Page 50 of Wild Horses
Tyler stepped into the Supreme Court room where Ricky Callan’s trial was underway – fast-tracked due to the serious multiple charges and the decade of delay in bringing Grace’s case to court.
The heavy wooden doors closed behind him with a resounding thud as his eyes scanned the room.
The bewigged judge sat high on the bench, flanked by the prosecution and defence teams at lower tables.
The jury watched silently from a box to the side, their expressions unreadable.
His confident stride carried him past rows of wooden pews filled with interested onlookers.
Grace’s and Enzo’s families gazed down from the upstairs gallery.
Ricky Callan sat in the dock, clean-shaven and hard-faced, his expression a mask of defiance.
Tyler’s gaze hardened. There was the man who’d destroyed so much, who’d taken Grace from him, who’d tried to take Leo and Christy from him too.
Despite the horror of what had transpired at Currawong Creek, there was a silver lining.
The police had an open-and-shut case against Callan for the attempted murder charges.
But Tyler wanted him to pay for Grace’s death too.
Excitement and a grim sense of purpose filled him as he walked to the witness stand. He couldn’t wait to testify, to hammer the final nails into Callan’s coffin. He couldn’t wait to deliver justice for Grace, and he’d tell his story as a man with nothing to hide.
The court clerk approached, Bible in hand. Tyler placed his hand on it, feeling the cool leather under his palm. The importance of the truth he carried grounded him.
‘Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?’
‘I do,’ Tyler said, his voice steady.
The prosecutor stood, adjusting his glasses. ‘Mr Ward, can you please state your name for the record?’
Tyler gave evidence in the attempted murder cases first. There was no danger of fluffing his testimony there. Ample corroborating evidence existed which would lead to easy convictions. The defence barrister barely challenged him.
The case of Grace’s death was more problematic. Callan had torched the empty restaurant without the specific intent to kill her. For a second-degree murder charge to stick, the prosecution needed to show that Callan had been recklessly indifferent as to whether anyone died or not.
The prosecutor took him through his evidence. Tyler spoke with the certainty of a man sure of himself and his facts. His focus never wavered, his resolve hardening with each word he spoke. Tyler’s clarity and assurance left no room for doubt – he wasn’t just telling a story; he was seeking justice.
The prosecutor whispered to her associate, who tapped for a moment on his laptop. ‘Do you recognise the man who met you at the restaurant that night, purporting to be a gasfitter?’
‘I do.’ Tyler pointed to Callan with a steady hand. ‘That’s the man.’
‘Let the record show that the witness has identified the defendant.’
Callan spat in his direction.
‘And when did you discover the defendant’s true identity?’
‘Three months ago, when Detective Sergeant Hunter showed me a series of photographs.’
When the prosecutor finished, the defence barrister rose again, a small, sleek man with sharp features who reminded Tyler of a ferret. His questions were relentless, seeking to cast doubt, to find holes. But Tyler stood firm, his answers unwavering, his determination unshaken.
Tyler glanced at the jury. Their eyes were fixed on him, paying close attention just like he wanted them to. It was true that Hunter had other witnesses to call, and more forensic evidence to adduce. But putting Callan at the restaurant that night was pivotal to the case.
‘Mr Ward,’ said the defence barrister. ‘Did the defendant know that your wife would be in the restaurant on the night of the fire?’
‘No.’
‘So it’s true then that he didn’t intend to kill her.’
‘That bastard didn’t care if he killed anyone or not,’ said Tyler.
‘And how could you possibly know the state of the defendant’s mind?’
Hunter grinned at Tyler.
‘I asked Callan if the cleaners should come in later that night. He said they should go right ahead, just so long as they didn’t touch the gas. If they hadn’t been late arriving, they would have died too.’
A murmur rose from the gallery.
The defence barrister hesitated, a slight frown on his face.
‘No more questions, your honour.’ The judge nodded and excused Tyler from the stand.
He stepped down, his legs feeling like lead.
But inside a fire burned. He’d done it. He’d told the truth and faced down the man who’d taken so much from him.
He could wait for the verdict, proud to know that he’d finally undertaken all he could to achieve justice for Grace.
Tyler thought of her bright smile, her bubbly laughter – her zest for life.
And for the first time since her death, he could remember his wife without feeling ashamed.
Astrid, Clare and Tom stood by the door, waiting for him, offering their support.
But Christy and Leo were nowhere to be seen.
They were somewhere in the bowels of the courthouse, awaiting their own starring turns to give evidence.
Tyler’s shame suddenly returned. His sixteen-year-old son shouldn’t be testifying at the trial of his mother’s murderer.
And the woman he loved shouldn’t be facing a similar ordeal.
What a lot of pain his blindness and cowardice had caused.
But it would stop now, with this trial. He would look to the future, whatever the verdict.