Noah's Law

by Randa Abdel-Fattah

  ‘The court has heard how Rodney Marks, the deceased’s employer, instructed the deceased to transport the day’s takings while they stood at the front counter, within earshot of the customers.

  ‘Further, the court has heard evidence that prior to her murder, the deceased herself complained to the defendant about the lack of a security camera. The court heard that the defendant did not order the missing part for the security camera it had purchased because he “forgot”. The price of Rodney’s forgetfulness was Maureen White’s life.’

  Valopolous then spent the next half-hour detailing Bernie’s financial hardship, itemising all the bills he could no longer afford to pay. You would have thought Bernie was a candidate for World Vision sponsorship the way the barrister carried on about Bernie’s ‘destitute’ state.

  When he finally finished I think even Bernie was convinced that his case was genuine. I glanced at him. He caught my eye and beamed at me.

  Wallace stood up next, looking as thrilled as you’d expect of somebody who knows he has no case but has to pretend to fight for it. He hacked a cough, poured himself some water, took a long sip, adjusted his robes, scratched his wig and then plunged into the deep end.

  ‘Counsel for the plaintiff wishes the court to seize upon the emotion of this case, and nothing rouses emotions more than a dead body, an impoverished, grieving widower and a morally bankrupt employer. But all is not what it seems. Yes, there is a dead body, as tragic and horrific as that fact is. But is the plaintiff truly in financial hardship? Is he really the grieving widower he claims to be? And is the defendant’s conduct to be measured by morality or legality? By what is morally required or legally required? Which standards does the court have the power to impose?’

  I was impressed. Maybe he’d be able to save some of the defendant’s case. I snuck a look at Bernie. He looked uncomfortable and wriggled in his seat.

  ‘First, let us examine the plaintiff ’s claim to no longer have the benefit of his wife’s financial support. The fact is that the plaintiff didn’t need his wife’s financial support. He was receiving workers’ compensation and could have contributed to the bills and expenses. He would have us believe his weekly payments were so meagre that he preferred to spend them on his wife, taking her out for dinner, buying her gifts. Even accepting this is true, exorbitant amounts were spent on such unnecessary expenses. He was not dependent on her. He was exploiting her!

  ‘By his own admission, he had an affair. The image of the perfect couple is shattered. Given the infidelity, how do we know the marriage would have lasted? Was it his wife’s death that severed her financial support of him? Or might she have left him? We do not know for certain.’

  We could have, I thought to myself. If Claudia hadn’t chickened out you might have some evidence to work with here. I could see Wallace struggling, knowing all he did but forced to stay silent. It was a familiar feeling.

  ‘We do not know for certain but we should not ignore the possibility that such financial support may not have continued. If the court finds in favour of the plaintiff, which I press it not to, then such a contingency should be considered and any compensation awarded severely reduced.

  ‘Lastly, let us consider the defendant’s alleged negligence in not implementing safety measures it admittedly was aware were advisable. The fact is that the defendant was not legally obligated to implement such measures. It would have been wonderful if it had, but it was not required to. Its omission, therefore, was legal. Had the deceased survived her attack and brought a case in negligence against her employer, she would have failed. The defence rests.’

  Casey had begrudgingly invited me to come along to the celebratory lunch. I decided to go. It was a free meal at one of Sydney’s top restaurants. The alternative was to go back to the office and probably photocopy for one of the other lawyers. I didn’t have to talk much; I could play the part of the moody teenager quite well when I needed to.

  We were at a fancy restaurant in Circular Quay, sitting at a table that had a perfect view of the Opera House and Harbour Bridge. My salary for the day would barely have covered the cost of the entrée.

  Casey, Valopolous and Bernie were in good spirits, and it wasn’t just because of how well the case had gone; Casey had ordered an expensive bottle of wine. It was the first time I’d seen her in a cheerful mood. She clearly needed to be tipsy more often. The three of them were recounting moments in the hearing, focusing on all the times Wallace had stuffed up and Bernie had come out on top. They had a huge range of moments to choose from.

