by J. M. Peace
Natasha worked quickly, revealing a large contusion as the thick black hair fell away under the razor. Neville took photos and motioned for Natasha to continue. As soon as the scalpel made the first incision along the hairline, blood started oozing out.
"That's no surprise," the doctor said. "There'll probably be a fracture there too."
Natasha peeled back the scalp to reveal the skull and washed the blood away. The doctor carefully inspected the bone.
"Nothing there," he said. He looked at the paperwork, set on an adjacent metal bench away from the blood and bodily fluids.
"The deceased was involved in a brawl before being lodged in the watch house. He was under the influence of alcohol and/or drugs," he read from the summary on the cover sheet. "Okay then, open him up."
The whine of the bone saw filled the room, along with an acrid burning smell as Natasha sawed open the top of the man's skull. The bone she pulled off was shaped like a skull-cap and made a soft plopping noise as it came away. The doctor took photos before carefully reaching in to extract the brain.
"Subdural haemorrhage," he announced. "Contra-coup injuries to the brain at the rear. Cause of death will be head injury due to blunt force trauma."
He folded the face back up into place, checking the nose.
"Interesting," he said. He turned back to the paperwork, reading it through a second time.
"Most of the time in a brawl, the fatal injury is from when the deceased's head has hit the footpath after been punched or knocked over. It's usually to the back of the head. The trauma here is to the front of the head. He's either been hit with force there..." He pointed to the front of the skull where the swelling had been. "...Which is a stupid place to punch a person, unless you want broken knuckles. There's no mention of any weapon being used. Or he's fallen forward. With momentum. The report said his hands were cuffed behind him. But then you'd expect the nose to be broken if he had fallen face first. There's some minor grazes there, but it's not broken."
Natasha leant over the body, listening intently as the doctor explained and pointed at the white bone. She was studying to be a paramedic and was intensely interested in all the details.
"So it wasn't a straightforward fall?" she asked.
"We won't speculate," he said with a smile to Natasha. "All I can confirm is the site of the trauma injury, not the mechanism."
"So he died in the watch house?" Natasha asked.
"Yes, that's what it says," the doctor replied. "They'll be waiting on these results with bated breath, I'm sure. The injury is such that it was almost certainly going to be fatal."
"They should have taken him straight to the hospital after seeing the swelling?" Natasha asked.
"The swelling might not have been immediately obvious. It will continue to build slowly after the injury. But that's beside the point. If they had rushed him to an emergency department within minutes, and they identified the injury and treated it immediately with surgical decompression, he might have had a small chance. But that would only be in a perfect world. And that's certainly not Tannin Bay."
35.
Simon re-read the report on his computer. Although the autopsy had been completed, there was no cause of death provided yet. Simon hadn't expected there to be. It was usually about four to six weeks before toxicology results came back from the blood samples taken by the pathologist and he usually held the results over until he had them back. Simon was interested in just how drunk Angus had been that night. It may go some way as a contributing factor.
The report did include an update provided by the pathologist. Angus had died from brain injury. His head had been whacked hard enough to bounce his brain around the inside of his head. Coup and contrecoup injuries.
Simon had heard the terms before. The actual strike to the head caused injuries not just on the part of the brain underneath the site of the blow, but also where the brain, floating in cerebral fluid then struck the opposite side of the skull courtesy of momentum. So there was no heart attack or any other underlying medical issues. He died from a strike to the head. One blow ended it all.
The location of the strike was problematic. It was under the hairline and it hadn't broken the skin, so it hadn't been obvious. Both Mort and Krista could be forgiven for overlooking the bump under Angus's thick thatch of hair. But the site of the blow - at the front of his skull - that was the problem. Nothing Simon had seen or heard in relation to the incident could account for a hard blow to the front of the head. But the investigation had only just begun, and that would be something for ESC to get to the bottom of.
As Roy Hegarty stared at him from across his desk twenty minutes later, Simon considered his words carefully.
"How is the family going, Roy?" he asked.
"Yeah, everyone's still in shock. The kids keep crying. We really want some answers."
"As I explained on the phone, the actual 'Cause of Death' certificate won't be issued until all the blood tests come back."
"What do they expect to find? He drank a lot. That's no secret. There's no law against that. But there'll be nothing else."
"I think the pathologist needs to see the level of intoxication, to see if that was a contributing factor. But none of this will hold the funeral up and I can tell you today what the pathologist found during the autopsy. I thought I'd update you as soon as possible."
"Okay, thanks."
"Angus died from a brain injury. Basically, a blow to the head that caused his brain to strike the inside of his skull and cause it to bleed."
"So he was king hit or something?"
"No. Not necessarily. I think we can pretty much rule that out from the witnesses at the pub. The strike to the head could have come from being punched, but it is more likely to have occurred from Angus's head hitting the footpath when he fell over. He has fallen on at least two occasions during the fight."
Roy considered this and nodded slowly.
"That's not just from the versions given by our officers. We have a number of independent witnesses from the pub, including the proprietor. You know Brad, don't you?"
