by J. M. Peace
Krista felt something loosen inside her as they pulled into the last carpark in the national park and saw Mort's car was there. Piero looked at her with relief, with shades of something else. Suspicion?
"Mort brought me up here one time, to show me around. We talked about..." she couldn't bring herself to mention death. "...Things. It just made me think he might come here."
Mort's car was parked across two parking spots. The driver's side door wasn't closed properly. Piero opened it, had a quick look inside and shut the door.
Krista hurried to the path. Walking would not be enough. She broke into a jog. Just a light jog, she remembered the hill that came soon. Piero kept up with her, though she could soon hear him puffing, over the sound of his handcuffs and baton jiggling in their pouches. Eight kilos of kit slowed you down. Krista drew deep breaths and tried to maintain her pace as she reached the slope.
She glanced behind her. Piero was lagging behind. His face was bright red and he had slowed to a walk, sucking in deep breaths already. He waved at her to keep moving and she didn't look back again. Hopefully Mort was also walking. Strolling while he contemplated things.
Every bend she rounded, she leaned forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mort ahead of her. She didn't let herself think about badge and the note.
83.
It was dark at the back of the station. He told her to park on the driveway, out of the light thrown by the single naked fluoro bulb under the carport at the back of the station.
He could have gone in to get the keys to the watch house himself. Krista would have stood patiently by the door of the pod and waited for him. She wouldn't have got Angus out by herself. They would have done it together – open the door to the pod, grab him at the doorway, haul him out by one arm each, walk him to the watch house, lodge him properly. Four hours later, they could have bailed him to his brother. He would have got a slap on the wrist by the magistrate for spitting at a copper. But coppers expected that.
He'd sent Krista in to get the keys. Right there. That was where the guilt started. Part of him wanted a half a minute alone with Angus. Part of him was fuming that this dirty old drunk could have such an impact on his life. Because at that stage he thought blood tests and disease risk from having spittle in his eyes was a big impact. It was all in the comparison. That would have been nothing – NOTHING – compared to the impact Angus's death actually had. Not just on him, but his colleagues, his station, his community.
He unlocked the pod door as soon as Krista was out of sight. He slammed the metal door back so it smacked against the side of the pod. It swung back towards him, and he positioned himself so the door rested against his hip.
"Think you can get away with spitting at a copper? Just you and me now, you dirty old bastard," he hissed.
He wanted to see remorse, maybe even a bit of fear. Coppers did not deserve to be spat on. He wanted the old drunk to understand that, to vow to never do it again. And as Angus shuffled on his bottom across the floor of the pod, to the doorway, he had his head bent down and Mort thought maybe he was feeling sorry about what he did.
But as he swung his legs out to sit in the doorway of the pod, Angus flicked his head upwards and spat again.
"There's one more for you, pig," he said.
As the spit struck him on the front of his shirt, something inside Mort snapped.
He grabbed Angus by the shoulder, reefing him out of the pod and throwing him to the ground. Angus lurched forward, unable to catch himself with his hands cuffed to the back. He tucked his head so he landed on his forehead instead of his face.
With the red veil of anger shading his eyes, Mort stooped.
“You filthy animal,” he hissed and kicked him once to the ribs.
Immediately, Mort looked up, to the left and right. Krista had not yet come out of the station. What she didn't know, needn't bother her.
Angus made a guttural noise.
"Pig," he said on an exhale. It was the last word he would ever say.
Mort hauled him up, folding him backwards onto his knees.
Krista walked out with the keys.
"He's so drunk he can't even stand up by himself," Mort said. She believed him. Why wouldn't she?
He was police officer.
84.
For a moment, when Krista reached the lookout, she felt relief. She couldn't see Mort and her first instinct was that he hadn't come up here after all. That she'd misjudged the situation. That she was wrong again.
Then it occurred to her that maybe she couldn't see him because he had already done it. Jumped off the cliff. She forced herself to walk to the railing that separated the land from the air. She held her breath without thinking about it. She couldn't bring herself to walk right to the side. She stopped two paces back and leaned forward. She looked down over the railings to the rocks and ocean way below. Nothing. A sigh of relief escaped from somewhere deep inside her. He hadn't jumped. She was wrong. Of course she was wrong. She was always wrong. She knew nothing about these things.
A movement caught her eye just to the right of the lookout. A few metres past the railing of the lookout, behind a small bush, a dark stubbled head poked up. Mort was sitting on a rock, legs dangling over the edge, nothing beneath them except a backdrop of blue.
"Mort," Krista breathed. He turned at the sound.
"Mort, thank god," she said.
"No," he said and his voice sounded strange, like it was coming from further away than a few short metres.
"Mort..." Krista started but couldn't fathom what she should say next. She glanced over her shoulder. Where was Piero? He would know what to say. He wouldn't just lean against the railing and mutter Mort's name. What would he do?
"I'm coming over," Krista said, climbing onto the lower rail.
"No!" Mort staggered to his feet. She saw it then. He was drunk. There was a next to him and he was swaying as if in a gentle breeze. Not good on the edge of a cliff. The sheer drop drew her eye. She evaluated the rock he was standing on, the loose scree between him and her. Could she grab him and hold him if he started to slide? Or would the weight of him take her with him? An involuntary shudder passed through her.
