Drive By

by Michael Duffy

  I feel like telling her it is none of her business but Salim has told me about this too. I explain that the papa and mama let me live at home for free and sometimes give me money as a gift. Then there’s Dani, who works at the salon and has her own money and our expenses are pretty low as we live a quiet life because we are saving up to be married. Are you engaged? says Madam Crown and I say not yet but soon I hope. I look at Dani and she is smiling up at me and licks her lips so I have to look away. This Madam Crown has lips too but they are hardly there, not the same as Dani’s lips and I tell myself I am one lucky guy. I would be even luckier if Dani agreed to marry me but so far she is always saying we is too young and we must be free to enjoy ourselves and not worry about a wedding yet.

  Madam Crown asks about Farid and I say like he told me to, that sometimes I help out at the restaurant and he pays me for that. She asks if I have any records of this and I say no, it is usually cash but not a large amount of money, never. Then she says, What about your brother Imad, does he give you any money? I say, He is not working at the moment and she starts to ask me something and Mr Ferguson jumps up and says, I object and she says, I withdraw the question. I know Farid is paying this Mr Ferguson eight thousand a day and now I see it is all worth it, he is a sharp guy. I say, Imad gives me gifts of money from time to time but it is not a regular thing. She says, Your family are very generous and I say, Our family is like that, we is all helping each other out.

  She smiles when I say that and goes You are twenty-five years old Mr Habib and in most cases unmarried young men of your age with no dependents and a good job help out their parents, especially if they don’t have paid employment themselves. Such a young man might also help out his older brother, especially if he has a wife and three young children and runs a small business that is losing money every year, like your brother Farid’s restaurant. He might also help out the family of any sibling unfortunate enough not to be working, such as your brother Imad. But in your case, Mr Habib, all these people are helping you, not the other way round.

  Madam Crown stops then and everyone is looking at me and I see this story of our life is a question. So I tell her again I am just lucky. There is a wait while Madam Crown whispers to this guy in a suit sitting next to her. At last she says, Did Danielle Dwyer and you go on a holiday on the Gold Coast last October? I am thinking to ask her about privacy but Salim’s sitting up straight and staring at me hard so I just say, Yes. She says, You stayed at Jupiter’s Casino for a week? I say, Yes, we was celebrating the first anniversary of being together.

  Mr Ferguson hops up then with an objection and has a quick argument with the judge and Madam Crown and he loses and I am thinking this is no good for someone on eight grand a day and Farid should ask for some of his money back. It’s what I would do if I paid someone for a job they could not do.

  Also I is not happy they is talking about Dani so much. The parents is accepting Dani but really she is unusual in one of the families of the people, like usually a Muslim boy is going out with a Muslim girl, and their families is even meeting first and reciting the first Surah of the Koran and there’s an engagement party. It was very hard for the parents to be accepting of my love for Dani, but I is telling them, well, every person is born a Muslim, we is all knowing that, and we should just hope one day Dani will revert, that is the word we use for accepting Islam, and there will be the ceremony called shahada. That will be a beautiful day. In the end the parents is accepting this and I love them very much, but sometimes like in this court I feel sorry for the difficulty I bring on them through my love for this wonderful woman Danielle Dwyer.

  Madam Crown has this paper in her hand and I think, Oh shit, because by now I see whenever she picks up a new bit of paper it means trouble. She says, How much did the holiday cost? I tell her I do not remember and she says, Who paid for it? I tell her I paid for it from my bank account if she has the records there and has bothered to read all my private details she should know that. She says, Yes and we have checked with Jupiter’s and there is a substantial gap between the extra you took out of your account around this time, which came to a total of just seven hundred and thirty dollars, and the amount you paid the hotel and other companies on the Gold Coast.

  Well, I go, the papa gave us a gift and Danielle had some money from the salon—And your brother Farid, he gave you some too? she says. Sure, I say, and then she says, Mr Habib, you live on air, do you not? This holiday, with the business-class return airfares, the car hire for the Mercedes, the penthouse suite, it all came to over ten thousand dollars. Mr Habib, I ask you again, where did you get the money?

