Judgement day, p.12
Judgement Day, page 12
She googled Brian Shanahan again and, using a Facebook account she’d created for such occasions, requested access to the various family law pages he ran. A few did not require permission and on them Shanahan demonstrated his lived experience of the Family Law Act. ‘Property settlements at court – what to say in your affidavit’ had six hundred members; ‘Everything you need to know about Spousal Maintenance’ had a paltry two hundred and ten.
Jillian turned to the Black Book. Someone with a sense of humour, presumably Matthew, had gone to the effort of handwriting an internal cover page in gothic text that read: ‘Here be the dissatisfied litigants of Bailey J.’
There was page after page of printed-out emails, most short and succinct. ‘Feminazi whore, suck a cock and die’ was the first entry, sent from someone called burneyofbyron@zmail.com. ‘I will take your children off you, see how you like that slut’ was the next entry, also from Burney but sent a month later. ‘If I ever see you in the street I will gouge your eyes out with my bare hands and strangle you until your spine snaps,’ wrote angryteddy99@shoot.com. The earliest emails dated back several years but the book had been updated regularly, with the most recent being a photograph of a noose with an invitation to ‘choke on this, I know where you live’ dated only two weeks earlier.
Jesus.
In addition to the emails there were file notes of anonymous phone calls, and an extensive collection of penis photographs. These were for the most part disembodied shots, with no other body parts evident, and no accompanying messages. They had been sent from email addresses clearly crafted with Judge Bailey in mind. Things like stopbaileycorruption@maildrop.com, famlawwhore@zmail.com, and stoptheantimalebailey@shoot.com. Jillian googled the email addresses to see if these same accounts had been used on any websites or social media, but could find nothing.
Guessing that the photos of penises had also been prepared specifically with Judge Bailey in mind, she opened the electronic copy of the Black Book on her laptop. She then copied the images, one after another, into an image search. It did not take her long to confirm that her instincts were spot on – these were indeed bespoke dick pics.
‘What on earth are you looking at?’
She turned to see Aaron standing right behind her, fully dressed but still bleary-eyed with sleep.
‘It’s for work. Obviously.’
‘Sure,’ Aaron teased. ‘Ollie’s still down. I thought I might duck up to Anderson and get a loaf and a few croissants. What do you reckon?’
‘Yeah okay, sounds good.’
‘Keep an ear out for him.’
‘I will.’
She got up and stretched. Being alone in the house with Ollie unnerved her. It reminded her of those dreadful months after Aaron had gone back to work, when she had spent every minute of the day worried about what she might do to herself, or to her child. She wished she’d offered to go and get the croissants.
She checked her phone and was surprised to see that a new email had come in containing Michael O’Neil’s bank statements. On a Sunday! And I didn’t even need to flirt with anyone. Unfortunately, the barrister’s banking activity reminded her of her grandmother’s attitude towards money.
O’Neil takes out $800 cash each Tuesday and lives off that for the week, she told McClintock via text. Been doing that as far back as I can see.
She emailed through a request for Saul Meyers’ phone records, wondering as she did whether the chief judge’s acrimony towards Bailey could have culminated in allowing someone to enter chambers to do away with her. Would a man like that, self-important and satisfied but a servant of the law regardless, really be willing to do that? To risk everything?
Well, he drunkenly abused her in front of colleagues. Would people have guessed him capable of that before they witnessed it?
There was the smallest of cries from Ollie. She got to her feet and tiptoed to his bedroom door.
Please don’t wake up now.
She opened the door gingerly and crept to the bed where Aaron had left him. Ollie was still asleep.
Silly Daddy should have put you in your cot.
Silly Daddy’s a better mother than I’ll ever be.
Remember when you thought . . .
Panic gripped her and she felt her hands become clammy. She left the room and closed the door as quietly as she could, then slumped against the other side of it and hyperventilated.
Chapter 13
Jillian had agreed to meet McClintock at the court at nine on Monday morning. When she arrived, it was to find that the building had reopened to the public. Barristers, solicitors and litigants were sitting in the cafe and congregated outside the huge rotating glass doors. McClintock was already waiting for her, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet as though he needed some immediate outlet for his apparently inexhaustible energy.
