The Charlton Affair (4 page)

Encouraged by the absence of any judgment or condemnation in his demeanor, she told him how she felt when she met Charlie. How amazed she was by the intensity of her attraction, despite not knowing the woman. She explained how confused she was by her feelings. Not wanting him to think she was having a psychotic event, she didn’t reveal that Charlie was the woman in her dreams. She never wanted anyone to know that.

Sympathetically, he explained that sometimes people who had been made to bury their emotions as children took a little longer to become established in their personal identities. He reflected her feelings back at her in context, allowing her to see that anyone would feel scared and confused in her situation. It didn’t take the pain away, but at least she didn’t feel like she was going crazy anymore.

*****

A courier dropped off the package and Amanda signed for it. It contained two copies of the updated Michael Rawlins brief along with a signed client agreement. Amanda took a copy into Charlie’s office and placed it on her desk. She could attend to it when she was back from her meeting.

In the mean time, Amanda logged the briefs into the system, filed the client agreement, and recorded her administrative chores against Michael’s account. She took up the second copy Darren had thoughtfully provided and started to read. She noted Darren had included a hard copy of Michael’s LinkedIn profile as background material.

Taking a legal pad and a pencil, she jotted down things to follow up and other relevant information. Her first note was to verify his qualifications. Next was to check the online RP Data property information service for the couple’s Australian property records. Amanda noticed he also had investments in New Zealand. Noting the amounts, she also made a note to check the New Zealand properties.

She turned over to Michael’s and Phoebe’s last three years of tax returns and their superannuation account information. Noting the details, she moved on to the insurances.

Amanda was astounded to see both parties held life insurance policies to the value of five million dollars. Carefully noting the policy dates and amounts, she kept going through the brief. There were copies of relevant documents including the marriage certificate, the Financial Agreement, various property contracts, vehicle leases, Michael’s employment contract and Phoebe’s partnership agreement with Nilson Banks. Amanda quickly read the section about Michael’s personal information, noting his affair with a woman called Marita Sanchez.

Opening her favorite spreadsheet application, Amanda carefully listed the relevant amounts and information, creating columns to enter verification information once obtained. She also created sections for missing information, such as identity verification, which she would hopefully be able to add later on.

Checking over her handiwork, she was pleased. When Charlie came back she would be able to offer her a single page summary of Michael and Phoebe’s assets and liabilities that also detailed what she planned to investigate.

Getting to work, she started with the easy stuff. Logging into RP Data, she began examining the entries for each property.

*****

Phoebe sat at her desk, having shoed away her solicitous secretary yet again. Even though she had been at work now for several days after the food court episode without fainting, her secretary was checking in on her every few hours.

Staring at her screen blankly, she struggled to focus. She could have taken a few days off, but going to work was better than sitting around at home dwelling on her situation. That would have driven her mad. She tried to concentrate on her current proposal, risk profiling a major sporting organization. It was interesting work, but she kept getting distracted by thoughts of Charlie. Strangely, now that she knew who the woman was, the dreams had stopped. Instead, she found herself thinking about Charlie in that way while awake. It was disturbing. She realized she had hardly noticed Michael’s lengthy absence. He hadn’t been home for more than a week now. The only feeling she experienced when she reflected on this was gratitude.

Giving up on the risk profile, Phoebe thought about all the information she had found online about Charlie over the last few days. With a plethora of hits on various legal sites, a charity organization that Charlie was on the board of and various mentions in relation to pro bono work she did from time to time, Phoebe had lots to look at. She had bookmarked an especially attractive photo. Phoebe had even read some of the judgments of Charlie’s cases from the Queensland Courts site.

From Charlie’s Queensland Bar Association details, Phoebe knew they spent their working days only two city blocks apart. She decided to start taking lunch and coffee breaks so she might have a chance of bumping into Charlie. She would make up the time by staying back later. After all, she no longer cared about getting home for dinner with her husband. Initially happy with her little plan, she suddenly had second thoughts.
Am I becoming a stalker? Is this crazy? Am I throwing away my marriage to follow a stranger around?

*****

Bored, Charlie swirled a spoon around in her grande coffee, ruining the intricate design the barista had carefully created in the foam. She was sitting alone at a window table at a new ‘chocolateria’ in George Street. She sighed to herself, wishing Roman was on time for once, especially as this frivolous venue had been his choice. If he had just come to her chambers as she suggested, she could have kept working instead of wasting all this time. Uncharitably, she thought,
he’s probably been distracted by something bright and shiny on his way over
.

After rebuking herself for her nasty thought, she realized she had been in a bad mood all morning. It was probably a good thing she was out of the office for a bit. She hadn’t slept well and was concerned about one of her court matters. At least poor Amanda was getting a break from her bad attitude.

Deciding to try to stop being grumpy, she waved a waitress over and ordered one of the extravagant chocolate creations from the menu. Just then, Roman joined her at the little table. Scanning the menu he prudently ordered coffee and a chocolate croissant. Once the waitress had gone he eyed Charlie over significantly.

Pursing his lips, he said, “Mmmm,” his expression a mixture of disapproval and condescending solicitude.

“What?” Charlie replied, immediately defensive.

“Nothing,” he said sweetly as he eyed her chewed nails, battered handbag and scuffed shoes.

“I’ve been busy, OK?”

“I didn’t say a word,” he replied innocently.

Deciding to let it go, she asked after a mutual friend. She was aware from long experience that once he started chatting, she need not say much. He would gladly fill her in on the affairs of everyone they knew. All she had to do was nod her head occasionally and make intermittent noises of shock or approval.