  I start to say some more but then I look at the jury for the first time really and they is all staring at me a few of them frowning hard. I stop talking and in the silence all of a sudden I feel like some animal in a cage in the zoo. This makes me feel very angry in myself and I hardly pay any attention to Madam Crown’s next questions about lending the car to Rafi all the time. But I do after a while and then she asks how I didn’t know this man Jason Teller had taken it from him. I say how could I when Rafi was living away from home? She asks me about the statement I signed too, about the night Jason Teller was shot—Salim told me she would do this, he told me about a lot of questions she would ask and he was right. P’raps he is not such a dumb lawyer after all. But he did not tell me how the jury would look at me. Some of the men are staring all the time and I start to stare back and they look away.

  There’s this Chink girl right down the end, she does not look at me at all but just stares at the wall and keeps sipping from this white cup of water like she’s not feeling so well. I look at the family sitting behind the shiny wooden wall and they smile at me, Shada gives me a signal with her hand, like a thumbs-up. Then I look back at the jury and I see something is wrong. Something about what I have been saying has made them look like this and I start to think about what it might be. Because I have no idea, but I should, because I am on this side of the line in the sand and it is my job in the family to understand this stuff.

  Madam Crown says, In your sworn statement you say you saw Rafi at the barbecue at 10.15 pm on the night Jason Teller was shot. That was a lie, was it not? No, I say, it was an honest mistake. An honest mistake? she says, like repeating my words. Sure, I say, an honest mistake.

  Mabey: ‘Now, why was the Porsche in Jason Teller’s garage for over a month?’

  Habib: ‘He was leasing it from my brother.’

  Mabey: ‘Teller worked for Sam Deeb. It would be fair to say the Deeb family and the Habibs have been in dispute for the past few years, wouldn’t it?’

  Habib: ‘Rafiq and Teller went to the same gym, they were in a different situation.’

  Mabey: ‘You mean your brother bought drugs from Teller?’

  Ferguson: ‘Objection!’

  Habib: ‘Teller didn’t work for the Deebs all the time, he was an individual too. Rafiq and him, they did the weights together and all that stuff.’

  Mabey: ‘So you’re saying Rafiq was such a good mate he loaned him his car? For over a month?’

  Habib: ‘It was a lease, Teller paid him to borrow it. Rafiq needed some cash for his lifestyle, and Teller wanted to drive a Porsche for a while. They is a beautiful vehicle.’

  Mabey: ‘It was written down, this lease arrangement?’

  Habib: ‘No, but Rafiq was asking my permission first.’

  Mabey: ‘Did you receive any money, you who were paying off the loan on the car?’

  Habib: ‘No.’

  Mabey: ‘Did anyone else ever see any of this money?’

  Habib: ‘You’d have to ask them.’

  Mabey: ‘Should I ask Rafiq?’

  Ferguson: ‘Objection!’

  Mabey: ‘Can you name anyone else who could verify this money was ever paid?’

  Habib: ‘Rafi was short of cash, with his clubbing and stuff. He told me about renting out the car to Teller, and after that he was not driving the car and never talking about money no more, and he h
ad some new clothes and stuff. I don’t know if this is court evidence, but it is evidence for me.’

  No further questions, she says, and sits down while I’m still speaking, and the judge tells me to be quiet again. That fucking judge, I tell you.

  Thank God for Mr Ferguson. He stands up next and gives me the chance to explain all the questions the Crown bitch asked me and the judge wouldn’t let me answer properly. Like about how the family love and support each other in ways most skips cannot understand, it is not part of their culture even. I tell him about all the work I was doing on Farid’s cars and his friends’ cars and how happy they were with the work and paid me and stuff. It is fair to say, says Mr Ferguson, you might be a bit behind in issuing receipts for all the work you have done? Sure, I say, and then I remember something else I was supposed to be saying to Madam Crown but I got so angry I forgot. I have talked to my accountant about this, I say, and he is bringing my business activities up to date with the right papers and everything. Mr Ferguson goes, And if it turns out you owe the Australian Tax Office any money you will be able to pay this from your considerable savings? Yes sir, I say, and he says, No further questions.

