by J. M. Peace
"I wouldn't be using those exact words - 'I did the wrong thing'. Just recount what happened and why you did it the way you did."
"Okay." Did she have something to hide? Was there more she had failed to do?
"Do you have any questions?"
She stared at him blankly. "I don't know."
"Just tell it how it happened. You'll be fine."
He rose, opened the door and gestured two men in. She was momentarily confused. She expected inspectors or senior sergeants, but these men were dressed in suits and ties.
The first man extended his hand.
"Hello Constable Danaher, I'm Detective Inspector Pat Mulroy."
Ah. Of course it would be detectives from Ethical Standards. Detectives always dressed in plain clothes. She stood to shake his hand and that of the man behind him.
"Senior Sergeant Jerry Tippett."
They all took seats at the l-shaped table in the interview room. Krista realised she was sitting in the seat usually reserved for the offender. Her mouth went dry and she took a deep breath to try to slow her heart rate. She glanced at the union rep. Would he guide her through this? What had he said about answering under duress? She was so tired, she could hardly think straight.
"You've got nothing to worry about if you just tell the truth," the inspector said.
Krista nodded mutely.
"If you start lying, you have to keep track of those lies and remember them exactly. That's where it falls apart. Devil's in the detail. You know that." The inspector looked at the paper in front of him. "You might not have a lot of experience interviewing but I'm sure they taught you that at the academy."
The senior sergeant yawned, trying to suppress it and hide it behind his hand. But Krista noticed and then couldn't help but follow suit.
"I know it's been a long night, Constable, but you won't be in bed for a while yet," the inspector said tersely.
He switched the recorders in the room on.
"This is an electronic record of interview with Constable Krista Grace Danaher in relation to the sudden death of Angus Hegarty." As per procedure, he introduced himself, then got his corroborator and the union representative to all state their details for the purpose of the recording.
"Do you agree that there's no one else in the room, Constable?"
"Yes sir."
"I'll get you to tell us everything that happened. Start at the beginning of your shift, please."
"Yes sir. I started work at 10pm yesterday with Mort... that's Senior Constable..." She hesitated. She'd only ever called him 'Mort'. He had surely told her his proper name. But right now, she couldn't remember it. How stupid was she going to look? Didn’t even know the name of the man she was working and living with.
"Senior Constable Malachi Morten," the inspector said.
"I've only been here a couple of days," she said, and felt lame as soon as she'd said it.
"Yes, yes. We're quite aware of your service history, such as it is. So starting at 10pm, please recount your shift."
Again, she was on the back foot. Although she'd had plenty of thinking time, Krista hadn't given much thought to what had happened before the job at the Cool Mule. She should have expected it, this was how they'd taught them to interview suspects.
"Um, it would have been about 10:30 when we left the station," she said. "There were no jobs so we did some patrols and probably three or four RBTs in the CBD." Krista tried to remember everything they'd done, however the details of what happened earlier in the night were slippery. But as the investigator had said, she had nothing to worry about if she told the truth. Everything would match up anyway. She had nothing to hide.
"It was before midnight when the call came through. Maybe quarter to twelve. There was a fight at that pub in town, the Cool Mule. We were patrolling nearby. It only took us a couple of minutes to get there."
"Who was driving, Constable?"
"I was, sir."
"Continue."
"We could see two men wrestling on the footpath. We pulled up right out the front. Mort recognised the one man... " What was his name? Didn't they just say it?
"He recognised Mr Hegarty?" the inspector prompted.
"Yes. Mr Hegarty. He called him Angus. He said I should arrest him."
"Did he specify why you should be the one to arrest Mr Hegarty?"
"I can't remember exactly what he said, but it was along the lines of him being easier to restrain. The other man looked much younger."
"Can you think of any other reason why Senior Constable Morten wanted you to arrest Mr Hegarty instead of the other man?"
The question baffled Krista. What other reason could there? "No... I thought he was being nice to me."
"Did you recognise either man?"
"No sir. I've only been here..." She trailed off. They knew that. It sounded like she was trying to make excuses.
"What happened once you got out of the car?"
"Mort was out first because the passenger side opened out onto the footpath. By the time I got around the car to the footpath, I could see Mr Hegarty had pulled Mort to the ground. I then saw him spit in Mort's face. The other man tried to kick Mort as he was on the ground with Mr Hegarty. I pushed him backwards to prevent his kick from connecting. He fell over but jumped straight back up again. He shaped up to me. I could see he was young and appeared fit and I didn't think I could match him in physical strength so I pulled my OC spray out. I said 'Stop or I'll spray'. He then turned and ran away. I was going to chase him..." That was the closest Krista intended on coming to lying. "...But I looked at Mort and saw he needed assistance. So I didn't chase the other man in favour of assisting my partner."
The inspector nodded.
"We got Mr Hegarty face down with his hands behind his back. Mort got one cuff on him. Then we were kneeling either side of him, with a knee on his bottom and his shoulder blade like they get us to do in POST training. Mort then checked his pockets before we got him to his feet. We stood him up and we were pretty much right next to the paddy wagon by then and we put him in the back. I drove back to the station."