They were greeted in the central atrium by Angela who confirmed that both Judge Maiden and Tomir Staniak were at work already. The registry manager reacted with genuine surprise to the news that Judge Bailey might have engaged a lawyer. ‘I would have thought if she really wanted to pursue the safety issue she’d have gone through all the internal options first. She never struck me as a litigious woman,’ she mused as she took them out of the lift and through the security doors on level twelve. ‘Could it have been about reviewing some part of her employment contract? But, no . . .’ She shook her head. ‘Honestly, I’m mystified.’
‘Any tips for dealing with Virginia Maiden?’ Jillian asked.
Angela pressed her lips together as she considered the question. ‘Make sure you always address her as Judge,’ she said finally, although Jillian had the distinct impression that the registry manager wanted to say more.
Judge Maiden’s chambers were staffed by a pale young woman typing furiously on her computer and an equally pale young man scribbling notes on a whiteboard. They each looked up at the detectives’ entry.
‘Is the boss in?’ Jillian asked. ‘We’re the police.’ Both associates looked too confused to question them further and the young man merely gestured towards the closed inner door. Jillian knocked once before opening it.
Judge Maiden looked up from her desk in surprise. She was certainly not a warm presence, Jillian thought immediately. She had high cheekbones, incredulous eyebrows, and thin lips worn straight and closed. A pearl necklace against a cream satin shirt gave her upper body a disarming brilliance that sat in stark contrast to her stare.
‘Judge Maiden,’ Jillian began. ‘We’re the detectives investigating Judge Bailey’s death. My name is Jillian Basset, I’m a detective senior sergeant with Homicide. This is Detective Sergeant John McClintock. We know you’re a busy woman but we’d really appreciate the opportunity to chat with you briefly.’ As she spoke she realised that McClintock was not behind her but had remained in the outer office where he was looking intently at the notes the male associate was making on the whiteboard. She proceeded further into the room and, without McClintock or an invitation, took a seat facing the judge.
‘I can’t just stop what I’m doing,’ the judge said icily without looking at Jillian. ‘I’m in court at ten.’
‘This won’t take long . . .’ Jillian began, but even as she spoke she was aware of the older woman’s attention leaving her and moving to McClintock, who had joined them. Judge Maiden’s change in demeanour was instantaneous and almost comical.
He offered her a hand and she stood to accept it. ‘It’s very nice to meet you,’ she said, looking him straight in the eye. ‘I was just explaining to your colleague that I don’t think there’s much I can do to assist you, unfortunately.’
That’s one way of putting it.
‘I’m sure you’ll be more helpful than you realise,’ McClintock said as he sat down, and the judge positively purred.
‘Of course,’ she said, ‘anything, of course. We’ll just need to be quick about it.’
They were interrupted by the female associate, who knocked and, following a look of merest acknowledgment from her boss, entered the room. She placed two blue sheets of paper in front of the judge and handed her a pen. Jillian noticed that the younger woman’s hands were shaking.
Virginia Maiden looked briefly at the pages and then drew a large cross over each. ‘You’ve made the same mistake again,’ she said without looking up. ‘Fix it. And add those to your shredding pile. Speaking of which, I noticed this morning that it’s getting very large. I suggest you put aside a day in the next few weeks to go through everything in there and reflect on how you might avoid those mistakes in the future.’
‘But it’s not all my –’
‘Close the door,’ the judge said, her attention already returning to McClintock. ‘Useless,’ she added as the blushing young woman obeyed.
Virginia Maiden pulled her seat closer to her desk and leaned forward slightly. Slowly and patiently, McClintock took her through the evening of the murder.
‘It was just a little, intimate goodbye. Just for the judges, so we could all pay our dues. Saul’s an institution, he’s been with the court since it started, back when they called us Federal Magistrates. It was a really lovely night too. Nice for everyone to let their hair down, that’s why we said no associates and no support staff. You want to be able to relax.’