  ‘So, assuming you get a good judgment,’ Valopolous said, taking another sip of his wine, ‘which I think we all agree is likely, what do you plan to do with the money?’ Before Bernie could answer he continued, ‘Buy a boat. I have a magnificent one, moored at Mosman.’

  ‘If you get enough you could pay off your house,’ I said to Bernie. ‘That way you won’t have to give up the house you and Maureen lived in. You always said you couldn’t bear to sell it, isn’t that right, Bernie?’

  Bernie took a bite of his cuttlefish ceviche, which I had personally found disgusting and left uneaten on my plate. You could have served me a Big Mac with this view and I’d be happy.

  Bernie seemed to be enjoying his wine and food too much to have picked up on my swipe at him. Casey, on the other hand, flashed me a silencing look which I chose to ignore.

  ‘I figure a fresh start is the best thing,’ Bernie said. ‘Too many memories in that house. It’s best to start new.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Valopolous said, raising his glass and smelling his wine before sipping it.

  ‘Really?’ I said. ‘I would have thought that you’d want to honour the house you lived in with Maureen, especially since you’ve made some money out of her death.’

  ‘Noah,’ Casey warned through gritted teeth.

  ‘Mate, I didn’t make money out of her death,’ Bernie explained, oblivious to the hostility in my tone. ‘It’s called compensation. There’s a difference.’

  Valopolous gave me a stern look. ‘So your father is Nabulsi QC?’

  ‘That’s right,’ I said proudly.

  ‘Hmm . . .’ he said, then looked away.

  Casey leaned back lazily in her chair, resting one arm across her chest as she held her glass of wine up with the other. ‘Well, Noah, has your work experience inspired you to become a lawyer?’

  ‘It’s what I’ve always wanted to be.’

  ‘So you’ve learned something with us,’ she said, raising her glass as if to toast me and then taking a sip. ‘I feel proud.’

  ‘He still has a lot to learn,’ Valopolous added, arching an eyebrow at me.

  ‘You’re right, I do,’ I said. ‘Although one thing I can say I’ve definitely already learned is how not to practise law.’

  That Friday, Jacinta, Amit and I were back in Newtown. We were all dying to find out why Claudia had recanted. We decided we wouldn’t bother continuing my cover of the ‘insurance investigator’. We’d tell Claudia and Harry the truth.

  We knocked on the door and Harry answered.

  He did a double take when he saw me in cargo pants and a T-shirt. ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded angrily.

  ‘I lied to you before,’ I said. ‘I’m not working for an insurance company. Me and Jacinta are from the firm that represents Bernie.’

  His jaw dropped in surprise. I took that as a sign to continue explaining – fast.

  ‘We were trying to get dirt on Bernie ’cause we think he’s a scheming liar who wanted to make a buck out of Maureen’s death. Actually, more than a buck. It looks like he’s going to win big.’

  Harry took a deep breath. ‘Let me get this straight: you’re from the firm that represents Bernie – but you’re against him?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You and this girl.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said.

  ‘Hi,’ Jacinta said with a sheepish smile.

  ‘And who are you?’ he said to Amit.

  ‘J
ust a bored kid on holiday . . .?’ Amit offered.

  ‘Claudia’s not going to want to know about this,’ Harry said, shutting the door slightly and taking a step towards us on the front porch.

  ‘Why not?’ I asked. ‘Why did she freeze up on the witness stand?’

  ‘Why should I tell you? You’re just a kid.’

  To my surprise, Jacinta rushed to my defence. ‘He’s not a kid! He’s the only one who’s put his butt on the line for Maureen’s sake. He’s been smart enough to work out how Bernie and Rodney pulled this whole thing off. And he’s the only one who’s cared enough to try and stop Bernie from profiting from her death. You and Claudia should be thanking him.’

  Harry studied Jacinta’s face for a moment, then turned to me.

  ‘So why Maureen?’

  ‘It’s just . . . the principle of it. Justice. I hate Bernie’s lies.’ I shrugged. ‘Actually, it’s all mixed up.’

  He was quiet for a moment. Then, out of the blue, he said: ‘Claudia was warned to stay quiet.’

  ‘I knew it!’ I said.

  Amit added: ‘Bernie has no shame.’

