Judgement Day, page 8
‘I’m Detective Basset. This is McClintock.’ Jillian sat while McClintock walked casually to a bookshelf housing several framed photographs. ‘Homicide Squad.’
‘So it’s definitely murder then, is it? Well, that’s a damned shame. You hear things, you sort of hope, but . . .’ He shook his head again. ‘So goes it.’
‘You’ve heard things, you say?’
‘I just meant there’s been a few judicial suicides in recent years, that’s all. Obviously you don’t want it to be that either, but the thought of someone . . . Well, that’s even worse.’ He dunked a sugary biscuit in his tea.
Behind her, McClintock said, ‘Is this Daniel Modhi?’
Jillian turned to see him holding a framed photo. Tim Buxton got laboriously to his feet and walked over to join McClintock. ‘Sure is, that’s at my daughter’s christening. Back in 1985. You know him? Wouldn’t have thought he’d be your vintage.’
‘I’ve never met him. My old man knew him, though. He was in Organised Crime back in the day. Used to point out Modhi in the paper. Always said he was a slippery bastard.’
Tim Buxton laughed wheezily. ‘Well, that’s about right. I reckon he would have been offended if anyone said otherwise. Who’s your old man then?’
‘Ron McClintock.’
The barrister’s face lit up. ‘Is he? Well, there you go. Real pain in the arse your old man was. Didn’t miss a trick. And you’re following in his footsteps.’ He stood back to survey McClintock. ‘He must be really proud.’
A look passed across McClintock’s face, too quick for Jillian to interpret, and he replaced the photograph.
‘He still around then? Your dad?’ Tim Buxton asked.
‘Retired maybe five years ago, passed away soon after that.’
‘Ah. My sympathies. That’s why lawyers never retire, you know. They say sharks have to keep swimming because they’ll sink if they don’t, and it’s the same for us lot. If you stop working, things start to go. I retired a few years ago. Had a stroke straightaway. So I came back.’ He smiled, revealing pale yellow teeth.
‘I think Dad always regretted stopping,’ McClintock conceded, and the unreadable look returned – a tenseness at the jaw and at the edge of his eyes.
‘Well that sounds right. A cop like that, real dogged, what’s he gonna do in retirement except drive your mum nuts and piss off the neighbours.’
‘That’s pretty much how it played out.’
The men shared a silence and Jillian felt very aware of her femaleness.
‘Do you happen to know if Mr O’Neil knows what’s happened?’ she said.
‘Not sure, love,’ said Buxton. ‘Last I saw of him was on Wednesday night. He came back from court around four-thirty and we took a breather together, popped down for a bite at the club. We came back here. He had a conference. He was still going when I left, which was well after ten.’
‘Just to be clear, this was Wednesday this week, the day before yesterday?’
Buxton nodded.
‘Conference with who?’
‘I can’t remember the name, younger woman, red hair. Annoying voice. They had a client with them too. Some young bloke.’
‘Did he happen to mention his plans for the rest of the night?’
‘Nope. Heard him on the phone at one stage telling his lady love he might not make it any time soon.’
‘You heard him talking to Judge Bailey?’
‘Well, I assume it was her, no guarantees. But it was a really quick call, he might have just been leaving her a message. I wasn’t really paying attention.’
‘What time was this?’
‘I was packing up, so late. Maybe quarter to ten?’
He returned to sit at his desk and looked at the detectives carefully, his old eyes shrewd. ‘Now make no mistake, Screwy wouldn’t have had anything to do with it. He worshipped that woman, absolutely doted on her.’
‘You seem very certain of that?’
‘Of course I’m bloody certain, I’ve known him since he came to the bar. He doesn’t have a bad bone in his body. That’s why he always gets himself into bother – doesn’t get paid and the like. Plus, he’s endured his own hardships, he’d never inflict that on another person. I’m sure of it.’
The barrister raised his left wrist, looked at his watch and whistled. ‘I’ve got to go, I’ve got a date with Modhi’s son-in-law in the cells.’
