Undertow

by Sydney Bauer

  ‘Ah, I’m not sure, most likely bourbon.’

  ‘And were you drinking this bourbon whilst piloting your helicopter?’

  Jackson looked at Katz in a plea for help. David saw it and the jury saw it too.

  ‘Mr Katz can’t help you now, Mr Jackson, do you want me to repeat the question?’

  ‘Ah, no . . . I mean, yes. I keep a bottle of JD in the chopper.’

  ‘And JD would be Jack Daniels?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. But my gall bladder was playing up and the JD is the only thing that kills the stinging sensation and . . .’

  ‘Mr Jackson, regarding your helicopter licence, you mentioned before it had lapsed, but is it not the case that it was suspended when you failed a random blood alcohol test whilst working for American Charters three years ago?’ Sam had found this gem during her research and David was grateful.

  ‘I was set up. I had taken some cough medicine that morning. How was I to know that stuff contained alcohol?’

  ‘Finally, Mr Jackson, did you have a drink before appearing in court this morning?’ Another punt.

  ‘Come on now,’ Jackson squirmed in his seat and twisted to look up at the Judge. ‘This is below the belt, what I do outside of this room is no one else’s business.’

  ‘When was the last time you had a drink, Mr Jackson?’

  Jackson hesitated, looking once more at Katz.

  ‘Answer the question, Mr Jackson,’ said Stein.

  ‘The last time I took a drink . . . not sure I remember?’

  ‘Is that because it was a long time ago or because you are under the influence as we speak?’

  ‘Objection,’ said Katz. ‘The Counsellor is badgering the witness.’

  ‘He’s right, Mr Cavanaugh. Watch it. Objection sustained.’

  ‘Let me put it another way for you, Mr Jackson. If we had a breathalyser test brought into this courtroom right now, would it find any trace of alcohol in your system?’

  A pause.

  ‘Yes or no, Mr Jackson?’

  ‘Well yes, I suppose it would.’

  ‘What was it this morning, Sir? More JD?’

  ‘No, no. I know better than to drink the hard stuff when it matters.’

  David glanced quickly at Katz, hoping to take the jurors’ eyes with him. It worked, all twelve heads turned simultaneously just in time to see the ADA cringe.

  ‘It was just a small flask of vodka,’ Jackson went on. ‘Just to calm my nerves.’

  ‘Well, I hope it worked, Mr Jackson,’ said David.

  Jackson snorted. ‘Yeah right. Not bloody likely.’

  ‘Do you feel that?’ said Scaturro, leaning into her colleague’s ear.

  ‘What?’ snapped Katz in a whisper.

  ‘That burning sensation in the back of your head.’

  Katz did not reply, his blood boiling with rage and humiliation. Scaturro leant a little closer.

  ‘It’s Haynes. His eyes are sending daggers into your skull. Problem with you, Roger, is you never know when to leave well enough alone.’ She leant even closer now, looking for all the world like she was consulting with her peer.

  ‘I have wanted to tell you to go screw yourself for years, Roger, but today you didn’t need any encouragement. You fucked up big time, and you have only yourself to blame.’

  ‘Amazing, my boy,’ said Arthur as David returned to his seat. ‘Well done.’

  It was just what David had needed, a glimpse of what was possible, a chance to get back in the fight.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, leaning across his employer to look at his client, hoping the last half hour had given her some new sense of hope. Her face said it all, for the first time in weeks he saw a trace of optimism, a hint of determination, a will to go on.

  ‘It’s not over, is it?’ she said.

  ‘No,’ said David reaching for her hand under the table. ‘In fact,’ he said, pausing to consider his latest thought.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Rayna.

  ‘It’s risky but . . . I recommend we call for an adjournment, say we need more time to consider the State’s change of tack.’

  ‘Hold on, my boy,’ said Arthur unsure. ‘We are ready. We don’t want to lose our momentum. We stall now and we look indecisive. All of our witnesses are ready to go.’