  Salim says the Crown lawyers aren’t any good they get paid shit and I can see it is true, because Madam Crown has not objected to anything Mr Ferguson has just asked me.

  Knight called as though their last conversation had not happened, with some news. One of the Deebs’ soldiers had just been found dead in a park at Lakemba, shot in the back of both knees, then three in the chest. One hand too, in the palm. Defensive.

  ‘Anam Salib. Remember Terry Anderson last year? Salib was the neighbour.’

  ‘Timing, hey?’

  If the story appeared in the media with any reference to the Habibs, Ferguson could argue the publicity was prejudicial. He’d tell the judge Rafiq could not receive a fair trial in the circumstances, request the jury be dismissed.

  ‘Tell Mabey we’re not giving out the name,’ he said. ‘Fingers crossed.’

  ‘Why now? The trial’s going all right for them.’

  ‘Reckon?’

  ‘My guess.’

  ‘There’s no reason for things anymore. They just happen.’

  It was true, and Bec knew no one else who would put it into words. She remembered why she’d liked Knight, still wanted him to like her. She said, ‘Ray Vella’s asked me to take the blame for the cock-up on a job I was part of at Liverpool.’

  ‘And you would do this because?’

  ‘To work in Homicide.’

  She gave the details, and Knight told her Tony Morrow was Vella’s wife’s nephew. Apparently that branch of the family had always been entrepreneurial.

  ‘What should I do?’

  Knight had shafted her, confused her, and here she was asking his advice. After a moment he said, ‘Taking into account current views in the force regarding honesty, I’d say tell the truth. Whatever it is.’

  ‘You had to think about that.’

  ‘Force of habit.’

  ‘You still resent Phillip, don’t you?’ Stephen said one night.

  Back then—a year ago—he’d been concerned and interested, and had noticed more. They’d worn his patience out since, she could see that. He was still involved, he had a policy position on Ian, but it didn’t touch him anymore. Back then though, lying in bed: ‘Do I?’

  ‘And Ian, you haven’t forgiven him for the choice he made.’

  Panic ran lightly through her limbs; perhaps he was right. She was learning things about herself that she didn’t want to know.

  On the good days she thought mainly about work, about the trial. But it was harder to concentrate on the detail than it used to be, she found herself drifting into questions of meaning. Linking this trial to others she’d done, that colleagues were doing now. You tried not to generalise but people did. After a few drinks, Stephen would refer to Muslims as towellies. At a dinner party during the Arab Spring, he’d gone further, surprised her, raved about how sick he was of seeing Arabs on the news every night of his life, the permanent angry adolescents of international affairs. Shooting their guns into the air, or at each other, shouting, crying, always full of righteous and pressing indignation. It would have destroyed his political career if such sentiments had got out, but everyone there had agreed, the entire table competed in vociferous condemnation. Karen had never experienced anything quite like it, but afterwards she sensed it was out there, heard some of Stephen’s colleagues refer to towellies too, among themselves. It made her cringe and yet she wanted to say the word herself. Finally she whispered it, in the shower.

  Karen Mabey was spluttering, her voice hoarse.

  ‘Bad cold, Madam Crown?’

  ‘I’m still here, Your Honour.’

  After court she said to Bec, ‘We finish tomorrow morning.’ The defence would begin to call its witnesses. ‘They’ll put him on then, if he’s going at all. Can’t see who else they’ve got.’

  ‘You think he will?’ asked Bec.

  ‘I didn’t, that’s what I told Knight at the beginning. But now I’m not so sure. Ferguson’s been holding back. I think they might have a story.’

  One that described how Habib had been at Gallipoli Park but had not killed Jason Teller, and why he’d lied to the police afterwards. It would need to be a good story.

