by J. M. Peace
She startled when a figure appeared at her bedroom door.
"Let's get the hell out of here,” Mort said. "Wear some joggers."
Krista didn't wait for any further explanation. She grabbed her shoes and followed Mort out to his car. Krista slid into the passenger's seat. Mort started the car and drove in silence. She didn't attempt any small talk with him. Where were they going? Was he angry with her?
She knew he was under pressure with the investigation but she felt fragile too. She knew if he turned on her with sharp words, she would dissolve into tears. He was the only one who had ever felt like a friend here.
They drove through town, towards the water than took a sharp right. They parked in the first carpark in the national park.
Mort looked across and smiled at her. Tension released from her shoulders and flowed out through her fingers.
"I feel better now that I'm away from the station. The walls were starting to close in on me," he said, as if by way of explanation.
"Me too," Krista said, though she wasn't quite sure what he meant. The only place she felt secure in Tannin Bay was inside her dingy room in the barracks.
"I remember that I promised to show you around the beaches. I should have checked with you before we left. But I'm assuming you have nothing else on."
"You assumed correctly." She paused. "I guess I've been keeping to myself," she said.
“It’s such a shame this has all happened to you like this,” he replied.
“Not your fault,” she said.
Mort sighed. “I hope we can get through this all as friends anyway. Whatever happens.”
Krista smiled, and it felt like the first time in days. “Definitely.”
They got out of the car.
"It's a great walk," Mort said. "There's a proper track, takes you all the way to the bluff at the top. You'll see anyway." He set off at a fast walk. The track wound through rainforest, cool and dank, with the faint smell of leaves rotting. They passed by the carpark where the man had gassed himself, before the track broke through the rainforest and onto the edge of the water. The track skirted along the edge where the ocean washed against ragged rocks. But it quickly gained altitude, the path rising up as the rocky edge grew higher. They were both puffing as they got the top of a cliff.
"This is where the trail ends," Mort said. There was a small lookout on a jutting outcrop, surrounded on three sides by wooden railings. The ground fell away in a sharp drop to the ocean on the other side of the railings. Mort pointed back behind them. The round curve of the bay stretched out in, blue water dappled silver by the sun. The town looked smaller than what it was though Krista knew there were more buildings tucked behind a low rise behind the CBD hugging the water. It looked pretty and peaceful. Not like the unfriendly town seeping with loneliness and regret she saw from her barracks room.
"It's beautiful," Krista said.
Krista leaned up against the railing and gazed across the vista. Mort took a spot next to her and they both looked around in silence for a few minutes.
"Can you see the station?" Mort asked pointing back past the main street. His arm pressed against hers and she didn’t pull away.
She followed his finger. "With the silver roof?"
He nodded. “It looks so small and insignificant, doesn’t it.”
"Thanks for bringing me up here," Krista said. "I really appreciate you making an effort with me."
"It's not an effort," Mort replied. He was still looking out across the water. "I'm sorry I haven't done it sooner. I'm sorry I've been grouchy and distant to you. When I think about the investigation sometimes I just feel like it's all too much for me."
"What do you think's going to happen?" She thought about it so often, it sounded strange to hear the words actually said out loud.
Mort shifted so he was looking straight at her, though his eyes were imperceptible behind his sunglasses. "You'll be fine. They'll see that you've been honest and it was only a matter of inexperience. They can't punish you for lack of service. You may have to do some extra training or something. But you'll be okay."
Krista nodded slowly, considering what he said. "What about you?" she asked.
He ignored the question. "I like you and I feel sorry things have got off to such a bad start for you here."
"When I got sent here, I was worried about meeting new people and what they’d think of me,” Krista said. “That seems so stupid now. This is pretty much the worst case scenario that's happening to me."
"I don't know what to tell you,” Mort said. “Except I'm in this with you. You're not the bad guy. I don't think anyone sees you like that. It's just they don't know you, don't know how to break the ice."
Krista shrugged. "There's so many things that could have gone differently that night. I keep thinking about them and wondering if my inexperience played a part. Or what if I'd been working a day shift, or if we had been further away when the call came in and the fight had finished before we arrived? It's as if all the variables came together perfectly to make the worst possible outcome."
"I think that's how Angus's family might feel too, at the moment."
Krista stared at Mort. "Sorry! I didn't mean to sound like I don't care that he died. As if it's an inconvenience and made my life harder. Shit. I mean, he died. His family must hate us. They have every right to hate us."
"They're probably having exactly the same conversations now. That kid who was fighting with him. I bet he's thinking of all the things he would have done differently. Angus is his uncle for god's sake. How much guilt would he be feeling?"
"Unless he's just blaming us completely," Krista said softly.
Mort laid his hand on her shoulder, gently like she might crack under the weight of it. "I can't believe you got tangled up in this in your first week here. Hang in there. It will get better."
"I feel like it couldn't get any worse," she replied.
"It could always be worse," Mort replied as he stared off towards the horizon.
52.
