Who Killed Scott Guy? (39 page)

For getting through that, Macdonald is forever grateful to his legal team, led by Greg King. During the trial, when his head and spirits were down, King would shadowbox around Macdonald in the court cells until he grinned and perked up. ‘He was always just so positive. He never once thought it was going to go bad. Throughout the trial and leading up to it he was like a rock, solid as.’

It’s undeniable that with a lesser lawyer, a vainglorious peacock in robes who didn’t do the hard work, didn’t share the load with able colleagues and didn’t see past the prejudice that bore down on Macdonald, the jury may have reached a different decision. Macdonald knows that, knows he owes his future freedom to King, knows what King gave him was priceless. ‘He believed in me and fought for me and gave me another opportunity at life. He had the passion.’

One day he’d like to heal the wounds with the Guy family, perhaps make his peace with Bryan, who was a mentor to him for so long. ‘I’d hope that we could talk and shake hands and they might have forgiven me. I hope that it can be civilised and work out.’

Macdonald says he’d also be prepared to meet Kylee. ‘But I can’t see that ever happening—I’d be the last person she’d probably want to see. But I guess time can heal. And ultimately they need to find the person or persons responsible—that would flip things.

‘I still feel guilty for everything, betraying people’s trust, for the kids not having a father, for what it’s cost my parents—the whole thing. I feel guilty about that and if I could turn back the clocks I would but I can’t do anything about it. It’s done. And it’s not healthy for me to dwell on that. So that’s why I just look to the future and on to the new chapter now.’

What that new chapter is, remains uncertain. He can see himself perhaps returning to farming one day because he loves the outdoors, but not the intensive work he did on Byreburn. He’d love to think he could re-establish his relationship with his children and they’d come and stay with him, despite them now living in Auckland. Deep down he’d love things to work out with Anna but is realistic enough to know that’s not likely, divorce proceedings having been started. He doesn’t imagine he’ll make a home in Manawatu: ‘I need to go off and start a new life.’

The whole experience has taught him not to be judgemental, reminded him who his real friends are, and made him realise material things don’t matter much. ‘I don’t sweat the small stuff anymore. There’s a lot more to life than worrying about little things. You’ve got to be grateful for what you’ve got.’

He’s adamant he will never reoffend, lessons having been learnt and all that. And he knows that every move he makes and step he takes will be watched by the authorities and the public. He’d love to fit back into society and be unknown to most, but it would be naive to imagine that will happen.

‘I can’t see into the future. You just cross that bridge when you come to it.’

That stigma that will dog Macdonald when he leaves prison will equally extend to his parents, Kerry and Marlene. For more than two years their lives have been focused on their son’s plight, all plans put aside. They have had great support from many around them—including strangers who wrote or sent cards telling them things would get better, eventually.

‘I want to believe that,’ says Marlene, ‘but I don’t think it will ever go away. And I think that Kerry and I will always be judged for what Ewen did and people will always talk behind our backs. But I can’t be bitter and twisted about that. What he’s done he’s done. He’s paying his time and he can’t change what he’s done. And nor can Kerry and I. And we’ve got to get on with our lives, because if you live in the past you’re going to make yourself sick. So you’ve got to move forward—and we’re rebuilding our lives.’

That said, occasionally she looks at photos of Ewen before his arrest and can’t help but remember the good times. ‘And I just want to cry because I look at the life he had and what he’s thrown away. Because he just loved it.’ The whole process has made her less trusting of police and the authorities and, emotionally, it’s made her tougher. ‘I’ve forgotten how to cry. It just doesn’t happen anymore.’

The Macdonalds realise there will be many people, probably the majority of New Zealanders, who will always think their son was guilty. People seek certainty and finality. And if they can’t achieve that through conviction of the guilty party, they naturally grasp at any theory they feel comfortable with, that they can live with, that satisfies their intuition or suspicion. More often than not, because of what else he did, and because people choose not to examine the evidence, Ewen Macdonald becomes the most likely culprit in their minds. Thankfully, though, the New Zealand justice system isn’t based on convicting those the public consider ‘most likely’.

Kerry Macdonald says there will no doubt be some anger in the community when Ewen eventually returns, and people will choose whether to interact with him or not. ‘I would happily walk down the main street of Feilding with Ewen tomorrow, knowing that if I saw 100 people, 90 of them would be supportive of me. I really don’t know what their reaction to Ewen will be but I think that most of them would say, “Gidday and good luck for the future.” But I might be totally wrong.’

He hopes people would gradually get used to seeing Ewen around, forget the past and see the person in front of them participating in and contributing to the community. ‘What sort of role he could have in the future is what he makes.’

‘I’m like Kerry,’ adds Marlene. ‘I’d be happy to walk down the main street with my son. And I would hope that people would be a bit compassionate. If the shoe was on the other foot and this was another mother in my situation, I’d hope I’d be forgiving towards their son or daughter. Who am I to judge?

‘He’s our son. We love him. We know that it’s horrendous what he’s done but at the end of the day he’s still our son and the father of our four grandchildren. And what are you supposed to do? Do you walk away from your son because of what he’s done? Or do you stand beside him because you love him and want to support him through what he’s got to deal with?’

Just after the trial, the Macdonalds released a brief statement saying their son ‘has no words big enough to express his remorse or apologies’ for what he’d done and what he’d put Kylee and the Guys in particular through at the trial. And they specifically asked people to see past the spectacle of the courtroom and remember Scott and all those who were missing him.

The Macdonalds had always remained on good terms with the Guys, frequently speaking with them in the court’s lobby and sharing grandparent duties for Anna and Ewen’s children. As Peter Coles, who knew both the Guy and Macdonald families extremely well, put it, ‘They’re just two good families who didn’t deserve what’s happened to them.’