"Yes."
"He saw it all. But we are still looking for the man he was fighting that night."
Roy continued nodding.
"I think you know who it is," the Colonel said.
"No," Roy said bluntly.
"Angus and the other man came in together, they were drinking together. That is, up until they went outside and started fighting."
"Angus had lots of friends at the pub. I don't hang out there so much myself."
"It wasn't a local. If you're trying to protect someone," Simon said, "you're not really doing them any favours in the long run. We need to talk to this man, get his side of the story, try to put this into context."
Roy shrugged his shoulders.
"We're about to put a statewide alert out to all our officers with pictures of the man. If he's in the state, someone will probably know him. If not, his face goes on the news." Simon watched him but Roy's face was set.
He waited a moment but Roy said nothing. "Okay," Simon said eventually. "That's all I've got for you at the moment. But I'll let you know any other developments." They both rose to their feet. Roy moved towards the door, but stopped just short of it.
"So Angus could have taken the knock to the head during the fight," Roy said. "But it could also have happened when your guys were arresting him."
"Yes. This is just an update. We're still investigating everything. The fight, the arrest, the death."
"Or it could even have happened back here at the police station,” Roy continued. “Where no one was watching. No independent witnesses to say what happened. Only police."
"We're still investigating," Simon replied, firmly.
36.
Callum ushered Coops into the Sergeant's office just before he finished at 4pm. He looked up and down the corridor before closing the door behind them.
"What's up, Cal?" Coops asked.
"Have you heard anyth
ing about the autopsy result?" Callum asked, taking a seat on the nearest chair.
"No. Didn't know they'd done it already." He sat down across from Callum, and put one foot up on the desk.
"Yep, they have," Callum replied. "There's some gossip around town about it already."
"What do you mean?"
"We did a walk-through at the pub just now and Brad pulled us aside. Roy Hegarty was in the pub and Brad said he was all fired up. He was saying that the autopsy showed Angus died from a head injury. But Roy’s saying it happened at the watch house. Not during the fight."
"Holy crap. That's bad news."
"The Colonel hasn't talked to you about the autopsy results yet?"
"No. I wonder if Mort's heard about this."
Callum shrugged. "I think there's a lot more to this story than we realise."
"I wonder why Roy would say that? I'm sure he knows Mort. Mort's one of the good guys, everybody in town likes him," Coops speculated.
"I bet it's got something to do with Krista. Maybe Angus did something to her, spat on her or something and Mort flipped out,” Callum said.
"I don't think he'd do anything that stupid," Coops replied.
"Mort's hot for Krista," Callum said. "Some of us went out for dinner the night before all this happened. You could see Mort was trying to impress her and keep Brian away from her."
"Keep you away from her too?" Coops queried with a sly grin.
"Not me, mate. I've got a girlfriend."
"So you reckon something's gone on between the two of them?" Coops asked.
"Definitely. I reckon he may have given Angus a touch-up or something, to try to impress Krista, or because Angus had done something to Krista. But I bet she's the reason for all this. I can't imagine Mort doing something stupid for any other reason. It's not like him. And that bit about her going into the watch house by herself doesn't ring true either. She would have waited until Mort got back. So it's got to do with her. I'd put money on it."
"That would be a damn shame," Coops said. "We're stuck with her for three years now too," Callum said.
"She might put in for a transfer or something after all this shit. Pull out the old 'stress' card and get sent back to Brisbane," Coops replied.
"Hope so. It's bad for morale. I don’t think she wants to be here anyway.”
Coops opened his mouth as if to say something further but then shut it again.
Callum got up to leave.
"It's just shit that we've got to hear this sort of thing from people in the street rather than from our own boss," Coops said.
"Yeah, that's why I thought I'd ask you if you'd heard anything. I thought at least the Colonel would have told you sergeants," Callum replied.
"Nope,” Coops said. “And it’s probably a good idea to keep it under our hats for the time being."
37.
Krista was nearly glad it was Monday morning. Nearly. The weekend had been horrible. Lonely. The only actual person she had spoken to was the shop assistant when she'd bought some groceries.
Mort had gone away for the weekend. He'd said something vague about visiting a friend, and she hadn't asked anything further. It wasn't her business. If he had wanted to tell her more, he would have. So she'd spent the weekend alone, not game to go across to the station and not sure who she could talk to there.
She'd been in bed already when she'd heard Mort come home last night. This had made her somehow even sadder.
But today was her first shift back since the... she didn't even know what to call it. The accident? Incident? Mishap? Her stomach twisted and contracted thinking about returning to work. Both she and Mort would be on station duties until ESC had finished their investigation. That meant no going out in the car, no answering the phones, no contact at all with the public. She had trouble imagining what exactly she'd be asked to do all day, every day, to fill in eight hours.
Was this her life now? Lonely and pointless? She wasn't sure how long she'd last. As if on cue, her phone pinged. She snatched it up eagerly to see the message.
