Chapter Two
The rear of the police patrol car slid sideways slightly as it rounded the corner at a little over the recommended speed. The tyres trying desperately to find traction on the wet surface, the noise of rubber on tarmac competing with the wail of the siren. The outside world lit up by the red and blue flashing lights reflecting off the parked cars as the police patrol car accelerated down the quiet suburban street.
"Did you see that lot up in the bar earlier? It looks like it’s going to be a messy night", Steve Kirkland said, looking over at his partner. "I saw half of the lawyers from Jones Wilson in there as well".
Gillian Holler smiled a little as she manipulated the steering wheel slightly to avoid a skateboarder, skating on the roadside, almost invisible in the darkness. Her young partner was a bit of a fitness freak and she didn't know if he indulged or not, but if he thought that was going to be messy he would be horrified with what used to go on in the old police station bar when she first started in the job.
"Mike Bridger was promoted to Detective Sergeant", she said, "Do you know him?"
"Yeah I know him, I worked with him after I graduated from the police college", Steve said, holding on the door handle a bit tighter as Gillian swung the car into yet another fast turn, "It was before he became a Detective. His promotion surprises me; he was a bit of a loose unit back when I worked with him. You know I once saw him drink four pints of beer out of his police helmet.” Steve paused looking out the window at the passing darkness “I guess it will be a messy night for them".
You have no idea, Gillian thought.
A small red car pulled tentatively out of a side street up ahead, stopping in the middle of the road. Gillian jumped on the brakes, dropping her speed sharply and sounding the air horn.
"Bloody god damned Sunday drivers, all the lights and sirens in the world and he still pulls out in front of us".
Steve watched the shocked and pale elderly face of the driver flash by as the patrol car swerved around him and accelerated once more. The adrenalin in his system was just managing to overcome his fear of when someone else was driving the car. It was not that he did not trust Gillian driving, it is just he much preferred to be in control of the one ton speeding lump of metal that would seriously hurt him if it came off the road. He was not a very good passenger at the best of times.
To take his mind off what he thought would be certain death he picked up the radios microphone and asked for an update to the emergency call. The tinny sounding voice of the dispatcher came through the car speaker. He had to turn up the volume to compete with the sound of the engine and constant wailing of the siren.
"The informant reports that the house has gone quiet now, the last sounds heard were a child crying. No one has entered or left from the address. Occupants are unknown but informant states it is a young family, mum dad and one child. We have no previous record for this address. The informant also said the man of the house is a big guy, so be careful."
"Sounds like it’s all over", Steve said. "Just another form filling exercise I expect. What do you bet that the woman swears blind nothing happened while standing there with a bloody nose"?
Gillian did not reply she just kept her foot hard on the accelerator, eyes scanning ahead for any potential hazards.
Steve had only been in the job for a few years, but other people's arguments and problems made him jaded. He hated domestic disputes He hated with a passion having to report on an incident when one party had called police to solve what only amounted to an argument. On the other hand, he had also been to many disputes that had resulted in assault; some of them serious, so he knew that reporting each occurrence helped police build a picture of any escalating problems, which should in turn help them put in place some positive intervention. Well that was the theory the bosses always spouted at training days but it did not help him with the paperwork.
As they neared the address, Gillian switched off the siren and slowed the patrol car to a more sedate speed. Turning into the street, she pulled the car to a stop and shut everything down. Steve and Gillian got out of the warm car and into the cold and very quiet street. Steve shivered slightly in his shirtsleeves. Gillian pulled the zipper on her jacket up a bit further and they both started walking up the street towards the reported address.
They were wearing their Police issue stab proof vests and carried all the necessary tools on their belts should any danger present itself.
Steve felt bulletproof, his size and training he thought would see him through most problems.
Gillian felt vulnerable; it was not because she was a woman, but because she knew that her job and human nature would someday put her in a situation that would be beyond her capabilities. Because of this, she was always cautious and took every precaution she could. Never take anything at face value, she always told the new officers that she took under her wing.