Three am. The perfect time for crime. Too late at night for the party animals, too early in the morning for joggers and dog walkers. It was a new moon and darkness seeped out of the shadows, drowning everything in an inky black.
Skeeter and Mick were on foot. They'd driven into town but parked the car behind one of the shops on the main street where it wouldn't be noticed. They had both agreed they'd be better off on foot from here on in. It was a small town. They walked up and down a couple of streets at the edge of town, Skeeter leading the way, until they found the opportunity they were looking for.
The house was in darkness, the bedrooms at the back of the house. The car was halfway down the driveway. They had anticipated they would have to break in to it but to their delight, it was unlocked. Mick ran with nearly silent footfalls in sneakered feet to the front of the house. A window was open. There were security screens, but they weren't trying to break in. Mick was acting as a lookout. It had taken some persuading to even get him to do that. But Skeeter had convinced him, promising they wouldn't get caught, even as he knew it was a promise he might not be able to keep. It was worth the risk and better done with back-up.
So Mick crouched at the open window. If he heard any movement in the house, he'd raise the alarm and they'd both disappear into the shadows, regardless of whether their mission was complete.
Skeeter opened the front door of the car, the soft click of the mechanism magnified by the stillness of the night. He had already removed a couple of items from the backpack he'd worn and quickly set to work. Every noise echoed in his ears but there was no whistle or gesture from his lookout so he kept going. Even though he didn't rush, it only took a few minutes. Long dark minutes, but mere minutes nevertheless. There was nothing moving except his own hands. No barking dogs to wake the neighbours. No cars driving home from their own 3am activities. Just a town asleep. By the time he finished, emboldened by the success of the mission he felt a surge of cockiness. At the edge of the car, he pu
lled down the front of his track pants. He heard Mick stifle a laugh.
Then they both ran.
53.
There was a buzz in the meal room as Mort and Krista came in at the start of their shift. They had fallen into the habit of walking the short distance from the barracks to the station together since they were both on the same eight am to four pm shift every day. They'd often sit in the meal room for a few minutes for a chat with whoever else was around before they went their separate ways for the day.
Mort had immersed himself in risk management for the station. It involved everything from making sure the police vehicles were serviced to checking the station for any workplace health and safety issues. It was within the constraints of their restricted duties as it only involved computer work and talking to staff in the station. It was useful work and the Colonel appeared pleased he had taken it on.
Krista however, felt like a drain on the station. While she was on restricted duties, that meant other staff had to cover the shifts she should have been working. With two of them essentially taken off the roster, everyone else had to do more nights, more weekends. No one had said anything outright to her, but she felt like her colleagues resented her. Everyone seemed to give her a wide berth and she wasn't sure why. She hadn't done anything. She hadn't been there long enough to have upset anyone. She had given it a lot of thought, trying to work out what she had done but came to the conclusion that it must be because she was non-operational. That didn't explain the difference between how she was treated compared to Mort. Everyone went out of their way to talk to Mort, to show their support for him. Because everyone liked Mort. It's not that anyone was rude to her. It was that with the exception of Mort and Piero, no one was friendly.
When she could, she stayed in Mort's shadow. So this morning, she slunk into the bustling meal room behind him. The 6am crew were there as well as those starting at eight.
"Morning," said Mort.
"Morning." Krista's was a quiet echo.
"What's going on?" Mort asked.
The Colonel answered. "Coop's car got broken into last night."
"Oh no," Mort replied. "Have you got insurance?" he asked Coop, who was sitting at the table compulsively stirring a cup of coffee.
"Yeah, but that will only solve part of the problem," Coop said.
"It was a targeted attack," the Colonel added. "Whoever broke in didn't try to steal the car or anything in it. It was wilful damage rather than theft. They poured red paint over the seats and scratched the word 'DOG' into the driver's side window. They've also urinated all through the front of the car."
"Shit," said Mort.
"No, piss," Coops replied, gloomily.
"Well, I guess it could have been worse then." Mort made an attempt at levity.
Coops grunted without looking at him.
"Forensics been over it?" Mort asked.
"Yes. They found a couple of prints but it looks like they're going to belong to Coops," the Colonel said.
"I don't think it was locked," Coops said. "We never have any problems. Never occurred to me that we would. They didn't even bother to nick the small change out of the ashtray. Just wanted to wreck the car."
"Who have you pissed off, Coops?" Callum asked.
Coops shook his head. "There's been nothing out of the ordinary."
A heavy silence fell on the room. Krista noticed people glancing at each other. It was the Colonel who said what no one else would.
"It'll be related to this death in custody. It's too risky to try to hit the barracks, so they've just picked an easier police target," the Colonel answered.
Krista noticed Mort visibly stiffen next to her.
"Do you really think that, boss?" he asked the Colonel.
"I'd put money on it being a revenge thing. Probably be Skeeter. Keep your cars locked, even here at the station," the Colonel replied. "It's hard to patrol against this sort of thing. In the middle of the night, anyone can hear the police car coming from a mile away. It's going to be up to us to start being more vigilant."
He looked around at all the staff. "Okay then. Everybody's up to date now. Let's get to work."
