Quota (22 page)

Again, the judge showed no sign of a concluded view. ‘Mr Weir?'

‘Well I objected, Your Honour, because of the very risk that we're now discussing. I'd submit that this line of questioning can only result in a discharge of the jury. If the witness ultimately tells Mr Ocas that he and Mr Jardim conspired together to “fix” his evidence, then yes, that assertion would be vehemently opposed, and my learned junior will wind up a witness in any retrial of the matter. So there's the grounds for a discharge of this jury. If, on the other hand, the witness says there was nothing in it and he recanted his first version for no other reason than he wanted to come clean, or if he testifies that there's some other, extraneous, reason for the change of heart, then where does that leave us? What if Mr Ocas accuses the witness of protecting Mr Jardim by denying that he was the influence? Then we're back at square one. Mr Jardim withdraws from any further role in the trial, the jury is discharged, and at a retrial, he would be called by the prosecution to give evidence of whatever it is that transpired at Dauphin in March.'

‘So you yourself don't know what transpired, Mr Weir?'

‘No I don't. It's always my practice to proof witnesses, and Mr Ocas knows that. I take each and every witness on the presentment and I interview them, or my junior interviews them, before they give their evidence. That's nothing revolutionary, happens all the time. Now in this case, I did send Mr Jardim to Dauphin to go through the statement with the witness, purely for reasons of convenience. He went down there so that I could concentrate on other things and as it happened he was detained there by um, by circumstance, for some time. I don't know if it was two weeks or three weeks, or what it was. But I have every confidence that no pressure was brought to bear.'

‘You have discussed it with him?'

‘Not at great length Your Honour. I was aware from speaking to the witness himself that he was planning to recant and give the version he's given in chief. But as I understand it, that was made clear to Mr Jardim before he left Dauphin at the end of March. Mr Jardim had told me that was likely to be the case after he'd spoken to the witness down there.'

‘Mm. Mr Jardim—' Justice Fabian Williams, retired RAAF wing commander, noted authority on early colonial building techniques and grandfather of triplets, turned his gaze on Charlie, who rose to his feet and shuffled his robe over his shoulders.

‘Mr Jardim, we're all speaking about you, which is never very comfortable when you are present in the room. But you can see the importance of the issue at hand. Tell me what you say your role was in all…this.'

Charlie looked to his left, to see Harlan reclined almost horizontally in his seat, looking straight back up at him. He had the end of a pen in his mouth, and his glasses were pushed all the way down to the end of his nose. There was a random fizz of sound in Charlie's head, the background white noise of a department store or a crowded bar. He waited while it subsided. His thoughts returned to focus and he attached himself firmly to one of them as his mouth opened.

‘Your Honour, as Mr Weir has said, I went to Dauphin through a division of labour between him and me. He looked after the forensics people and the technical evidence such as the keypad at the wharf gate. We agreed that I would go to Dauphin because we knew from Detective Sergeant Robertson that the witness was unco-operative and we knew, equally, that his evidence had to be crucial to conducting a proper trial. So I went there with the express aim of meeting Mr Lanegan and talking to him, reassuring him about the process of giving evidence and encouraging him to give a true account.'

Charlie paused while he considered the sound of those words.

‘By that I mean that I did not advise him or caution him as to the believability of the first account. It was patently obvious that it was false, but I had no more idea than anyone else did as to what the “right” version was. It's not the case, as Mr Ocas is suggesting, that we had such a finely developed sense of the evidence that we could say to him, “Look, here's what the corroboration is. You need to say the following.” That's just not true.'

The microphone on its stalk stood just in front of his chest. Many times he had calmly told witnesses ‘You need to speak up—the microphone doesn't amplify, it just records.' And yet, in his panic, he felt sure that his thumping heart, just centimetres from the silver globe of the mike, was being broadcast to the room, beyond it, to the world. The sweat was running cold down his back. He pressed his fingers hard into the wooden top of the table to disguise their shaking.

