by Chris Taylor
She thought of the way he’d been when he’d first come to see her as a patient and was proud of how far he’d come. She loved that she’d had a tiny part to do with his healing and couldn’t wait to spend more time by his side.
“Your locum must be nearly finished,” Lachlan murmured in a quieter tone. “I seem to recall you telling me at the Griffin barbeque that you were only taking over from Phoebe Jamison for a month.”
“Yes,” Ava said and couldn’t help the surge of disappointment at the reminder. She wondered what would become of her and Lachlan’s new relationship when she had to leave.
Her life was in the city. She had her own private practice at the Sydney Harbour Hospital. He was a country cop. Though he’d been born in the city, as far as she knew he had no intention of moving back. Then her thoughts snagged on something else he’d said and she forgot about their dilemma.
Phoebe Jamison. Her friend and colleague and the daughter of John Jamison: the state premier. She sat forward.
Lachlan lifted his head at her sudden movement and turned to look at her.
“What is it?”
“Phoebe. She’s John Jamison’s daughter.”
“The premier?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know that.”
Ava shrugged. “She doesn’t advertise it. People have their own opinions about the government, good or bad. She prefers to live her life the way she wants, free from other people’s judgements.”
“Fair enough.”
“But, she is the premier’s daughter.” She stared at him and waited for him to make the obvious connection. It didn’t take long.
His eyes lit up in understanding and a smile widened his lips. “She’s the premier’s daughter,” he repeated slowly. “How well do you know her?”
The sudden urgency in his voice made her chuckle. “Well enough. You see where this is going?”
“Oh, I see where this is going all right. If I could get a meeting with the premier, I could bypass the commissioner altogether. I’d rather talk to the butcher, not the block.”
Ava chuckled again and shook her head. She was sure the premier and the police commissioner would be appalled by Lachlan’s metaphor, but it was apt. Whilst the commissioner was powerful in his own circles, the premier had the power to influence legislation. He could even convince his party to pass new laws to give police officers greater support and more access to real solutions that would make a difference.
It was a good plan. All she needed to do was make the introductions and hope Phoebe had enough influence over her father to convince him to meet with Lachlan.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lachlan wiped his sweaty palms on his suit pants and tried to quell his nerves. Phoebe Jamison had worked on her father more quickly than he and Ava could have imagined and now he found himself waiting in the grand reception area outside the premier’s office in Parliament House, located in the state’s capital. It was only a fortnight after his first TV interview.
The speed with which the premier had agreed to see him might also have something to do with the fact that Lachlan had been in high demand by several national current affairs television shows and talkback radio stations. He’d lost count of the number of interviews he’d given since the morning of Martin’s death, both in person and over the phone.
He was more tired than he could remember, but if his speaking out meant that people in a position of power listened, then it was worthwhile. He refused to let the death of Martin and his family be in vain or let other officers continue to suffer in silence.
The door to the premier’s office opened and a man who introduced himself as one of the premier’s advisors ushered Lachlan inside. John Jamison looked a little younger and thinner than he appeared on television, but he was still a portly man. The overhead lights bounced off his shiny balding head, momentarily distracting Lachlan from his purpose. He blinked, averted his gaze and then took the seat that was offered.
The premier nodded in Lachlan’s direction from his position behind his large, dark cedar desk. The advisor took up a position in one corner. After exchanging introductions and brief pleasantries, the premier settled his bulk, shifted a few bundles of paper out of the way and clasped his fingers together in front of him.
“Now, Detective Coleridge. I understand you requested to meet with me about the support available to mentally unstable police officers. Is that correct?”
Lachlan held onto his temper. It wouldn’t do to antagonize the man who could help him so early into their conversation. He forced a smile.
“I appreciate you taking the time to see me, Premier. And yes, I do have some concerns. But not about mentally unstable police officers. My fears and concerns are for police officers suffering PTS and who are forced all too often to witness unforgettable atrocities. Detective Constable Martin Griffin was a fine officer with a decade of experience. He recently took his life and the lives of his wife and children.”
The premier tut tutted and shook his head slowly back and forth. “Yes, it was a terrible tragedy. I first heard about it on the news and of course, I was later briefed by the commissioner. I understand the deceased was a colleague of yours. I’m very sad for your loss, but I’m not sure what these deaths have to do with anything.”
The premier lasered Lachlan with the piercing Jamison gaze he was renowned for, but Lachlan refused to flinch. Drawing in a deep breath, he returned the premier’s forthright stare.
“With all due respect, Premier, the deaths of Martin Griffin and his family have everything to do with my reason for being here. Sadly, Martin’s suicide isn’t the first—by far. Nobody knows the exact number of officers who have taken their own lives, but I believe the numbers would be staggering. The truly tragic thing is that many of those deaths could have been avoided.”
The premier appeared unconvinced. “There’s no proof those deaths were job-related. The majority of the suicides you’re referring to happened after the officers left the police service. There is evidence quite a number of them had drug and alcohol problems and significant personal issues at the time of their deaths. Isn’t that right, Stanley?”