"Do you recall if he said anything to you at all during this time?"
"I remember he called us some swear words once he was in the back of the pod."
"Can you specifically remember what he said to you?"
"I'm pretty sure he called us 'fucken dogs and 'fucken pigs' when we were getting him out of the pod."
"How were the cuffs put on him?"
Krista put her forearms in front of her chest, one over the top of the other, to demonstrate. She couldn't remember the term for this way of handcuffing.
"So he was stacked, to the front?" the Inspector asked.
"He was stacked, but to the back," she clarified.
"And what happened once you got back to the station?"
"I drove back and parked on the driveway. I went inside to grab the keys to the watch house. When I came back out, the offender was on his knees on the ground with Mort trying to keep him upright. He couldn't even stand up by himself. I helped Mort to walk him to the watch house. As we walked him across, he vomited. The vomit struck Mort but we kept on bringing him into the watch house. We put him in cell number one. We leant him over the bed, took the cuffs off him and locked him into the cell. Mort then went to the barracks to get changed because he had spit and vomit on him. I went outside and found a hose and washed the vomit away because of the smell." As she spoke the words, the hot sickly smell of vomit returned to her. Or was that her own bile she could taste at the back of her throat? She swallowed hard. She also knew this is where the hard questions were going to start for her, the questions that would make her look naive and useless. She was the arresting officer and also nominated watch house keeper. She had lodged the man without going through the correct procedure.
"I then got his property – there was a phone and his wallet – and put them into the watch house. I went into the station. I intended on completing the custody indexes in the station. Bu
t when I turned on the watch house monitor, I saw Mr Hegarty hadn't moved and it unsettled me. I returned to the watch house and entered the cell and found him to be deceased." Her voice broke slightly on the last word. She cleared her throat.
"Did you ask him any of the welfare questions when he was lodged?"
"No, sir."
"I'll give you the opportunity to explain why you didn't."
Krista drew a breath. There was no way to gloss it over. She had not followed procedure, plain and simple. "It was the first time I had lodged a prisoner."
"At Tannin Bay?"
"No. Ever. I completed a rotation through the City watch house in my training year but I never did it myself. I was unclear on how it all went. I didn't think Mort would be long in the barracks. I thought it would be okay to wait until he was back and I intended on asking him to show me the whole process so I would learn it properly. I didn't think ten minutes would make such a big difference." How many times had she asked herself since it had happened – would I have been able to save his life if I asked the questions? She felt nauseous.
"So you intended on going through the lodging procedure under the guidance of Senior Constable Morten once he had returned."
"Yes sir." That was the truth.
"How long were you in the station for, Constable?"
Krista paused, confused by the change of tack. "Before I went back out to the watch house?"
"No. How long were you in the station when you came in to get the watch house keys while Senior Constable Morten waited at the car with Mr Hegarty?"
Krista paused again. "Maybe a minute or two at the most. Oh, VKR called over the radio, with a job. I spoke with them briefly." Good, thought Krista. More details they could verify. The job would have been logged. The time would have been recorded. Krista hoped she was remembering everything correctly and that it all married up with the details they could prove from other sources.
"What was Mr Hegarty's demeanour like when you left him? He was still in the pod when you came inside, wasn't he?"
"Yes. He called us 'pigs' but his speech was slurred and he didn't sound aggressive."
"What about when you returned from inside the station?"
"He was on his knees just outside the door of the pod. It looked like he had stepped out of the pod and had been unable to stand up properly."
"And where was Senior Constable Morten?"
"He was standing next to him. He was holding his arm, with his hand under Mr Hegarty's elbow, trying to keep him on his feet."
"What did you do when you saw that?"
"I ran across, grabbed his other arm and helped walk him to the watch house."
"Did Mr Hegarty say anything at all."
"I don't recall him saying anything."
"When you lodged him? When you took his cuffs off?"
"No."
"Nothing at all from when you returned to the car with the watch house keys."
Krista closed her eyes, played the scene through from start to finish. "No."
"How would you describe his demeanour after you returned outside?"
"Subdued. He was drunk, so I thought he'd just run out of fight. Then when he threw up, I thought all the booze had finally caught up with him. I figured he'd sleep it off." It sounded reasonable.
"Did Mr Hegarty walk into the watch house?"
"He needed assistance," Krista said. That was a bit of an understatement. “After he threw up, we just wanted to get him into the cell as quickly as possible." Was this a sign she should have picked up on? Should she have realised the man was dying because they had to drag him into the watch house, with spew dribbling down his chin.
"You have a body-worn camera, don't you Constable?"
"Yes, sir. Senior Sergeant Cornell got it. He took all my kit while I was waiting in the kitchen."
"And was it running during the incident?"
"Yes..." Krista paused. "I turned it on when we went to the Royal. But I turned it off again once we'd put him in the back of the pod."
"Why didn't you leave it running?"
