Under Siege

by Belinda Neil

  I walked up to the truck and said, ‘Bill, I spoke with you earlier.’ Bill stopped rocking the truck.

  I said, ‘You promised to behave and I promised you would not be hurt. I will stay here while you get out of the truck to ensure that happens. Do you promise to behave?’

  Bill started to vent again about the AVO and the unfairness of it so we discussed that for a couple of minutes. I also said he had the option of leaving the truck voluntarily, or the police having to use force against him – in either case, I said, he would be coming out of the truck.

  Bill agreed to come out peacefully, and did. I thanked him and he was taken to the charge room. I did not hear anything from Bill again in my time at Kogarah.

  I have always known what an important tool communication is, and one we simply do not use enough. Of course it will not work in every circumstance, as that is the nature of policing. However, I have found that in a majority of cases people want and need to be listened to.

  Ironically, it was far more difficult to apply communication skills at home than it was at work. Tension between Rob and me was still rife. One morning, however, Rob came home from a night shift and I could see he was very distressed and needed to talk.

  The day before, Mother’s Day, a woman who had been cycling along Captain Cook Road between Cronulla and Kurnell had disappeared. Her nine-year-old son had been devastated when she failed to turn up for Mother’s Day lunch. A report had also been received of a car that had run off the road that day. Rob had not been working in the morning, but that evening he had gone into work to complete an investigation in his own time and he spoke with relatives of the woman. He had seen her distressed son and felt his pain. Rob had a gut feeling that he needed to go back out to the Cronulla/Kurnell area, particularly to the site where the car had run off the road, to do a thorough search. He did not believe that a possible link between the missing cyclist and the car running off the road had been investigated thoroughly enough.

  About 2am Rob went out on his own to the area where the car had run off the road. About 2.30am he found the coloured cover of a bike helmet by the side of the road. He looked at it but did not touch it. He walked 20 metres further on to where the clearing met the bushes and made heartwrenching discoveries; the smashed-up cycle and the broken bloodied body of the woman cyclist, about 40 metres from where the car left the road. Rob quickly determined that she was dead. He was shocked and saddened and totally disgusted with the lack of attention given to searching that area earlier in the day. He was also concerned that the woman might have survived if she had been given immediate medical attention; however, later it was found that her injuries were so extensive she would have died shortly after the accident.

  We spent some time together talking through Rob’s experience. I knew that articulating what was on his mind it would help him process what had happened in some small way. Eventually he went to get some much-needed sleep.

  Later that morning the home telephone rang. It was a sergeant from Miranda asking if Rob was ‘all right’. I was quite emphatic when I said, ‘No,’ and that Rob was very upset and affected by the evening’s events. The sergeant asked whether he should organise a debriefing for everyone involved. I was dumbfounded. I couldn’t believe that he needed to ask me that question as the answer was obvious; of course he should. Later I found out that the debriefing was never held nor was counselling offered to Rob. The only time Rob was able to express his despair and horror at the situation was in his conversation with me.

  After this event, Rob found it difficult to sleep and was often irritable. I was also irritable and not sleeping properly, so we were constantly fighting. We could help each other in crisis, offer support, listen actively, acknowledge feelings and explore what had happened, but our day-to-day communication was breaking down and we could barely be civil to each other.

  There is another side to the communication process, one that can have a detrimental effect on both the communicator and the recipient: the delivery of a death message. There can be no more devastating news than the unexpected death of a loved one, and delivering this message is one of the most difficult duties a police officer can undertake. You know you are about to be responsible for the worst moment in someone else’s life. Incredibly, there is no official training to deliver the most shocking news someone will ever receive. It is an expected role of the police officer, just part of our duties.

  After sixteen years in the police force I had never delivered a death message, simply because this is a role undertaken by general duty police, not detectives. This was about to change.

  In November 2002 on night shift I was called to attend a fatal motorcycle accident in the suburb of Bexley. It was after 10pm when I arrived at the accident scene. There were skid marks more than forty metres from the final resting place of the motorcycle. It appeared that the rider had hit a median strip in the middle of the road, causing him to be thrown from the motorcycle. He landed some eighteen metres away with the bike possibly flipping over once or twice. His bike helmet had not been fastened properly and was found some ten metres from his body. Where his body had lain was a large pool of blood, and his head had been very badly injured.

  Ambulance officers at the scene had attempted to revive him, but his pupils remained fixed and dilated and he had no pulse. He was still in the ambulance when I arrived. I decided not to view the body, more as a protective measure for my mental health than for any other reason. It wasn’t necessary, and I had seen enough death.

  My responsibilities included scene preservation – ensuring perimeters had been set up to divert traffic and any onlooker – that the appropriate agencies were contacted, and that police started looking for witnesses. One witness who had been behind the motorcyclist said that the rider had been travelling at high speed before losing control and hitting the median strip. This account verified what we had seen.

  One of the police guarding a perimeter radioed for me to come over. A young man was sitting forlornly on a fence and the constable said she thought he was the owner of the motorbike.