The premier turned toward his advisor, who offered his boss a nod. “That’s correct, Premier.”
Lachlan’s temper rose along with his frustration, but he forced himself to remain calm. He had to make both of them see.
“That might be so, but what the reports fail to state is that the drug and alcohol and personal problems arose because of an inability by those officers to cope with the extreme psychological demands of their jobs. I accept that none of them came across a fatal car accident and then went home and killed himself because of that one incident, but the causal link is there, just the same—and in an accumulative way. You have to understand, this illness is insidious. It’s months and often years of facing that kind of trauma that results in these tragic and preventable deaths.”
The premier’s expression sharpened. “Preventable? Are you blaming the police service, Detective? Are you saying the support systems in place at the moment are inadequate? Stanley has assured me we provide every police officer with free, direct phone access to the Employee Assistance Program any time they need it. In the case of truly horrific circumstances—attending a fatal car accident, or something of that nature, like you mentioned—I understand it is accepted protocol for team leaders to insist that their officers receive telephone counseling. Are you telling me that’s not happening?”
“Yes, Premier. You’re correct, but the problem doesn’t only lie there, where it’s obvious. The problem is systemic, and lies in the ingrained attitude of senior officers who denigrate anyone who puts up his hand for help.”
Lachlan shook his head; his frustration was harder and harder to control. “The thing is,” he added, “we’ve all seen the EAP posters around the tea room and in the corridors—telling us how and where to get help, but the moment anyone admits to needing it or seeking it, they’re crucified—by their co
lleagues and very often, by their boss.”
The premier narrowed his eyes and stared at Lachlan. “Have you had personal experience with this, Detective?”
Lachlan held his gaze. “Yes. I have. And so have many others. It’s the worst kept secret in the office. The judgement and ridicule isn’t necessarily overt, although sometimes it is. About a month ago, I finally found the courage to approach my commanding officer and tell him I was struggling emotionally with the demands of the job; that I needed help.”
“And what response did you get?”
“I was told to man up and heal myself with alcohol.”
The premier’s eyes widened in surprise. “That was certainly direct.”
Lachlan grimaced. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t an isolated or unpredictable response, Premier. This attitude of casual dismissal of an illness so real and terrible is universal throughout the police service and it’s perpetuated from within the highest levels. You don’t need to take my word for it. Interview any officer, past or present, and if they have the courage, they’ll tell you the same thing.”
Jamison leaned his bulk back against his leather chair. It squeaked in protest. Pinning Lachlan with an assessing gaze, he mused, “Why are you only now bringing this to everyone’s attention, Detective? You’ve been incredibly vocal on the radio and television these last couple of weeks. I get that your friend and colleague recently took his and his family’s lives, but you’ve served as a police officer for at least a decade. You must have seen your fair share of terrible things and other evidence of this so-called dismissive attitude long before now. What’s given you the fortitude to come forward at this time?”
Lachlan stared back at him and tried to gather his thoughts. Martin’s death had certainly given him impetus, but there was more to it than that. It was getting help through therapy with Ava that had finally given him the courage to break his silence.
“Up until now, Premier, my thoughts have been far from clear and my ability to take action has been impeded by my emotional instability caused by the very kind of thing I mentioned. Fatal accidents, tragic deaths, senseless violence. I’ve been up and down and all over the place. For a long time, I’ve been floundering and needed help. I never thought about suicide, but I can understand how officers suffering from mental illnesses get to that scary place. They lose their resiliency and because they’re handling additional loads of baggage in the form of PTSD… Well they reach a point where there’s just no way to carry more.”
He drew in a ragged breath and continued. “These officers have families to support, demands of home and community as well as the inordinate load to serve and protect individuals, businesses, communities and government that they face at work. Any person, experiencing the gauntlet of trauma day in and day out, would experience the same. Only ordinary people can go, unscathed, to counselors or psychiatrists and get the help they need. They move along with their career plans, advance the circumstances of their family…and participate fully in life. For a serving police officer, those things don’t come that easy.
“Admitting to my superior that I was struggling was difficult. I was fearful of jeopardizing my career. I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I’ve put up with things no normal person should and I did it because I love my job. I love being a cop. But make no mistake, Premier. It comes at a price. It takes its toll in the dark and silent hours before dawn and then, even when the sun’s shining, the blackness doesn’t completely leave. Families fall apart. Lives blister… It was only after my own recent family breakup, I realized I had a problem and I needed to get help. I was one of the lucky ones who sought help outside work. It’s given me the strength and clear mindedness to know speaking out about this is the right thing to do. Martin’s death was tragic, and became the catalyst—for pushing for change.”
