Chapter 10
Fortunately for Franky, she didn’t have to begin to explain her relationship with Wentworth’s forensic psychologist to Erica or anyone else. At least not yet. Senior Crown Prosecutor Theresa DeKoenig entered Erica’s corner office without so much as a knock, complete in her barrister’s gown and with wig in hand.
“Do we have any word yet on Smith’s current condition? If you’re able to meet with her, I’d like to be there--,” she began speaking, assuming Erica to be alone. She eyed the dark haired woman sitting across from the senior solicitor. “You must be Ms. Doyle. Glad to see you.” She nodded. This was good, she thought. After their last meeting, she wasn’t sure Erica was even trying to get the imminent witness on their side.
“Look, I understand that you have some sort of ‘history’. What I don’t understand is why all of a sudden Erica ‘do whatever it takes’ Davidson is suddenly working with kid gloves,” Theresa stated. She and Erica were alone, the senior crown prosecutor having asked Jim McCraig to attend their bi-weekly conference a bit later. She had thought that maybe a “one on one” with the senior solicitor would do some good.
“I’m not,” refuted Erica. “There is nothing between us other than our shared time at Wentworth,” she insisted, not that Theresa was implying otherwise. “However, I don’t understand why Franky has become our focal witness. We have Novak willing to talk and the CCTV footage and I’m sure we can get additional footage of Ferguson’s attack on Smith.”
“And we just forget the arson and everything else she did at Wentworth?” Theresa asked, her voice laced with sarcasm. “We are prosecuting on multiple charges and I want this to be all or nothing.”
“That’s illogical...” Erica said halfheartedly, though she knew very well that even if Joan Ferguson received a life sentencing for the murder and attempted murder charges, it was still a case half-won. Personally, Franky aside, she would never have settled for that. Theresa knew that too.
“You and I both know that’s bullshit,” admonished the barrister. When Erica had nothing to say but a look of contempt, she continued. “Jim might have put you on this case, and hell, I would have too. But, if you aren’t doing all of your job as solicitor, I’ll find someone who will.” She paused. “Hopefully, I will only have to say this once.”
The two women had to quickly settle into looks of agreement, as Jim McCraig entered the office, telling an off-color joke about the latest government scandal he had been presented with.
“Franky, this is Theresa,” Erica said, trying to cover her look of annoyance with a tight smile. There was really only one person who could barge into her office unannounced that would be a pleasant surprise. “She’s the senior crown prosecutor on the Ferguson case.”
Franky looked over to the tall barrister. She was very intense looking, she had to admit, with hawkish features. Franky imagined that Theresa DeKoenig would destroy whoever the defense had on the stand. Smith? As in Red? What’s this case actually about? She realized that Erica had given her very little information about what exactly the state was prosecuting Ferguson for. Not that she technically cared. Anything to lock the Freak away was good enough for her.
“Unfortunately, last I heard she’s still in hospital. Breathing on her own, but in a medically induced coma,” she heard Erica say. She felt like maybe this was a conversation she wasn’t supposed to be a part of, but curiosity kept her in her seat. “Ferguson’s team is still claiming self-defense on that end, but given the severity of her injuries, we’re in a good place.”
Theresa remained in the threshold of the doorway, one foot in the hall. “Are you still planning on meeting with Novak tomorrow?” Erica nodded the affirmative. “Good. Keep me posted. I have to get to court.” She was about to head out, before turning around. “Nice to meet you Franky. Hopefully, Erica is doing her job.” Though she smiled at her supposed witness, her eyes belied a different message to a now rather stern looking senior solicitor.
“Of course,” Erica exhaled through her words. She was glaring daggers at the barrister until she closed the door, leaving the two of them back to their devices.
“What was that?” Franky asked when they were alone. She imagined that Erica didn’t like her authority undermined, but was rather surprised to see it on her face.
“Don’t worry about it,” Erica shook her head. Franky didn’t need to know that Jim and Theresa saw her as a bargaining chip and that Erica was effectively standing in their way (though, she told herself, that she wasn’t even sure why). “What were we talking about?”
Senior Crown Prosecutor DeKoenig’s interruption was something of a blessing for Franky, as it had knocked Erica off course. She saw this as a good time not only to sway the direction of conversation away from Bridget Westfall, but to ask if the Smith they had been referring to was who she thought it was.
Erica shifted in her seat. The information wasn’t necessarily classified, but both she and Franky were a little too close to the matters at hand. “It’s Bea,” she acknowledged, relaying the second attempted murder charge the state was prosecuting, in addition to the litany of others.
