her son who’d begged his mother for help which had been steadfastly refused, and not even his suicide had softened her heart toward her bereft daughter-in-law. He watched her break into weeping and felt no sympathy at all.
She wasn’t weeping over her lost son.
She wasn’t weeping over the torment he’d suffered.
She was weeping because she’d been faced with her own monstrous ego that had branded her son a failure for not living up to what she had required from him.
And now it was going to cost her, not only in having her character stripped bare in public, but also in an appropriate financial settlement for the cast-off daughter-in-law and her baby son.
His opposing counsel, Harriet Lowell, who also happened to be Mitch’s recently excised partner in bed, requested a recess and the judge decided it was close enough to the lunch break to take it now, court to be resumed at two o’clock.
Harriet threw Mitch a dirty look as she moved to assist her client from the witness stand. He returned a steely gaze that promised more of the same after lunch if there was no agreement to the settlement he was demanding on behalf of his client.
Harriet could spit chips at how he was handling this case but he was going to win it hands down. Justice would be served. And he was glad it had come to this—payment in more than dollars. People who gave pain should feel it themselves. The trick was to find what actually hurt them, make them reconsider their position. And keep it all under a legal umbrella.
Use the system to get justice.
That’s what Patrick Maguire had taught him.
It was a good system if it was used as it was meant to be used. Patrick had been right about that. Mitch had been studying the law ever since he’d left Gundamurra—eighteen years—orchestrating what was necessary to get his own juvenile conviction for assault set aside so he could enter the profession, working his way up to becoming a barrister with a formidable reputation for winning the cases he took on.
He believed in them. That was what made the difference. He never took on a case unless he believed he was fighting for right, and then he gave it everything he could bring to it. Harriet saw the law as a chess game—moves and counter-moves—but to Mitch the chessboard was always black and white, and he wasn’t interested in playing black.
His clerk met him outside the courtroom, handing him a message from Ric Donato. He couldn’t make lunch today. Disappointing. Mitch always enjoyed meeting up with Ric. And Johnny. Although their lives had travelled very different paths since their time at Gundamurra, the three of them had remained good friends over the years.
They shared the common bond of Patrick Maguire’s influence in setting them on the paths they’d chosen—each to their own bent. And they understood where each other was coming from and why. Not too many people ever achieved that kind of understanding.
It came from living together in constant proximity for six months. There were few distractions in the outback. It was a place for talking, chewing over things, reflecting on what had meaning and what didn’t, sharing each other’s visions of the world. And dreams.
Ric had become an award-winning photo-journalist—amazing stuff he’d shot with his camera. Retired from the job now and running an international photographic agency. Very successfully.
Johnny was a star with his country music, currently touring the U.S.—a millionaire many times over with most of his recordings going platinum.
Mitch was the only one whose chosen career kept him in Australia. The halls of justice called to him and Sydney was his city. Still, it was great to catch up with the others when they were in town. He wondered what had caused Ric to miss their lunch today—had to be some business problem.
‘Cancel the booking at the restaurant,’ he instructed his clerk. ‘I’ll buy some sandwiches, eat in the park, get some fresh air.’
If he couldn’t have Ric’s company to dilute the cold nastiness of this case, he’d prefer to be outdoors, soaking up some sunshine.
Sitting in the park reminded Mitch of his own mother—the countless times he’d pushed her wheelchair to the small park near where they’d lived at Surry Hills. Every Saturday and Sunday if it was fine. Fresh air and sunshine, being outside, watching other people, spending time together, giving Jenny a break so she felt free to go and do her own thing—which was what his mother had always encouraged for both of them, hating the idea of her disability holding them back from pursuing goals of their own.
She hadn’t tried to rule the lives of her children, not like the woman he’d just pilloried on the witness stand, meting out punishment when her son hadn’t measured up to her predetermined mould for him. If anything, his own mother had been too self-effacing, not even wanting to ask for what was her rightful due.
It was good that she’d lived long enough to see him called to the bar. She’d been very proud of that achievement. And she’d seen Jenny married to a good guy, too. Both her children doing well for themselves. If he ever had children himself…well, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.
He’d dallied with the idea of marrying Harriet. They shared the same profession. She was a smart, witty woman and he’d generally enjoyed her company. Enjoyed the sex with her, too. Until he’d found out she was also having sex with one of the judges, laughing it off as simply a strategy to give her an edge in court. Winning was what Harriet was about. Winning at all costs. She’d probably thought winning him would be a feather in her cap. She’d certainly been angling for marriage.
No way now, Mitch thought. If he ever married, he’d want honesty in the relationship. Loyalty, too. As for love…well, Harriet had engaged his mind, but had she ever really engaged his heart? Mitch wasn’t sure what love was between a man and a woman. Attraction, yes. A sexual high, yes. But love…maybe he’d become too disciplined in controlling emotion to feel a deep abiding passion for a woman.
He strolled back to the court house, gearing himself up for another competitive round with Harriet who’d no doubt be objecting to every tack he took with her client. His clerk met him on the steps with another message—this one from Ric’s executive assistant in Sydney, a woman by the name of Kathryn Ledger, asking him to return her call on a matter of urgency.
Was Ric in trouble?
A broken lunch appointment, no excuse given.
Now an urgent call from his office.
Mitch glanced at his watch. Still ten minutes before he was due in court. He whipped out his mobile phone, retreated down the steps for a quick bit of privacy and called the number written on the message slip.
‘Kathryn Ledger,’ came the brisk response.
‘Mitch Tyler. I don’t have much time. What’s the problem?’
‘In a nutshell…Ric received photographic evidence this morning that a woman he knows is a battered wife. He went straight to her home and took her out of the situation. He’s flown her off somewhere in Johnny Ellis’s plane.’
‘Good God!’ Mitch muttered in disbelief.
‘The husband was having her watched by a private investigator who lost their trail at our basement car park when Ric switched cars.’ The incredible tale went on. ‘Her husband has since turned up at our office, harassing the