Jillian and McClintock looked at each other. McClintock shrugged ever so slightly.
‘Thanks,’ said Jillian, standing up. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’ At the door she turned back as an idea occurred to her. ‘Would you know where Greg Eaves and Graham Norman have their chambers? They nearby?’
Tim Buxton gave a little snort. ‘They’re both on level four, but if they don’t have briefs or they’re done for the day I’d bet my firstborn that they’re at the Essiong. Just go down to level one. You’ll find it easy enough.’
‘What did you make of that?’ McClintock asked as they took the lift down to the first floor. ‘Seemed like a ripper bloke.’
You only think that because he liked your dad.
‘He sure was a character.’ Jillian wasn’t sure ‘ripper’ would have been the first word that came to her mind. She’d always found lawyers who dealt in organised crime uncomfortable to deal with. It wasn’t that they were particularly unpleasant people, in fact those she had encountered were generally quite the opposite, but she was wary of the type of person who was able to bat for the bad guy, the really bad guy, with no apparent crisis of conscience. To her mind, the crime families, those who ran the drugs and the protection rackets and the illegal brothels, were in some respects more culpable than the average rapist or murderer. Their entire business model depended upon the unalloyed exploitation of others. She did not understand how a man like Tim Buxton, who apparently attended family functions with Daniel Modhi, could maintain a clear moral compass.
‘He’s famous, did you know?’ McClintock said.
‘I didn’t.’
‘My old man used to hate him. He got cross-examined by him once, in a murder trial, I think. Dad must have fucked up a bit because he was spitting chips when he came home afterwards.’
‘I didn’t know your dad was a cop. You’ve kept that quiet.’
McClintock shrugged. ‘We weren’t close.’
The Essiong Club was little more than a cafeteria looking out onto William Street. While a small sign indicated that it was for members only, no one prevented the detectives from walking right in. Greg Eaves and Graham Norman were immediately identifiable because they were sitting in the far right corner with Chief Judge Saul Meyers.
‘Getting their story straight?’ McClintock whispered as they made their way over.
‘Afternoon,’ he said to the group with a slightly threatening undertone. ‘Chief Judge? And is this Greg Eaves and Graham Norman of Counsel?’
The three men looked up at the detectives, the two barristers blank-faced. ‘Who are you then?’ said one. ‘Have we met?’
‘These are the detectives investigating Judge Bailey’s murder,’ Saul Meyers explained to his friends with apparent irritation. ‘Look, with the greatest respect, you can’t just waltz in here demanding to speak to me. You need to make an appointment.’
‘We weren’t actually looking for you, Chief Judge,’ Jillian explained. ‘It’s these two gentlemen we’re after.’
‘Lucky us, hey,’ said the second man, nudging his friend in the ribs. He had a leering glint in his eyes. ‘What can we help you with, dear lady?’
‘We’d like a word,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we might move to another table? Your name?’
‘Eaves. Anything for you,’ he said with a wink to the other men, and got to his feet. ‘Over here alright?’
In a low voice to McClintock, Jillian said, ‘We’ll take them separately, okay? You do Norman?’
Jillian had dealt with many a lecherous man, and not just during her time in the police force. After thirty-six years of interacting with the other sex, there were few male behaviours that surprised her, although Greg Eaves had to be given credit for a concerted effort. Her simplest questions – what time he had gone to and left the party, where he had gone afterwards, whether he remembered what time Saul Meyers and Virginia Maiden had left – were met with every conceivable double entendre, a dinner invitation, and the insight that ‘Ginny had great tits when she was younger too.’
Jillian looked across at McClintock, who was talking to Graham Norman at the other end of the room. The two of them had their heads close and seemed to be sharing a joke.
Of course.
She turned back to Eaves and said, ‘What can you tell me about Judge Bailey’s interaction with the chief judge at the party?’
