The outing, p.32
The Outing, page 32
Constable Thompson's testimony was similar. An almost word for word of the QP9. When it was his turn to question Robert asked, “I wonder if you could confirm for me, and the jury, that there were only the two of you, Constable Brady and you Constable Thompson who were there when you say you saw me attack Mr Saunders in the park.”
His eyes darted to the prosecution desk, “C-correct.”
“And what were you wearing?”
“What was I wearing? My uniform.”
“Can you describe it?”
“What?” Constable Thompson frowned and looked over at the prosecution. Eventually he looked back at Robert, “My standard issue uniform. Light blue short-sleeve shirt, dark blue pants, black lace-up boots and my hat.”
“Your hat? It was late. Ten-ish?” Robert kept his voice even.
“I'd come from an earlier shift, I-I didn't go home-”
“Objection. Relevance your Honour,” the Prosecution interrupted.
“Mr Carson?” the Judge queried.
“I'm hoping to show relevance Your Honour.” Robert sounded contrite and waited for the Judge's nod. “So I imagine this was unusual for you. Can you tell me how that came about and what your extra shift entailed?”
Thompson fidgeted, and again looked at the prosecution desk.
When the Judge prompted him to answer the question, he said “I don't recall exactly.”
“Had you ever been requested to do this… Constable Brady called it special surveillance work before?”
“No.”
“Mmm. So you were new? And you didn't know what to expect.”
“Yes, correct,” Thompson seemed soothed.
“I see. So you weren't forewarned or told what you should be wearing for this surveillance work or what you would be doing?”
“I don't recall.”
Robert sighed, moved some papers, and looked up, “Can you recall what I was wearing?”
Thompson looked away and back, “Light chinos and a polo shirt. White.”
“Shoes?” Robert queried.
“Deck shoes. Light. Like natural leather colour,” Thompson was getting short tempered.
“I won't be much longer,” Robert looked from Thompson to the prosecution. They pretended not to notice, “And where are you stationed now?”
“What?”
“I wanted you to tell me, after your introduction to special surveillance, what you are doing now.”
“Your Honour,” the prosecution counsel bleated.
“I'll allow it. Mr Carson try to stick to the relevant line though.”
“I was promoted. Second in command in Edmonton now. North Queensland.”
“So you're Senior Constable Thompson. Congratulations,” Robert smiled. “How long have you been in the Police Force?”
“Six months.”
“Wow. That's quick. Double congratulations,” Robert smiled more broadly. “And was it cold that night? I remember I took my jacket off. And you said I wasn't wearing a jacket, so… I can't seem to find it anywhere. I thought, I was hoping you might have seen it.”
“No. I did not.”
“Oh? Never mind. But you said you saw me attacking Mr Saunders. I might have put it down or dropped it and can't remember. Are you sure you didn't find it? Later or something?”
Constable Thompson scanned the room looking away from Robert and not answering, and Robert removed his frown and said, “Just to be clear Constable Thompson, there was no-one else in the area at all, and you know this because you were there in that area on special surveillance.”
“Correct.”
“Are you sure? Except the person you saw attacking Mr Saunders, who you allege was me.”
“Yes.”
“And that person was in a blind panic.”
“Yes.”
“Can you describe what I was doing in that panic state?”
“You-you were fighting off your assailant. Punching and kicking him.”
“Oh? Both? I wonder how would I do that,” Robert moved his foot, then leaned down towards the ground. He shook his head, “Never mind. And did Mr Saunders defend himself?”
“What? I, I don't recall.”
“But you recall running after me? Both you and Constable Brady.”
“Yes,” his shoulders loosened.
“And Mr Saunders, you left him there. Was he lying down? Standing up?”
“I,” Constable Thompson scratched his ear, “I don't recall.”
Chapter 63
Blue was the next prosecution witness called.
He testified that Robert had come into the pub not long after closing, upset and wanting to call an ambulance. Someone was hurt. And yes, Robert had injuries to his hand. He was put into a cab home moments before the ambulance went the other way towards the park.
Robert questioned him briefly, “And would you tell the Court, why did you call a cab and send me home.”
“Strictly speaking I didn't call it. Someone else did. I didn't think it was safe for you.”
“Where were you then? Why did someone else make the call? Oh, don't worry. That's not important is it?”
“I suppose, not,” Blue shrugged.
“What did you mean though, it wasn't safe for me? Why would you think that?”
“You were running from something or someone. You'd called an ambulance. I figured you were running from someone in the park.”
“But what if I had hurt someone? I don't understand. Why didn't someone call the police?” Robert only paused a moment, “Had this happened before? Someone running into the pub for help, like I did?” Robert looked like he was just beginning to see a connection, he hoped the jury had too.
Blue opened his mouth to speak, and then it came, “Objection.”
It was Pete's turn next. Yes, he'd seen Robert at the pub. Yes, after it closed. Yes, he had an injured hand. Yes, he looked panicked. Yes, he'd called an ambulance.
“And it was you who called the taxi?” It was Robert's turn.
Pete nodded, “Yes.”
“And it was after the pub had closed?”
“Um-yes.”
“So. Do you work there?”
“No.”