Everybody stood up, clearing away empty cups and disappearing into the station. Even though she had no particular task to get to, Krista stood up too. She found herself heading for the back door. Yesterday, the Colonel had asked for one of them to mow the station lawn and Krista jumped at the chance. She was happy to be outside the station, alone and away from everyone. Today she decided to continue next door and mow the Colonel's lawn as well, at the station residence. It wasn't a case of brown-nosing, she just preferred to be away from the station where no one wanted her anyway. There were some overgrown garden beds at the front of the station she had her eye on too. No one would even notice if she didn't come back inside for the rest of the day. They'd probably be happy if she left completely.
54.
Mort sat up rigidly and forced himself to put his hands on his knees to make sure he didn't fidget. Instead, he wriggled his toes, invisible inside his police boots.
The Detective Inspector from ESC was back and had summonsed him to the boss's office. Would there be more interviews? Or was the inspector here because he needed an excuse to escape to the coast for a few days? His face was unreadable.
The Colonel was there too. Of course he was, This was his station and by golly, everybody had better know he was in charge.
"Senior Constable Morten," the Inspector began. "We have given a lot of consideration to all of the information in this case. In the end, it was a matter of differentiating known facts that we could prove beyond reasonable doubt to the information which can not be proven to this required standard of proof."
The Inspector paused. Mort nodded in case that was what the inspector was waiting for.
"Yes sir," he added for good measure.
"As a result of our investigations, we have found you are not responsible for the death of Angus Hegarty. There will be no charges laid and no disciplinary action taken against you."
Mort blinked rapidly as he processed this information.
"Not responsible," he repeated softly.
"Well, that's great news," the Colonel said, with more enthusiasm than was called for, considering they were still talking about the death of a man.
"We found the fatal head wound occurred here at the rear of the station as you were removing Mr Hegarty from the back of the pod. There is nothing to suggest that things did not happen exactly as you described them. Mr Hegarty falling from the pod was an unforseeable accident. We find no negligence on your behalf."
"No negligence," Mort did little more than mouth the words.
"However, the lodging of Mr Hegarty in the watch house is another matter. He was not lodged properly. Basic operational procedures were flouted and the watch house keeper will be held responsible for this. Mr Hegarty should have been assessed to determine if he was in need of medical attention. He should have been asked the welfare questions before being lodged. This may have identified that he was injured and then medical assistance could have been given. I'm aware that the pathologist's report stated the injury was untreatable but this is beside the point. Although questions were raised over Constable Danaher's capabilities as she has only just completed her training and she was not familiar with the Tannin Bay watch house, she is a sworn officer and should have a working knowledge of basic lodging procedures which are, of course, the same statewide."
"Krista's going to be disciplined? How? She's not going to lose her job, is she?" The thought of this distressed Mort.
"The disciplinary measures are a private matter between ESC and Constable Danaher. But, no, she won't lose her job."
"That's not fair," Mort said. "I was the senior officer. I should be disciplined."
"You left Constable Danaher to lodge Mr Hegarty. It was reasonable for you to get yourself cleaned up. She was the watch house keeper. She failed to lodge him properly," the inspector replied.
; "But..."
"Senior Constable, if Constable Danaher wishes to contest the disciplinary action, she may do so. It is not your place to do it. It is not your decision as to who is disciplined."
Mort bit his tongue. He would talk to Krista about it, tell her how to fight it, get the union involved.
"Now," the inspector continued. "We have invited Roy Hegarty to attend the station at 2pm. We will be explaining to him the results of the investigation. I think it would be counter-productive for him to see you, or Constable Danaher for that matter, here. You are now officially off restricted duties and back on the road. But common sense would suggest you give Mr Hegarty a wide berth. I'm going to guess that he will be unhappy about the results of the investigation."
The Colonel rose to his feet, rubbing his hands.
"Good, good. Now we can get back to normal again, hey." He gave Mort a slap on the shoulder.
"Yes, boss. Back to normal," Mort replied.
55.
Roy Hegarty was getting to hate the police station. He pulled up at the front again. How many times was that now? He'd never had any trouble with the coppers. He'd only ever come out to fetch Skeeter or Angus when he'd done something stupid. They'd always been reasonable enough. They'd been happy to have him come to the station, pick the boy up and tell them he'd keep him on the straight and narrow.
But there was a shift now. And just how big a shift, he was about to find that out. Because the Colonel had made another appointment with him. Their Ethical Standards coppers, coppers policing other coppers, had finished their investigation. They had decided what had happened to Angus. It was with a sense of foreboding that he entered the police station.
The Colonel met him at the front counter, all smiles and handshakes. Roy had never taken to him. He acted like he thought he was better than Roy. Although he shook his hand and looked him in the eye as he greeted him, Roy didn't trust him as far as he could throw him. The copper could pretend to be his best buddy, suck up to him but there was no fooling Roy. He guessed that the more polite the Colonel was, the more likely it was going to be bad news for him. There was no doubt in his mind that the police would try to protect their own. Just like he tried to protect his family.