The Glass Mountain (18 page)

The lock's flung back. A prison officer enters with a pie. ‘Lunch,' he announces. He points to the book that's lying on the bench. ‘What's that?'

The Wind in the Willows.

The man sniffs. ‘Not much for reading myself. Though I do like a good murder from time to time.'

Ossie grins. ‘It's about all the people ya know.'

The officer flicks through pages. ‘They look more like animals to me.'

At 2.15 the cast reassembles and again Ossie is led in. He stands with his head bowed and his eyes cast down. ‘Don't stare.

* *

Don't smile. Keep your head down and look contrite. Will you do that for me, Ossie?'

‘Yeah Daryl. I will.'

Mr James calls his next witness, Detective Inspector William Bradley.

Bill Bradley recalls clearly a complaint having been made to his office on a certain date by a Mrs Marjorie Butcher. He turns the pages of his note book and reads:

‘On the 10th of May a person identifying herself as Mrs Marjorie Butcher contacted my office …' The notes go on to describe the complaint, and the D.I' s subsequent interrogation of the accused, the man he now sees in the dock. The notes detail the complainant's description of the alleged street incident and the altercation with the director of the nursing home.

Mr James: Detective Inspector Bradley, in the course of your interrogation did you ask the accused whether he had ever been in trouble with the police?

DI Bradley: I did. He said no. I repeated the question. He said no again.

Mr James: Thank you, Detective Inspector. That is all.

Adrian Clive Chalmers is the next person to take the stand. His grey suit, white hair and upstanding presence impresses in the witness box. He takes the oath and doesn't mumble. People nod approval; they've finally caught every word.

Mr James: Are you named as executor of the last will and testament of the late Mrs Esther Ellis?

Mr Chalmers: I am.

Mr James: Was this the first will she made?

Mr Chalmers: No, she made two. The second automatically rescinds the first.

Mr James: Are you named as executor of that first will?

Mr Chalmers: No, but I was apprised of its contents by Mrs Ellis when she told me she wanted to change it.

Mr James: Who were to be beneficiaries under the first will?

Mr Chalmers: Her daughter, Mrs Marjorie Butcher, was the sole beneficiary.

Mr James: And who is to inherit under this current one?

Mr Chalmers: Mrs Butcher is the major legatee. Austin Ingram, the Camleigh Gardens Nursing Home and a codicil was appended just prior to her death to include the community hospital. The late Mrs Ellis was a wealthy woman.

Mr James: Can you recall the date of the signing of the first will?

Mr Chalmers: No. But Mrs Ellis told me that it had been made in 1968.

Mr James: And the date of the signing of the second?

Mr Chalmers: Sixth of May of this year.

The afternoon is drawing to a close. There'll only be one more witness to call before the curtain falls and this witness will cause a mild sensation. Even the press are not prepared for this one.

Heads turn as black leather squeaks and a man approaches striding noisily. His hair is wild and red and about his neck thick vipers squirm.

Mr James: Please state your name and occupation.

Mr Rigg: Ray Rigg. I'm whatcha might call a personal accountant. I dispense bread. Not all times but most times an' sometimes I don't. It all depends, see. I got eyes in the back of me head. Yer ask Nom over there. He'll tell ya. Nobody fucks up the Bagman —

Judge: Mr Rigg! Remember where you are. This is my courtroom.

Mr Rigg: An' a credit it is to ya too, Judge.

Mr Timothy James coughs and his shoulders shake. The tips of Mr Nunn's ears are red. It's a cold coming on.

Mr James: Your Honour, what I have to put to this witness is in its nature circumstantial. In the purview of opinion only. (He turns to the witness.) Mr Rigg, all the court requires of you is clarification of financial remuneration as it pertains or did pertain to the accused.

Mr Rigg (sighing): Judge, if ya mate here speaks normal like I might consider answering the question, provided there was a fuck — sorry, Judge — a question. Though I don't reckon there was one, do you?

Judge: Mr James, get to the point.

Mr James: As Your Honour pleases. Mr Rigg, describe the allowance given to the accused.

The court is told how the accused was paid $75 a week from Pit Vipers' funds. (Timothy James' breakfast this morning at the Sheridan has cost $85.) The money was conditional on the accused being drug-free, remand-free and remaining a pit viper. If he didn't comply with the aforementioned, the money reverted to the clubhouse.