  His name was Frank. He said he had lent the bike to his friend Nick earlier in the evening so Nick could visit his estranged wife. Frank thought the couple might have had an argument and wanted to know if his friend was all right. I felt terrible for this young man who did not know his friend was dead. Even though Nick’s next of kin had not yet been informed, it did not seem appropriate to keep the information from his friend.

  I sat down next to Frank, on a concrete fence outside a house and said, ‘I am so sorry to tell you this but Nick has passed away.’ He looked at me in disbelief, obviously still expecting Nick to return the motorbike. I asked whether there was anything I could do for him.

  I told him I had no contact details for Nick’s next of kin and asked whether he could help. He pointed straight down the road towards a block of villas and said that that was where the estranged wife, Angela, lived, in almost direct line of sight of the accident. Nick and Angela had only been separated for a couple of months and Nick’s family ‘did not want anything to do with her’.

  My general duty sergeant had just arrived after a domestic violence call. It was not my role as duty officer to deliver a death message and, much though I would have liked to hand the responsibility to someone else, I didn’t think it appropriate as I had already delivered the first one. I needed to talk to Angela before she looked out a window and saw what was happening. Frank agreed to come with us to ensure we went to the right villa. We knew this was going to be shocking news for Angela, and whether or not they had had an argument she was likely to blame herself for what had happened.

  When we got to the villa two blocks away Frank stayed outside. My heart was pounding as I knocked on the door. A slim woman with long hair answered it. When she saw two police in full uniform, she looked utterly shocked.

  ‘Hello, I am Inspector Belinda Neil, and this is Sergeant Matt Layton; we are from St George Police. Are you Angela?’

  ‘Y
es,’ she said in a very small voice.

  ‘I need to talk to you, do you mind if we come in?’

  She nodded.

  I asked, ‘Is there anyone else here at home with you?’

  ‘No.’

  She walked towards a lounge room, looking very tense and on edge. I asked her to take a seat on the lounge chair and I sat with her. After we had confirmed that Nick was indeed her estranged husband, I said, ‘I have to inform you that Nick has had a motorcycle accident. I am so sorry to tell you that he has passed away.’

  I gave her a moment to let the information sink in. Just as I was about to ask if there was somebody we could call to help her, she stood up and collapsed on the ground, crying hysterically. Both Matt and I attempted to help her up and console her, but her grief was so intense I am not even sure she knew we were there.

  In a highly stressful situation, you often notice unusual details. I saw that Angela’s fingernails were fake and very long. At one stage I held her wrists so she could not lash out at me in her hysteria, and kept thinking she was going to claw at my face because I was the person who had broken the dreadful news and caused her whole world to collapse. I understood this possibility as everyone deals with stress differently.

  After a time we managed to calm her and help her into a sitting position on the lounge where I spoke quietly with her. We could not leave her there by herself. Angela was so distressed that she could not give us any contact details for her family or for Nick’s, so we asked Frank to help. We finally located a phone number for her parents and organised for them to come to the house.

  When I saw their car pull up I went out to greet them and delivered the sad news. Angela’s mother burst into tears and went running into the house to comfort her daughter.

  Now that we knew she was being looked after we could return to the police station and find details for Nick’s family, who I knew lived somewhere near Bankstown. I intended to organise for local police to deliver the news to Nick’s mother. This needed to happen quickly as I was very much aware of the problems between the family and Angela.

  I called the Bankstown duty officer and gave him the address I had for Nick, who had recently moved back into his mother’s home. I was just off the phone from Bankstown when another telephone call came through to me. I introduced myself and immediately received a litany of abuse from a woman who said she was Nick’s sister. She was most upset that Nick’s mother hadn’t been contacted. They had found out through Angela’s family that something awful had happened.

  I explained the importance of trying to locate her mother so the distressing news could be delivered face to face and not over the telephone, and said the local Bankstown police were on the way to Nick’s parents’ address. She confirmed the address and added that there would be trouble: all the family members were gathering at the home and were upset because the estranged wife had been contacted first.

  I have found that in some cases of homicide the victim’s family needs to blame someone, anyone, for the death of their loved one, whether the justice system, or the police or anyone else. For some people this is part of the grieving process, and everybody deals with stress differently. They may take on a crusade on behalf of their loved one even though they were not close, or perhaps had nothing to do with the victim. It was not my place to judge. Nick’s family in their grief were very angry towards the estranged wife and anyone, police included, would bear the brunt of it.

  Nick’s sister asked me whether Nick was dead. I didn’t want to tell her over the phone but I saw no alternative. After confirming the address of Nick’s mother, and that she was with other family members, I confirmed that Nick had died. She became hysterical and hung up on me. I called the Bankstown duty officer and explained what had happened. He agreed to accompany his car crew in case there was any trouble, and to ring me with the result.

  After completing this phone call, I heard my call sign over the police radio. Apparently there had been an altercation near the scene of the fatal motorcycle accident and a police officer was calling for my assistance.