  ‘That’s just it,’ he said. ‘We might not need them. Well, all but one. It’s a gamble but, if Sara comes through . . .’

  ‘What is it, David?’ asked Arthur.

  ‘I think it’s time we go after him, Arthur.’

  ‘David, we’ve been over this. The man is a fortress.’

  ‘Maybe . . . and then again, maybe not.’

  ‘She’s lying,’ he had said, looking at his daughter but speaking to his wife.

  Elizabeth’s eyes were closed but even now, so many weeks later, she could see the anger, the disappointment, on his face. Christina, his only child, was lying to her father.

  She opened her eyes now and looked at the alarm clock by her bed. Eleven fifty nine. Rudi had still not come to bed.

  She heard the old eighteenth-century Britannia chime on the wall downstairs in his study, its last note hanging in the air before dissipating to silence. She had taken it after her mother’s passing. It was a powerful reminder of her father’s influence, and the presence he would always have in her life.

  She closed her eyes again and found it so easy to slip back. Her breathing slowed. She was there now.

  Christina looked at her and she could see in her eyes that she saw so much and not enough.

  Her daughter screamed of a need for support – but Elizabeth stood firm, behind her husband’s deep green leather chair, as if she knew no other place to be.

  Christina must have known then, that there was no point in denying it. For even if she continued the charade now, she knew she could not hide the truth forever.

  And so her daughter had told them about her friends – how she snuck out to see them, lied about where she was.

  Of course, the next thing Elizabeth had expected was for Christina to apologise to her father and agree to go shopping with her. But this is where the story took a different turn.

  ‘No Dad. I’m sorry but I’m going to Teesha’s party.’

  ‘No, you are not.’

  ‘Yes, Dad. Yes, I am.’

  ‘How dare you defy me. How dare you lie and sneak around whilst living under my roof. It is about time you learned what is appropriate and what is not young lady, who is acceptable and who is not. No one treats me like an ignorant fool, Christina, least of all my own daughter.’

  ‘Ignorant fool?’ said Christina, stealing a glimpse at her mother, perhaps hoping, wishing, longing for some sign of assistance. ‘Father, do you know what ignorance means? Ignorance is about not accepting people for who and what they are. That may be fine for people who don’t know any better, but you . . .’

  Elizabeth sensed that Christina could not stop herself now. It was as if someone had finally taken the gag from her daughters mouth allowing the months, the years of frustration to come rushing out.

  ‘You with your Harvard degree and your stuck-up friends. You with your empty campaign promises and socially acceptable agendas. You call me a liar, but don’t you see? You live a lie, Father, each and every day.’

  And then Christina looked at her again. And, despite what she knew to be the unfathomable depths of her daughter’s disappointment, all she could do was return her gaze with an expression that begged her to stop.

  And in that moment she saw how much Christina loved her, because at the age of sixteen, she finally understood – right then and there, how impossible it would be for Elizabeth to challenge her husband and side with the child she loved more than life itself.

  ‘It’s okay, Mom,’ she said, no doubt reading the terror in her mother’s eyes. ‘I know there is no other way for you. Somewhere inside I think you used to be different. I think once, long ago, you were actually happy and I wish I had known you then.’ She took a dee
p breath. ‘But this is not your fault and I feel sorry for you. I forgive you, Mom, and I love you.’

  And with that, her daughter turned and ran from her father’s study.

  She went to her bedroom and hurriedly packed her bag.

  She ran down the corridor, keeping her head down.

  And she rushed down the stairs and out the front door, giving one quick look back before disappearing from view.

  And so that was how it was. Elizabeth Haynes knew she had become a shadow of her own mother and she felt the deep, dark pain of regret. But there was also something else – an all-consuming respect for her beautiful daughter who had had the courage to do what she could not.

  If only she could have told her just how proud of her she was.

  They climbed out of his car and stood on the footpath under the fluorescent umbrella of the street lamp which stood like a sentry outside her house. The light caught the flyaway wisps of her hair, creating the illusion of a halo around her head, encircling her beautiful face, filled with anticipation but burdened by the weight of exhaustion.