Mr James: In your opinion, Mr Rigg, will the accused rejoin the gang?

Mr Rigg: Nah. Said he was getting out a coupla days before the old girl carked it. But he's a smart kid, Nom, he'll think a something.

There's silence in court as the judge gathers up his things and rises.

It's 4.15 and the curtain falls on day one of the trial.

The crowd pours out, along lamp-lit corridors, down slippery stone steps. People crane their necks and jostle elbows for a sight of the van. But they're bound for disappointment. The van left ten minutes ago. By now it's back at the assessment prison.

Inside his cell Ossie is counting trains. The station is just to the right, though his wing faces onto the street. From time to time a tram rattles along, muffling the clickety clack of the northern line, the western line hurrying people home …

The rain continues to tumble on the darkening streets, on the right to life, the right to death.

The next morning the rain's gone and now a cold wind licks up the stone steps and along the lamp-lit corridors where doors of ancient oak are being swung shut.

Today, above the dome, the flag flies proudly.

It's day two of the trial.

Before eight o'clock crowds have gathered. Last night's headlines have brought them flocking, even a glimpse of the Granny Killer will be enough for some. They huddle together, their coat collars turned up.

In the bitter wind the banners blow. One gets hooked around its stick, loses its ‘EUTHAN' and reads ‘ASIA IS MURDER'. Two Japanese tourists pause, blink and walk on.

At 10.25 he's led in. His clothes are the same, though today he wears a striped tie. He looks neither to right nor left, but ahead or down.

10.30. A breathless silence falls, punctuated by rheumy coughs. Defence counsel's cold has gone to his chest. He knew it.

The first witness to be called is a Mrs Mary Rennie. This woman is small and slightly bent. She wears a grey beret over grey hair, grey coat and sensible shoes. Mrs Rennie is a foster mother to wards of the state, and was, for eleven months, foster mother to the accused. No, this was not the agreed period of residence. He was relocated. A grey beret lists forward. Mrs Mary Rennie is anticipating the next question. The accused was returned to the Juvenile Justice Centre for breaking and entering. No, this was not his first conviction. The grey beret dips lower. The witness is asked to speak up.

‘Was it his second infringement with the law?' asks Mr James. ‘His third? Fifth?'

Mrs Rennie rushes on, says he wasn't what you'd call a bad boy. Never violent or unkind.

Mr James asks her to stick to the facts.

Now a drug counsellor takes the stand. He is followed by a psychologist then a hospital staffer who nursed the accused at the time of his accident.

Finally Mr Timothy James QC coughs and clears his throat (Mr Nunn has been doing the same all morning) and calls his last witness.

Mrs Marjorie Butcher is led to the witness box. She trips slightly as she passes the dock and glances sideways. Her lips are pinched, her hair is stretched back, and she wears a brown dress high to the neck with buttons. She stands in the box and repeats the oath. She mumbles, stumbles, corrects, herself … Sees two hands trembling and locks them behind her back.

Mr James (continuing): Mrs Butcher describe the incident that prompted you to act as you did.

Mrs Butcher: He knocked over an elderly person in the street and grabbed her purse. I saw it, he left her lying in the gutter — it was a large black purse. He stuffed it in the back of his jeans and rode off …

Mr Nunn (rising): Mrs Butcher, I'm going to put a question to you and I want you to think very carefully before you answer it. And remember you are on oath. Was the elderly someone whom the accused is alleged to have knocked down in the street your mother?

Mrs Butcher (pauses): Yes.

Judge: Speak up, please.

Mrs Butcher: Yes.

Mr Nunn: The alleged event occurred in September. Mrs Butcher we have heard Detective Inspector Bradley testify to the fact that the cited complaint was issued by you in the following May. Can this be correct?

Mrs Butcher: — Yes.

Mr Nunn: You allege the accused assaulted your mother in the street yet you waited seven months to report it. Why, Mrs Butcher?

Mrs Butcher: I — I wasn't to know he was going to be employed at Camleigh, was I?

Mr Nunn: You weren't to know he was going to be employed at Camleigh. Mrs Butcher would you consider yourself to be a law abiding citizen?

Mrs Butcher: Of course.

Mr Nunn: If you witnessed a burglary would you report it to the police?

