Chapter 7
There were only so many bail applications one could hole punch before deciding to hole punch their own hand instead, just to be done with it. The prosaic work given to the interns at the Office of Public Prosecutions was enough to make any potential barrister or solicitor consider another career path if this was the only way to get to the top. Franky groaned as she placed yet another form into a large binder. Hadn’t this sort of thing been digitized by now?
“It could be worse, yeah?” chuckled one of the interns. There were four of them in total, and much to Franky’s surprise she was not the oldest of them. She was starting to think that, maybe, even though she lost seven years of her life, she was just where she needed to be (and so was everyone else, for that matter).
“Yeah, could be working with sex crimes, having to photocopy all those pictures,” another said with a look of disgust.
“At least that would be a bit more interesting and give me a legitimate reason for wanting to kill myself,” Franky said. She was trying to line up a stack of forms under the hole puncher. Not that accuracy really mattered, but it gave her something to focus on. “Now I’m just hoping my hand slips and I’m rushed to emergency.”
“Whoa, whoa. What’s this I hear about sex crimes and suicide?” Simon approached the group, more binders and files in tow. “Don’t be so eager to get to that stuff yet. By then you’ll be wishing you were just filing affidavits and bail applications.”
The group of interns collectively rolled their eyes. It wasn’t that they weren’t learning, it’s just that they all wished they could be put to work on something a bit more exciting. Franky hadn’t planned on telling the others about her conversation with Erica the last week, worrying it might make them jealous. She was expecting to speak to the senior solicitor about it again, but had yet to hear from her.
“Fortunately, these files aren’t for you.” Simon smiled. “Take lunch, be back in an hour – an hour and a half.”
Franky nearly sprang out of her chair. Never had lunch sounded so exciting. Though she was quickly halted by Simon while the rest of her colleagues rushed to the elevator.
She suddenly felt defensive about being singled out. What had she done wrong?
“Hey Franky, nothing to worry about.” Simon assured, sensing her sudden tension. “I spoke with Senior Solicitor Davidson. I’m not sure how much you know, but she’d like you to fulfill some of your internship hours directly with her. If it’s alright with you, it’s alright with me.”
“She hadn’t mentioned that,” Franky said, resisting the urge to be cheeky. It was one thing to tease and flirt with Erica when they were alone (or, formerly, in front of COs) but, she had no intention of doing it in front of the senior solicitor’s associates. Through it all, she still had too much respect for the former governor and was immensely grateful that Erica easily could have prevented her from landing this internship, but didn’t. “I know she had a case that she thought I could help with.”
“Yes, expert testimony from Franky Doyle,” Simon laughed. Clearly the joke hadn’t landed when Franky didn’t respond; he hadn’t meant to be condescending. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Er...Senior Solicitor Davidson asked me to show you up to her office. You can take lunch a bit later.”
She would be lying if she said she didn’t know that Erica’s office was two floors above. Yet she still had a sense of déjà vu as she followed Simon into the elevator and through the hallways. How many times had she been escorted to and from Erica’s office or the library when they were both still at Wentworth? The more things change, the more they stay the same, Franky thought to herself with a smile.
- - -
“Don’t work her too hard,” Simon said. “Make sure she takes lunch!” He closed the door gently, leaving Franky and Erica alone in the large corner office.
Erica’s new office was vaguely similar in appearance to the one she had previously held at Wentworth. That same large painting of a cherry blossom branch hung inconspicuously by the bookshelves off towards the back of the room. Franky moved to sit in one of the chairs facing Erica, though not before touching the leaves of the potted orchid perched on her desk as if to confirm that it was indeed real.
“Well isn’t this familiar,” Franky drawled with her usual smarm. “Miss Davidson.” She couldn’t resist. The whole situation felt so surreal, that she had landed back in old habits. She wondered if droll vexations were the only way she knew how to interact with Erica, even when she still felt betrayed.
Erica pinched the bridge of her nose and nodded her head, avoiding Franky’s gaze even just briefly. “I have to admit, I don’t know if I ever imagined being seated in a room like this with you again,” she let out a small laugh.
“What did you imagine then?” Franky’s eyes glinted as she asked. She was baiting.
Naturally, Erica avoided the provocation, though she couldn’t quite conceal her amused expression. “So are you going to agree to be a witness or do I have to get a subpoena?”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Franky grinned. Though, perhaps it was only Erica who could really ever force her to do anything. She became serious to really address the question. “I’d rather not. I’ll help in whatever other way I can.”
Erica sighed. She should have figured that Franky wouldn’t want to be a witness. She tried again. “Franky, I know about the fire at the prison and that you went in to help. You were an eye-witness.”
“I didn’t see her start the fire,” Franky stated. “If you had known, why didn’t you mention it before?”
“It wasn’t in my place. You were the one who experienced it,” Erica said. She would have to tread carefully.
“So once again, you only care when it’s convenient for you to do so.”
“This isn’t about caring or not caring!” Erica hadn’t meant to raise her voice. “We need to have the most effective trial possible to keep this woman away from the people she hurt.” She quickly tried to compose herself, but as far as Franky was concerned, the damage was done.
“You admit you don’t care?” Franky snorted. She rolled her eyes. Fucking Erica.
“Why are we even arguing about this?” Erica sighed. “You know I’ve cared.” She was very conscious of her use of the past tense.
“Really?” Franky snapped. “You walked out of my life without a word and still ever since we met again you’ve been giving me that goddamn ‘come hither’ look. What the fuck Erica? So now you try to play on my emotions to try and get me to help you. It’s just like before.” She had stood up, her hands placed firmly on either said of the desk in front of her, effectively blocking her from reaching over to Erica.
What ever composure she had, quickly left. She didn’t raise her voice, but spoke with such venom that it even caught Franky off guard. “You’re one to talk. You’ve done the exact same thing.” She was standing up now too, leaning over her desk. “You’ve been exceedingly provocative at nearly every meeting we’ve had. How else am I supposed to appeal to you? It’s clearly the only way you know how to communicate.”
Franky laughed in shock, shaking her head. Erica wasn’t wrong, but she didn’t have a clever rebuttal this time. “Look I do want to help on this case, whether you’ll let me is up to you.”
“This is how you can help,” Erica said shortly.
Erica wouldn’t know that Franky’s hesitation to testify in court in front of Joan Ferguson had its roots in seeing the insane former governor again. Aside from Bridget and deputy governor Will Jackson, Joan Ferguson was one of the few parties aware of Franky’s involvement in the murder of Meg Jackson. No matter how much of an accident it was, she was still very culpable. She knew how manipulative Ferguson was and was almost certain that the Freak would some how manage to bring it up during proceedings if she was there. That could not happen.
“Erica, I can’t be in front of her again,” Franky confessed.
Erica’s expression softened. “We can protect you. She won’t see you.”
“She’ll still know it’s me. You know that,” Franky sighed. She was sitting back in the chair with her head reclined up towards the ceiling.
Erica circled to the front of her desk so that she was now leaning directly across from Franky. She crouched down slightly to meet her at eye-level. “Look, I know nothing I say will ever let you forgive me from leaving you at Wentworth.” She crinkled her hands, as if unsure where to place them. “But, you have to know that I’ve always cared about you beyond your usefulness to me.” That’s always been part of my problem. “This case is just too important for me to not ask for whatever I can from you.”
It didn’t escape Franky that Erica had finally “confessed” that she had indeed left her at Wentworth, without saying it was a result of bureaucracy and/or the murder of Jacs Holt – even though they did largely have something to do with it. She watched Erica carefully before saying quietly, “I know. But, how can you say that you care and be fine with what you’d done to me?”