‘We understood Judge Bailey’s associates attended.’
‘Oh yes,’ the judge sniffed. ‘That’s right. I’d forgotten about that.’
‘Could you tell us what time you left the party?’ McClintock asked.
‘Oh, around eleven, or thereabouts.’
‘And did you talk to Judge Bailey at all that night?’
‘Just in passing. She said she was planning to visit her daughter later in the year in London. Just small talk, you know. We were both waiting for the bathroom.’
‘And what time was this?’
‘Oh gosh, maybe ten? Kaye had left the party much earlier but she was still hanging around, making a big show about finishing that judgement. I remember I was looking at my watch because whoever was in there was taking ages. As it turned out, it was Grant’s wife. She’s a bit . . .’ The judge circled her ear with her index finger. ‘Poor thing. And that was awkward because we’d already had that strange interaction earlier.’
‘In what way strange?’
Virginia Maiden leaned even further towards McClintock, her eyes bright and conspiratorial as though they were sharing a risqué joke at a cocktail party. ‘Harriet dropped a hundred-dollar note on the floor at the buffet. I picked it up and tried to give it back to her. Well, you should have heard her! “No, it isn’t mine, couldn’t possibly be mine, I never carry cash, never, someone else must have dropped it.” Honestly, she seemed to be having a bit of an episode, the way she carried on. It was just bizarre. Anyway, the money turned out to be Kaye’s, or at least she swooped in and claimed it, perhaps to get Harriet to calm down.’
‘So the last time you saw Judge Bailey was waiting for the bathroom later on?’
‘Yes.’
‘We understand the chief judge and Kaye Bailey had some unpleasant words. Were you present for that?’
‘Oh, that all would have come out in the wash.’ Maiden waved her hand dismissively. ‘Nothing interesting there. Kaye could just be a bit fiery is all.’
‘So as far as you’re aware then, Saul Meyers wasn’t angry with Judge Bailey afterwards?’
‘Not really, no. He was upset, of course, she’d said some nasty things, but we all calmed him down. The boys, me. Even Grant had a go, which is unusual – he doesn’t typically try to cool a conflict if it means getting to laugh at someone. Saul was fine within a few minutes. We continued on. Had a lovely night.’
She must be lying.
‘Have you ever met a bloke called Brian Shanahan?’ McClintock asked, and Jillian felt the same sensation she’d had while talking to Tim Buxton – as though she were merely an observer.
The judge rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. ‘Oh yes,’ she said, ‘I’m afraid we’ve all had the pleasure of dealing with Mr Shanahan at one stage or another. He’s always on someone’s docket. What did you say your name was again?’
‘I apologise,’ he said, flashing her a smile. ‘I didn’t introduce myself properly, I’m John McClintock, Jillian’s colleague.’
I introduced you!
‘McClintock, hey?’ The judge narrowed her eyes teasingly. ‘You aren’t related to the McClintock-Garretts, are you? Out in Brighton?’
‘Not me, no.’
‘Ah, shame. Lovely family.’ She looked at him expectantly, awaiting his next question.
‘Were you on bad terms yourself with Judge Bailey?’ Jillian asked as civilly as she could.
‘Well, Kaye Bailey wasn’t on good terms with a lot of people. She could be very snide and difficult.’ Virginia Maiden was still looking at McClintock, as though it was he who’d asked the question. She gave a little laugh. ‘I know we aren’t meant to speak ill of the dead, but she trod on toes, said things.’ The judge made a dramatic grimace.
‘Was there a particular incident that bothered you?’ McClintock asked.
‘Incident?’ She shook her head and laughed coquettishly. ‘No, nothing like that. Kaye was,’ she searched for the word, ‘not very professional. I think she got her nose out of joint when I reprimanded her associate for using the judicial lift. Kaye knew she’d done the wrong thing, Saul had specifically told her not to let that girl use it. Aside from that, we weren’t friends by any means but I certainly didn’t wish her any harm. She knew Saul and I were close and she always had it in for him, so . . .’ She waved a hand in the air. ‘And then of course, Screwy calling Saul that time made things pretty awkward.’