The judge's features softened ever so slightly. ‘You are entitled to legal professional privilege in respect of what passed between you and the witness at Dauphin, but I don't need to remind you, Mr Jardim, that there is the potential for grave problems in this trial if it emerges that you did influence the witness. For now, I'm happy enough to let the matter rest. Yes, sit down. Mr Ocas, what is it?'

The Basque had risen again, this time with his arms folded resolutely over his commodious chest. ‘Your Honour,' he began, before looking down at Charlie, pointing at him. ‘You have asked that the matter be left on trust. Now, I'm not one to lay siege to the, to the tenets that, um, bind us all together, but with respect, sir, this barrister has been the subject of disciplinary proceedings in recent months, unresolved as far as I am aware, and now he's—'

‘That has nothing to do with this matter!' roared Weir, scattering folders and notes as he stood. ‘Nothing! Mr Ocas is aware, as I would say the court is aware, that the matter currently before the regulators does not concern my junior's integrity or his honesty. It relates to his, his…' Harlan was looking straight into Charlie's eyes, looking for the word that would shield him. ‘It relates to his temperament.'

‘Relates to his fucking judgment, Harlan,' shot back the Basque, out of the side of his mouth.

The judge raised an eyebrow. ‘What was that about judgment, Mr Ocas?'

Now it was Ocas on his feet.

‘I said, Your Honour, that the disciplinary matter concerns Mr Jardim's
judgment
, the very same thing I am suggesting may be lacking here.'

The judge looked weary. ‘I think Mr Jardim's character, his judgment or however you wish to phrase it, has been subject to more than enough scrutiny over that incident. Mr Ocas, you will tread very, very warily with these allegations. Am I clear?'

For just a second, the Basque looked chastened. ‘Yes, Your Honour.'

‘Tipstaff, bring the jury back in please.'

Charlie stared intensely at the front edge of the table, studying each gouge and nick in the surface; the ones that were long since worn into the patina of the table, the ones that were fresh and angry. The initials carved by the pens of those who were long gone, the imprints of words pressed passionately into the page with such conviction as to leave a blind palimpsest in the varnish. The faint traces of other storms, other fights. One day he would be such a leftover. Perhaps he already was. He was never destined to be the wager of such wars, never to be honoured with a decades-old grudge such as these two had. He was, momentarily, the subject of their clash, but that would change. As Patrick had himself observed as they sat on the rocks after the snorkelling, the circus would move on. He sank further and further into himself as the two of them hammered away at each other, telling himself that one's successful discrediting of him, or the other's unbeaten defence, would amount to nothing in the end.

The sun would rise tomorrow, and as it swept over Melbourne and lit a warm glow through the petrochemical haze, it would climb into the eastern sky and eventually cut its way west to dapple the marram grass on the sandhills above Gawleys, sublimely indifferent to his fate.

The jury were brought back in, shuffling their more or less identical suburban backsides into their seats and flipping their notebooks open on their laps. Moments later, Patrick was again ushered into the witness box. The judge ignored him and turned to the jury.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, from time to time, as you have already seen in the course of this trial, issues arise between the lawyers and myself which need to be resolved in your absence. They are, by and large, tedious matters about which you need not be concerned. So I am directing you—don't draw any inference, positive or negative, from the fact that we have just had a discussion in your absence. Yes, carry on please, Mr Ocas.'

The Basque stood again, pushing back the heavy colonial chair and gathering the folds of his robes. He very deliberately uncapped two pens, one red and one blue. He was unhurried in his movements. He checked everything on the table in front of him before looking up to locate Patrick in the witness box.

‘All right', he muttered absently. ‘All right, all right. I'm going to start with what you've told us today, Mr Lanegan. So you were on the boat that night, the
Caravel
I mean. You were on it, yes?'

‘Yes I was.'

‘And I've taken you through the statement you swore to police that night, and you've agreed that from page three onwards, it is a work of fiction, yes?'

‘Those parts were not true, yes.'