  Harry shook his head. ‘It wasn’t Bernie.’

  ‘So it was Rodney then,’ I said.

  ‘No, it wasn’t Rodney.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘The guy who threatened Claudia cornered her in the shops. He told her to keep her mouth shut about Bernie’s affair, about the money. He knew everything. How Maureen had threatened to leave Bernie. How she’d found out about the affair and Bernie lying about the money he got. He said that if Claudia testified against Bernie she’d regret it.’

  ‘Had she met the guy before?’

  ‘Nah, she didn’t know who he was. He just came out of nowhere. But then she saw him in court. Turns out he was up for giving evidence too.’

  ‘Webb?!’

  ‘No idea. We didn’t stick around to find out his name and have a chat. Claudia was pretty shaken by the whole thing. Not to mention that the barrister and the lawyer, even the insurance claims lady, were all furious with her.’

  ‘Did she call the cops?’ Jacinta asked.

  ‘No!’ Harry shook his head. ‘The case is over. We just want to put it, and Bernie, behind us. So don’t you breathe a word of this to anyone or . . . I’ll call Horizon and let them know you were pretending to act on their behalf ! I’m sure that must be a crime.’

  Suddenly we heard Claudia’s voice. ‘Who is it, hon?’

  ‘You’ve got to leave,’ Harry said, and stepped back inside and shut the door.

  ‘So Webb didn’t have amnesia because someone got to him,’ Jacinta said as we walked away. ‘He chose amnesia. He was the one trying to sabotage the defendant’s case.’

  Frustrated, I threw my hands in the air. ‘But why?! He was the one who offered the statement that would improve Jenkins’ chances against Bernie! Contributory negligence. It was a slam dunk!’

  ‘And then he conveniently takes it all back and the defence falls flat on its arse,’ Amit said.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ I said. ‘He had nothing to gain from that. It’s like he was playing for both teams.’

  Jacinta let out a hard laugh. ‘A three-way split?’

  ‘Huh?’ Amit and I said at the same time.

  ‘Could he have been in on a cut if Bernie won?’

  ‘That doesn’t make sense,’ Amit argued. ‘He’s never been in the picture before. And there were no messages to or from Webb in Bernie’s phone.’

  ‘If Webb was in on it,’ I added, ‘then how do you explain his statement?’

  Jacinta shrugged. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Me either,’ I said miserably.

  Monday was Australia Day. I spent the long weekend doing my best to forget about the case. I slept in past noon on both days then lost myself in DVDs, the Xbox and surfing the net. I was tempted to text Jacinta but we didn’t really have a phone relationship and I didn’t want to make a fool of myself. Amit called and when he started to talk about the case I told him I wanted to forget the whole thing.

  Waiting for the judgment was going to be excruciating. Casey had said it could take a couple of months before Judge Monahan delivered her decision. I’d be back at school by then. There was no way I could wait that long. It was maddening. I just wanted it ripped off like a band-aid. I wanted to know how bad the damage was.

  I was standing on BAZZA and HERE on Tuesday morning, coming to the realisation that I might be losing my mind. What kind of person, no, what kind of teenager, got this worked up about a case? Was there something wrong with me that I was on this mission? I kept thinking it through, over and over again, and the same explanations kept hitting me in the face:

  1. When it came down to it, I was actually a lot more like my dad than I wanted to admit. I was stubborn, persistent and obsessed with ‘causes’ – in this case, justice for Maureen.

  2. Bernie had been taking us all for a ride. For him to actually spin the crap he had for this long, to my face, meant only one thing: he thought I was a naive, stupid schoolkid he could manipulate and use. That made me see red. If there was one thing I couldn’t stand, it was people underestimating me.

  3. I was desperate to prove Casey wrong.

  I spent the morning at the Supreme Court filing documents. By the time I finished it was twelve. I was hungry and decided to take my lunch break. I left the courthouse and realised I was standing in front of Dad’s office, which was in the building next door to the Supreme Court. I walked into the foyer and looked up Dad’s name on the list of tenants. He was on the twelfth floor. It’d been ages since my last visit and I’d forgotten.

  When I entered the reception area the clerk at the front desk recognised me instantly.