  ‘Shit.’

  Trial by ambush. Tomorrow was Thursday. If Habib did give evidence, he would have to come on first. The rest of the defence case might be brief, no more than a day—much of Ferguson’s work had been done already, in his vigorous cross-examination of the Crown’s witnesses. Unless the judge granted an adjournment, the barristers would begin their summing up on Friday, at which point no new evidence could be presented.

  ‘Shit,’ she said again.

  ‘I assume you’d like the weekend to look into anything Habib says?’

  ‘I can dream.’

  Sometimes dreams come true. The next morning she received a call from Thomson at home. Mabey’s flu had worsened, so there’d be no court today.

  ‘You think she’ll be better tomorrow?’ Bec said.

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’

  She rang Vella and found Wallace was free, so they went out to Long Bay to have another go at Edi Sande, Habib’s friend and associate in the pizza shop venture. He’d been bumptious when interviewed during the investigation, gave nothing except lies about his calls to Habib’s phone in the day after Teller’s murder. The Crime Commission had pulled him in, got the same response, locked him up for contempt. Now Bec and Wallace waited patiently while the big warders processed them with a series of locks, keys, gates. They walked through spaces brightly lit and with clear sight-lines in every direction. Bec was interested to see Wallace nervous, talking a lot and rubbing his forehead.

  The citizen was a small, brown man with short hair, big tattooed arms and a lot of attitude. Bec explained why they were there and he winked at Wallace.

  ‘I was wondering if you felt like talking to us now,’ Bec said.

  ‘Fuck off.’

  He knew they wouldn’t do anything to him. Not with the guard outside the room. Wallace said, ‘Handcuff hero.’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘This is your last chance. We won’t want to talk to you after tomorrow.’

  The art of the rollover.

  ‘Why’s that then?’

  ‘If Rafiq goes in the box.’

  ‘You think he will?’ asked Sande.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Ah . . . maybe. Depends what he says, don’t it?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘A million per cent.’

  ‘What do you think he’ll say?’

  Sande put a finger next to his nose and winked. ‘If I talk to you, would you offer me a deal?’

  ‘Depends what you’ve got to say.’

  Sande leaned back and laughed. He laughed for a long time. Then, ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘Can you say anything else? Apart from “Fu
ck off”?’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  In the car park outside, Wallace stared hungrily at the blue sky, as though rebuilding himself.

  ‘I like gangsters,’ he said. ‘At least everyone knows who’s wearing the white and black hats.’

  She smiled gratefully. Not every cop was like Tony Morrow or Ray Vella. Or Russell Knight.

  DAY FOURTEEN

  On Friday morning the last prosecution witness finished giving evidence. Karen Mabey said, ‘That concludes the Crown case, Your Honour,’ and sat down.

  ‘Thank you, Madam Crown,’ said the judge. ‘Mr Ferguson?’

  As always, this pivotal point in the trial occurred without flourish, and was missed at first by most of those in the public gallery.

  ‘Thank you, Your Honour. The defence calls Rafiq Habib.’

  There was a murmuring while Habib was escorted out of the dock and across the room to the witness box, and someone sat down heavily next to Bec. Brian Harris said, ‘Edi Sande has agreed to an interview. He’s at Kent Street.’

  It would be induced, meaning nothing he said could be used against him.

  The Qur’an had been taken out of its cloth case and presented to Habib, who was confirming it was a copy of the True Book. Bec leaned forward and tapped Thomson on the shoulder, gave him the news. As she whispered, Habib was promising to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

  Harris murmured, ‘His first three lies.’

  Rafiq Habib was in his grey suit, silver tie on a white shirt. From somewhere he’d acquired a pair of glasses, which gave him a studious air. For ten minutes Ferguson ran him through his personal circumstances, presenting him as an inexperienced youth, much loved, possibly even spoiled, by his large family, a boy with the weight of expectation on his shoulders as he became the first of his line to go to university. At this Habib reached up and adjusted the glasses.