by Mark Bailey
‘We timed that well,’ remarked Dannii.
‘Yes, we could have driven in with the roof down,’ replied Milly.
‘Look out, here they come.’ One out of the media throng had turned and noticed Milly and Dannii hustling to the court entrance.
‘Have you any comment, Ms. McTaggart, Ms. King?’
That’s strange, wondered Milly, how would they know Dannii’s name?
They ignored the clicking and flashlights of the cameras as a microphone swung on its extension pole into range to pick up any comments.
‘When are you returning to the U.K., Ms. McTaggart? Are you living there permanently …?’ They continued walking, ignoring any questions. There’s a rat in our midst, thought Milly again.
The procedure for the day was normal by any standard, according to the D.P.P. Paul Long. The accused, Matthew Jordan Boyd, stood in the dock as an indictment was handed to the judge’s associate and read to Boyd detailing the charge of: ‘Possession of a prohibited drug with intent to sell or supply.’ The arraignment complete, the accused pleaded not guilty.
The twelve jurors were seated as Counsel for the State outlined the State’s case against the accused. Long said the State would produce indisputable evidence of Boyd’s guilt. There was the drug find at a property in Bassendean owned by the Boyds. There was the $20,000 in cash. There was drug paraphernalia, including weighing scales and smoking devices. There were the fingerprints, witnesses, drugs in cars, sexual relationships — and on he went until warning the jury near the end that the accused’s extreme wealth had no bearing on his guilt or innocence, clearly anticipating what the defense would argue.
Next, Counsel for the Accused addressed the jury. Simone had been correct in her description of the ponce, Mason Q.C. He looks and acts like a pretentious little twat, thought Milly, and spoke like one too.
‘Talks like he’s got a broom handle stuck up his ass,’ whispered Dannii.
‘More like Boyd’s checkbook,’ replied Milly.
Justice Paul Purdon sat staring at Mason from the bench over his bulbous nose and half glasses that sat precariously on the fat red proboscis full of pits and crevices where the alcohol caused blood vessels to expand and rupture. Poor buggers got a bad case of rosacea, thought Danni, giving him the benefit of the doubt. Bloody old soak was Milly’s take on Purdon.
Her mood hardened as the ponce began his address to the jury. Mason sang Boyd’s praises, as his client silently shed a tear in the dock. He proclaimed his innocence, praised his benevolence with his charitable work and donations and was scathing of charges leveled against him, claiming ‘my client, does not need money from the sale of drugs.’ Then he established the Boyd family wealth at somewhere over 200 million dollars. This drew gasps from the jurors; some raised their hands to cover their mouth in reaction to the claim. Others looked to the dock, staring at Boyd, and Milly knew immediately they agreed with the ponce — why would Boyd sell drugs when he had that kind of money? Mason had drawn the battle lines. This case would be about money.
When both sides had finished addressing the jury, court proceedings were adjourned for ten minutes as the prosecution began calling witnesses. At this stage, Milly wouldn’t be called until Tuesday afternoon, when she was questioned for nearly two hours on her involvement with the Boyds. There were their personal relationships, her friendship with Matthew Boyd Jr. and her sexual relationships with all three of them. As Milly was questioned from the witness stand, she had a full view of the court audience. Matt Boyd Jr. and his mother Melody sat together, showing no reaction as Milly detailed aspects of their sexual relationships. It was old news now; everyone knew about it. Jim Quill, Counsel for the State, asked Milly why she hadn’t come clean, why she initially kept evidence concerning Melody Boyd from detectives investigating the case.
‘Because I felt an allegiance to them like I owed them something. The whole family was very good to me, giving me money and then, of course, the other … the cocaine and sometimes speed.’
‘Who supplied you with the drugs?’ asked Quill.
‘Matthew Boyd Sr.,’ answered Milly.
‘Never Melody Boyd or Matthew Boyd Jr., their son?’ asked Quill.
‘Never,’ replied Milly.
