The Cooktown Grave

by Carney Vaughan

  “David Michael Brannigan, please stand. You have been found guilty by a jury of your peers of the manslaughter of your brother Daniel George Brannigan by a wilful act of negligence. Of which you were wholly responsible. You are hereby remanded in custody until the twelfth day of this month, June, such day being Friday of this week. On that day you shall be brought back into my presence for just punishment for your crime.”

  Dave was forcibly escorted from the prisoners dock to be processed. He was then transported in the rear of a segregated cab-van, with other miscreants from Darlinghurst, to the remand centre at Long Bay jail. There further processing and numbering took place.

  He absent-mindedly joined the other walkers in the yard who soon lost interest in him when they realised he could yield nothing of value. Later in his cell, bedded down for the night, he wondered how many such nights he would have to spend in a cage like this. In that first midnight to three purgatory he wondered if he would ever sleep again. His thoughts once more turned to Danny, that cheeky, lovable scamp who grew into a mature sensitive young man with mainly good in his heart.

  After the death of their parents in a no-blame auto accident Dave and Danny had been made wards of the state and grew to maturity in foster homes. It was an experience that, coupled with the fact they were twins, caused them to develop an attachment which would rival a valency bond. If one stumbled the other stood by to help him to his feet. School bullies concluded there was no advantage to be gained by badgering either of the boys because it usually meant a confrontation with both.

  When the time came to make career decisions Danny, with his usual serious consideration, decided if he was to ever accumulate wealth he needed a finger on the money pulse. He enrolled in a university course which saw him gain a degree – Bachelor of Business. He secured a position with a small accounting firm. He went on to complete his Professional Year and become a member of the Institute of Chartered Accountants.

  Dave’s career path took a different turn when the opportunity to become an electrical apprentice presented itself. Neither boy had any difficulty with his studies but Dave always thought his academic path was easier. The laws of physics which governed his choice never changed. But Danny’s path was strewn with future and unforseen obstacles. It would always be so because newly elected governments brought with them new brooms of sweeping reform. They bring with them new rules and regulations of fiscal and monetary policies and changes to tax and corporate law.

  Danny’s life would be one of eternal study whilst Dave insisted all he had to do was to ‘get the right number of them little round buggers to run down the right tracks!’

  Danny was right about the money pulse. After five years at his job he’d saved enough to put a deposit on an old run-down weatherboard house as an investment. His intention was to renovate the place. He would add two more bedrooms and an en-suite and have it brick veneered at some time a little further down the track. But after the death of one of the partners in his accounting firm left him with little incentive to continue he left its employ. With his accumulated entitlements and his savings, he financed his project and began the renovations. He took out an owner-builder’s license with the local council and hired professionals to do the technical work while he attended to the labouring chores.

  “I’ll rewire it when you’re ready, Bra,” said Dave who by this time was a successful electrical contractor.

  When Dave began rewiring the house Danny laboured as his offsider pulling on draw wires and feeding cables, boring holes, digging ditches, and finally knocking in the earth electrode.

  Dusk was turning to dark one evening when Dave said, “I’ll just connect this main earth and you can turn her on.”

  “Don’t we have to get the council to inspect it?” Danny queried.

  “Not now. They’ve changed things. Once the consumer’s mains are energised the onus is on the contractor.” He saw a frown appear on his brother’s face. “Bra, would I lie? Why the funny face?”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing to do with you, old son.” Danny said. “I’ve been trying to figure something out since that council bloke left. He’s got a familiar face.”

  Dave finished connecting the main earth to the earth spike and said, “Turn her on, Son.”

  Danny’s frown disappeared when he flicked the switch, “Wow! Magic. Thanks, Dave.”

  Dave drove to the house a few days later after a plea from Danny’s girlfriend on the previous day. He rang the front doorbell, there was no answer, he rang several more times and strolled around to the back door. “Lost yer key?” It was the neighbour at the dividing fence.

  “I don’t live here, I’m his brother. We’re twins, we look a bit alike.” Dave advanced on the neighbour. “Have you seen him around? I can’t seem to raise him.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw something that bothered him but it didn’t immediately register.

  “Not fer a day or two, I thought you were ‘im. There was another bloke ‘ere yesterday lookin’ fer ‘im.”

  “Jesus Christ! Uh, excuse me.” The main earth wire was hanging free; the green and yellow cable was not connected to the copper clad earth spike. That’s what had bothered him. He went to his truck and returned with a screwdriver, strippers and pliers and a ‘Don’t Disconnect’ tag, “That was connected I’m certain.” He said to himself.

  “Yer musta fergot,” said the neighbour, thinking it was meant for him.

  Dave checked the main switchboard, the power was still on, he turned the main switch off to be on the safe side. If there was a fault the earth wire could be alive. He connected the cable and turned the main switch back on, it remained on. Had the earth wire been alive the protection unit would have immediately turned itself off or the main switch would have tripped.

  “No problems,” he said, “I’m off. If you see my brother around tell him Dave called.” He headed off down the path.

  Danny was inside the house, his sightless eyes unfocused.

  “Five years! Christ I’d do a hundred and five if it would bring Danny back, but it won’t. I’ll go crazy in here,” he complained to his pillow on that first night.

