The Outing, page 31
“That’s not fair,” she said.
“None of this is fair,” he said. “You just said so. None of it. It’s not your fault. And it’s not theirs. And there's this thing… a term bandied about in the family court… in the best interest of the child. I think we should be going down that road, don't you?”
Her head had been moving slowly side to side, and stilled.
“Hopefully,” he said, “by the time they've grown up, there won't even be a conversation like this. I'll do the paperwork and drop it off. Someone in the office can file it on our behalf. And now, I've got a story to read.”
“I made casserole for dinner. I'll put some in a container. You can take some home with you.”
He smiled, “That'd be nice. Thanks.”
***
The kids had skewered him with their pointy questions at first, but they'd adapted and settled into a pattern for visits. They loved the bunk beds he'd bought and took turns in the top one, and for the most part Robert had adapted to aloneness without feeling lonely. His paying job was a long meditation, and the slow progress of anything to do with his real-not-real job, meant that any small win was inordinately satisfying. Lauren had seemed more contented. She was doing well with uni too. Maybe it was a confidence thing with her too.
These thoughts driving home from the last drop off at Duncan’s, felt comforting and comfortable. He looked at the Tupperware container on the passenger seat and allowed himself to feel happy… he didn't have to cook tonight. Thank-you Lauren. His skill in the kitchen was improving but he was grateful for his uninformed palate and simple tastes. Have to be OK with simple on my pay. He laughed to himself, locking the garage door. And thinking of money, he detoured to the letterbox. It was electricity bill time.
Inside the apartment, he glanced at the answering machine, then flicked through the junk-mail and found the electricity bill, vindicated. The smile slid from his face when the next envelope appeared. His breath caught. Yellow. No stamp. Government logo.
He breathed again and tapped it against the hand holding the rest of the mail. It's hardly unexpected. Come on. They had to set a date some time.
In the kitchen, he set it down, threw away the junk-mail, poured a large glass of wine, drank some, put the glass down, flicked open the seal, and found the date.
After putting it aside, he was mildly surprised that his heart was beating faster anticipating the numbers on the electricity bill.
Chapter 60
“Got caught up.”
Robert liked the way Simon never offered reasons.
“Go through, I'll get us a coffee.”
Back at the meeting room with a half-full mug in each hand, Robert nudged the door open with his foot. He smiled, realising he hadn't done his habitual kick and cringe in ages. He'd latched onto the idea from Lauren, that it was an acquired affectation, something stopping him from appearing to be gay by appearing to be clumsy. But was it? What was it?
His eyes unconsciously headed up, looking for an answer.
Holy shit.
His mum screeching, 'Get them off. Get them off. What do you think you're doing? You'll ruin them. You ruin everything.'
He'd been prancing around the living room. One of her scarves draped around his neck, her glam Jackie O sunglasses sliding off his face, and wearing a pair of shiny high heels. She'd lunged. He'd stubbed the delicate point of her shoe on the doorframe scraping a chunk of shine off. 'Get out. Get out of my sight.'
He'd kicked off the shoes, running out of the house. Ripping off the sunglasses and scarf, dropping them on the back stairs on the way to his cubby. The dilapidated shed at the end of the garden. The smell of cut grass was overwhelming.
“You OK?” Simon asked.
Robert closed his mouth, “Yeah. Yeah. Thanks. Here,” he put the mugs down, and showed Simon the official notification of the court appearance.
“Beginning of May. This works in well,” Simon said, “Joh's going to be away around that time, a little jaunt to the USA which the trade minister isn’t to be trusted with. Tim can go to air with no bluster and redirect.”
“Gotta hand it to Joh. He does that well.”
“Years of practice and a reptilian mind,” Simon shook his head. “Doesn't seem to matter what we've put out there to date, nothing sticks.”
Robert started naming a list of the Premier's crimes, “If I take off my shoes we could include more. The Daintree got to me. No-one would even've known if Joh hadn't wanted footage so he could brag about it.” Robert's eyes narrowed. “If the government in Victoria did that to a community on the Murray, there'd be hell to pay. But Joh cooks up a story about these people are up to no good, with not an ounce of proof, and everyone's applauding him for a job well done. He burnt down people's homes, destroyed their lives. For nothing. A diversion. A stunt. I should stop there. And I shouldn't let it get to me.”
“Welcome to my world,” Simon shrugged. “You're pretty passionate, you could do worse than pursuing stuff like this if you've got the stomach for it.”
“Enough on my plate,” said Robert, “for now anyway. What about Pete and Jimbo's story? Did you get any further with that?”
“Tim's been working on it.”
Robert's nod slowed, “This'll sound weird, but do you think Joh is actually human?”
“What?”
“That lizard-like skin of his. Nothing sticks. Do you think he was born with a Teflon coat?”
Simon laughed, “It's gotta be wearing thin though, eh?”
“Jeez, I hope so.”
“Don't we all? I tell you,” said Simon, “if the shit doesn't hit the fan after everyone's seen The Moonlight State, I give up.”