She had been cautious this evening to park down the street from the address, one thing she did not want was someone to take a pot shot at them as they pulled into the driveway. Better, to approach on foot and assess the situation. Complacency could cause complications she did not need.
Steve had started to jog ahead a little as they neared the address, eager to get inside and sort out the situation, or maybe just get inside and warm up.
Just wear a jacket like every other normal person, Gillian thought, as she upped her pace to keep Steve in sight.
Steve was at the door knocking when she came through the gate. She could see his defensive posture in the way he held himself.
It is good to see you taking this seriously, she thought. Although Steve had been in the job long enough to know what he was doing, she still felt the need to watch out for him as she would for anyone she worked with.
A shadow was plainly visible behind the glass panel of the door.
"It's the police, open the door please", Steve called. The shadow did not move.
Gillian came up the front stairs and stood off to the side of the door and slightly behind Steve.
"Open the door, we need to check everyone is alright", Steve said a little louder and more forcefully.
Gillian put her hand on the hilt of her baton, feeling the hard reassurance in her hand. Her other hand unclipped the fastening holding her pepper spray in its case. Never be complacent. The shadow faded a little as if someone was backing away from the door, retreating or retrieving a weapon, it was hard to tell. Her breathing increased slightly.
"I know there is someone inside I can see your shadow, open the door please or I will have to force it open."
"Fuck off out of it, no one called you, we don't need you here."
The voice was male, his speech slurred and full of attitude.
"Open the door and let us be the judge of that."
"Fuck off, I don't want you here and neither does my Mrs."
"Can we speak with your wife?" Gillian said.
"I told you to fuck off, do you not understand what I'm saying piggy. Are you thick as pig shit or something...? Ah ha, pig shit...ha ha."
Both Gillian and Steve heard the male sniggering to himself as if he had said something funny.
"What do you want to do?” Steve asked Gillian.
"From the neighbor’s report it sounds as if it was a pretty noisy fight, we have to make sure that the wife is alright.... We're going to have to get inside", Gillian replied.
Steve looked at the door; it was wooden with a frosted glass panel at the top. There was only one lock, an old Yale type. A front door only kept honest people out. It opened inwards as all front doors do. "I can force this open pretty easily, and then we go in and grab him first,” he said, already tensing his body for the impact.
The voice behind the door continued to snigger and yell obscenities.
Gillian used her radio to request another patrol for backup.
Steve took a step back and delivered an accurate blow with his size 11 boot to the area of the door surrounding the lock. Inside the
obscenities got louder as the door gave way and swung inwards, catching Steve off guard.
Gillian’s mind was displaying everything in slow motion; there was an eerie muffled silence in her ears. She watched as Steve lost his balance and fell forwards into the hallway and collided with a man mountain standing there in his boxer shorts and an old white singlet. He was big, muscle turning to fat, shoulder length hair hanging lank against his sweaty neck.
"I told you guys to fuck off", the man mountain said, holding his massive fists down by his waist.
Gillian looked down at Steve who was desperately trying to regain his footing in the narrowness of the hallway, and then back up at the man mountain. Blood covered his dirty singlet. His scratched facet twisted into an angry sneer. Small amounts of blood had already coagulated in clumps that looked like red stubble on his chin.
It took less than a few seconds for her mind to run through all the possibilities of what had happened for him to be in the state he was and then calculate what was happening now. In the same period, she had also assessed what was going to happen.
She made her decision subconsciously, watching as her arm came up in a fluid motion holding the small blue canister of Oleoresin Capsicum spray. She watched as a small stream of liquid arced across the gap between them and tracked upwards towards the man mountain’s eyes. She saw the man mountain stagger backwards slightly, and then his face went from an angry sneer to that of surprise, then to that of a man in immense pain. His massive hands came up to his eyes and he screamed.
She watched as Steve regained his footing in slow motion and brought his shoulder up into the man’s chest forcing the air out of his lungs. The man mountain deflated and fell to the floor curling up in a fetal position, holding his hands over his eyes and screaming like a newborn child.