  At least he was serving his sentence at the low security Emu Plains prison farm with inmates of a temperament much like his own who were in for non-violent crimes. There was also a sprinkling of older, harder men who had genuinely turned their lives around and who deserved a less Spartan and less stringent environment. Some had found God, and others pretended they’d found Him.

  From Dave’s prison farm work gangs were often seconded under supervision to local councils. Mainly in rural areas to do manual chores such as park and garden maintenance or eradication of noxious weeds. Sometimes in emergencies they could be called upon to fight scrub fires.

  After the initial shock of what had happened to Danny and how anybody could think that he could have caused it he took a realistic look at his situation. Because it wasn’t in his nature to be bitter, he knew he could serve his sentence ‘easy’. Because of this disposition Dave had a good and friendly rapport with most of the prisoners and all of the guards.

  After three months he was attached to the parks and gardens squad. At least through that, he was still in touch with the outside world and it was for this reason escape was never an option he considered. Not even in his deepest depression. And when Dave heard barking and the woman screaming from the other side of the park his intentions were nothing if not noble. The large dog trailing its leash had a woman on the ground, its jaws were seeking her throat whilst the woman’s hands were around the throat of the dog. It was an even stand-off but now and again the dog bit into the woman’s arms and she stopped shouting to scream.

  “Will I go, sir?”

  “Yeah! Go for your life, Son,” the old prison officer said.

  They took off together, it was about three hundred metres across the park and by the time Dave had covered half the distance the gu
ard had covered seventy of them. A car had stopped alongside the combatants and the driver got out. He removed his denim jacket seemingly to wrap around his arm for protection before moving into the fracas to aid the woman. Just then from out of nowhere a teenaged lad appeared. He picked up the end of the leash and kicked and dragged the hound off the woman who was still screaming and shouting.

  Whilst this was taking place Dave was still some thirty metres from the scene. He looked back to see the old prison officer about halfway and slowly running on the spot. It was then Dave knew what he would do. He didn’t slacken speed as he careered through the middle of the group.

  He collected the jacket from the man’s arm and a nip on the buttock from the excited dog, but he continued at top speed into the Penrith shopping centre and on through towards the railway station. He had no plan and no idea what to do next. The jacket owner was stunned for a few seconds which allowed Dave to open an early gap. But having recovered from his initial surprise jacket-owner was now closing on him and he looked large and capable.

  Dave had already run three hundred metres at top speed before he was joined in the race and he was starting to shorten stride. Something was banging into his body as the jacket flapped in his hand. He groped in a pocket and his hand came out with a fat wallet. He deliberately slowed. He turned and held the wallet high in the air to make sure jacket-owner could see it and then hurled it back over his head to the other side of the busy street.

  Dave stopped and donned the jacket; he heard car horns and screeching tyres and yells as jacket-owner went after his wallet. Dave’s throat wouldn’t allow his lungs the air that they needed, he hooked each nostril with thumb and forefinger and drew in large volumes of air through his nose. Only partially recovered he buttoned the jacket to the neck to hide the colourful prison shirt and took off again. He rounded a corner so fast he couldn’t stay on the footpath. This time the honking and the screeching was for him as he collided with the side of a courier van.

  “You fuckin’ stupid cunt! Whaddya doin’?” the driver yelled not knowing how badly injured the young pedestrian might be. But immediately taking the offensive fearing time lost with a police investigation and a non-productive day in court.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not hurt. I’ve…er…missed my train. I’ll get the sack.” Ready to scamper, Dave searched the driver’s face for a sign of belief. It was there.

  Relieved, the driver said, “Jesus Christ, mate, yer’ll get yerself killed like that. Hop in and I’ll take yer to the station.”

  Dave scrambled around to the passenger side door and dragged it open. As he entered the van, he saw jacket-owner round the corner and look up and down the street, Dave hoped he’d found his wallet.

  “I’m goin’ through Parramatta. Where you goin’?”

  “I actually work in Parramatta, that’d be terrific. I’ll be early.” Dave lied. It was easy. There would be a lot of lying in future. Five minutes ago, he was pulling weeds in a park garden. Amazing.

  They sped down the Great Western Highway towards the city and were passed by wailing police cars travelling in the opposite direction. It had been simple.

  “Just here will be fine, thanks Mate.” Dave indicated the end of the Highway at Church Street.

  The driver handed him a box of tissues, “‘Ere wipe yer forehead, it’s bleedin’.”

  “Thanks, mate, I appreciate what you’ve done.”

  He walked along the Church Street mall, through the shopping centre and up towards Pennant Hills Road. He passed McDonald’s and there, parked up a side street, he noticed a loaded semi-trailer. He backtracked to McDonald’s and peered through the windows. There was a man on his own drinking coffee and reading a newspaper. He had on a jacket with a transport logo on the breast, “Excuse me, mate. Are you driving the Volvo rig, parked around the corner?”

  The man jumped to his feet. “Yeah! What’s happened?”

  “Nothing! Nothing! I was wondering if I could get a lift with you, I’ve got to get home, my father’s had a heart attack.” He fingered the wound on his forehead. “I’ve got no money, I’ve been mugged.”