“Fuck...” Franky placed her face in her hands. Maybe she would have to take the stand after all.
* * *
Bridget Westfall sat at her desk deep in thought. It had been a normal conversation, but she had still felt strange about it. Maybe it was because of who she spoke to. Maybe because she had expected a different conversation all together.
“Hi, I’m looking for Dr. Westfall?”
“Yes, speaking?” She responded to the voice on the other end of the line.
“I’m senior solicitor Erica Davidson calling from the Office of Public Prosecutions. I’m working on the state’s case against the former governor Joan Ferguson. Do you have a moment?”
Bridget briefly paused, surprised by the identity of the caller. Erica Davidson sounded both friendly and professional and clearly unaware that she, Dr. Westfall, knew anything about their shared connection to/with Wentworth. Franky had spoken very little about the senior solicitor, something that Bridget found surprising. Perhaps she had been telling the truth when she had said that she’d barely run into her esteemed ex-governor. Bridget found that exceedingly hard to believe, but had decided not to press the subject.
“If now isn’t a good time, I could give you my contact information,” Erica said.
“Oh, no it’s fine. Sorry,” Bridget nodded. She chose not to ask if the woman on the other end was indeed the same Erica Davidson who had governed the prison in years past, though she obviously knew the answer. “What can I help you with?”
Erica had explained the lack of mental health records on file for Joan Ferguson and asked if Bridget had made her own evaluations while Ferguson was initially incarcerated at Wentworth. They had agreed to meet at Erica’s office the following week. Bridget was to bring any information she had collected on Ferguson to the OPP. The doctor was more than willing to discuss anything that would help finish the Freak, hopefully once and for all.
Though, she must admit, she was certainly curious to meet this Erica Davidson, who had been so entranced by Franky Doyle and vise versa.
- - -
Seamus’s was a bit of a dive bar located about three blocks away from the Office of Public Prosecutions. Outwardly, with its flickering signage, dark windows, and shabby iron-gated patio, it didn’t seem like the type of place lawyers and officials would frequent (and honestly, despite their protests, it probably wasn’t). However, on Fridays they had a brief “five dollar on call whiskys" special, which made it a very appealing haunt for exhausted senior solicitors and their cheeky interns.
They were seated across from each other in a small booth towards the back of the space. The evening rush hadn’t quite started yet, so the bar was fairly empty.
“Can you be honest with me?” Erica asked, her manicured nails made a slight clinking sound as she grabbed her glass. It was surprising to Franky, who had ordered first, that Erica hadn’t ordered a mixed drink, but rather simply two fingers of Starward – neat. She had readily conceded with a laugh that her own Old Fashioned seemed wimpy by comparison.
“You might want to get off of your high horse there first, Miss Davidson,” Franky replied with a grin.
Erica frowned, “I think I’ve been honest with you about this trial and my role in it.”
Oh. The trial. Right.
What else would they have been talking about? Certainly they had been spending a lot of time together both in and out of the office, though it was under the guise of work. This past week and a half had been particularly stressful for Erica, as she had earlier been chewed out by senior crown prosecutor Theresa DeKoenig. She kept Franky visibly close by, hoping to continue to give Theresa the assumption that maybe they would have the intern as a witness after all. It was definitely one of her better subconscious excuses.
While Franky enjoyed spending time with Bridget, she had to admit that being able to hang around someone closer to her in age had its appeal. Sometimes, she really felt like she and the doctor had nothing to talk about aside from her own thought processes and the latest drama in classes or at the prison. It was nice to find out that she and Erica had things in common, and could enjoy discussing, perhaps, more frivolous topics like whether or not The Great Muppet Caper was the best Muppets’ movie (Erica had preferred Muppet Treasure Island - “I can’t believe you’re comparing this case to the Muppets,” she had said sternly, before adding under her breath: “Treasure Island is better anyway. Tim Curry and Kermit are both in it.”).
So of course, Erica would be asking her about the trial and not anything else. Not that she expected her to. Not that she wanted her to.
“Right, yeah. Shoot,” Franky nodded, raising her glass. She felt foolish for thinking that Erica was going to ask about them, instead.
“Despite what the crowns are thinking, I’m not going to force you on to testify,” Erica reiterated.
“...though perhaps, against my better judgment,” she added with a sly smile. “I know Ferguson is awful and having to revisit your time with her at Wentworth would be difficult, but you never told me why you really didn’t want to. I would have thought you’d relish in the opportunity to bring her down.”
