You Had It Coming by B.M. Carroll (snow like ashes series .txt) 📗

‘Are you aware of the Malouf–O’Shea trial in 2007?’ she asks, watching Joshua carefully.

‘Yes … although I was still in university then and more focused on my social life than my father’s cases.’

‘But you know about it?’

He nods and sighs simultaneously. ‘It caused a stir – the female students were furious about the outcome. There were protests on the campus. Action groups were formed. It didn’t do a lot for my popularity.’

Bridget can picture it. Placard-holding students pleading for justice. William Newson’s son an unwitting target for their anger.

‘The case catapulted my father’s career,’ Joshua continues in a brighter tone. ‘Suddenly he was the go-to person for sexual assault offences in New South Wales.’

Bridget takes a moment to digest Megan Lowe’s significance to William Newson. She played a pivotal role in his career; it could be argued that his success came at the cost of her trauma. She was someone who inspired protests in universities around the state. Of course, her identity was protected, as is mandatory with sexual assault complainants; she and Jessica Foster were known to the media as ‘Girl A and Girl B’.

Bridget has conducted some cursory checks into Megan, as well as the control-centre operator who answered the triple-zero call. Both individuals are extremely well regarded and trusted by their colleagues. Bridget doesn’t like the coincidence of Megan being one of the paramedics at the scene, but this past week has been about gathering evidence while it’s fresh. A twelve-year-old rape trial is hard to prioritise over so many other – more recent – lines of inquiry. Yet it still niggles.

Bridget stares at the artwork while she’s thinking. The portrait is beautiful and ugly at once. Equally repelling and fascinating.

Joshua notices her interest and turns his seat sideways so that he can see it too. ‘I’m still getting used to this one. I like it. At least, I think I do. We rotate the pieces between offices, so as wide an audience as possible can appreciate them.’

Joshua’s clients are drug addicts and traffickers. Bridget imagines them as pale and emaciated, with skittish eyes and thoughts. Hardly capable of appreciating a complex piece like this. Maybe she is underestimating them.

‘My daughter wants to be an artist,’ she confides. ‘She’s building her portfolio, in between studying for her HSC. The pieces look good to me but apparently the standard is extremely high. She gets super defensive when I give praise. “You’ve no idea, Mum.” I suppose I don’t.’

Bridget catches Patrick smiling to himself. His kids are really young and cute. Oh, to have those days back again.

‘Dad thought that law wasn’t right for me,’ Joshua says softly. ‘In his mind I wasn’t assertive enough. I guess I proved him wrong …’ Another blink and the sheen of tears in his pale-blue eyes. A few moments to compose himself. ‘I hope I made him proud.’

Bridget waits a while, then asks, ‘Were you proud of him?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve had a look at some of the court transcripts online. The prosecution had compelling evidence in many of the cases but your father somehow managed to convince entire juries otherwise.’

‘Dad believed that everyone is entitled to the best defence they can get. That includes rapists.’ Joshua pauses. Bites his lip again. ‘This is hard to say, but even the murderer who shot Dad deserves a defence. Legal representation is a civil right, as is the assumption of innocence.’

Bridget glances at Patrick’s notebook. The page is blank, bar a few words. Joshua Newson is not giving them much to grab hold of.

‘How many cases did your father lose in recent years?’

‘None. His success rate was phenomenal. That’s why he was so in demand.’

‘How many charges were withdrawn before reaching trial?’

‘The vast majority,’ he concedes, and Bridget notices beads of sweat above his full lips. ‘But that’s the nature of sexual assault. It’s one person’s word against another’s. Most of the time only two people know what really happened, and their perceptions of reality are often very different.’

Bridget is aware of this, from the half-dozen cases she handled in her early career. She remembers one particular girl, shaking uncontrollably as she made her statement, genuinely distraught but at the same time failing to provide the confirmatory evidence required for the matter to be referred to the Director of Public Prosecutions.

‘Only one in ten reported cases results in a conviction,’ she says, quoting a statistic that Joshua Newson is probably already aware of. ‘But with your father on the case, the odds were even better than that. Or worse, depending on whose side you’re taking.’

Joshua smiles ruefully. ‘You sound a bit like my mother. It really got to her in the end. I remember her saying, “Some of those boys must be guilty, William, because all those girls can’t be lying.”’

Bridget’s heart quickens. Patrick suddenly starts writing. Joshua has finally given them something to grab hold of.

10

MEGAN

Tuesday is unusually quiet: a visit to an aged care facility to deal with a suspected stroke, another to the home of an octogenarian who fell and broke her hip. Megan’s had far too much time in her head, analysing that weird meeting with Jess on Saturday. Jess was still that odd mix of scrawny and tough. Her hair was dyed a paler shade of blonde, her face white and sharp; she looked like she could do with a solid meal.

They didn’t know how to act around each other. As a result, Jess was even more brittle and Megan more reserved. The metal table rattled every time they put down their mugs, adding to the tension. Megan had wanted to see Jess’s face, to check that she wasn’t lying. Because she remembered what she’d said. Because she hadn’t said it just the once. Because she’d said it like she really, really meant it.

I want to kill that cold-hearted bastard. He’s worse than any rapist.

Had she killed him? Had something snapped in her after all these years?

Jess acted like it was a crazy notion.