Krista remembered Mort gesturing to her to turn it off before he'd vented about being spat on. Was this acceptable practice? Could she say she turned it off because they didn't have to record conversations between themselves? Could she say Mort had signalled for her to do it? Or would that get him in trouble? She glanced at the union rep. She was sure they didn't have to record conversations between themselves.
"I turned it off when it was just Mort and myself in the front of the car and then I didn't turn it back on when we got back to the watch house," she said, eyes flicking from one detective to the other.
"Why did you fail to turn it back on?" the Detective Inspector asked.
So it had been reasonable to turn it off. But now she had no answer.
"I'm not sure. I didn't even think of it. We were just lodging him. The incident was over."
The Inspector was looking at her as if he this was somehow noteworthy. Or was it just paranoia wrapped up in nerves?
Krista searched for an answer that may justify her actions, make them seem normal.
"I went straight into the station. Then he was out of the pod by the time I got back."
Even to her own ears, it sounded like she was trying to make up excuses. People got locked up all the time. Lots of drunks got locked up. They slept it off and then went home. Wasn't that how it was meant to work? How often did they actually die? Why had it happened this time? Why had it happened to her? In her first week at a new station to boot. So many questions. The Detective Inspector sounded like he might be winding his own questions up but so many more buzzed around inside Krista’s head, like flies around a body.
26.
All the police in town knew that Brad lived in a small residence at the back of the Cool Mule. And he could be raised out of hours by rapping on the last window down the left side of the pub. Sharpey and his offsider, Tess Alder, walked to the back of the pub. It was nine o'clock. Brad should have managed a few hours sleep after closing up.
Sharpey knocked loudly on the window. "Brad, mate," he called. There was no one else to wake up. Brad was divorced and seemed to have bought the pub as a way of getting cheap drinks.
His face appeared at the window and he slid it open. "Hey Sharpey, what's going on?"
Brad knew all of the police officers by name. As the only pub in town, he usually hosted the police send-offs, birthday parties and social club functions. He was always generous and in return police responded quickly when there was a job at the pub.
"Put some pants on and let us in," Sharpey said. "We need to talk."
They were soon sitting around Brad's small kitchen table. Brad lit up a smoke and had the courtesy to stand by the open door with it.
"Mate, do you know this bloke?" Sharpey handed him a print out of the picture from Krista's camera.
"Oh, he was the bloke fighting with Angus last night, wasn't he?" Sharpey nodded.
"Do you know his name."
"No," Brad replied. "First time I'd seen him last night. Didn't even notice him until he and Angus started fighting. He looked like he was going to take a swing at that new girl cop and then he ran off," Brad said.
"He didn't come back? You didn't see him hanging around later?"
"Nope, nope. He tried to kick Mort as well. Are you going after him for that?" Brad asked.
"No." Sharpey paused. He realised Brad hadn't heard the news yet. Of course he wouldn't have. They'd just woken him up.
"Angus died last night."
"What!" Brad dropped his hand suddenly, the tip of his cigarette striking his bare thigh. "Shit," he hissed and flicked the ash off his leg. "Fuck."
"Dropped dead in the watch house," Sharpey said.
"I saw them take him away. I didn't think the fight was that serious. He was pissed. He normally handles his grog pretty well, but he could hardly stand up long enough to swing a punch at the other guy. Shit, eh. I didn't mind old Angus."
"Y
ou’ve just lost your best customer, hey?” Sharpey said.
“That’s a hell of a thing,” Brad replied. He shook his head in disbelief.
“So we need to find this guy," Sharpey said, gesturing at the picture. "Who might know him? Where's he staying?"
Brad looked at the photo in earnest. "I didn't think it was much of a fight. I just called because they'd both had enough and I wanted them gone."
"Who was he drinking with? Why did the fight start? Who would know?"
Brad shook his head. "I'll get the keys and have a look at the footage. That would be a help, wouldn't it?"
"You're a champ," Sharpey said. "I owe you a drink."
They followed Brad from his house to the office door at the rear of the pub.
Brad cursed repeatedly as he tried to get the CCTV system at the pub to do what he wanted it to.
"Fucken technology," he grumbled as he again tried to narrow down the time frame and isolate the camera at the front of the pub. Eventually they spotted the scene they were looking for. There was Angus and the man walking out the front of the pub. Staggering was more accurate. But the footage stopped before the men did. They walked out of shot. The cameras only covered as far as the front door. There was a flailing arm at the edge of the screen at one stage, but nothing worth watching.
"It looked just like they were wrestling. I didn’t see any punching," Brad said, as he dialled back through the footage. "Some of the guys started gathering around the door to watch, so I came to the window to see what was going on. They were kind of just rolling around on the footpath. That's when I called you guys. Bad for business having drunks rolling around on your doorstep." He gave a half-laugh, an acknowledgement there wasn't anything really funny about it.
Sharpey didn't reply, focussed on the images on the screen.
"I can't believe he's dead. Shit. Poor Angus." Brad clicked on another camera view. "Look, they were drinking together," he said, spooling backwards through the recording. Brad had it on high speed rewind and they watched the pair at the table in the corner, making jerky backwards movements until they finally walked out the front door backwards together. "Looks like they came in together too."