  I headed back to the scene, which was fortunately only five minutes from the station. On arrival I saw the female police constable who had radioed for me, and a man standing a short distance away. As this person approached me I held my hand up and told him to stop until I had spoken with the constable. The constable told me the man was Nick’s brother-in-law, and he had tried to punch her and break through the barrier to get inside the crime scene. She had a short struggle with him and finally managed to convince him to wait for me. Because he was so distressed she did not charge him with any offence, which showed great maturity on her part, I thought. She told me he didn’t know what had happened and had kept asking her if Nick was dead. The constable hadn’t confirmed this as she was worried about his reaction and had called for me instead.

  By this stage Nick’s body had been taken to St George Hospital by ambulance. The police team remained on site canvassing, obtaining statements from witnesses and examining the scene.

  By now I was feeling numb, particularly after steeling myself to deliver the message that Nick had died to so many people at different times and having to respond to their different reactions. I might have maintained a calm exterior in offering my sympathies but my heart went out to them and I was starting to feel like the messenger of death.

  I asked Nick’s brother-in-law, who was very distressed, to sit on the brick fence outside a nearby house. He said he had come to the scene to establish for himself what had happened, after information had been passed down from the family. When I told him Nick had died, he became very upset and jumped up, wanting to break through the perimeters into the crime scene once more.

  I understood that this was his way of expressing his shock and distress, and calmly explained what had happened, what the procedure would now be, and why he could not enter the scene of the accident. I made him promise not to breach the police barricade. By now I was mentally exhausted and needed a strong cup of tea and a few minutes to myself back at the station.

  The Bankstown duty officer called to advise that he was outside Nick’s family home. Numerous relatives had arrived and initially the situation had been quite volatile, but had since calmed down. The family were going to the hospital to view Nick’s body and had let it be known that there might be trouble if Nick’s estranged wife Angela was there.

  I spoke to the general duty investigation team who were to meet the family at the hospital and agreed to accompany them. Before going to the hospital myself, I called my staff together and we had a quick debriefing. I also spoke with each of them to ensure they were coping with the situation, particularly those who had viewed Nick’s body.

  At the hospital we were directed to a special room that the staff had arranged for our meeting. Fortunately Angela was not there. The family were initially hostile and I explained what had happened and why Angela had been contacted first. We had a lengthy discussion and I answered all their questions. I could see they were now over the initial shock of the news and there was acceptance as to how the evening had unfolded, but they were understandably still very distressed. Yet again I was thankful to have a background in negotiation.

  There was no need to identify Nick’s body, and I advised the family against seeing it because his facial injuries were so severe. I suggested they should wait until after he had gone to the morgue; I knew the attendants would do what they could to prepare Nick’s body for them to view. However, the family were not to be deterred and insisted on seeing his body: maybe they needed confirmation for themselves; perhaps they needed that closure.

  We all went to the viewing area of the hospital, a small room with a glass window at one end, which had a curtain drawn across it. Once more I asked Nick’s mother whether she was sure she wanted to see her son’s body. She confirmed that she did. I would have preferred not to be there myself because of my own issues concerning overexposure to death, but felt the need to stay out of respect for the family.


  A nurse pulled the curtain back to show Nick’s body lying on a hospital trolley. His face was a dark purple colour with darker splotches from his injuries. I felt sick. Nick’s sister became hysterical, as did various other family members.

  On the way back to the station with the investigation crew, I felt extremely upset. It was a combination of the emotional toll of the evening’s events culminating in the final viewing of the body and being present during the family’s grief. It took all my strength not to break down in front of the young police constables. Instead, I asked them how they were faring and listened as they spoke about their own reactions.

  When we arrived at the station, the 6am shift crew had started. The oncoming supervisor took one look at me and said, ‘Are you all right?’

  I nearly lost it.

  ‘It has not been a good night,’ I said. ‘I’ve just delivered five death messages.’

  Like a robot, I went through the motions and debriefed the oncoming duty officer so he had enough information for the morning meeting with the commander. I put my gun away, got changed and went down to my car, which was parked underneath the police station. Before I was even out of the driveway I had tears running uncontrollably down my face. The pent-up emotions from the previous few hours finally exploded in me and I cried and cried and cried.

  When I finally arrived home, however, I reverted to robotic mode. I felt cold and emotionless, as though I was in a stupor. Jake and Melanie were asleep and they looked so peaceful. Rob was also in bed asleep. I went in and sat on the bed. I really needed to talk about what had happened, but Rob rolled away from me and told me he was trying to sleep. I changed and went to bed. It would be some days before I was finally able to speak to a friend I trusted.

  CHAPTER

  19

  The beginning of the end

  After this incident I decided to take four weeks of annual leave over December 2002 and January 2003 to spend some proper time with my children and hopefully recover from my feeling of absolute exhaustion. Rob was able to take a short break and we took the children away for a week to Jervis Bay, a two-hour drive down the south coast. It was nice to leave work and Sydney behind, even if only for a short time.