"It's okay. Let's just talk," she said, stepping back off the rail.
He half fell back onto his bottom on the ledge with a whimper.
"You don't have to do this," Krista said.
"But I do," he moaned. "I do. I've fucked up. There's no coming back from the amount of damage I've done."
"There's always a way back. Come back," she pleaded. "We'll work it out."
"It's too late. I've told Roy. He knows what happened. He punched me but then I got away from him before he could kill me. I didn't want him to kill me. Then he'd be a murderer too. His family has suffered enough."
"There'll be a way out," she said, but the words sounded hollow even to her own ears.
"Can you imagine what it would be like for a copper in jail?" he asked. "Then afterwards. What do you do afterwards? How can you ever show your face in public again. The media would be all over it. I’ve got no other choice."
"No, Mort, don't."
"You. I've hurt you too," he said.
"It's okay. I know you didn't mean it."
"I didn't mean any of it," Mort said. "But that doesn't fix it." It looked like he was trying to stand up again. He scrabbled his feet, kicking loose rocks to their death.
“But you’ve done the right thing now. You’ve taken responsibility. You’ve started making things right again.” Krista marvelled at how calm her own voice sounded.
“You’re a good person. A great copper,” she said. She looked into his eyes and saw desperation. He wanted to believe her.
"No, I deserve to die."
"You don't," Krista said, her voice catching in her throat. "You made a mistake. One mistake. It doesn't define who you are. It just makes you human."
"No...
"How many mistakes have I made. I’m still here. We're all human," she said. The first tears spilled fr
om her eyes and started a slow slide down her cheeks.
Mort looked at her, his eyes red and bloodshot, locked onto hers. She leaned against the railing and reached out towards him. He pulled his feet up under him and pushed himself upright. He was unsteady, rocking slightly from side to side. Krista stared into his eyes, as if her gaze alone could hold him tight.
“Mort, it’s not the end. Please. I need you. Come back to me.”
Slowly he lifted his arm and copied her position, reaching until their fingertips touched. Krista felt a jolt, like the first time they’d touched. She hoped he felt it to. He was so close. He took a step closer and their hands joined, fingers intertwining.
“Come on,” she said, more to herself than to Mort.
He took another step and she wrapped her other hand around his wrist.
“I’ve got you,” she said. She steadied him as he clumsily climbed over the railing and fell into her arms.
“Thank god!”
Krista’s head snapped around at the sound of the voice. Piero was standing at the edge of the lookout. She had no idea how long he’d been there. She pressed her face against Mort’s shoulder. He was crying now, great heaving sobs. Their tears ran together.
85.
Krista rode in the back of the car as they returned to the station, hugging Mort.
Now that he was safe, she considered what might happen next. She wondered who else had read his note. As they pulled in to the back of the station, she got the answer. The Colonel, John and Sharpey were waiting. Piero stopped the car and got out quickly before anyone had a chance to open the back door.
“Mort was up on the cliff, ready to jump. Krista talked him down. He was going to do it. She saved his life.”
All four men looked at her. She recognised surprise and respect as they opened the back door. She’d done something right. Finally. It was cold consolation as they coaxed Mort out from her arms.
She’d read his note.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," it said. "I'm sorry for quitting. I'm sorry for lying. And most of all, I'm sorry for the one action that started all of this. I killed Angus.”
His suicide note was now a written confession.
“He spat at me coming out of the pod. I ripped him out of that pod and smashed him onto the ground. It wasn't an accident. I can't pretend it was anymore.”
“Be kind to him,” she said softly.
“It was a mistake, a split second reaction. I regret it. I never meant for Angus to die. Angus didn't deserve to die. He just made a mistake too.”
“Mort, mate, I’ve got to arrest you.” Sharpey grabbed his wrist.
“I regret it because not only has his family had to deal with the grief but also try to battle the bureaucratic machine I attempted to hide inside. And that has come at a cost to so many people. When I saw how much it was affecting people at the station, that was when I knew I had to stop lying.”
“You know we’ve got to do it, Mort,” the Colonel said. “We take no pleasure in it.”
Mort took a deep breath and seemed to pull himself together. “I know. It’s okay.”
“I love my job. I believe in the police, the thin blue line. I have tarnished the police. I have brought disrepute to my profession. I have made every police officer's job more difficult. So it was time to take responsibility for my actions. To try to unravel some of this mess before it gets even worse. Because people I care about are about to start making their own mistakes to try to cover mine. I don't want anyone to follow my lead. I don't want anyone to end up in the same situation as me. So I've confessed to Roy. I apologised. I've done the right thing, the honourable thing. But it has led me to the coward's way out. I can't live with the consequences of what I'm about to do. Losing my friends, losing my job, going to jail. I'm sorry."
Mort looked back over his shoulder to Krista, still on the back seat. He locked eyes with her.
“Thank you, Krista,” he breathed.
Krista only managed to nod in reply.