  ‘Are you sure you want me to do this?’ she said, for the hundredth time.

  ‘Yes,’ David answered.

  ‘Are you sure it wouldn’t be better if you . . .’

  ‘No. You understand this better than anyone, Sara. Novelli was right. This is the only way to get to him.’

  ‘Perhaps we should wait, call our witnesses.’

  ‘Sara, no matter how good our witnesses are, you and I both know the jury are expecting proof of the conversation and we still don’t have it. No, the only way to destroy their case is expose that monster for what he really is.’

  She looked at him then, full of fear and self doubt.

  ‘I don’t know if I can.’

  ‘You can do this, Sara. You can bring him down.’

  She paused then, looking up into his eyes.

  ‘I guess I should try to get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a big day,’ she said, attempting a smile.

  ‘You mean today,’ he looked at his watch. It was ten after midnight.

  She turned to him and brought her hand up to his shoulder and stood on her toes to kiss him on the cheek.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For believing I can do this. For having faith in me.’

  And then she turned to walk up her front stairs, one, two, three. He felt the loneliness inside him grow as she moved, step by step, further away from him. It seemed like so long ago since that first night that he had dropped her at her door and even then, after having known her for less than one day, he had felt the urge to draw her back to him.

  And so after she went inside, shutting the door behind her, he stood there under the light, until the smell of her perfume had dissipated and the magnitude of the day ahead consumed the warmth of her presence in one almighty swallow.

  50

  The sky was a bright magenta. The early morning humidity, heavy after a dawn shower, seemed to leach its way through the walls, bringing with it that damp feeling of disquiet. It was as if the Gods had conspired to set the scene for a day of reckoning for, as the sun began its journey up the eastern windows, it formed radiant red caps on the hundreds of heads which bobbed and turned in anticipation as Judge Isaac Stein entered the room.

  The fidgeting press settled on the edge of their seats, the jury took deep breaths, feeling the weight of responsibility on their shoulders, and the gallery cut short their whispers like an audience waiting for the concluding half of the show of a lifetime to begin.

  ‘Mr Cavanaugh,’ Stein began, ‘are the defence ready to call their first witness?’

  ‘Yes, Your Honour,’ said Sara, standing to respond and providing the first surprise of the day. ‘But first we have to explain a slight change to today’s agenda.’ Sara rose from her chair and moved to the middle of the room.

  ‘The defence will not be calling Officer Tommy Wu today,’ she said, turning to face the jury. ‘Nor Dr Svenson, or Mariah Jordan.’

  ‘Objection,’ said Katz. ‘Surely the counsellor realises changing the order of witnesses at this late stage can be classified as unfair surprise.’

  ‘He’s right, Ms Davis,’ said Stein. ‘But I am willing to listen to your reasoning, especially considering the State’s change of play a mere twenty-four hours ago. Sit down, Mr Katz. Objection overruled.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Honour,’ said Sara. One step at a time, she reminded herself. One step at a time.

  ‘We believe there is one witness who can help us clarify both the events of 4 May, and those of subsequent weeks.’

  Sara then turned towards the prosecution’s table to look squarely at Roger Katz. She saw the fear rise up in his veins at the shocking prospect of being called to the stand himself. He was as guilty as those who controlled him, she thought, maybe even more so considering his abuse of his station of office. His time would come, she knew, maybe not today or tomorrow, but his time would come.

  ‘If you recall,’ she continued, ‘the defence reserved the right to cross examine one of the State’s final witnesses. And we would like to take the opportunity to finish that cross examination now.’

  She allowed her gaze to move beyond Katz and settle on those immediately behind the prosecution’s table – first on Rudolph Haynes and then on his wife, the elegant woman dressed in white.

  ‘The defence calls Elizabeth Whitman Haynes,’ she said, and the courtroom inhaled as one, their gasp broken by a booming voice from the State’s table.

  ‘Objection,’ said Katz regaining his composure. ‘Mrs Haynes was not on the defence’s witness list and . . .’

