Read Online The Crime of Huey Dunstan by James Mcneish - Free Book Online Page B

“Lisbeth says you’re going to appeal.”
    “Oh.”
    “Yes. She worked out that you’d appeal almost before you thought of it.”
    “Tell Lisbeth I’m smiling.” Lawrence moved in his chair. I felt his gaze shift and sensed he was checking on the occupants of the next table, a habit I remembered from earlier days. Lawrence had the air of a panther, despite a flop of ginger hair in front which suggested, when he was young, a golden retriever. He was physically striking, with unusually wide, indolent shoulders. His manner in court, a quiet potency he exuded without noticeably raising his voice, lent credence to the idea of an alpha male, brimming with professionalism and self-confidence. Privately I reada man of strong, less settled emotions who masks and resists voicing his true thoughts. In reality he is extremely cautious.
    Lawrence had chosen a table against the wall.
    “Well, she’s wrong, Ches. You won’t like this but I’m not going to appeal. Oh, there are grounds for it. On provocation alone; the judge virtually directed the jury to convict. Huge bias. He also failed to point out to them that our expert evidence, yours and Toby Wilson’s, was uncontested—that the Crown failed to put up anyone against you. I could go on. So we appeal. All right. Let’s say—and the chances are not very bright—but let’s say we succeed. We win the appeal and a new trial is ordered. Then what? I’m not going to put the boy and his family through it all again, simply for another jury to return the same verdict. Because without new evidence, unless something seismic occurs, that’s what will happen. Believe me. You’re being very quiet, Ches.”
    “What can I say?”
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to burst out cheering.”
    Fat chance, I thought.
    “I don’t have anything proper to go on, Ches.”
    “Or improper. You could try the obvious,” I said.
    “What’s that?”
    “I think he’s been abused.”
    “Excuse me a moment…Glasses.” I heard a voice beside me. A messenger had evidently brought him a note. He put the reading glasses away. “Sorry, they’re just aboutto resume. I have to go in again.”
    Lawrence was giving evidence before a Select Committee. I nodded.
    “Would be neat, wouldn’t it,” he said, “if the boy had been molested. I thought that too at one stage. I put it to the headmaster of his primary school, if you remember. No, you hadn’t arrived. The headmaster said in court that when Huey began throwing desks around and became generally disruptive, he tried to get to the bottom of things. Called in the parents, had Huey psychologically assessed, had him sent to a health camp. More assessments. Nothing. Problem unsolved. By the way, Huey has been sent to maximum security, transferred to Auckland prison—transferred would you believe it, ‘to alleviate prison muster problems’. He’s in Paremoremo, Maximum Security, D Block. It’s pitiful. The judge tried to stop it. The father is distressed. How can they visit the boy up there? Anyway when I heard about the transfer, I went to see him with that very point in mind. The answer’s no, Ches.”
    “You went to see him?”
    “In Cornford.”
    “Before he was transferred?”
    “Yes.”
    “With that specifically in mind?”
    “Yes.”
    “You asked him outright?”
    “Yes.”
    “I see. You trotted up to Huey in Cornford jail andsaid, ‘Huey, old son. Correct me if I’m wrong, but when you were abandoned at the age of seven did someone fondle your bum?’”
    “I was a bit more circumspect than that.”
    “But you suggested it. You put the thought into his bosky little mind that he might have been sexually assaulted. Sweet Jesus. And I once gave you an alpha in my psychology class.”
    “Sorry, Ches. I had to know. I can’t appeal a life sentence on thin air.”
    “Yes. Well count your blessings I shall forget you told me that. Did Huey give you an answer? Of course he didn’t. Count your blessings. Just think