Surprisingly, she enjoyed the monstrously rich chocolate extravaganza she had ordered. Negotiating her way through the complicated dish took some effort. Luckily Roman was still revealing a string of juicy details, so she could concentrate on her meal. She wasn’t paying close attention for much of the gossip anyway. That changed when he started regaling her with the tale of how his friend Phoebe fainted in the food court.

Charlie laughed at the appropriate intervals and encouraged him to reveal more. Roman didn’t saying anything about Phoebe’s personal life, sticking to general comments about the ambulance ride and the hospital, much to Charlie’s disappointment. She got the distinct feeling he was protective of her, which she took as confirmation Phoebe was having some sort of difficulty. She didn’t press him. He was way too smart for that. He could spot digging a mile away.

Roman asked after her. She explained she was still single and really not ready to dive back in.

“So to speak,” he replied archly.

Charlie gave him an evil glare for his cheekiness.

“Come to my next dinner party,” he said.

“I hate being the only single person on a table full of couples,” she complained.

He smirked, “You’re in luck.” He declared. “The next one is mostly singles. I’m having an ‘odds and sods’ night.”

“Charming,” she rolled her eyes at him, “So, now I’m an ‘odd’?”

Undaunted, he teased her, “More of a sod. You’ll fit right in.”

*****

Amanda sent an appointment request for the following afternoon entitled, ‘Rawlins Investigation Results’ to Charlie via their calendar program. Charlie could accept or modify it when she got back from her lunch with Roman. Amanda couldn’t wait to share her information with Charlie but knew she was busy this afternoon. 

Amanda had suborned her father, a Senior Sergeant in the Queensland Police Service, to do checks with some very interesting, if unofficial, results.
It pays to have contacts
, she thought, as she made some adjustments to one of Charlie’s typed advices, placing the revised version back in Charlie’s tray.

Amanda’s email notification chimed. It was a message from Charlie’s iPhone. Short and sweet, the message accepted the calendar invitation. Clearly Charlie was interested in her work. Amanda happily set about organizing her documents for Charlie to examine the following afternoon.

*****

After a longer than usual day, Phoebe was relieved to finally be home. She opened the internal door from the garage to the house. Immediately, she felt that something wasn’t right. A slight breeze played against her skin where there should be none. The automatic light sensors were not working. The hall lights should have come on when she opened the door.

Her hackles rose in an instinctive reaction and she stood stock still, frozen in indecision. A little voice inside her told her not to go any further, to go back. Just as she was about to persuade herself not to be silly and go in, she heard a noise. It sounded like a footstep. Then there were more footsteps. Someone was running toward her.

Terrified, she dived back through the door and ran the few steps to her car, locking herself inside it. Frantically, she pressed the button to open the automatic garage doors and got the car started. The roller door rose too slowly.

A heavyset man in a balaclava came running at her car. She saw a claw hammer in his hand. He took a wide overarm swing. Her windscreen smashed violently. With a horrible wrenching sound, glass shattered and flew everywhere. Not caring about the roller door or the glass all over her, she slammed her Volvo wagon into reverse and jammed her foot on the accelerator pedal. The man jumped onto the driver-side footplate. Before he could reach around into the car to grab her, she shot backwards out of the garage, scraping the bottom of the roller door and throwing him off. Wheels spinning, Phoebe flew out onto the street. After shifting up, she raced away, heart pounding wildly. She had trouble seeing properly with the wind whipping into her eyes through her shattered windscreen and wrecked roof.

Pulling over several blocks away, she rang Roman. She fell to pieces when he answered. She tried to explain, but became completely hysterical. The only coherent thing she managed to impart was her location.

It seemed like forever, but Roman eventually arrived. She fell gratefully into his arms, crying inconsolably.

*****

Roman stood in Phoebe’s walk-in wardrobe, holding open a large bag while Phoebe threw random items into it. A police officer stood not far away. The house had been thoroughly trashed, with windows smashed open, and valuable items missing.

Phoebe had been too distraught to give anything other than a notebook statement to police. She would have to go and give a full statement tomorrow at the police station. Roman decided he would take the day off and go with her. He had already called her insurers and organized for her windows to be sealed up and an assessment done on her car, along with the delivery of a suitable hire car for her.

Scenes of crimes officers were combing the house, looking for any telltale incriminating signs, fingerprints, hair or even blood that might have been spilled when the windshield was shattered. They were taking photos of the house, the garage and Phoebe’s violated Volvo, which looked like a giant can opener had half-peeled the lid off it.

Roman closed the bag when it was full and took it to his car. Returning to Phoebe he helped her pack up her bathroom items.

The Detective in charge, Ross Linden, had tentatively said he thought Phoebe might have disturbed a burglary, but that her description of the attack didn’t quite fit the profile. It seemed too violent for a typical house breaking. It was more like a home invasion. Roman could tell he didn’t really know what it was about. It was obvious the police believed Phoebe’s description, unlikely as it sounded. Not because she was convincing, but because the evidence supported it. The state of her car and the pattern of shattered glass in the garage along with the abandoned claw hammer had fitted in exactly with her version of events.

It was clear to Roman that someone had perpetrated a vicious attack on Phoebe. Only her quick thinking and sound instincts had gotten her out of it. As they finished packing the bag, Detective Linden contacted Michael. Roman was standing with his arm around Phoebe when the Detective got off his phone and said that Michael was on his way back from Noosa tonight. He would call Phoebe shortly.