‘Michael O’Neil, you mean? He called the chief judge about what exactly?’
‘Well,’ the judge said, her cheeks reddening. ‘About me. He claimed I was rude and arrogant when dealing with a self-represented litigant; he rang Saul about it, told him he should deal with me. As I explained to Saul, it was the last day of the duty list, I’d listened to forty matters, and this fellow comes in wasting my time complaining about paying his wife two hundred and fifty a week spousal. The wife was even worse. Saying she needed more, not less, basically trying to run an interim hearing in the last ten minutes of the day . . .’ Judge Maiden looked to McClintock for understanding. ‘As I’m sure you’ll appreciate, you don’t want to start some new investigation ten minutes before the end of your shift. This was the same. We would have been there until Christmas . . .’
‘Fair enough,’ McClintock said with an understanding smile. ‘How do you find O’Neil in general? Sounds like he has a bit of a nasty streak?’
‘Oh look, Screwy can be a pain in the backside but he is also just a sad old man. I don’t let him bother me if I can avoid it.’
‘We understand you and the chief judge went on to the Danish Club with some others after the party,’ Jillian said. ‘Do you recall Saul Meyers getting in a cab?’
‘I do recall putting His Honour in a cab,’ Virginia Maiden said with firm emphasis, still not bothering to look at Jillian. ‘Had to tell them where to take him, too.’
‘So you told the cab driver his address?’
‘I did,’ she confirmed.
‘And what about you? Where did you go after that?’
‘I went home,’ Judge Maiden replied, finally looking at Jillian but only to convey her contempt. ‘My husband collected me. You may check with him.’
‘What an interesting woman,’ Jillian said when Judge Maiden had shown them out. The entire interview had been a masterclass in exclusion and belittlement. If Jillian had not been the recipient of the judge’s behaviour she might even have been impressed by it. There was a certain skill in making someone feel that invisible.
‘I thought she seemed okay,’ McClintock said.
‘Ugh, well, that’s because she loved you. No, she was nasty.’
‘A bit snobby maybe,’ he conceded. ‘But she’s just lost her colleague.’
‘A colleague she was more than happy to criticise to us,’ she snapped. It was as though for everything Jillian said, McClintock had a rosier, kinder explanation. That wasn’t how a homicide detective should operate. Had he not learned anything about the dark side of human nature?
‘I guess at least now we know Meyers is probably out of the running,’ she said. ‘Maiden was adamant she gave the cabby his address. We should know soon enough from the company anyway.’
‘Suppose so,’ McClintock said, although he sounded disappointed. ‘Unless he went back in after.’
They found Angela in her office. The registry manager escorted them to the security office which was located in the basement of the building, looking out onto the underground carpark. Tomir and another, older man, sat together, in front of several television screens, looking intently between different camera positions.
Tomir’s face fell as he noticed the detectives. ‘I’m still trying to put all the proximity card logs on the disk but we keep having problems even accessing the records. The IT boys are working on it now. Jerome’s gonna try doing it a different way if it still doesn’t work. I’ll call you as soon as it’s done.’
‘Alright,’ Jillian said, trying to suppress her irritation. She turned to McClintock. ‘Shall we take a drive to the leafy inner east then?’
Chapter 14
‘I always forget this part of Melbourne exists,’ Jillian said when they pulled into Marnong Avenue, Hawthorn, just before midday. ‘All this money, these huge houses.’
She still remembered the first time she had made it ‘across the river’, for the twenty-first birthday of a university friend over fifteen years earlier. The friend had lived at a residential college but the party was at her childhood home, which was far removed from the aging furniture, comfortable rugs and snoring animals of the house Jillian had grown up in. When she had arrived she’d been shown into what looked like an enormous white box, where waiters – actual waiters – had offered her champagne and canapés and directed her to the pool outside for ‘pre-dinner entertainment’. Jillian had locked herself in one of the house’s many bathrooms for over an hour, overcome by inadequacy.