Franky took a large gulp of her drink and looked behind her. A handful of patrons were beginning to mull through the bar. She didn’t know if she would ever be ready to tell Erica fully why she couldn’t be in court in front of Joan Ferguson, especially now. However, with the new influx of people around them, the decision was clearly made for her. Even if she wanted to, this was definitely not the place.
“I’ll tell you...” Her hesitation was quite apparent. “...just not here,” she nodded to indicate their increasing set of company.
Erica sensed the change in energy. She sipped her drink quietly, not sure how to to redirect their conversation to lighter terms. They remained in an uncomfortable silence until they both finished their drinks. The increasing din and merriment of the other patrons put seconds off the table.
-
They stood in the car park just beside Erica’s car. This was when they should part. Erica was already fiddling with the set of keys in her hand.
“It’s about Governor Jackson,” Franky began quietly, suddenly. She should tell Erica now, before they got too close again, give the senior solicitor the opportunity to hop into her Audi and drive away and ask herself: “what the hell was I thinking?”, never to think about their relationship again.
Is that what she really wanted? No, Franky didn’t want to lose Erica’s newfound friendship, but she’d rather lose her now rather than later. She already felt herself getting too close. If Erica Davidson decided that this was too much, at least it was before they were both in too deep.
Erica looked up quizzically. That was a name she hadn’t heard in awhile. She quickly pieced together that this wasn’t a random recollection, but rather Franky referring back to their very short conversation about tesifying.
“Do you remember the riot? Right before you became governor?” Franky asked. She didn’t wait for a response and tried to maintain eye contact. “I killed her.”
A laugh was hardly the reaction she had expected. It had seemed that any time Erica had encountered an uncomfortable truth, her initial reaction was to cover the side of her neck, chuckle, and deflect whatever it was she was just told.
Unfortunately, for Franky, this situation was no different. Though, once Erica noticed the rigid expression on her companion’s face, she quickly realized that this was not a laughing matter.
“You’re serious,” said Erica, running a hand through her hair. Her shock was evident in her tone of voice. “Jesus Christ.” She had so many questions. Though, quite inappropriately, the first thought in the back of her mind was: I guess I should have thanked you for opening the job up for me.
“It was an accident,” Franky said, swallowing hard to prevent her voice from quavering. She leaned on the side of the car for a moment before sliding her way down to the pavement. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know it was her, I thought it---” the words continued to rush from her mouth as she desperately tried to explain what had happened that day.
Erica stood still for a moment, her expression grave. This was it. She could walk away from all of this. This. Whatever it was still between them. She could use, she should use, the information Franky just gave her and force her into testifying against Ferguson – or else. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time she had used “blackmail” to get a witness on the State’s side and it would definitely make her work life easier. Jim McCraig was well aware of her cut-throat administration of the justice system; it’s why he placed her on this case. Theresa hadn’t called her “Do Whatever it Takes” and “Always Business” for nothing. But, while these thoughts ran through Erica Davidson’s mind, she found that she didn’t want to walk away from Franky Doyle (again, this time). Be that if it meant by simply leaving all together, manipulation, or continuing to put up personal walls.
She soon smoothed her skirt so she could sit down next to Franky, who was looking straight ahead, her hands on her forehead. Erica tentatively placed her own arm around her disconcerted companion’s shoulder. Much to her surprise, the contact wasn’t shunned, and instead, Franky rested her head in the crook between Erica’s neck and shoulder. For the second time that night they sat in silence together.
“I thought you’d drive away as fast as you could,” she muttered after some time had passed.
“Is that why you told me here?” Erica chuckled softly, running her hand tenderly up-and-down Franky’s back. She knew continuing their banter any further was beyond poor taste, but appreciated that Franky was trying to veer away from the seriousness of what she just confessed.
“She knows. And she’ll tell whoever she needs to if she finds out I’m anywhere close to this case”
Erica shook her head. They would cross that bridge eventually. As far as she knew, there was no proof beyond what she had personally (and somewhat gladly) charged Jacqueline Holt for years ago. And it was an accident – right? She really wanted to believe that. She did believe it. She realized, of all things, Franky had never lied to her. She unfortunately, couldn’t say the same.
“It doesn’t change anything.” Erica’s voice sounded barely a murmur. Franky sighed, her eyes closing as she felt a gentle kiss placed just above her temple.