asked.
‘Not well,’ Dave replied, ‘She’s in a nursing home. She wanted to be here, but she had a stroke a week ago.’
‘Real shame,’ Peter responded. He’d always liked Lorna Tindall. ‘She’s the real one who deserves to see justice been done.’
‘Do you think that’s going to happen here today, Peter?’
‘Well, we’ve wasted our time if it isn’t.’
‘Look around you,’ Dave lowered his voice. Peter looked at the faces in the room. There were about twenty people who had been called as witnesses.
‘How many people here do you think are the prosecutor’s witnesses?’ Dave asked.
‘If it is just us I’m going to start worrying.’
‘There’s not many,’ Dave replied. ‘Most of them are character witnesses for Max and Doug.’
‘Hardly anyone came forward?’ Peter asked, sounding defeated. ‘I should have known.’
‘The local media are on their side. It’s the usual thing: The southern media are picking on us stuff.’
‘I wonder who’s putting out that message?’ Peter smiled. ‘I had afrosty reception out front. Ma Hillard threw a left hook at me. Nearly got me.’
Dave started to laugh out loud. ‘I heard the old bitch could handle herself. I’ve heard she’s flogged Max on occasion.’ He wiped away tears of laughter.
‘Glad you think it’s funny.’
‘We’ll slip out through a side door when it finishes.’
‘I’d feel better if Sam was here,’ Peter said pensively. ‘He didn’t deserve to die that way.’
‘Die? Who? Sam?’ Dave replied in quick succession. ‘He wasn’t killed.’
‘What!’ Peter exclaimed. ‘The old bugger’s still alive?’
‘Well, he nearly died,’ Dave continued, ‘but he managed to drag himself to a homestead five kilometres away. He was in hospital for three months. That young nutcase Corey fractured Sam’s skull and broke his leg.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me? You know my number.’
‘Sam told me not to tell you because he wanted…’ Dave was cut off mid-sentence.
‘Surprise, young fella!’ Peter spun around to see the familiar frame of Sam Saturday, resplendent in a new stockman’s hat, moleskin trousers, checked shirt and bootlace tie. Peter also noticed that Sam was using a walking stick.
‘I thought you were bloody dead!’ Peter stood up and embraced the old man.
‘Not too hard,’ Sam complained. ‘Still a bit sore.’
Peter stood back and admired the stockman. ‘I can’t believe you survived.’ He turned away to wipe his tears.
‘Stop the crying, I’m fine,’ Sam chastised. ‘I’m a tough old black fella. I’ve had horses roll over me, been gored by a bull and been stabbed in a fight. Do you think some girlie bloke was going to finish me off?’
Their celebration was cut short by the sudden appearance of the bailiff calling Peter’s name. He stiffened and patted Dave and Sam on the back before he followed the official.
‘Wish me luck, boys,’ he tossed at them, with the air of a man who thought that he was the one on trial instead of Max Hillard.
6
Peter and Dave looked desolate as they walked through the lounge of the Townsville Hotel with their first drinks. Sam, on the other hand, looked strangely serene. Peter and Dave had opted for stubbies of beer while Sam was content with orange juice. After sitting down, the three fell silent as they sipped at their drinks. After a couple of gulps, Peter brightened up enough to throw a flirtatious eye at a receptive barmaid who was clearing a table nearby. He then realised he had no interest in proceeding any further. After today’s trial, Peter felt like he had been put through the mincer.
‘I don’t know how you feel,’ Peter was the first to break the pall of silence, ‘but it didn’t go quite as I envisaged. Max’s barrister pulled us to pieces. The prick called me an unreliable witness. A muckraking journalist from a scandal sheet is not a reliable witness . His own words,’ he snorted. ‘And no Gloria. What the fuck?
‘Not well,’ Dave replied, ‘She’s in a nursing home. She wanted to be here, but she had a stroke a week ago.’
‘Real shame,’ Peter responded. He’d always liked Lorna Tindall. ‘She’s the real one who deserves to see justice been done.’
‘Do you think that’s going to happen here today, Peter?’
‘Well, we’ve wasted our time if it isn’t.’
‘Look around you,’ Dave lowered his voice. Peter looked at the faces in the room. There were about twenty people who had been called as witnesses.
‘How many people here do you think are the prosecutor’s witnesses?’ Dave asked.
‘If it is just us I’m going to start worrying.’
‘There’s not many,’ Dave replied. ‘Most of them are character witnesses for Max and Doug.’
‘Hardly anyone came forward?’ Peter asked, sounding defeated. ‘I should have known.’
‘The local media are on their side. It’s the usual thing: The southern media are picking on us stuff.’
‘I wonder who’s putting out that message?’ Peter smiled. ‘I had afrosty reception out front. Ma Hillard threw a left hook at me. Nearly got me.’
Dave started to laugh out loud. ‘I heard the old bitch could handle herself. I’ve heard she’s flogged Max on occasion.’ He wiped away tears of laughter.
‘Glad you think it’s funny.’
‘We’ll slip out through a side door when it finishes.’
‘I’d feel better if Sam was here,’ Peter said pensively. ‘He didn’t deserve to die that way.’
‘Die? Who? Sam?’ Dave replied in quick succession. ‘He wasn’t killed.’
‘What!’ Peter exclaimed. ‘The old bugger’s still alive?’
‘Well, he nearly died,’ Dave continued, ‘but he managed to drag himself to a homestead five kilometres away. He was in hospital for three months. That young nutcase Corey fractured Sam’s skull and broke his leg.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me? You know my number.’
‘Sam told me not to tell you because he wanted…’ Dave was cut off mid-sentence.
‘Surprise, young fella!’ Peter spun around to see the familiar frame of Sam Saturday, resplendent in a new stockman’s hat, moleskin trousers, checked shirt and bootlace tie. Peter also noticed that Sam was using a walking stick.
‘I thought you were bloody dead!’ Peter stood up and embraced the old man.
‘Not too hard,’ Sam complained. ‘Still a bit sore.’
Peter stood back and admired the stockman. ‘I can’t believe you survived.’ He turned away to wipe his tears.
‘Stop the crying, I’m fine,’ Sam chastised. ‘I’m a tough old black fella. I’ve had horses roll over me, been gored by a bull and been stabbed in a fight. Do you think some girlie bloke was going to finish me off?’
Their celebration was cut short by the sudden appearance of the bailiff calling Peter’s name. He stiffened and patted Dave and Sam on the back before he followed the official.
‘Wish me luck, boys,’ he tossed at them, with the air of a man who thought that he was the one on trial instead of Max Hillard.
6
Peter and Dave looked desolate as they walked through the lounge of the Townsville Hotel with their first drinks. Sam, on the other hand, looked strangely serene. Peter and Dave had opted for stubbies of beer while Sam was content with orange juice. After sitting down, the three fell silent as they sipped at their drinks. After a couple of gulps, Peter brightened up enough to throw a flirtatious eye at a receptive barmaid who was clearing a table nearby. He then realised he had no interest in proceeding any further. After today’s trial, Peter felt like he had been put through the mincer.
‘I don’t know how you feel,’ Peter was the first to break the pall of silence, ‘but it didn’t go quite as I envisaged. Max’s barrister pulled us to pieces. The prick called me an unreliable witness. A muckraking journalist from a scandal sheet is not a reliable witness . His own words,’ he snorted. ‘And no Gloria. What the fuck?
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