A Legal Affair

It wasn't his appearance that unnerved her, unexpected though it was with its neat new track runnelling the middle of his chin, curving through cheek and across the outer corner of his right eye to disappear into the hairline. It wasn't even that they were alike in colouring and delicacy of features.

It was his expression. A mixture of hope and no hope.

He was red-haired, fresh smooth skinned, freckled with a faded tan, 19, and not far from the trial of his life.

For murder.

He sat straight-backed, knees wide, hands hanging, in a hard chair in front of a square metal table and looked at her. Straight at her. What was she going to do for him? What could she do for him? The question was there. In his eyes. And she thought the answer just as probably was in hers. But she said, 'I want to help you.'

His feet shoved wide, forcing hers back under her chair. 'They've all said that.' His hair was back-brushed and short. The deeply burnt freckles merged like a birthmark coating his nose and cheekbones. 'What makes you any different?'

'I believe you.'

A supercilious mask disguised fright, and vulnerability. He snorted. 'That I didn't do it?'

'No. That you can't remember.'

Again reaction was distorted. She rubbed a hand up the back of her neck, feeling the unfamiliar rasp of a newly razored hairline.

'Why?'

'Because the man's wife says she saw you do it. Why lie?'

'So you think I'm guilty?'

'You don't think you are.'

'No.'

She forgot her hair and pushed her feet forward. It was her turn to ask 'Why?'

He moved his away. 'Because I can't imagine doing it.' He thrust himself over the table, hands clasping, eyes like a green rush of spring.

She had to swallow. 'Then we need to have a look at who did, don't we?'

He sat considering, then eased himself away, leaving his hands on the table. 'Why can't you do it?' He spoke to the third person in the room.

Robert Murphy moved for the first time since introducing them. 'I don't have the experience that Elisabeth does.'

'But she doesn't know anything.'

Robert Murphy spoke persuasively, his voice a soft baritone burr. 'I'm going to help.'

Elisabeth watched, with short and widely spaced breaths through the nose punctuated by a thudding in the chest.

'Why can't we wait until Mr Beaumont recovers?'

Robert hunkered down directly beside the young detainee. 'Russell, I've told you; he had a major heart attack yesterday. It's going to take him a long time to get well.' He put his hand over the boy's wrist. 'Don't you want it over and done with? Surely you don't want to stay here any longer than you have to.'

Their heads were very close.

'No.' The voice was almost a whisper. 'But I don't want to be where they'll put me afterwards either.' He took a deep breath, an uneven intake.

Robert Murphy, a man with his own fair share of doubts, applied a sudden pressure to the wrist under his hand imparting, he hoped, some confidence, then stood back and looked deliberately to Elisabeth.

She took her cue and began immediately, taking advantage of the trust Russell gave to Robert, wanting to transfer it to herself. 'How are they treating you? Is there anything I can do for you, get for you?'

He shrugged, his shoulders wide on a wiry frame, then shook his head.

'How about your injuries? Any ill effects?'

He shrugged again.

Robert Murphy said, 'How about the headaches?'

'You get headaches? Is he seeing a doctor?' Elisabeth looked from the boy in front of her to the man leaning against the wall.

'Yes.' They spoke together. Robert added, 'She says they'll probably lessen and eventually stop.'

Elisabeth turned back to the boy. The green, clouding now, were unblinking, looking at her. 'Probably? Eventually?' And to Robert she said, 'Is she being thorough?'

'Talk to her yourself.'

'I will.' Then dismissing everything other than winning assent from her as yet undeclared client she began selling herself. 'Russell, before talking about the case is there anything you would like to know about me?'

He was unprepared for that but asked, 'Why weren't you my lawyer to start with, instead of Mr Beaumont?'

'Mr Beaumont is what they call the Public Defender and handles the serious cases; but he's sick, so I'm taking over. I moved down from Sydney over the weekend.' She paused. 'I offered to take your case.'

'And they said yes?'

Elisabeth was matter-of-fact. 'Because I can handle it.' She waited.

'Where are you from?'

'Legal Aid in Sydney. DPP before that.'

'Is that what this is all about!?' He bolted up from his chair. 'You all think I did it!'

It rocked her. It had not occurred that her background might lead him to imagine that something underhand was being planned. 'No. That means nothing. I'm here to defend you.'

The wildness remained.

'Sit down,' she said, trying for a soothing calmness. He ignored her, still staring. She leaned over the table and reached for his hand. 'Russell, sit down and listen.' He didn't respond, but neither did he resist as she tugged him down. 'There's no love lost between the two. The only people who thought I was making a reasonable career move was Legal Aid.' She squeezed his fingers. 'I'm not perfect, but I'm thorough. With you and Robert to fill me in I'll be up to speed in no time.'

He fiddled with his fingers, watching them work.

And finally she got down to business. 'I'm sorry you've got to go through it all again. Robert has started taking me through the statements and the transcript from the committal, but I want to hear it from you.' She softened her tone. 'Tell me.'

He didn't want to, had repeated it until he could recite it, but he did, while her muscles uncoiled with relief.

'I don't remember anything except from when I woke up in hospital.'

She would make notes later. For now she listened and watched. 'What happened?'

He said 'Well' and opened his hands wide in a gesture of frustration and resignation. 'The police were there and asked me questions about someone I was supposed to have killed ... knifed ...' He shuddered and she wondered at the strength of repugnance that would produce such intensity after prolonged exposure to knowledge. 'But I can't remember. I was in hospital, in Sydney. Then they brought me here. And that's it,' he said as though it were. 'I've been here ever since.' He motioned to the four walls.

'The couple you were with,' she asked. 'What about them?'

'They're the witnesses against me. And his wife. It was my knife.'

She waited.

'They said I jackarooed with him on a property in Western Australia. And we picked her up in Adelaide when we were driving through to Sydney.'

'Why were you going to Sydney?'

'To see my sister. I haven't seen her for years.'

'How do you know this?'

'They told me. Only they don't believe me because they can't find her. They think I'm lying about everything.'

'They say that?'

His chin came up and he locked her eyes into a hard stare. 'No, but I'm not stupid.'

It was enough to begin. She stood. His eyes followed. 'I'll be back. I'll need to talk to you, let you know exactly what's going on. Okay?'

He stared, remote. She usually tried leaving them with a confident smile but all she could manage was to return his gaze. He refused to relinquish even as she backed out the opened door. It was as though, little as she was, she was all he had. The door as it closed cut the contact, but not the image.

Her instructing solicitor beside her, Elisabeth Sharman walked out of the remand centre and into the February heat. She hadn't even started and he had abandoned faith. She left Russell Montgomery as she had found him. Afraid.

In the passenger seat of the office car she laid her head back and squeezed shut her eyes.

'Are you all right?'

She opened them. Robert Murphy was leaning over. 'The heat. Do you really think he's lying about a family?'

Robert started the engine. 'No, but we can't find them.'