"Calm down you big baby", Steve said, as he went to secure the man’s hands behind his back. "Pass me some plastic cuffs Gill, I can't get this guys arms close enough behind his back to put proper cuffs on."
Gillian looked down at Steve who was struggling with the man's arms, his shoulders were so big and inflexible they would not bend the right way. She looked up again at the space that the man mountain had occupied and could now see further down the dimly lit hallway. A small and frightened face looked back at her from the darkness. It was a little girl; she looked pale and ghostly in her white nightdress. Her face was glowing in the darkness, radiating her fear from every pore in her skin.
Gillian put out her hand and reached towards her but the gap between them seemed impossible to bridge. Then the expression on the girls face turned to that of indifference. Almost as if, this regular occurrence did not faze her. Gillian's heart twitched in her chest. This was probably was a very regular occurrence in her short life. A life she would continue to live, as she got older if the cycle was not broken.
The face disappeared back into the darkness making Gillian question whether she had actually seen her at all.
Her senses were coming back to her now, noises invading the muffled silence, she could hear music playing in another room, one of those American singers with the big bums, Beyonce, Nicki Minaj, someone like that, singing about women power or something, not really her style at all. The whole scene was surreal.
"Gill, pass me those cuffs will you, I'm having a wee bit of trouble here", Steve said, breathing heavily with the exertion.
Brought back to reality Gillian reached for the rear of her belt, retrieved two plastic cuffs, and handed them to Steve. The cuffs were no more than your average plastic tie used in all sorts of everyday situations. But they were also perfect to secure a wrist too big for proper handcuffs
"Bloody stab vests, make it hard to breath sometimes", Steve said, as he wrapped the ties around the man's wrists and secured them together by pulling them tight. "There, that's you nicked then big fella."
The sound of boots thumping on the pavement outside made them both look towards the door. Two more uniforms came into view. One of the officers had his hat on slightly askew; the other was carrying his baton fully extended in his hand. The poorly painted doorframe framed them both in a picture. The music playing in the background along with the red and blue lights blinking outside made it look like they were arriving at a bad taste fancy dress disco.
"Looks like you two don't need the cavalry after all, bloody typical, we miss out on all the fun", the larger of the two officers said, as he took in the sight of the man mountain lying face down in handcuffs.
"It's just what we do", Steve said, grinning as he stood up and smoothed his trousers. He left the man mountain lying on the floor sniveling quietly.
The officer looked at Gillian. "Do you need us to do anything Gill?”
"Thanks Brendan", Gillian said, regaining some of her composure.” We have not seen the wife yet to see if she is okay, I think there may be a little girl in the back room as well. Could you and Darren go and have a look for us, we need to get this lump back to the cells before he kicks off again".
"No problems", Brendan said, as he and Darren pushed past the crowd of bodies in the hallway and disappeared further into the house.
Steve had lifted the man mountain to his feet and was leading him unsteadily out the door. His eyes shut tightly, snot and tears streaking his face. Pepper spray was an effective tool.
"The A team strikes again", Steve said, as he pushed the man mountain into the back seat of the patrol car.
The air outside was cold, the perspiration steaming off their foreheads making it look like two friends sharing a cigarette.
"It worked out Ok this time Steve, but we were lucky," Gillian said. "We should have waited a little longer for backup before kicking the door in".
"Come on Gill, we needed to get in there to stop him hurting his wife more. We can't muck about with scum who beat their wives". Steve slammed the car door shut, not bothering to see if the man mountain was fully inside.
"He was standing behind the door talking to us Steve, we knew where he was. A few more minutes would not have hurt. When we work together your decisions affect me to you know. I want to go home at the end of my shift, not to the hospital".
"Point taken Gill, but let me say one more thing".
"What".
"You’re a bloody fast shot with the spray... Partner", he smiled and thumped Gillian on the shoulder.
It took more than an hour to book the man mountain into the custody suite at Dunedin Central Police Station; after-care was unavoidable whenever they subjected a person to a liberal pepper spraying by the police.