Mrs Butcher: Yes.

Mr Nunn: Then I repeat my question. Why did you wait seven months to report “a vicious assault” to quote your own words?

Mrs Butcher: I — I've just told you.

Mr Nunn: Mrs Butcher was there any action taken in relation to your complaint?

Mrs Butcher: I — I don't — I can't —

Mr Nunn: I put it to you, Mrs Butcher, that the said incident was deployed by you in order to have your mother admitted to a nursing home. I put it to you that you registered this fabricated fall at the hospital to elicit support for your intention. I put it to you that your determination to remove the accused from his job was motivated by a fear of his undermining your story. Mrs Butcher, I put it to you that your behaviour illustrates one thing — you wanted your mother out of the way.

Mrs Butcher (crying into handkerchief): I didn't want her to die …

Mr Nunn: No further questions.

A buzz goes around the gallery as the prosecution rises.

Mr James: Mrs Butcher, why did you place your mother in Camleigh Gardens Nursing Home?

Mrs Butcher: Because she'd have the best care. I work —

Mr James: In what employment, Mrs Butcher?

Mrs Butcher: I'm a school teacher.

Mr James: A noble and responsible profession.

Judge: Just get on with it, Mr James.

Mr James: As Your Honour pleases. Continue, Mrs Butcher.

Mrs Butcher: She was ill and going to get worse. She would have been on her own all day. Perhaps in pain. Not able to reach things — get to the phone … I did what I thought was best …

Mr James: Thank you, Mrs Butcher. That is all. (He turns to the judge.) That concludes the case for the prosecution, Your Honour.

Now once again the cast files out and members of the audience disperse in search of warm food and drink.

From colourful bistros in cobbled lanes, lights glow, but today there's no spare seat. People peer inside, hurry on. And the winter wind blows cold and chill …

At 2 p.m., fed or not, they're back to clog up the footpath. On the streets to the left and the right the ranks of the placard bearers grow. ‘The Right to Choose.' ‘Mercy Killing is Murder.'

Time again to move in, to watch the actors take their places. At the left of the bar table Daryl Nunn shuffles papers, coughs, coughs again, can't stop. He blows his nose and swallows a tablet. Daryl Wills Nunn is not Mr Timothy James QC. He hasn't his rakish charm, his acerbic cut and thrust. Mr Nunn is overweight, serious. And unwell.

On the dot of 2.15 everybody stands, sits, considers Mr Justice Hepburn, and waits for the judge to speak.

Mr Justice Hepburn puts down his pen, coughs (is it catching?) then calls upon Mr Nunn to open the case for the defence.

Mary Ann Kennedy is forty-five but looks younger. She wears a smart suit, gold earrings and high boots. She is a social worker and her clients are wards of the state. She recognises the accused. She was his case worker. It's a coordinating role, she explains. You find appropriate places for them to live, and you observe their progress. You're there to listen, gauge responses, make suggestions. Be a friend. When he came to her, the accused was aged eleven. When asked under what circumstances the accused became a ward of the state, Mary Kennedy tells of an archetypically dysfunctional family. Of a mother's rejection, of a father's bouts of alcoholism, of financial mismanagement, of always moving on …

Mr Nunn asks about the multiple foster homes, the schools, the accused's involvement with the law.

Miss Kennedy: He only lasted a few days at some places. He was insecure, always alone. He couldn't or wouldn't articulate his pain. He'd lost the ability to trust. With the bikies he seemed better. What could I do? His father was dead. I'd tried everything else — …

Mr Nunn: Miss Kennedy, during the time the accused was in your charge did you witness any display of violence? Any act of cruelty perpetrated against another or inflicting of pain?

Miss Kennedy: No.

Mr Nunn: Thank you, Miss Kennedy. That is all.

Mr Nunn coughs on, sips water, ruffles papers. Withdraws a file, scans. Stands.

He calls Sheralyn Lucy Smythe.

Sheralyn is in red, her lucky colour. She follows the tipstaff to the witness box, steadies herself and takes the oath. Her voice quavers. She focuses on her hands and breathes deeply. She states her name and occupation, tells how she became acquainted with the accused, and describes the accused's perceived relationship with the late Esther Ellis.

Mr Nunn: Miss Smythe, the court might wonder what a young bikie could possibly have in common with an elderly lady?