“But you were inside. They were closed. Why would you be inside?” Robert shook his head like he was trying to connect something and not getting the pieces to fit, “I'm not… had we ever met before that night?” Robert asked him.
“Yes.”
“Can you tell the Court when we first met.”
Pete smiled, “It was some time before. You'd come into the pub. I don't think you knew it was a gay bar.”
A chair scraped at the prosecution desk.
“Sorry,” Robert circumvented the objection. “How long did I stay?”
“You finished your drink and left. You were in a bit of a hurry to leave.”
“So you'd say I was uncomfortable there?”
“Speculation.”
“I withdraw the question. No further questions,” Robert finished.
***
Robert could smell the metallic aftermath of adrenaline every time he shifted his arm too far away from his body. He tucked his elbows close while the prosecution rested and the Judge addressed him.
“Mr Carson, the prosecution, having closed its case against you, I must ask you if you intend to adduce evidence in your defense. This means,” he shifted his gaze to the prosecution as their muted mumbling escalated, “this means you may give evidence yourself, call a witness or witnesses, or produce evidence. You may do all or any of those things, or none of them.”
The hissing whispers from the prosecution became louder and the jury was looking from them to the Judge.
Robert ignored what was happening and started to speak.
“Gentlemen,” the judge interrupted him. His eyes wearily on the prosecution, “You obviously have something to discuss. We will adjourn for a recess,” he looked up at the clock. There was no second hand. The minute hand jolted silently onto the eight, “And reconvene in one hour twenty minutes. Bailiff, two pm.”
The prosecution still huddled, watched as Robert swept his papers together with one hand, grabbed his briefcase with the other, and zig-zagged around the departing jurors.
No-one noticed Simon sitting off in the corner, still making notes.
Chapter 64
Outside, Robert made his way around the edge of the building and then down a narrow one way street towards the main city grid and the anonymity of a lunchtime crowd. Crouching down between a delivery van and an industrial bin, he pushed the papers into his bag, and walked more slowly, untangling the various strands of his tangled strategy.
A few more runs on the board were definitely needed, but the threat of estoppel he'd been caught up in was, he realised, an artefact from the commercial world, his normal world. Even if he were to break his so-called contract with them, and even if it caused them some detriment or other, they couldn't sue him for reneging. This was a criminal case. Estoppal didn't apply.
But stopping the case altogether? They could do that. Would they? Would the judge let them? And where would that leave him?
He wondered how much the prosecution team actually knew. The bare minimum, he suspected. And he wondered who they'd taken instruction from. Nichols? Or someone higher. Would the Commissioner be involved? He imagined Commissioner Lewis with his condescending trademark smirk, telling them to make the problem go away. Now he was clearer, he realised the prosecution team would have no idea what sort of miscarriage of justice was on the table. But he needed the Judge on side.
Deep in thought he almost passed the mini-mart.
Now with some deodorant in his suit pocket, he headed towards his old office, wishing he still had access to the bathroom, and going into Lennon's Hotel instead, he went into theirs and rinsed off the underarm portion of his shirt and his body. He smiled grimly, wouldn't be the first time he'd washed off clothing in the toilets. This is for you too, Terry.
'Don't count chickens,' Johnny warned. 'Wouldn't be the first time something out of the blue turned up in a courtroom.'
***
As expected, the Prosecution weren't sending out sunbeams of goodwill when Robert formally claimed his right to bring forward witnesses. He placated them with the argument that he needed to strengthen his mitigating circumstances to show that despite his plea, he wasn't actually responsible for Johnny's death. They had no choice.
He called Norman Sparks.
His questions were benignly supportive of the story so far.
Were you at the park the night of-? Did you see Mr Saunders being attacked? Did you see me? Did you see the men in these photographs? Yes, yes, yes and yes. Everyone got their turn to look. “The witness has confirmed he recognizes Constable Brady and Constable Thompson.”
“By the way,” Robert interrupted himself, “did you see my jacket?”
Doubt or confusion passed over Alan's face.
“You might not have known it was mine,” said Robert. “If you saw one, would you describe it for the Court.”
“Mr Saunders had one on his lap,” Alan shrugged, “I could see it quite clearly in the shelter light, it was sandy coloured. It stuck in my mind because he was wearing one already, except his was navy I think, dark blue anyway. I remember thinking that's gonna stain, when he dropped it, and when the-”
“Thank you, Mr Sparks,” Robert cut him off and moved quickly on to did you see me running away, then was there anyone else there in the park that night?
“Yes,” said Alan.
“There was? But-” Robert paused, “Oh, well perhaps Constable Brady and Constable Thompson just didn't remember. I… never mind. I'd like to be able to recall the witness later, Your Honour.”
The prosecution huddle broke, reserving the right to question the witness later too.
Robert called Harry.
“Mr Matthews, would you mind telling the Court your occupation.”
“I'm a Judge, retired.”
“In what capacity did you first know me?”
“Relevance,” the prosecution objected.
“My point, Your Honour, is to show it wasn't me who killed Mr Saunders,” Robert allowed exasperation to drip slowly into everyone's consciousness.
The Judge waived down the objection.