  “Sure, son, but I’m only going as far as Coff’s Harbour. Where do you live?”

  “Toowoomba!” popped into Dave’s head.

  “I suppose you’re hungry, I’ve got another half hour to kill, yet,” he pushed five dollars across the table, “get yourself something to eat.”

  Three quarters of an hour later they were crawling up Pennant Hills Road towards the Sydney-Newcastle expressway.

  “Mac. Are you awake?” It was that nice soft voice again.

  “Yes Sister.”

  “It’s time for your wash. I’ll send an aide.”

  “I’m alright,” he said quickly, “I can do it.”

  “Do you need any pain killers?”

  “I wouldn’t mind a couple, thanks Sister.”

  Harry Bernard arrived at his bedside with a bowl of hot water, and all of the necessary tools of toiletry. “I don’t want all that.” Mac said and immediately regretted it.

  “Why not?” the hostility in Bernard’s tone wasn’t lost on the patient. “Compared with what you came in here with this’ll make you rich.”

  Helen arrived with the analgesic. “This is Harry Bernard, Mac.” She introduced them.

  “Huh! This is him, I thought I’d like him,” Mac pulled himself to a sitting position.

  “Listen to me you drunken arsehole,” Harry said through clenched teeth, “the only reason I’ll put up with you is because it’s my job. You blokes give me the shits. You Rambo your way through life without a thought for tomorrow or who pays the bills. Why don’t you do something for someone else for a change? You live on handouts, all this is free, you’ve got nothing. When you get out of here you’ll have to start bludging again.” With that Harry left. This was a side of him new to Helen.

  “He can’t judge me. He doesn’t know me. I’m not a bludger,” Mac said defensively.

  “You’re just a drunk. That’s what’s upset him.” Helen knew it was something else.

  “He couldn’t know.” There was hurt in Mac’s eyes. Despite his guarded existence something stirring deep within made him want to convince this woman with the cool hands and the soft voice that things were not as they seemed.

  “Doctor will be here by ten and Billy Rigby should come by today.” Helen drew the curtains and left and Mac got on with his wash. Sometime later his breakfast arrived in a glass.

  “Here’s your steak and mushrooms with eggs and chips and bacon on the side,” said the pink lady, with a giggle, handing him an egg-flip.

  “Yum!” he said.

  Chapter

  16

  The constable arrived shortly after breakfast. On his hospital round the cop had learned from day staff of a suspected bashing victim. Mac had dozed off and he woke in a panic when he saw the uniform, he looked to the sister for comfort. It was a strange face above the white uniform. Of course, she’s gone off duty. She can’t work without a break.

  “What’s your name,” demanded the cop. Mac gave him the first of a series of blank looks, “Christ they’re young now,” he thought.

  “Were you attacked?”

  “Did you have an accident?”

  “Where did it happen?”

  “Where do you work?”

  “Are you a cane cutter?”

  “Can you hear me? This is a bloody waste of time.”

  “I can hear you.” Mac whispered feebly.

  “He may have a short loss of memory, officer. Why don’t you come back at a later date? He won’t be going anywhere,” said the sister.

  “Won’t I.” thought Mac.

  “You’re probably right, Sister, I’ll go back and file a report.” And they left.

  “Thank Christ! Now all I have to do is get past this doctor. Shouldn’t be too
hard,” he reached for a mirror, “Shit! I couldn’t look any worse on a slab.” He reached for the button and pressed.

  The aide arrived and he was relieved it wasn’t Bernard. “Would you bring me scissors and a razor and some hot water and soap, please, Mate?”

  “I’ll do better than that,” the aide said, “I’ll shave you.”

  “No, just bring me the gear and I’ll be OK.” He wanted to do more than just shave; he wanted to wash away the dried blood matting the hair which wasn’t covered by bandages. He wanted to tidy up in general.

  “No, Doctor. Like I told the cops, I just got drunk and fell over.”

  “The police have been, have they?” Bramble had the bandages off Mac’s head, he was probing the wounds and Mac was biting his lip to keep from crying out, “I told the stupid bitch that’s what happened.”

  “What was that, Doc?”

  “Nothing. Your head wounds seem OK. How’s the ribs?”

  “Right as rain, Doc,” he gritted his teeth and beat a Tarzan on his rib cage. Through his tears he smiled, “Can I be discharged now?”

  “What did you have for breakfast?” Bramble wrote on a card and then reached for a prescription pad.

  “I had an egg-flip.” Mac had been tempted to say, ‘steak and mushrooms and eggs with bacon on the side,’ and wished he had after the doctor’s next comment.

  “Well, we’ll try you on solid food for the rest of the day and you can probably leave tomorrow. Get this prescription to pharmacy and get it filled, the walk will do you good.”

  “Shit! This is going to be a photo finish,” he thought on the way to the pharmacy, “between me getting out and the cops talking to the doctor.” There were sniggers and muffled laughs as he passed others outfitted like himself. Though amused by Mac’s exposure they reached behind themselves to check. For doesn’t the first law of hospitalization declare all gowns must fail by six inches to meet at the back?