room in his final address to the
jury. Maybe Robyn was right: the bastard was trying to bury
Rex.

Mahoney smugly looked at Justice
Dobell. "Your Honour, I have no further questions."

The judge looked at Brian. "Mr
Davis, do you wish to re-examine your witness?"

Brian saw no point. Better to
get Grimble out of the witness box as soon as possible. "No, your
Honour."

Robyn rose and interjected
loudly. "Yes we do, your Honour."

Brian couldn’t believe her
impudence. He grabbed her arm and muttered. "What the hell are you
doing?"

She whispered insistently. "Let
me re-examine him."

"About what?"

"Leave that to me."

Justice Dobell looked genuinely
amused. "Well, is the defence going to re-examine or not?"

Robyn said loudly: "Yes, we are
your Honour."

"That right, Mr Davis?"

Brian glared at Robyn, hoping
she’d back down. But she shot back a steely gaze. If he opposed
her, she’d obviously cause a big scene: she was that sort of girl.
That was the last thing he wanted.

He muttered to her: "I hope you
know what you’re doing."

"Of course I do."

Brian looked up at the judge and
shrugged. "Yes, your Honour. We want to re-examine this witness. My
learned junior will conduct the re-examination."

The judge frowned. "Alright
then, get on with it."

When Robyn answered her mobile
that morning and heard the receptionist, Justine Pearson, say she
wanted to talk about who killed Alice, her heart went crazy and
assaulted her breastbone.

Robyn gulped in air. "What do
you know about that?"

"I know about … about … what
happened at the office that Friday."

"You mean, the day before Alice
Markham got killed?"

"Yes."

Robyn now had the receiver in a
death-grip, mouth dry as dust. "OK. Tell me."

Haltingly, Justine described
how, at about three in the afternoon, a courier arrived with a
package for Hugh Grimble marked "
urgent
". Justine reckoned
it was probably just another unsolicited manuscript from a
desperate author. But, in case it wasn’t, she decided to take the
package straight to Grimble.