“You can't,” Robert said. “Every story, every single one, has an impact. Even if people are totally anti, some part seeps in. Pour water on a rock and it runs off but leaves a damp stain. Keep pouring and,” he stopped. “Shit, listen to me, telling you your job.”
Simon laughed again, “That’s the idea. Anyway, you're up next, ready or not.”
Robert shrugged, “Are you going to run another lead-in on gay panic?”
“What do you think?”
“As much as I hate to be standing in that particular spotlight, I can't help thinking it’d be a good idea.”
“You're right. It really can't hurt you, can it?”
“I don't care. No. I do. But if we don't get people talking. Just the ordinary everyday usually don't-give-a-rat's-arse people, then what's the fucking point?”
“Is there anything I can do?” Simon asked.
“Just be there. I’ve got a general plan. Some of it isn't even clear, but without anyone reporting it…”
“Are you still planning on a big reveal, to catch them out?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“You might be cutting your own throat.”
Robert frowned.
“When you told us, that night with Tim, I thought, good idea. But recently? I don't know. My take, is that if you say I didn't do it because, guess what, I'm gay, we were having an affair. They've got you with motive. You were viciously silencing him. They'll well and truly stitch you up.”
Chapter 61
Robert stopped looking around the slowly filling courtroom and stared ahead and wondered whether forgoing a jury trial with a guilty plea had been the right choice. Then he reminded himself, there'd been no choice. At least with a judge only trial, there'd be no jury to fact check and convince, just one man presiding over the admissibility of the evidence and concluding that evidence was insufficient for a conviction.
He let his shoulders lower. The case was cut and dried. No surprises. Except the ones he wanted. And at least with Simon's warning he wouldn't fall into their trap. No. There had to be no suspicion that he wasn't out of his depth, and simply and seriously confirming the facts according to the police reports. Facts. Hah. Call them points. Through closed eyelids he searched for Johnny. It wasn't working. His eyes flew open.
'Close your eyes. I'm right here. Ducks in a row. OK?'
For what seemed like no particular reason, Robert placed both hands at the spot above the stone in his chest. He could feel the thud, thud, thud becoming quieter, more centered. His pulse slowed. He waited for the calm blanket to descend around him, but this time he felt it arise from within him. Wavelike. Lifting him.
'You've got this,' said Johnny.
No. We've got this. The guilty plea is good. I'm compliant. Not wasting the Court's time or resources. But…
'Stop there. You can always appeal.'
Not with new evidence.
'Why the fuck not?'
Because that's the rule.
'Fuck the rules. No-one else is playing by the fucking rules,' Johnny's words clear, 'fucking chess.'
Johnny, I hear you. But I need you calm. I need to be calm. We've got this. We have.
The Judge entered. As everyone bowed, Robert glanced sideways at the prosecution and noticed their eyebrows drawing together. Whispering followed.
“Gentlemen of the prosecution, if I may have your attention,” the Judge waited while they un-huddled. “Is something disturbing you?”
“Your Honour. We were expecting-”
“Quite. Yes. My colleague is indisposed.”
“May I request an adjournment until-”
“For what purpose?” The Judge waited for two whole breaths before turning to Robert. “Now, Mr Carson. I see you are not represented. Is this going to cause the Court any problem?”
“I don't believe so, your Honour.”
“Your occupation?”
“Um-now… cleaner, your Honour,” Robert tried to keep his eyes looking straight at the Judge's, and faltered.
“Hmm. Nothing to be ashamed of. My concern is your capacity to understand the processes. I don't want to have to act as interpreter, but if anything is unclear on a point of law, you should ask.” He turned away from Robert to the prosecution, “And I caution the prosecution to maintain the role of providing a fair presentation of facts for the jury.”
“I'm sorry, your Honour,” the prosecutor stood, “this is a no-jury trial. There was a submission. The defense agreed.”
The Judge flicked through the papers and extracted it, “Quite. However, under these circumstances, and with an unrepresented defense, a Jury of peers is my preference.”
The prosecutor's legal counsel stood too, “With all due respect Your Honour, the defense has pleaded guilty. It isn't required.”
“Your respect is noted.” The Judge's eyebrow relaxed its arch. “However, it is my prerogative, and we have people outside waiting to be impaneled. Bailiff, would you bring them in.”
The Bailiff stood.
“But, your Honour, the police checks? We haven't vetted these jurors for this case.”
The Judge frowned, “There is no such thing.”
“It's standard. We have to exclude anyone who doesn't meet our criteria from the possible selection. Your Honour,” the solicitor's cheek colour was progressively brightening.
“Let me assure you, you might not have vetted them, but mandatory name, age, and absence of unresolved criminal matter checks have been done.”
“But there’s more-”
“Whatever procedure you’ve been following with regard to assessing suitability, I can assure you, again, the legally allowed assessments have been made. Am I clear?” He waited and as the solicitor sat, “Hmm. Quite.”
The Judge turned to Robert, “Does the defense have any objection?”
“No, your Honour.” Maybe. I don't know.
“Go ahead Bailiff.”