Lachlan’s breath came fast. He leaned forward, his heart thumping. “Knowing how many of my colleagues are out there suffering, I can no longer turn a blind eye without doing something to help them. Some have found the courage to seek help, but they’re being crucified for it. Others are too afraid of what it will mean for their careers if they admit to any weakness—and they are the ones I feel for most because they’re the ones most likely to end up another dark statistic.”
Anger stirred through him at the thought and he clenched his fists. He glared at the premier. “How many more brave and loyal officers will you let die before you step in and say, enough is enough? Tell me, Premier? I’d really like to know because if one more officer takes his life on your watch through the lack of support of those around him, it will be one life too many and make no mistake—it will be on you.”
The premier stared at him with narrowed eyes, but finally heaved a sigh. “You make a good case, Detective. If what you say is true, there are good police officers suffering without support or help and punished when they seek it. The thought that some of our strongest and bravest might even have arrived at the point where they’ve committed suicide saddens me beyond words.”
Lachlan eyeballed him, unmoved by his rhetoric. “You talk pretty words, Premier, but I’m more interested in action. What are you going to do about this? What are you going to do to save the lives of Australia’s police officers? They have sworn to serve and protect you and your family and all the families of this fine State, but who is protecting them, Premier? Who is protecting them?”
A red flush started up the premier’s neck and he squirmed beneath Lachlan’s unrelenting glare. Averting his gaze, Jamison picked up a bundle of papers and moved them to another part of his desk.
“I-I’ll look into it, Detective Coleridge. I’ll call a meeting with the police minister and the commissioner. I assume one, or both of them, have all of the statistics you’re talking about.”
Lachlan offered him a bitter smile. “That’s the thing, Premier, and that’s part of the reason why we have this problem. Like I mentioned before, a lot of the suicides by police officers or former police officers are summarily dismissed by those in charge as being caused by other reasons.” He stared pointedly at the man across from him. “Just like you did.”
The rekindled knowledge that this went on far too often sent hot anger flooding through Lachlan’s veins once again. This time, he let the premier feel the full force of his fury.
“Nobody wants to admit, Premier, that it’s the job and the lack of support dealing with the shit that comes our way every single day that’s causing good men and women to take their lives. The official stats mean nothing. Go and make further enquires, on your own. I dare you!”
Lachlan’s breath came harsh and fast, but he refused to back down. Ignoring the concern that filled the face of Jamison’s advisor, Lachlan glared at the premier and let him have it again.
“Set up an independent enquiry into the deaths of cops, employed, retired, on medical leave, or who quit, who have attempted or taken their own lives. Remove the rose-tinted glasses and have the guts to see it for what it is. Admit that you, as a government, are failing these brave officers and the families that love them. They are the ones forced to deal with the devastating consequences.”
The premier contemplated him in silence, a frown etching deep grooves into his face. Lachlan struggled to slow down his breathing and get his temper back under control.
“You’ve made your point, Detective,” Jamison said at last, “and I will certainly be taking it under advisement.” He glanced at his advisor and then back to Lachlan. “You have my word, I’ll meet with the minister and the commissioner and thereafter, I’ll formulate a plan.”
Lachlan stared at him. “So, you’ll set up an enquiry?”
The premier nodded, his expression grave. “If that’s what is warranted, I’ll make sure it happens. It has to go through the party, of course, but you’ll be pleased to know my opinion carries a good deal of weight in these things. Your frequent appearances in the media have done your cause no harm. People are talking about it and wondering. Questions are being asked. Maybe the time
is ripe for a change?”
Then the premier shook his head slowly, his eyes heavy with sadness. “The possibility that even some of these deaths might have been prevented distresses me. And you’re right. No one else should be allowed to die. Not because of their working conditions and certainly not from lack of support. This is the twenty-first century and we live in a first world country. People should not be dying due to stress and inadequate support on their job, and that’s the end of it.”
* * *
Lachlan headed along Macquarie Street, away from the premier’s office. The mid-morning Sydney streets were busy with noisy traffic and crowds of pedestrians he barely noticed. He felt like he’d gone a round or two with Danny Green, was dazed and a little confused, but all in all, he was satisfied with the outcome of his meeting.
It seemed like he had finally gotten through to the man who ran the state and was quietly hopeful some real change would come of it that would see long term benefits for him and his colleagues. It saddened him that Martin wouldn’t benefit, but if it prevented other cops in the future from getting to that point of no return, then it was worth it.
His thoughts strayed to Ava. He wanted so much to talk to her. Though they’d attended the Griffin family funeral together, in the days afterwards, he’d put all of his focus on arranging media opportunities and fronting the press. Ava had returned to the city a few days earlier. It tore his heart apart to see her go, but there was nothing he could do. Her stint in the country was finished.
Making his way through Hyde Park, Lachlan crossed over Elizabeth Street and tugged out his phone. He hadn’t seen Ava since she’d left, though he’d arrived in Sydney the day before. His hours had been spent prepping for, and giving interviews. And, he’d been nervous at the thought of approaching her again now that she was back on her home turf. Back where she belonged.