‘Kaye bit his head off, so he was in a mood after that. God, she could be a bitch. I know you’re not meant to speak ill of the dead but she could be. It was Saul’s night and she bloody had a go at him in front of everybody. Graham was joking that it must have been her time of the month and then Saul said she must have been bleeding since 1990 in that case.’ Eaves stopped to let out a loud bellow at this. ‘Anyway, Ginny had organised some bloody decent wine so we stuck around until that was gone. I reckon we left about eleven. Then we buggered off to the Danish Club, stayed there for an hour or so, chucked Saul in a cab and went home. You married?’
The second time I’ve been asked that already in this case. Although at least Grant Phillips wasn’t hitting on me.
‘So Judge Bailey got stuck into him, did she?’
‘Bloody oath, should have heard her.’ He adopted a prissy voice to imitate the dead judge. ‘“You were a terrible lawyer, a worse judge and a fundamentally appalling human being. Your retirement is a blessing for this court, for the employees, the litigants and the jurisprudence. I cannot wait to eradicate your memory, and to ensure that all of the rubbish you have presided over is never repeated again.” She’d always been power hungry, one of those who want to get in and meddle. Going to the bench is meant to be service, you do it to ensure stability. Saul, Virginia, most of the others, they all got it. Bailey never did.’
Jillian wondered if this was the ‘sharp-tongued’ comment that Christianne had overheard being referred to outside chambers. She had assumed that Bailey had told the older judge to ‘piss off’ or something of that ilk. If Eaves’ report was accurate, this was closer to a complete take-down. ‘How did the chief judge react to the earbashing?’
‘He was bloody devastated,’ the barrister replied indignantly, his cheeks becoming blotchy as anger overwhelmed him. ‘Awful things to say, and at his retirement party.’
‘And what happened then?’
‘Well, she left I think, stormed out. We told Saul not to worry about her, but he was pretty shaken. Everyone had a turn at talking him down; even the Bailey apologists like Phillips were trying.’
‘And how did he seem for the rest of the night?’
‘Oh, he got over it after another drink or so. We all told him, “Now everyone’s seen her true colours anyway.” Reckon that cheered him up a bit.’
Jillian stood up and with some effort, interrupted McClintock’s conversation. ‘You good?’ she asked.
‘Yup.’ He got to his feet.
‘She keeps you on a tight leash, doesn’t she, mate?’ Graham Norman said with a laugh. ‘You look after yourself. Nice to chat.’
‘Well?’ Jillian asked as they walked back to McClintock’s pathologically neat car. ‘My guy says Bailey gave as good as she got in their little argument. Had some pretty sharp comments for Meyers.’
‘My guy said that too, although he also said he can hardly remember anything but he knows they were leaving the Danish Club by around midnight because his credit card statement told him as much. And he’s positive they put the chief judge in a cab around twelve-fifteen and he was plastered.’
‘So,’ Jillian said thoughtfully. ‘The question is, where did Meyers tell the cab to go? Home or back to the court?’
Chapter 8
They had planned, depending on whether or not Michael O’Neil could be located, to meet with Judge Grant Phillips’ wife, Harriet, at their home in Hawthorn before trying to catch the elusive Judge Maiden who lived the next suburb over. However as McClintock entered Phillips’ address into his GPS, his mobile began to vibrate. He answered it without checking the number, something Jillian found bizarrely uninhibited.
Who just answers their phone? It could be anyone! A telemarketer, a scammer.
Or a psychologist wondering whether you’re coming to your appointment today.
‘Angela, yes of course,’ McClintock crooned. ‘How are you?’ There was a pause. ‘No, that’s okay, we’re actually close by. We can pop in now if that suits?’ He signed off, looking mildly excited.
‘Angela Hui. Says she forgot to mention something yesterday that might be important. Guess we can try and catch the security guy at the same time?’
Three film crews were stationed outside the Commonwealth Law Courts, all in various stages of preparation for live crosses – the journalists coated in thick pancake make-up, the crews toying with equipment. There was still an obvious uniformed police presence at the building, although they didn’t seem to be doing much aside from ‘instilling a sense of safety in the public’, as Des would put it.