Robert's heart was running on the spot wondering which direction he should be taking now. If the stitching holding the seams of the prosecutor's story came loose, they could all be left exposed. Their plan was to lead the judge, to the conclusion that justifiable self-defense had an unfortunate and unintended consequence, and that there was no substantiated proof to implicate the defendant. His plan was to wait till that was assured and then spring some serious questions on them. Get some kind of justice, maybe. Hopefully.
That might've had a chance of working, as long as he went along with them to the point of deviation. If he did that now though, with twelve people to convince instead of one? How the hell was he going to do that? They didn't even have to tweak their story, which they could… all they had to do was tweak their questions and he'd be totally fucked.
'That was always the case,' said Johnny's voice, 'and don't start getting ahead of yourself.'
Robert nodded, calmer.
'And remember, the police don't give a shit about you. This game is about them, getting themselves off the hook. Get inside their heads. You've gotta play along.'
Robert let the jury selection go unchallenged. They were picking likely support for a poor accosted straight guy. Well good on them. Keeping up their end of their own self-serving bargain.
*
The air was still. The smell of warm dust and warm bodies mingled and hung in the air till the Judge cut through it, calling the Court to order and read in Robert's direction, “You are charged under the Criminal Code 1899, section 303 with Manslaughter. How do you plead?”
“Guilt-”
“Your Honour,” the prosecution solicitor stood, “in all fairness, there are mitigating circumstances.”
“Approach the Bench.”
“So is this a hearing or a trial?” the Judge's face was uncompromising.
“We weren't expecting a jury, Your Honour.”
“A fact I am already aware of.”
“The defendant agreed to a plea of guilty with diminished responsibility. Namely HAD.”
The Judge's face was neutral, “Homosexual Advance Defense, yes, I’ve been briefed,”
“And also referred to as Gay Panic. And you said we should be fair to the defendant given that he is unrepresented. So, if I may?”
The Judge nodded.
“There was no intentionality. And coming back into his right mind, he went to summon help. An ambulance. And the victim was discovered in the river. Not where the accused had left him. So there is a possibility some other party was involved.”
“And yet you have charged this man.”
“Your Honour, we had planned to explain all this to you.”
“But now you have to explain it all to them,” the Judge nodded towards the jury. “Is there really a case here?”
“It was sent up,” said the prosecution solicitor.
“That wasn't my question.”
“The accused has made a plea of gay panic. But we're expecting the jury will find for him.”
“You mean not guilty?”
The prosecutor nodded and it echoed down the line, “It will become clear.”
“And you are OK with this?” the Judge's eyes bored into Robert.
Of course not, I'm not an idiot. But I don't want them to get away with murder. Arseholes. Robert’s head moved once to the side, seemingly saying no of its own accord. He stilled it, “Yes, Your Honour.”
“You don't want to change your plea?”
“Your Honour, honestly, I believe this is the best way.” This time he held the Judge's eyes.
Chapter 62
Robert listened as Constable Brady gave a verbatim version of his report. He had a chiseled face and physique. His arm and chest muscles were visible beneath the fabric of his shirt when he moved his arm for the oath. No wonder they used him as the bait in their gay-bashing racket.
When asked if he wanted to cross examine, Robert hesitated as if he was going to decline and changed his mind.
“Constable Brady, would you mind confirming for me that it was only yourself and one other officer on duty, a Constable Thompson?”
“Correct.”
“And you are both uniform officers.”
“Yes.”
“Were you wearing your uniform that night?”
“No. I wasn't.”
“Is that usual? Can you tell us why?”
“I was doing a special surveillance type of job,” Brady's chest inflated and pressed harder against the fabric.
“So only you, not Constable Thompson.”
“Correct.”
“Would you tell me about this special surveillance job?”
Brady's eyes flickered to the prosecution, “I'm not at liberty to say.”
“That's OK,” Robert pre-empted the objection, “So, is it usual? I'm confused. You're both on a special surveillance type of job but Constable Thompson was wearing his standard normal uniform. Do you know why?”
“No,” said Brady, “I just do what I'm told. I didn't tell him what to wear or anything.”
“I understand. Just taking orders. And-um, you'd done this job before. Is that why you were there. You had specific experience of this, surveillance?” Robert eased over the word.
“Yes.”
“But you hadn't worked with Constable Thompson before?” Robert sounded like he had no compelling reason to ask.
“No. This was his first time.”
“Sorry,” Robert fussed with some papers on the desk, as if he couldn’t find something. “Tell me, do you still do this special work?”
“No,” Brady shrank back into his clothes.
“Oh,” Robert's forehead wrinkled and he repeated, “oh, so, what work do you do now? I heard you were promoted?”
The chair scraped, and the lawyer for the prosecution stood up, “Objection, relevance your Honour.”
“Mr Carson,” the Judge cautioned.
Robert's head bowed deferring to the Judge, “Can you please describe for me what you were wearing.”
“Dark pants, casual and a white polo shirt,” he paused and Robert looked down at his own shoes, “Oh, black lace up shoes, same as for work, I mean in uniform.”
“No further questions,” Robert finished.
