Covet by Tara Moss

Queen’s Counsel, and did her best to appear confident and emotionally prepared for what she would have to endure in the Supreme Court in the following days. She was adept at the art of conveying composure in testing circumstances—delivering a lecture at university, grinning and bearing it in a designer swimsuit on a freezing winter coastline, being briefed on what to expect of the multiple-murder trial that had already changed her life forever. Whatever ludicrous extremes life demanded, she could handle them…she hoped. Her life had been laced with plenty of surprises so far, and she saw no sign that the trend was set to end.
    Sitting in a creaky antique chair in front of Bartel’s massive wooden table, Makedde willed herself not to fidget. She cast her eyes over the modest prints on the QC’s walls and the impressive view of Sydney from his eleventh-storey windows. Mak had not enjoyed her first night in the beautiful city. Her body clock was stillset to Vancouver time and her nap the previous afternoon had sentenced her to a long restless night in her hotel room, wracked with relentless worry.
    ‘I trust you arrived safely,’ Bartel said.
    ‘Oh, yes. Thank you.’
    The prosecutor was a tall, thin man with a light moustache and beard peppered with silver. He wore an old-fashioned red tie and a navy pinstripe suit that seemed to exaggerate his vertical stretch. The suit seemed as old as the dusty books on his shelves. After referring to some papers, he peered at her with a pleasant smile and intelligent eyes that she imagined would not miss a thing.
    ‘I understand you are studying forensic psychology?’
    ‘Yes. If I can ever finish my thesis, I might actually be able to use what I’ve learned.’
    He laughed. ‘Oh, I think everyone feels like that at some point. I almost quit law school on a couple of occasions. If it were easy everyone would be doing it.’
    ‘You’re probably right.’ Once all this was over, Mak planned to concentrate on her PhD, and if all went well she would be practising as a clinical forensic psychologist in British Columbia in a couple more years. There certainly had been a lot of distractions lately, but she had come too far to give up, and she was set on reaching her goal.
    ‘What is the subject of your thesis?’
    ‘Variables affecting the reliability of eyewitness testimony.’
    He nodded. ‘Our eyes can deceive us, can’t they?’
    ‘And our memories.’
    It was remarkable just how much eyewitness accounts could differ, Mak mused. Human nature leads us to colour facts with our own notions, prejudices and perspectives. And human memory, that fragile and ever-changing instrument, could not be fully trusted, as Mak was discovering. She panicked for a moment trying to clearly recall her mother’s face. It was somehow blurry and intangible. Only two years after Jane’s death from multiple myeloma, all Mak could see of her mother’s face was what she knew from photographs.
    Her eyes…were they green or blue?
    There was a knock on the door and the solicitor Gerry Hartwell arrived bearing steaming styrofoam cups from the coffee shop downstairs. He took a seat near Makedde, handing over her skim milk latte with an eager smile. He was wearing the suit from the night before, but with a pink tie that brought out the ruddiness of his pimply complexion. Though an accomplished, well-regarded solicitor, he brought to mind an obedient lapdog in the eminent barrister’s presence, all ‘yes sir’, ‘thank you sir’, and bowed head.
    Sipping his cappuccino, Bartel refocused their attention on the trial. ‘Makedde, I will be calling you as the first witness tomorrow.’
    ‘Oh…yes,’ Mak responded, somewhat awkwardly.
    ‘Does that bother you?’
    ‘Not at all. I was told that was what to expect. I didn’t mean to sound surprised.’
    Bartel continued. ‘I have been considering the issue of live-feed video testimony. My instructor,’ he motioned to Hartwell, ‘mentioned that you