Printed signs had been posted on the doors of both entrances and Jillian read one with interest: Due to unforeseen circumstances the Commonwealth Law Courts will be closed until further notice. All documents can be filed online or by post. Please contact the relevant chambers for all matters currently before the court.
‘Good way to create chaos,’ she mused aloud as they waited for Angela to fetch them at the staff entrance. ‘Kill a judge, the whole system practically shuts down.’
Angela stepped out of the lift and waved to them through the window as she flicked her security pass in front of the sensor. The building was even quieter than the day before and their feet echoed loudly on the polished floor as they followed her to the lifts.
‘They’ve said we can all return to our offices tomorrow,’ Angela said. ‘Aside from Kaye’s chambers, obviously, which are still waiting on the cleaners, but almost everyone is home until we confirm new security arrangements. Most of the judges are concerned it’s going to be another Family Court Murders scenario.’
At level twelve she guided them out of the lift, through the security doors and to the other wing of the L-shaped building from that in which Judge Bailey had been murdered. Her office was the first door on this side, a large space that seemed to be part sitting room, part storage facility and, in the far corner, her workspace. ‘Not quite as grand as chambers,’ she said. ‘Apologies for the mess.’
She led them to her desk and indicated for them to sit. The wall next to her was peppered with inspirational quotes and photos of people holding cocktails on beaches and by swimming pools.
Just as I would have predicted.
‘I feel terrible for not mentioning this yesterday,’ Angela said, ‘I just, well, we weren’t thinking clearly, any of us. There was so much going on trying to deal with all the staff, the listings, everything else. I clean forgot.’ She looked from McClintock to Jillian. ‘The thing is, last year, there were two security breaches involving Judge Bailey.’
‘Two?’ Jillian repeated.
‘That’s right. Now, the first one wasn’t particularly serious in and of itself. It was a litigant, a woman called Rosa Mastromonica – she rushed Kaye in court, threw a jug at her. This woman was self-represented, clearly disturbed. She got herself over the associates’ desk while Christianne was to the side of the room talking to someone. Kaye pressed her panic button, security came and removed her.’
‘Do we know where she is now?’ McClintock asked.
Angela gave a little cough. ‘She actually suicided shortly after that hearing. I know Kaye was quite distressed when she found out about it. But then later last year, November, I think, there was a more serious incident. I’ve got the footage here. I wanted to email it but I couldn’t figure out how.’ She pressed her keyboard and frowned. ‘Sorry, computer has just updated. I’ll just need to restart it.’ The three of them grimaced as a series of crunching noises reverberated from deep within the machine. ‘This will take a moment,’ she said apologetically.
‘While we’ve got you,’ Jillian said, ‘can you tell us how Judge Bailey got along with her colleagues? The other judges, I mean. We understand there was some tension between her and the chief judge. And Judge Maiden too.’
Angela looked uncomfortable. ‘Is this confidential? It’s just . . .’
‘If you know something that’s relevant you need to tell us,’ Jillian said.
‘Well,’ Angela said, ‘yes, there were some issues between Judge Bailey and the CJ. I think there’d been bad blood before Kaye was appointed; they’re very different people, you understand. Saul is old school, Kaye had a very different approach to the job. But the CJ was very upset about her being his replacement. He asked me to write a letter.’ She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘To the attorney-general’s department, to raise concerns about her selection. I told him I couldn’t, that it was inappropriate, and, well, I didn’t say this to him but I thought Kaye was a good choice. He was quite annoyed with me after that.’
‘When was this?’
‘Last week.’
‘But we understood Judge Bailey only found out she’d been appointed on the night she was killed.’
Angela again looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m not sure what happened exactly. I mean, it’s possible the chief judge sat on it. I knew she was going to be offered the role but I didn’t mention it to her, of course – it wasn’t my place.’
The detectives looked at each other.
‘How did you know?’