According to the Senior Sergeant running the cellblock, it served two purposes. The first was that it ensured that the subject was not likely to have any unwanted side effects from the spray, but the second and most important one in his book was that it stopped them sniveling or screaming in pain, which made his life a lot happier, and a happy Senior Sergeant made for a happy workplace.
It turned out that man mountain's name was Leon Sutcliffe, a 6 ' 6", 36 year old man of no substance. The only record the police held for him was his driver’s license. He was unemployed; he did not suffer from any mental illness or allergies. He was not thinking about harming himself, and had never had any previous dealings with police. He lived in rented accommodation with his de facto partner Tina Hamilton and their daughter Lucy. He had been drinking that evening with his partner but did not consider himself intoxicated, despite the reek of stale alcohol coming from his breath.
He acknowledged that he had several minor injuries to his face, but declined to say how they occurred. The only statement he made to police was to say that they had it all wrong.
"He went down without much of a fight after that dose of spray you gave him", Steve said while filling in yet another form.
Gillian did not reply.
Looking at the pile of forms in front of him, Steve frowned. "Two hours of paperwork for ten seconds of fun", he added without looking up.
"The face of that little girl in the hallwa
y....” Gillian said, "What she must have seen..., it's not fair you know, the kids don't choose to be in that situation, I blame it on the mother, she has the choice to leave. It's no environment for children".
Gillian did not have kids of her own, she had not even had a proper long-term relationship, there was no man was willing to put up with her dedication to the job for long. However, if she ever had children she knew damn well that their welfare would come first.
"I just hope the wife is not to badly hurt", she said.
"I think I can help you with answering that question", Brendan said, walking into the office. He was still carrying his baton fully extended in his hand. Darren followed him into the room.
Gillian and Steve’s eyes went to the baton questioningly.
"Brendan’s got his baton stuck again", Darren said, looking back at Brendan. "It’s probably still full of seaweed from your wee swim in the harbor the other day...., I told you to strip it down and give it some lubrication, but would you listen".
"I haven't had time yet", Brendan retorted, looking sheepish.
"What wee swim would that be Brendan?" Gillian said.
"Last night shift", Darren said, grinning like a Cheshire cat, "Brendan chased that idiot from the robbery in town. They ended up in the harbor. The person could obviously swim and disappeared into the darkness and escaped. Brendan was bobbing around like a big blue duckling. He forgot that he was wearing body armor and boots. I don't know who was the bigger idiot, the robber or Brendan".
"I had no choice Darren, as my partner couldn't keep up…” Brendan said, punching Darren in the shoulder. "Someone had to give it a go".
"You're like an old married couple, you two", Gillian said, "Stop bickering and tell us about the wife".
"Well it turns out your big guy in the cells might not be a tough as he looks", Brendan said. "We found the wife in the lounge, large as life and twice as ugly. She was fairly pissed and had a nasty temper on her. She took an instant dislike to Darren, I'm not going to repeat some of the things she called him".
"Was she badly injured? Our man had a fair amount of blood on him", Steve asked.
"Not a scratch on her, it all belongs to him. It seems that we have a case of a battered husband, and I don’t mean ‘deep fried’ either. The little girl confirmed it. Apparently, mummy gets angry when she drinks her special drinks. She yells at daddy and occasionally daddy has scratches and bruises on his face. Daddy tells her he got drunk and fell over, but the little girl is brighter than they both think".
"She was pretty matter of fact about it all", added Darren, "I believe her, and by the look of the recycling bin outside, they drink a lot of special drinks".
"So you sprayed an innocent man", Steve said looking at Gillian with a smile. "Which means he was assaulted by two different females in one day, it has to be some kind of record, don't you think".
Gillian looked at Steve, disappointment on her face "I don't think it's something you should joke about Steve", she said sternly. "That poor little girl is caught up in the middle of her dysfunctional parent’s issues. It is going to really mess with her head. What a shitty life she must be leading".
"We took her with us'" Brendan chipped in. "Mum was too drunk to look after her, so she is downstairs waiting for a social worker to pick her up".