They led Mort away towards the watch house.
86.
Krista went into the barracks.
She unzipped her tactical vest and dropped it onto the couch. That would be someone else’s problem now.
She dug in her pocket, her fingers closing around her police badge. She placed it onto the table next to Mort’s.
It was only a job.
Her bedroom door was shut, but not locked. It wasn't until she had swung it right open that she saw the envelope on the floor. It was a yellow government issue envelope, but she knew immediately who had written her name across the front of it.
She wanted no part of a job that could destroy people.
She hesitated and tears sprung to her eyes again. She stepped over the envelope, like it was a hole in the floor. Every way she turned, she caught a glimpse of the yellow in her peripheral vision but ignored it. She had things to do.
It took her eight minutes to pack up her life in Tannin Bay, not long enough for anyone to come and bother her. She pulled her car up to the door of the barracks and loaded everything into the back. The last thing she picked up was the yellow envelope.
The Colonel and Piero were standing next to her car as she came out of the barracks for the last time. The Colonel took an uncomfortable half step towards her and held out his hand to her. She shook it and was the first one to let go and draw back.
“Krista, thank you for all your help today.” The Colonel looked as awkward as Krista felt. “I’m sorry it’s ended like this for you here. But things would have been immeasurably worse without your quick thinking today.” He looked like he was going to say something further but instead swallowed hard and stepped back.
Piero hugged her hard but said nothing. There were no words left to say. As she pulled out from the barracks, she didn’t look back.
She drove sedately one last time through town, keeping her speed and tears in check.
It wasn't until she was just about the enter the on-ramp for the highway which would take her back home that she pulled off the side of the road and turned the car off. She took the yellow envelope in her hands and stared at her name on the front. It was written in a firm hand, and she doubted Mort had written it this morning. How long had he been planning this? Several minutes passed before she ripped it open with shaking hands. Mort's message to her started the same way as the other note. With apologies.
"Krista, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You did nothing wrong. Everything that happened was my fault and my fault alone. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I did my best to protect you from everything that I set into motion but I know it wasn't enough. Nothing I did could ever be enough. There was no way to come back from where I ended up."
The tears started to flow. He did come back. Krista wiped at her eyes so she could read the rest of the words on the paper.
"You're an amazing person. You have to believe that. I wish it hadn't ended this way for us. You could have been a great copper, you were a great friend. But I took that all away. I've ruined your career for you. Because you've seen too much now. You've seen the monster in the machine. Go back to the people who love you."
She folded her arms across the steering wheel, rested her head against them and sobbed. She cried for herself as well as Mort.
87.
Roy and Stan sat in the open space behind Roy's house. It wasn't really a backyard, more of a clearing. The dark silhouettes of the gum trees and derelict cars leaned in around them. The fire pit was blazing and you had to step a few metres away from it to see the lights of the Milky Way emblazoned across the sky.
"Nothing like Ipswich," Stan said.
Roy laughed. "No. We never looked back. Sure you don't want to move up here too?"
Stan nodded his head slowly. "I'll bring Dot up for a visit sometime soon. I reckon I could talk her round. A sea change. Yeah. That'd be alright." He had a beer in one hand and a long stick in the other. He was poking the fire, collapsing logs before loading on another.
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Skeeter was sitting in an old camp chair. He had a beer in his hand as well. Patricia had frowned when Roy had handed it to him but he was just about a man now. He had taken to wearing an 'Archerfield Speedway' cap. He'd found it at Angus's house when they'd done the cleanup. Its curved brim was a change from the snapback cap he always worn. With the firelight throwing shadows on his face, Roy caught in Skeeter flashes of Angus's features when he was younger, before life had kicked him in the guts.
"So," Stan said quietly. "He tried to kill himself.”
“Ironic isn’t it. He said he didn’t mean to kill Angus but then he couldn’t manage to kill himself,” Roy mused. “I wonder if he’s sitting in their watch house. They should put him in the cell, right there where Angus died, right next to Angus’s ghost.”
"D'you think that would be justice?” Stan asked.
"Nup. There was never going to be justice," Roy replied. "But it’s sure as hell finished now."
Roy tipped his beer back and sculled it. He threw the empty can into the fire, reached into the esky next to his seat and grabbed another.
"I'm glad he's gone," Roy said. "I couldn't have stayed in town if he was still here."
“He nearly got away with it. He would have if he just kept his mouth shut, stayed away from the booze,” Stan replied.
"It was the guilt of what he'd done got to him in the end," Roy said.
"At least he had that much of a conscience,” Stan said.
"He said 'sorry'," Roy said. "He looked me in the eye and apologised. I won’t forget that. It's more than I expected."
They fell silent again. The only sounds were the spitting of the fire and the occasional glug of beer.
Skeeter was poking around the edges of the fire with a long stick. "Do you reckon Uncle Angus would have been happy with the way it ended?" he asked.
"Nope," Roy answered without hesitation. "If Angus hadn't died, the next time he saw Mort, he would have shaken his hand and made peace with him. He didn’t bear a grudge. He wouldn’t have wanted it to end like this. That's the sort of man he was."