While the two families have little contact anymore, Kerry said he had only utter sympathy for how the Guys’ lives had been turned upside-down by one of the most horrible things that could have happened to them. And he could barely imagine their mixed feelings at the verdict.

For 14 months they’d been told by police that they’d got the right person and that once the trial was finished there would be finality and an end to their upheaval. ‘Then the truth came out in the trial and they are just sort of left hanging. They can’t go back and feel pally with Ewen. And they’re never going to get over it because he vandalised Kylee and Scott’s house and did all those horrible things, so they can pigeonhole Ewen as public enemy number one. And I wouldn’t expect them to feel any different, actually. And probably somewhere in their heart they think he did do it because of what they’ve been told. And they’ll have to find the murderer before they can click out of that way of thinking.’

To that end, the Macdonalds supported the Sensible Sentencing Trust’s review of the case, as long as it was objective and not guided by Kylee’s desire for revenge against Ewen. ‘Go for it, get into it,’ said Kerry, ‘because they’re not going to find Ewen did it, so hopefully they’ll succeed in finding the murderer.’

But he questioned what the police were doing, feeling they had wiped their hands of the case because they still believed they’d charged the right man. ‘I can’t accept that. They’re saying the system, the jury, the judge—you’re all wrong, we’re right. You’re the detectives, that’s what we employ you for, get out there, get off your arse and do your job.’

‘Good luck to them,’ added Marlene, ‘and I hope they do find something. The best thing for everyone would be for them to find the real killer. Because there are no winners in this.’

EPILOGUE

On Saturday, 3 November 2012, Greg King was found dead at the end of a quiet Newlands cul-de-sac, the waves and whitecaps of Wellington Harbour spread out below him. As police noted in the particular code they use on such occasions, there were no suspicious circumstances.

The shock that followed was filled with considerable confusion that someone who had such enthusiasm and zeal for life and those around him should die this way.

During Ewen Macdonald’s trial, King had been labelled ‘a jumped-up Harry Potter without the wand’, described as being ‘as full of himself as a Russian doll’, and told his courtroom performance was ‘too much
LA Law
and not enough acting classes’. Subsequently, he received a letter beginning thus: ‘Dear Sir, you are a fiend, a pirate, an unconscionable, contemptible, greedy, arrogant, proud, disgraceful, thoroughly contemptible, grimy, slimy perverse, twisted, evil little man.’ Normally, King ignored such abuse, but this time felt moved to respond. ‘[Sir], I resent that. I am not little! I am 6 foot 2 inches tall and 104KG. Regards, Greg.’

But after his death there was only an extraordinary outpouring of tributes, and reminders of just how much he’d achieved in his 43 years: three double murder cases taken to the Privy Council, 11 appearances in the Supreme Court, 350 jury trials and more than 200 appeals. Threaded through the numbers were tales of King’s skill, commitment and compassion. As well as being a brilliant orator, he was prepared to take on unpopular cases for people most would scorn. It was testament to King’s belief that everybody, no matter what they’d done, deserved the best defence possible. It was also indicative of his empathy for people who’d often had an upbringing like his, where not everything was perfect.

More than 800 people filled the Wellington Cathedral of St Paul for his funeral. There were cops and criminals, journalists and judges, lawyers, All Blacks, politicians and business moguls. Black Power members and Mongrel Mobsters sat a few pews apart. Many of those involved with Ewen Macdonald’s trial attended, including Sue Schwalger, court staff and reporters. Wellington’s district court was closed for several hours as a mark of respect.

Nobody offered any answers, just memories of King, his love of the law and the love they had for him. Among the speakers were cabinet minister Tony Ryall, judge William Young, great friend Robert Lithgow QC and King’s mentor, Judith Ablett-Kerr QC.

Senior Counsel Simon Moore noted how King ‘reviled unfairness or any kind of injustice’, something anyone who’d met King understood. Throughout his career he’d been guided by Martin Luther King Jr’s message from Birmingham Jail in 1963: ‘Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.’

Perhaps some of the most moving thoughts came from King’s father, Jeff, who with rugged tenderness said he, his wife Jenny and Greg’s brother Jason were the luckiest people present. ‘We knew Greg for 43 years. I wouldn’t trade one second of those 43 years for this pain that I’ve got.’ Without notes he traversed King’s life and those he’d befriended along the way. ‘I can’t remember Greg making a poor choice until last Friday.’

Afterwards, many of King’s colleagues gathered at the Thistle Inn behind the High Court. There was lawyer Paul Surridge, who’d taken King under his arm when he shifted to Wellington as a novice barrister; Peter Coles, Liam Collins and Paul Bass, who’d worked with him on Macdonald’s case; Ben Vanderkolk and Paul Murray, who’d prosecuted that case; Christopher Stevenson, who’d accompanied King to the Privy Council; and Auckland barrister Barry Hart, whose career was on the rocks but who King had found the time to help and represent in the months before his death. Their presence was a mark of how highly King was thought of by everyone in the legal profession.

But it was perhaps those outside it, who’d at one stage been caught up in the justice system that threatened to overwhelm them, who owed King the most, the average and the ordinary, people he’d represented and supported and given hope to.

Above all, King believed deeply throughout his life that anyone accused of a crime needed someone in their corner who was prepared to battle to the ends of the earth for them. As King once put it, ‘I believe there is no greater sin that a state can commit than to wrongly convict and imprison an innocent person. And the enduring sense of injustice that that person must be going through, sitting in a prison cell in the middle of the night when they are innocent—it’s too sickening to even contemplate. So we’ve got to get it right.’