"Well at least that's something", Gillian mumbled under her breath.
"I guess we need to go down to the cells and speak with Mr. Sutcliffe and see if he wants to make a complaint of assault", Steve said.
"Its Mr. Sutcliffe now is it, what happened to all the names you were calling him before?” Brendan said.
"A man can change his mind", Steve replied.
The radio on Brendan’s belt crackled into life.
'Any available units are required at the Revive Club on George Street; reports are coming in of a large disturbance outside'.
Gillian looked at the clock on the wall; it was five minutes before midnight. It is starting early tonight, she thought, sucking in a deep breath and wishing she could have a cigarette.
It took less than two minutes for the procession of patrol cars to leave the police station and arrive at the club in George Street. Three cars had responded from the central police station, moving through the streets like a disco snake, lights flashing and sirens blaring. Late night revelers took no notice as the noisy parade flashed by. One patrol car had responded from North Dunedin and had approached from the other side. In all, there were eight police officers on the scene.
There was a sea of bodies moving in unison, funneling in and out of the tight alleyway leading to the entrance of the club. Within the flow, people were fighting each other over petty reasons, fuelled by alcohol and false bravado. Fists raised above the melee in different places, like schools of angry fish jumping out of the waves. The two dark suited bouncers on the door were bravely trying to prevent anyone from entering into the club, not wanting the tide of violence to wash into their dance floors.
The eight police officers gathered on the edge of the mêlée, momentarily stunned at the task ahead of them. No one spoke; adrenaline was coursing through them, heart rates increasing, the body’s way of preparing for the impending violence. Fight or flight was the saying. Unfortunately, for the eight people there wearing a blue uniform, flight was not an option.
The sound of glass breaking behind them broke the impasse as a full bottle of beer shattered against the gutter, spraying foam all over a young female bent double and vomiting onto the pavement, the brown liquid mixing with the bile and flowing into the drains. The female just wiped her mouth and sat down, oblivious.
A few meters in front of them, two other females were trying to drag the culprit away before he could reload.
Some of the crowd had noticed the uniforms now and had started to turn their attention towards the police.
"Right", Gillian said, "We need to get this under control before those jealous boyfriends turn their attention from their love rivals to us.” She looked at each of the officers in turn to make sure they were all on the same page. “Start at the back and move as many as you can, no time for any arrests unless absolutely necessary. We can follow up on that later".
Gillian looked up at the camera on the pole and hoped it was recording.
Then the blue uniforms waded into the tide.
Like most angry crowds, ninety percent of the participants are just there milling about, hoping to see something violent happen, not actually wanting to join in. The voyeuristic bloodlust is the same as that of the audience to the ancient gladiator fights. Most people move on when confronted with a hyped up police officer holding an extended baton and telling them to go home, some did not, they needed more convincing. They were mostly young men, high on alcohol or other substances, with an inflated sense of self-importance making them buck against authority.
Mostly…
Gillian stood nose to nose with an animal by any description. Alcohol and fury had ravaged the girl’s features into a snarling spitting mess. Her unfocused eyes were trying hard to focus on Gillian but not succeeding.
"Fuck you pig bitch", she spat. "You can't tell us to go home".
Her friends standing in the background were coaxing her on, trying to get her to lash out.
"Stand back", Gillian demanded, before pushing the girl in the chest and reaching down to her belt, feeling for the comfort of her spray. She backed away slightly as she fumbled with the fastening, trying to give herself some room. The girl stumbled backwards into her friends arms, they immediately shoved her forward again, eager to help the violence. She stumbled towards Gillian.
"I told you to stay back", Gillian said as she raised her small blue canister in front of her for a second time that night.
The girl regained her balance, raised her fist in an exaggerated manner and kept advancing.
Her intentions clearly signaled by her actions, decision made, Gillian depressed the button at the top of the canister. She heard the hissing sou
nd of the canisters pressure filled contents expelling, but saw that the girl was still advancing. She tried to focus her eyes to pick up the stream and direct it into the girl’s face, the girl kept advancing. There was no stream.