She stepped down and returned to her seat after Counsel for the Accused declined the offer to cross-examine her. Other witnesses were questioned, as Counsel for the State slowly built its case against Boyd. The evidence was damning, given the drugs were found at Boyd’s personal property.
The rest of the week was remarkably dull. There were more witnesses giving the expected evidence for the state, a lot of court procedural protocol, and some tedious legal argument.
The predicted news from Rosie landed in the form of an email in Milly’s inbox 11:30 Tuesday night, Perth time. Milly didn’t read it until early Wednesday morning. Rosie confirmed she had received a phone call earlier that day from a journalist at the West Australian newspaper by the name of Dan Atherton. He explained he was ringing on the off-chance she might know of a drugs charge against her work colleague, Milly McTaggart. At first, Rosie questioned the authenticity of the phone call. Then she replied: ‘It would be totally unprofessional, for me to discuss Milly McTaggart’s U.K. charge of cocaine possession with the Australian media or anyone else for that matter. It is a matter you will need to discuss with her; only she can provide details of the charge.’ Atherton thanked Rosie and apologized for wasting her time.
Milly sat on the information for a couple of days. She was tempted to tell Dannii as they went through their morning ritual in preparing for court. She decided she would leave it until later, as the email had served its purpose, confirming the position she had taken with Simone. Milly now believed she could totally trust her best friend, Dannii and as to whether the ponce would use the information, she doubted it, not without any real proof — just on Rosie’s say so. But she would be ready if he did.
She called her lawyer, Jane Dobson. ‘Hi, Jane, heard from the Magistrates Court yet?’ Through Jane, Milly had completed a handwritten ‘Court Hearing Notice,’ pleading not guilty on the basis that there were others using the locker in the house where her bag (containing the drugs) was found. Someone could have planted the drugs in her bag. Jane had talked Milly into the strategy; she had nothing to lose and, if accepted, it would settle the case quickly.
‘I haven’t heard anything back yet, Milly,’ replied Jane.
Next, Milly, through Christy, organized a meeting to sort out her uncle’s estate, or at least that part of the estate that pertained to her. She was short on time, and the money wasn’t going anywhere; the meeting could wait until next week.
She emailed Stopford and asked him to post the information she requested on Kerford to the Russell’s address in Newport Dundee, care of Milly McTaggart. Stopford agreed to her request.
Friday arrived, and Milly had no idea where the case for the State against Matthew Jordan Boyd was headed. She sought Long’s opinion before she and Dannii headed back to Cottesloe late Friday afternoon. Milly told Dannii she would need to spend the weekend with Mia and Christy as they were flying to Tasmania on Tuesday.
‘Heard anything from Rosie yet?’ asked Dannii.
‘No,’ lied Milly.
‘What was Paul Long's position on where he thought the case against Boyd was headed?’
‘He was non-committal at first. He was worried the ponce’s presentation of the family money angle might influence the jury. He noted, as did I, that some members of the jury were impressed by the amounts of money being bandied about … the $200 million.’
‘That’s crap,’ said Dannii.
‘Anyway, when I pressed him he referred to the drugs that were found in the desk drawer at the property in Bassendean, how Boyd had the only key, how his name was on the door …’
‘Yes, we heard all that in court this week,’ interrupted Dannii.
‘Well, then he made a statement, he concluded …’ Milly paused.
�
��Come on, Milly, stop playing games.’
‘Do you still think I’m fat, Dannii?’
‘No, Milly, you’re cuddly. Stop mucking around.’
‘Well, he concluded, he said, “Listen, mate,” as he looked at me with those beautiful blood-shot eyes, “despite anything you heard in Mason’s opening address about Boyd not needing the money, he’s still got a problem. His problem isn’t money; it’s where the drugs were found, and the circumstances in which they were found.” He said he believed he had a ninety percent chance of a conviction.’
‘Yes. Yes,’ said Dannii.
‘“Because,” he said, “Milly, whatever way you look at it … as the old saying goes …”’
‘C’mon, stop it Milly … tell me!’
‘Then he whispered,’ … “possession is still nine-tenths of the fucking law Milly”.’
‘I agree,’ answered Danni, smiling.
