When Finn pulled on a pair of trousers Monday morning, the button was tight around his waist. He placed a hand on his belly. Bridget was noticeably losing weight, but the opposite was happening for him. It was true: when things were bad he headed for the fridge. Eating helped, for a moment. Who cared if he was fatter?
Bridget had waited until they went to bed on Sunday night to tackle him about the charge. She’d had no idea he might go to jail, she said. Why hadn’t he warned her? She was angry about that too. She needed the full story. She was coming with him the next day to see the solicitor. She’d take the morning off work.
It didn’t help the sick feeling in his gut. He fell asleep anyway. It was wrong: Bridget awake and starving. Him asleep and overfed. But he couldn’t help it. His stomach demanded food, and his brain shoved him into sleep when he lay down.
At ten am, the secretary ushered Finn and Bridget into Malcolm’s office. Bridget took charge.
‘Run us through it,’ she said to Malcolm, forgoing the niceties. ‘Assume we know nothing.’
Malcolm wasn’t so confident this time. He seemed fidgety and nervous as he told them he’d consulted with their barrister. ‘This case hinges on the prosecution demonstrating gross negligence,’ he said. ‘That means negligence to a level showing abandonment of moral and lawful standards. It’s a very high standard of proof required from the prosecution and my opinion is they will struggle to make it stick.
‘The first thing is the mention in the Local Court this Wednesday, which starts the process moving. It just takes a few minutes for the magistrate to set a date for a committal hearing. That’s our first focus – getting the case dismissed at the committal. We’re looking at maybe three to six months until that hearing. With any luck that will be the end of it.’
‘If it’s not?’ Bridget asked.
‘If it’s not dismissed, it will go on to full trial in the District Court or Supreme Court. It could be eighteen months or two years before that happens.’
‘What will it cost?’
‘Well, you’ve got a barrister. If one or both of you is or are working, you probably won’t qualify for legal aid. So for the committal – probably between thirty and fifty.’
Finn felt sick and Bridget physically slumped in the chair beside him. He wanted to reach for her hand, but didn’t dare.
‘Thirty and fifty thousand?’ Bridget said. ‘And what about a full trial?’
‘Could be up to three hundred. I very much hope it won’t come to that.’
Bridget took a sharp in-breath. ‘Three hundred thousand? And he could still end up in jail?’
‘It’s possible. It depends on the judge. If he’s found guilty – and that’s a big if – he might get a good behaviour bond. He might get a suspended sentence. A jail term would be the worst case.’
‘How long? Worst case?’
‘You’ll hear this mentioned, so I’ll tell you now. The maximum penalty for manslaughter is twenty-five years. But that’s not going to happen.’
He might as well have not been there, Finn thought, as they discussed his life. There was a long moment of silence.
‘I know that’s a lot to take in,’ Malcolm said. ‘Could we discuss some details of the day in question?’
Finn felt a twinge of fear. ‘I don’t want to put my wife through that again.’ He turned to Bridget. ‘You go on to work. I’ll see you tonight.’
She hesitated.
‘Please,’ Finn said.
Bridget nodded. Made her farewells, left the room.
Malcolm picked up his coffee. ‘Look, there’s another thing. DI Evans has an axe to grind. She investigated a case a few years ago in Armidale where a child drowned in a neighbour’s neglected pool. The thing was derelict, the fence had fallen down, the water was stagnant. The pool owner was charged with manslaughter, but it was thrown out at committal. I hope that’s what will happen this time, but she’ll be fighting hard. Let’s run through your version of events again.’
Finn felt overwhelmed with weariness. ‘Nothing’s changed. It’s just what I told the police. There’s nothing to add.’
‘Let me ask you some questions then. Who was responsible for Toby at the time he entered the pool area?’
‘I was.’
‘And where were you?’
Finn paused, his mind racing. ‘In the studio.’
‘And Toby was in the house with your wife?’
‘Um … yes.’
‘So she was responsible for him?’
‘Look,’ Finn said. ‘It was incredibly traumatic. Neither of us can remember the exact details. I think Bridget thought I was watching Toby, and maybe I thought she was, I can’t be certain now, but whatever, I went across to the studio and the gate malfunctioned and didn’t close properly behind me.’
‘Your original police statement says you’d been in the studio for fifteen or twenty minutes before Toby disappeared.’
Finn stared at the floor. ‘Isn’t the whole point of this trial that I was in the wrong by installing a mechanism for the gate that wasn’t reliable?’
‘The point of the trial is to determine exactly what happened and whether there was negligence involved,’ Malcolm said. ‘You must tell the truth.’
Finn stood up. ‘I need to use the bathroom.’ At the door he turned. ‘Will I end up in jail?’
Malcolm shrugged. ‘In my opinion – for what it’s worth – the chance of your going to jail is about … oh, say, fifteen per cent. Those are odds very much worth fighting for.’
‘We don’t have three hundred thousand dollars.’
‘Don’t think about that now. You’ve got an excellent barrister and we’ll push very hard to get this thrown out at the committal. If that doesn’t happen, we’ll make a new game plan. We’ll have negotiating power, given your bereavement. This is just the first stage.’
Finn put his hand on the doorknob.
‘While you’re out there, think carefully,’ Malcolm said. ‘Your story doesn’t add up. Bridget left Toby unsupervised for several minutes, didn’t she?’
‘No,’ Finn said. ‘That’s not how it happened.’
He pushed the door shut behind him. The receptionist pointed the way to the toilets. Finn locked himself in a stall and wept in strangled silence.