‘They were deliberate
lies
, Mr Lanegan.' Ocas exhaled loudly, to let the jury know that this rough-looking lad was vexing him.

‘They were untrue, I've said that.'

‘You made that statement within two hours of your brother's body being discovered, did you not?

‘I did.'

‘And you made it with the events of the night particularly fresh and sharp in your mind, didn't you?'

‘Um, things were a bit frantic…there was a lot going on.'

‘Yes, but in terms of the clarity of your recollection, it couldn't have been sharper, I suggest to you.'

‘I suppose that's right.'

‘And you agree that the signature at the foot of the document, made there within two hours of your brother's body coming ashore, is yours, made by you?'

‘Yes it is.'

Ocas looked up at the judge, who was writing. He waited silently until the pen was lowered and Williams looked up.

‘I tender that statement, Your Honour.'

Fabian Williams took the document, when it had done its rounds past the associate and tipstaff, looked at it briefly and wrote again.

‘Yes, defence exhibit one,' he droned. ‘Proceed.'

‘So, Mr Lanegan. I am going to ask you some questions about the version of events you have given to this court today, and I want you to remember two things when you answer these questions: first, you are on oath, and second, the jury will have your first version as exhibit one, for comparison. Do you follow me?'

‘Yes I do.'

‘Good. Now your evidence seems to be that when you boarded the
Open Quest
, neither of you could see anybody there, is that right?'

‘Well, I can‘t speak for Matt, but I definitely didn't see no one. Anyone.'

‘You agree that anybody who was on board would've heard the sound of your vessel approaching?' Forty-eight hours earlier, Charlie had been watching a footy telecast, and had observed the very same thing happening. Ocas was the dominant side here, just passing the ball across the midfield, patiently waiting for a gap to open up.

‘Yes.'

‘You weren't concealing the sound of the vessel in any way?'

‘No.'

‘And when you boarded, you didn't tiptoe around, did you?'

‘No.'

A sparrow darted around the decorative plaster ceiling, flitting from the massive ornamental rose around the light fitting to the right angles of the cornices and around to windows. It was trapped, but didn't know it.

‘Because on your evidence, you say you were going to a pre-arranged rendezvous.'

‘Yes.'

‘You had no reason to be sneaking around, right?'

‘Yes, that's right.'

‘So, plenty of noise approaching, and plenty of noise boarding.'

‘Yes.'

The Basque rubbed his hands absently over his belly, fingers stopping to twirl the buttons on his waistcoat pockets. ‘And then, the two of you have a bit of a look over things, a bit of a wander through the bridge, a quick squizz at the charts and the GPS?'

‘We did.'

‘Again, in the relaxed assumption that the people you were meeting must be around somewhere, must be about to join you in fact.'

‘Well, we weren't relaxed, but yes.'

‘But according to the account you've given us today, neither of you thought to call out? “Skip, we're here”…pretty simple isn't it?'

Ocas had found the gap in the backline and was spearing towards goal. There was a long silence after the question had rung off the walls.

‘No, we didn't do that.'

‘Why on earth not? The boat's not that big, is it? You've said in your evidence that both vessels were at rest, the motors weren't running, it was a fine, still night out there…couldn't you have just called out?'

‘I—I don't know why, but we didn't.'

‘All right. Tell us this. When you boarded, how far behind Matthew were you? How long after he crossed over, did you cross over?'

‘Maybe two minutes.'

‘To be fair to you, I suggest that two minutes is probably longer than you think. Are you sure it was that long?'

Patrick thought hard. ‘Yes. I had to tie off the stern and the bow, and slip a couple of fenders between the two boats. It would've been two minutes.'

‘Okay. How long before you reached the wheelhouse?'

‘Maybe another two.'

‘Why? What did you do on the way?'

Charlie knew Patrick's subtleties well enough by now to see that the question had worried him.

‘Nothing,' he said after a slight pause. ‘Just took me time, stood there for a sec or two on the port side before I went up.'