She realised the hissing sound was the ugly sound of an empty canister. Then the hissing stopped, the canisters pressure was exhausted.
Gillian did not see it coming but she sure felt the girl’s fist connect with her left eye, it was a surprisingly heavy blow. She felt her knees go weak, stars sparked around inside her eyes.
Dizzy and losing her balance, she stumbled backwards and sat down heavily, winding herself. The girl was standing over her, looking between Gillian then back at her friends for praise. Momentarily infamous for her actions, buoyed up with what she had done. Crossed a line that she thought she was the first to cross.
Gillian was struggling to regain the upper hand. The girl was still standing astride her, trying to work out what to do next, she aimed an ineffectual kick that glanced off her shoulders. The girl’s initial dose of anger had seeped out of her, replaced by uncertainty. The more rational side of her mind was fighting against the alcohol soaked majority.
Gillian reached for her extendable baton; it was not where it should be. Shit, it must have fallen out when I fell, she thought. She frantically searched the ground around her, not taking her eyes off the girl. She was scratching at empty ground. The girl’s eyes locked on hers, alcohol winning the battle. The evil smile on her face painted a vivid picture in Gillian's mind as she watched her raise her foot and smash it down towards her face.
Her intoxication had caused the girl to misjudge the distance between them and the stomp connected squarely with Gillian's chest, her stab proof vest taking most of the impact out of it.
Gillian was now flat on her back. Above her, she could see the girl’s triumphant look turn to shock as a flash of blue uniforms shoved her roughly to the ground
She looked over towards the mound of bodies. Jo Williamson had a knee in the small of the girls back; her blonde hair had come out of its tie and was hanging down over the girl as she struggled to place the handcuffs on the girl’s wrists. She watched as Jo stood up and hauled the girl to her feet, both girls red with exertion. Both Jo and the girl were of similar ages, both had blonde hair, but the difference was startling. Jo looked almost angelic against the struggling, snarling mess beside her, Beauty and the Beast.
Gillian laughed inside at the comparison. The only other female on her group, Jo Williamson was a likeable and capable police officer. She would have to remember to tell her.
The angry noise in her head was fading, looking around her she saw the legs of running people, the noise that had greeted them had died to a hushed silence. The sight of a police officer being hit and falling to the ground had made the crowd realize the seriousness of the situation. Most of them had decided that they did not want to be part of the crowd anymore and had disappeared. The girl’s friends had disappeared, leaving their friend to her own fate.
"Are you Ok?” Steve asked, crouching down beside her.
"Yeah, just a lucky shot that's all".
"Well it looks like you're going to get a black eye at the very least for your trouble, might have to take the next couple of days off. Not a bad thing though, I know how you hate early shifts".
"We'll see", she replied standing up.
That is the second time tonight I have felt detached from the scene, she thought to herself, I need a break.
Breathing in and looking around her from her standing position, she saw various intoxicated people in handcuffs sitting against the wall. An eclectic group of specimens found only in the darkness of night. The tide had gone out and left everything behind that was to slow to realize the difference. She saw her colleagues talking to some very intoxicated Detectives; one had his tie wrapped around his head like a bandana.
"Don't tell me Mike’s lot ended up here, were they involved in this?”
"I don't think so from what they are saying," Grant replied, "But they are pretty pissed".
"Is Mike with them?”
"Darren saw him slipping off into the darkness with a certain blonde lawyer just after it all went pear shaped. He's married isn't he?”
"Does that stop any man when he's pissed", Gillian said.
"Hey I don't play around on my girlfriend when I'm drinking", Steve said with mock offence, “If anything it makes me want her more the drunker I get".
"You're a saint Steve", Gillian replied, her mind already on the paperwork ahead as well as what to do with Mr. Sutcliffe and his abusive wife.
Looking at her watch the time was ten minutes past one in the morning, they were supposed to have knocked off at ten o’clock the previous evening, it was turning out to be a long night.
Human Frailty, a Detective Mike Bridger novel Page 3