“You were engaged to represent my boyfriend, Mr Saunders.”
The jury shifted in their seats making a point of not looking at each other.
“Just to be clear, you mean the deceased. Mr John Saunders, Johnny,” Robert looked away from Harry and pinched his fingers to the bridge of his nose, while his face returned to neutral. Then he turned back, “Who I'm supposed to have viciously attacked.”
“Correct.”
“So, I knew Mr Saunders, and would you say I had any reason to attack him in the manner I have been accused of.”
“Calls for speculation.”
“I'll rephrase that,” said Robert. “To your knowledge was there any reason for me to attack Mr Saunders.”
“No.”
“Would you tell the Court why.”
“Because the two of you were in love.”
The whispering hubbub escalated to murmurs to babbling. Robert half turned towards the public seating so he could see Simon, whose thumb appeared, next to the notebook he'd been writing in and bounced with excitement.
The Judge banged his gavel while the Bailiff called for order.
Some of the jury fidgeted.
After calm returned, Robert continued, “When you were first informed that Mr Saunders was deceased, what were you told.”
“Nothing. I am not considered immediate family. They shared the coroner's findings with me, that Johnny's wallet, emptied of cash, and his jacket had been found on the Story Bridge. That his body had been found in the river with injuries consistent with a fall from that height. They concluded it was suicide, given the state of his mind, leading up to his trial on charges of homosexual soliciting,” Harry paused for effect, “of me, his boyfriend, lover. We lived together. We were out having a drink together.”
When the murmuring quieted, Robert continued, “You said that Mr Saunders was committed to stand trial on charges of soliciting. But it is clear that he wasn't so why and how did this happen?”
The prosecution solicitor stood, and the Judge waved him down.
Harry almost smiled and unfolded his story with a captivating melodic rhythm, while Robert scanned the jury. They had reached a stage beyond embarrassed wariness and shock, and looked curious.
“My one regret was caving to the pressure, to conceal I’m gay,” Harry's eyes held each of the jury members in turn. “I'd been doing it for so long. This whole nightmare has made me re-evaluate. We shouldn't be frightened of being who we are. Our lives and livelihoods, our relationships, we shouldn't have to sacrifice them to outdated and ill-informed sensibilities and rules. I'm not going quietly. Not now.”
When he spoke, Robert said nothing about Harry's story, “Judge Matthews, would you tell us who the arresting officers were that night?”
“Detective Senior Sergeant Nichols and Detective Senior Constable Andrews of Licencing Branch.”
“Is this them?” Robert handed the Bailiff photos of Nichols and Andrews, keeping an eye on the prosecution, expecting at least ‘relevance’, but strangely nothing happened, and Harry confirmed them.
Robert's parade of witnesses progressed. Pete, Jimbo, Blue and Tank all confirmed they knew of and could identify Nichols, Andrews and Brady. Incrementally snippets of Johnny's story, his personality, his commitment to gay rights, his passion for helping people, his kindness and his joy emerged. Now the jury knew about a person named Johnny in place of 'the deceased'. Also emerging was the whiff of corruption. Some of the jurors had stopped swiveling their heads to see if anyone else was smelling it.
Robert's fingers pressed the pocket where his broken watch would have been and looked up at the wall clock. He’d let people talk and it was getting late. His nerves were stalking. He wasn't sure how long he could maintain the slow information drip before the prosecution took more than offense. He could feel their tension. It felt more like they were holding back waiting for the right moment, not that they weren't going to pounce at all, and most of this testimony, pretty much all of it, had nothing to do with the case at all. He saw the Judge following his eyes to the clock.
Should he approach the bench with his change of plea now?
If he did, the Judge would call it a day so he could review the documentation. And that could be it. The prosecution strategy was looking less feasible, but with Harry’s testimony, so was his. But that could be good. Give them a sense of we’ve got this if he goes too far. But if they abandoned the case now, they'd never face a court themselves.
'Now,' Johnny's voice was resolute. ‘Call him now.'
“I'd like to call Alan John Peters.”
Chapter 65
There was audible consternation when Norm followed the bailiff into the courtroom and swore to tell the truth.
“Would you please state your name.”
“Alan John-” he was cut off by the chair scraping the floor underneath the prosecution lawyer.
“Your Honour, this must be a mistake. This is Norman Sparks. We've only just heard testimony from him.”
“Bailiff,” the Judge's arm waved at Alan, “would you please escort Mr Sparks from the stand and call the witness.”
As the bailiff started towards him, Alan raised his hand, “Excuse me sir, Your Honour, I am Alan John Peters. I've been pretend- I've been temporarily known by a different name because-”
“Objection, Your Honour.”
“Indeed,” said the Judge, “Mr Carson, would you please approach the bench.”
Robert felt his chest moving again as he did.
The Judge leaned forward so their whispered conversation didn't reach the jury's ears. Robert apologized and confirmed the subterfuge and that Norm, Alan, would justify it during his testimony.
“It is highly unusual,” the Judge commented, “but I'm inclined to allow it. The entire case has been highly unusual. I suspect there's an outcome you are trying to steer us towards, and it would make it easier if you simply changed your plea. Had you considered that?”