Chapter 12.
They weren’t sure if proceedings on Monday morning got off to a shaky start for Long and his team or not. The ponce began, stating that Counsel for the State’s assertion the drugs in question were found at Boyd’s personal property was false.
‘The property at Bassendean is owned by a unit trust. Those units, totaling twelve, are held equally by Yves King Pty. Ltd. and Melody Boyd Pty. Ltd. as trustee for each of the Yves King and Melody Boyd discretionary trusts.’ This, the ponce suggested, would draw the Kings into question in ownership of anything at all, legal or not, found at the property.
‘Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he?’ whispered Milly to Dannii.
‘Just as Matthew Boyd has tenant rights and access to the property in his association with his wife, Melody Boyd, so too does Andrew King in his relationship with his wife, Yves King,’ claimed Mason. Then he stated that, regardless of who owned the property, no one could possibly be stupid enough to hide drugs in an office with their name on the door.
‘Except Matthew Boyd,’ whispered Dannii to Milly, giggling.
The inference was subtle, but it was there, that Andrew King or indeed Yves King could have hidden the cocaine in Matt Boyd Sr.’s office. The fact that neither had a key to the office wasn’t mentioned.
Mason was articulate and professional in his delivery. He continued to stress Boyd’s family wealth. ‘Are we to assume by these charges that my client sold drugs, so he could donate money to charity? He has no need of the money. Indeed,’ Mason continued, ‘just under half the money gained, had the cocaine been sold, with its street value of approximately $360,000, was donated to one or another charitable cause in both the preceding years and the year since these scandalous charges were laid. That fact alone makes a mockery of these charges.’
Then, Counsel for the Accused began calling witnesses. He called two associates of the Boyds, senior and junior; both had previous criminal drug convictions. This, Mason explained, accounted for the drug paraphernalia and drugs residue at their private addresses, notwithstanding those drugs that had been brought into the Cottesloe residence the night of the party in July of 2015. The two men had stayed separately at the Boyd residence in Cottesloe, the holiday house in Geraldton, and the family unit in Applecross where Matt Jr. was a tenant. They also had access to two vehicles driven by the Boyds. Both men, old friends of the family, were still being generously supported and mentored by Matt and Melody Boyd, despite their fall from grace.
The righteous tone of the defense continued all through Monday.
‘You’d think Boyd was in line for Australian of the Year, not a twenty-year jail sentence,’ quipped Milly.
Milly was informed she would be questioned first up the following morning.
Milly and Dannii had been meticulously preparing themselves each morning of the trial. They loved the morning ritual; it was great fun and Tuesday morning was no different. They chose the jacquard fringe coat and pants with one of the stripy shirts Milly had purchased. Milly looked radiant, fairly bursting from the new low-cut shirt. Dannii took particular care with her face; she had an idea from the get-go today that the media would be alive and stalking them. The other part of their morning ritual over the past week was parking the car in Barrack Street as they walked to the court through Stirling Gardens. Dannii guessed the media had picked up on it. Would they be waiting for them this morning, she wondered? She didn’t say anything to Milly; she would be nervous enough. Milly’s evidence would finish today. There would be no need for her continued presence in court; her court obligation would be done. As far as the media was concerned, today was the day.
They drove to a park in Barrack Street. Dannii had shifted the car later each morning to one of the nearby long-term car parks. Sure enough, as they turned into Barrack Street, they could see the media throng waiting.
‘Look at ’em!’ exclaimed Milly.
‘Don’t worry. Mia and Christy are flying to Tasmania today, so we can play this for all it’s worth. You look stunning, Milly, let’s have some fun.’
Dannii parked, and as Milly opened the passenger door, the media hit her like a swarm of bees, stinging with cameras, lights, microphones, and question after question. Even if she wanted to answer questions, it would have been impossible as one reporter after another poked and prodded away, asking excitedly, ‘What do you think will happen today? Do you think Boyd is guilty? Are you nervous?’ When they realized, they weren’t going to get anything from Milly they turned their attention to Dannii. ‘Are your parents still in business with the Boyds? Are they on speaking terms?’