  ‘True,’ said Stein. ‘But neither was Gabriel Jackson on yours, Mr Katz, and Ms Davis is right. They reserved the right to cross examine this witness.

  ‘Mrs Haynes,’ the Judge turned to Elizabeth. ‘Would you be kind enough to return to the stand, for I believe the defence are now ready to begin their cross examination and complete your testimony.’

  Elizabeth turned to her husband, a look of pure confusion in her eyes before turning back to Stein, her grace restored, with an accommodating smile.

  ‘Of course, Your Honour,’ she said before standing to move to the front of the room.

  ‘Mrs Haynes,’ Stein continued, ‘I know I do not need to remind you, you are still under oath.’

  ‘Yes, Your Honour,’ she smiled again before turning to face Sara.

  ‘I’m ready, Ms . . . ah . . .’

  ‘Davis,’ said Sara, knowing she knew her name but realising she wanted to denigrate her position before the questioning began. ‘And thank you in advance for your honesty, Mrs Haynes,’ she said letting this comment hang in the air. ‘Let’s not waste anymore time then, shall we?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘I would like to go back to 4 May, to the conversation you had with Christina before she left for Teesha Martin’s party. Do you remember that conversation, Mrs Haynes?’

  Sara saw a small tick twinge at the corner of Elizabeth’s left eye.

  ‘Ms Davis, as it was the last conversation I ever had with my daughter I believe it is branded on my memory forever.’

  ‘I’m sure. What were you discussing?’

  ‘It is no secret that Christina and I exchanged different views on her plans for the day. She wanted to go to the party and I wanted her to go shopping with me for a new dress to wear to her father’s upcoming honorary banquet.’

  ‘Christina did not want to go shopping?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Was there a reason that you preferred the shopping trip over the party? Couldn’t you have taken her shopping on another day?’

  ‘Perhaps, but I had other concerns about this party, such as the safety of the sailing vessel and the girls’ intentions to get into their own outboard.’

  ‘So you disapproved of the nature of the party rather than the people involved in it?’

  ‘Yes, although to be honest I had not met Mrs
Martin and, as such, was not one hundred per cent sure of her dependability.’

  ‘I see. So you argued . . . you and Christina.’

  ‘And my husband. We both agreed she should not attend the party.’

  ‘Your husband . . . Tell me, Mrs Haynes, how did your husband request Christina not attend the party?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, Ms Davis?’ Elizabeth was talking down to her, treating her like she was stupid. ‘He was her father, he told her not to go.’

  ‘I’m sorry, allow me to clarify. Did your husband order her, forbid her? Did he give her reasons for his trepidation?’

  ‘He suggested strongly that she not attend. He shared my concerns. He is her father and, as such, had every right to make decisions which could affect his daughter’s safety. In hindsight, he was right. Was he not, Ms Davis?’ Elizabeth was hitting her stride, her confidence building, just as Sara had hoped.

  Last night they agreed Sara had to lull Elizabeth into a false sense of security. She had to make sure she felt safe in her superiority, before she went on the attack.

  ‘But she defied you both, nevertheless,’ Sara went on.

  ‘Yes, Ms Davis, as teenagers have a tendency to do,’ said Elizabeth, turning slightly towards the jury. ‘It is all part of growing up, as I am sure every parent in this room understands.’ And they did. In fact Nancy Pirot and Roslyn Jones, both nodded in appreciation.

  Sara knew David was looking at her. They’d discussed how they could not allow Elizabeth to start her ingratiating tactics with the jury – her little comments and smiles, her looks of camaraderie, pulling them into her circle. It was time for Sara to make her move. She took three quick steps towards the witness before firing her next set of questions.

  ‘Mrs Haynes, isn’t it true that you and your husband did not want Christina to go to the party because Teesha and her friends were black?’ And there it was.

  ‘No,’ Elizabeth held her hand to her chest as if horrified by the inference.

  ‘Isn’t it the case that Christina had been sneaking around behind both your backs because she knew you would not approve of her African–American friends?’