  ‘He has photos of you all over his office,’ she explained when I asked her how she knew. ‘You can go in. He’s alone. I’ll just let him know.’

  I knocked on his door and he threw it open.

  ‘Noah!’ he cried happily. ‘What a welcome surprise!’

  ‘Hey, Dad,’ I said, walking in and looking around his office. There were rows and rows of law books and law reports filling up the huge bookshelves that lined three walls. His desk was positioned in front of enormous windows that had views of the harbour and Botanic Gardens. And sure enough, our photos were all around his office, on the bookshelves and along his desk. Photos of when we were children, school photos, recent photos. I was both embarrassed and touched.

  ‘Don’t you get enough of us at home?’ I joked, pointing to the photos.

  ‘Well with my long hours, I really don’t get to see that much of you at home, do I? Photos are second best.’

  He sank into a cosy-looking armchair and offered me the seat next to him.

  ‘Can you get rid of the one where I’ve got the braces on? It’s disgusting and I’d rather put those years of torture behind me.’

  He laughed and leaned back in his chair. ‘So to what do I owe this privilege? Do you now accept consorting with the judiciary, as you put it?’

  ‘I was thinking you could take me out to a really expensive lunch.’

  He grinned. ‘It would be a pleasure. Did you have anything in mind?’

  ‘Nope. Surprise me.’

  Dad took me to a yum cha restaurant. He was horrified that I still didn’t know how to use chopsticks and insisted on teaching me.

  ‘Didn’t they teach you when you went on that trip to China in year nine?’

  ‘We ate McDonalds and Burger King,’ I said.

  He shook his head. ‘Please don’t tell me that. At least let me believe that the fees I spend on your obscenely expensive education are making a difference.’

  ‘They are. I can say Big Mac in Chinese.’

  That got him laughing. I helped myself to another serving of prawn dumplings.

  ‘You seem distracted,’ he said, after several moments of silence passed between us. I was digging into the food. It was one of the best meals I’d eaten.

  ‘It�
�s the food,’ I said, my voice muffled as my mouth was full of noodles.

  ‘Apart from the food.’

  I swallowed and washed it down with my drink. ‘I’ve been helping one of the lawyers with one of her cases. The hearing finished on Friday. Now it’s the long waiting game for the judgment. Oh, hey, do you know a barrister called Valopolous?’

  ‘Of course I do. I’ve taken great pleasure in seeing him lose against me three times. The last case cost his client close to two million dollars plus costs.’ He stared dreamily at his prawn dumpling, as though reliving the memory. ‘It was an exquisite victory.’

  I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face. I felt a glow from within, a swelling of pride in my dad. I had to admit, it wasn’t something I felt very often. I was usually too busy avoiding a lecture or trying to put on an act that I didn’t care about what he did. But I’d been in the thick of it these past weeks and it felt good – it felt great – knowing my dad had kicked Valopolous’s gigantic butt not once but three times!

  ‘Good for you,’ I said. ‘He’s an idiot.’

  ‘No, not an idiot. He is an exceedingly capable barrister. Perhaps a little pompous.’

  ‘A little?!’

  He chuckled. ‘I won’t speak ill of my brothers and sisters at the bar.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Dad,’ I said with a groan, ‘that’s such a daggy thing to say.’

  ‘Here, try this tea. It’s good for the system.’

  He handed me the teacup and I took a sip. ‘It’s okay. Needs at least five spoons of sugar though . . . So any point in discussing Terrigal?’

  ‘I’m a man of my word, Noah,’ he said. ‘The hearing is on 28 January.’

  I shook my head but didn’t press him. I couldn’t be bothered getting into an argument.

  ‘I’ve heard good reports from your aunt, though,’ he added. ‘So the prospects are good and that is the last I have to say on the matter before our hearing.’

  ‘Fine,’ I muttered.

  ‘Noah, do you know why I became a lawyer?’

  ‘Nonna says it’s because when you came here from Egypt when you were a kid you used to get picked on, got called a wog and a camel jockey and stuff. She said that instead of using your fists, you’d get the kids to stop bullying you by arguing with them till they got so exhausted they’d leave you alone.’