"Hope it goes well at work. Thinking of you xx"
Ben had been an absolute rock over the weekend. He'd actually offered to drive all the way up for the weekend to keep her company once he'd heard what had happened. Part of her wanted to scream 'yes' down the phone. But it wouldn’t have been fair on Ben. She couldn’t break up with him, then expect him to come running when things went wrong. Ben would definitely have tried to talk her into giving up and going back to Brisbane if he'd driven up. Krista couldn't trust herself not just to say 'yes' and leave it all behind. Just fall back into the familiarity of things she knew. The things that had annoyed her when she was living with Ben - the predictability and stability - were starting to seem desirable in light of what had happened. Moving back in with him would be like pulling on a comfortable old shirt, even if it wasn't exactly her favourite colour.
She started tapping out a reply on her phone.
"Good morning."
She jumped, looking up from her phone. Mort was standing next to her in his uniform, a wan smile on her face.
"Didn't mean to startle you," he said. "It looked like you were waiting for me to go across to the station."
"I was. It feels a bit weird going back there today," she replied.
"Don't worry about it," Mort said. "Everyone knows we didn't do anything, that we just have to wait for ESC to go through all their processes. Might be a bit boring at work until we’re cleared, but no one's going to give you a hard time," Mort replied.
Krista nodded. "I hope you're right." She glanced at the time on her phone. Quarter to eight. She tucked her phone away without actually hitting 'send' on the reply she was writing to Ben. She stood up and picked up her packed lunch. The last thing she wanted was to be late.
"Did you have a good weekend?" Mort asked as they walked out of the barracks together.
She shrugged. "I went for a swim at the beach both days. It's beautiful down there. The water was so warm too."
"It's nice, isn't it? I'll have to take you to another bay, further south. It's a like a little secret bay, tucked away. Hardly anyone ever goes there. Very peaceful."
"Sounds lovely," she replied. "Did you have a good weekend?"
"Yep," he said. But when she glanced across at him, his smile looked more like a grimace.
38.
Simon rounded everyone in the station up for a briefing at eight o'clock in the meal room. He even called the 6am crew back in. They were all suitably subdued by the time he stood up in front of them. He was wearing dress uniform, including his tie and his shiniest shoes, the ones he still spit-polished.
"For those of you who don't know, it is Angus Hegarty's funeral today." He huffed a little as if this was something that had been imposed on him as a test of his leadership abilities.
"We need to balance discretion with community expectations and policing responsibilities today. There may be a degree of animosity shown towards us today. There may even be some blatant challenges of our authority." He looked around the officers in the room and was pleased to see all eyes turned on him. "I want to see moderation today. I want thick skins. Unless it's a threat to physical safety - your own or someone else's - you need to let it ride today. We will be providing traffic control for the funeral procession. There will be no tickets issued, again unless it is the most dire of situations. We accept that today the family and friends may feel the need to blow off a little steam and defy us. With ESC all over us like a rash, the last thing we need is more conflict. Am I clear?"
There were general mutters of agreement. Simon checked his watch. The inspector was coming today, possibly even some other brass. Simon wanted things to seem right at the station. He wanted anyone coming to Tannin Bay today to get the clear impression he had things under control.
"You two especially," here he gestured at Mort and Krista, "need to keep a very low profile today. You're clear that you're not to attend the front counter, or even answer any pho
nes?" He looked pointedly at Krista. Mort would have a clearer understanding of what station duties entailed. "We'll talk soon about what your duties will be while the investigation continues."
He checked his watch again, even though not even a minute had passed since he'd done it last time. He was a bit unsettled, on edge. The inspector had instructed that they go along to the funeral. It was unclear what sort of reception they would get there. The man had died whilst in their care. Even if there was nothing they could have done to save him, he had still died in the watch house. That in itself was a point of contention. No family wanted to think their brother had died alone on the concrete floor of a cell. Simon would have to arrange his face into the correct mix of sorrow and sympathy without a hint of guilt.
He dismissed the staff and returned to his office, until the inspector rapped on the door.
"Simon," he said in such a way it could have been a greeting or an admonishment. "Ready to go?"
"Hello Owen. Yes, ready when you are." He stood and picked up his hat.
"Are we expecting any dramas today?" the inspector asked. "Any intel on conflicts?"
“They’re expecting large numbers at the funeral. There are a lot of family and friends travelling in for it. I'm not anticipating any trouble at the funeral but there may be some afterwards. There'll be a party. The grog will flow freely. I've rostered more staff on today to do some traffic control as well as tonight in case anyone gets untidy. They're a bit of a rough family. They're blockies."
"I'm not sure I've heard that term before."
"There's cheap unserviced bush blocks out towards the highway. People move out there and live rough and cheap, sometimes in little more than a humpy. Angus was living on one of these blocks with his brother's family. The used to live in Ipswich, so there's people travelling up from there too."
"As long as they keep the after-party out on their block out of everyone's way, we'll be fine,” Owen said.