Dannii and Milly continued walking toward the Supreme Court. Both wore huge grins; they were enjoying the attention. Milly heard one of the cheeky young male reporters comment to another that she’s either cold or pleased to see me. She did her coat up, covering herself. She looked stunning at over six feet tall, with her unblemished skin, her beautiful red hair, which Dannii had managed to keep in a half-up, half-down style. The media followed them right to the court entrance and then turned, swarming back outside as the Boyd family arrived.
Milly was called to the witness stand first. Justice Purdon sat on the bench, his red beacon flashing like an ambulance light with no siren. Another good weekend, thought Milly, as she pictured him propped up beside a barbecue on Sunday afternoon drinking his third bottle of red while his poor long-suffering wife who never drank, waited to drive him home.
‘Counsel for the Accused calls Millicent Cavendish McTaggart to the stand.’
As Milly walked to the stand, she could still hear AC/DC’s Jailbreak pounding in her ears. ‘That’s the only way he’ll avoid a long stint in jail,’ Dannii had commented when she played the number as ‘gee-up’ music on their twenty-five-minute drive into the city from Cottesloe.
When she was seated comfortably, the ponce approached the witness stand, bid Milly good morning and asked how she wished to be addressed.
Little turd, thought Milly. ‘Dr. McTaggart, thanks.’
Justice Purdon looked down his nose at Milly, through his half glasses. He knew she was a doctor, but there had hardly been any reference to it. He looked then at Mason, all chipper and dapper for a Tuesday morning. He didn’t like him. He didn’t trust a man who doesn’t drink.
‘Dr. McTaggart, why are you here?’
Milly thought she should give a smart answer — shopping, washing my car, on the pull — but she answered it by not answering.
‘Dr. McTaggart?’
‘I’m just not quite sure how to answer a question like that. Talking with you, I guess.’
‘That’s right. You do a lot of talking, don’t you, Dr. McTaggart? You did a lot of talking last week when you talked with Counsel for the State, with my learned colleague Jim Quill. But there is another reason you are here, Dr. McTaggart, isn’t there?’ Again, Milly was silent.
‘Well?’
‘Well, what?’
‘Can you answer the question please?’
‘I already have.’ Milly looked into the public gallery. She looked briefly at Dannii and not
iced Simone there, at the back and Jane Dobson, her lawyer, was there too. She looked back at the ponce. He was obviously trying to get her offside, so she would fly off the handle. He’d done some research, probably got some information from Simone, thought Milly.
‘As I said, I’m here to talk with you, mate, to help you out, to do my duty.’ Dannii could see the signs. The ponce was asking for trouble.
‘You’re here to do a deal, aren’t you, Dr. McTaggart?’
‘What sort of deal?’ asked Milly.
‘To get a drugs charge dismissed.’
‘Well, you’d know. You’re doing the same thing, aren’t you? The only difference with me is I’ve admitted it. Not like your cli…?’
‘I’ll ask the questions, thanks,’ interrupted the ponce. Milly was making a good point.
‘You can ask the questions but why don’t you ask me straight out what you want to know instead of talking in riddles? You’ve just asked five questions, in a roundabout kind of way, to find out if I’ve done a deal … and the answer is yes, definitely, just like you, mate.’
‘What sort of deal have you done?’ asked the ponce. He detested being called mate.
‘Well,’ said Milly leaning forward exposing her ample cleavage … the deal I’ve done is to testify at this trial, so I can have a traffickable offense of cocaine reduced to a possession and use charge … a misdemeanor. That’s cocaine supplied to me by your client who, as everyone knows, I was sleeping with … and his wife … and his son … but not all at the same time.’
You could have heard a pin drop inside the courtroom. The ponce looked and felt uncomfortable — a lot less in control. He looked at Milly and back at Justice Purdon. If I keep going, it could be dangerous, he seemed to be thinking.
‘No more questions, your Honor.’
Milly was stunned. There was total silence in the court. ‘So that’s it?’ asked Milly staring at Justice Purdon.
