A Case in Question

by Herb Hamlet

  “I can understand your position, sir.”

  “I’m pleased you do, Bob.” Paul Lawson gazed out the window at the glittering city lights before continuing. “What if something was to happen to the plaintiff, Rankin?”

  “You mean something permanent, Premier?” Malone experienced a sudden surge of concern. Surely murder wasn’t being considered.

  “That’s exactly what I mean, Bob.” In spite of his words, Lawson hesitated, realising the enormity of what he was asking.

  “Oh, I see. Then I suppose the legal action wouldn’t proceed, because there would be no witness to the offense.”

  Lawson quickly recovered his equilibrium. “Spot on,” he replied, sounding like a school teacher, congratulating one of his pupils. “Without Rankin or the doctor who treated him, there is no case for that bastard, Flanagan.”

  “I think I read that Rankin was now in protective custody, sir.” What Lawson wanted done made Malone feel ill-at-ease. Bodily harm was one thing, murder was another.

  “That wouldn’t stop Special Branch would it, Bob?” A wolfish grin formed on the Premier’s lips.

  “No, I don’t think so, sir.” Ambition had overcome conscience. “We have secret confidential files on at least two of Pukka’s guards. From memory, one left the scene of a fatal motor accident while the other one sexually abused his daughter. They would do almost anything to prevent the information from becoming public. I’m sure they can arrange for a member of Special Branch to have a little meeting with Mr. Rankin.”

  “That’s excellent.” Paul Lawson rose from his chair. “Whiskey, Bob?”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  ***

  Storming into Henry’s office, a folder tucked under her arm, Elaine’s face was livid. “I just picked up Jim Rankin’s alleged medical file from the Department of Corrective Services, and surprise, surprise, there is no record of the attack or the rape, nor any mention of the injuries he sustained.” Disgust flickered over her face. “I wonder what they did with the real file?”

  “The bastards!” Henry looked like Mount Vesuvius about to erupt. “They never give up and there’s not a bloody thing we can do about it.”

  “Surely we can do something.” Her eyes filled with frustration.

  “Not a bloody thing.” His adrenaline again spiked. “We’ll simply have to make sure Jim’s evidence is convincing in court. And Dick must track down the doctor who treated him in prison.”

  ***

  Sitting alone watching television in the protective custody wing of Pukka Correctional centre, Jim heard the sound of two sets of boots, almost in unison as they approached the open door of his cell. He turned his head to the doorway, recognising a prison officer from another wing. He was accompanied by a stranger dressed in a guard’s uniform. Must be new. The stranger carried a tray with a plate of food and eating utensils. What’s going on here?

  The familiar guard entered his cell. “We’ve heard there might be an attempt to get at you, Rankin, so we’ve decided to allow you to eat in your cell tonight.” The stranger placed the tray on the small table at his elbow while the familiar one lifted the cover from the plate. “Ah, grilled steak and fresh steamed vegetables.” He sniffed. “Smells good.” He swung toward the open doorway. “We’ll be back in a half an hour or so to collect the tray. Enjoy, Rankin, enjoy.” The guard exited the cell smiling. His large companion had not uttered a single word.

  Jim picked up the knife and fork. It’was all a bit strange. He didn’t want the meal to get cold so he began to eat. Gravy’s a little bitter. He’d eaten two thirds of the food when his lips went numb. Each passing moment, the agony in his stomach intensified to a new level. Wavy lines danced in front of his blurring eyes. Fighting against the nausea threatening to envelop him, Jim slipped from his chair to the floor and crawled toward the open door of his cell. He knew he was in deep trouble. Have to get help. Can’t bear the pain, too much! Out in the corridor, he looked around. No one about. He felt a bubbling sensation in his mouth and lifted his hand to his lips. It came away covered in foam. Shit! Desperate, his mind starting to blur, he crawled down the corridor looking for help. Someone please, please help me. He found it more and more difficult to breathe. A vice was slowly tightening around his chest. Unable to move, Jim slumped to the floor, writhing in agony for a few more minutes, as his life force ebbed away. Then he lay still.

  ***

  Elaine entered Henry’s office, wearing a haunted expression, barely able to speak from the shock. Her legs felt like jelly. “He...Henry,” she stammered, leaning on the wall for support.

  “What on earth’s the matter, sweetheart?” The shocked expression on her face made him jump up from his desk.

  “Jim Rankin’s dead.”

  He made his way to her side, wrapping his arms around her protectively. “Jim dead! What in the devil do you mean?” he exploded softly. “That’s ridiculous! Who told you this?’ Elaine went on to tell him of the call she’d received from the Corrective Services Department.

  “Bloody hell,” Henry started to feel overwhelmed. “Poor Judy and the kids.” His organised mind came to the fore. “I’ll have to go to her, love. You’ll have to hold the fort. Will you be all right?”

  Elaine snapped out of the spell the news had apparently cast upon her. “Of course, Henry. It was just the shock of hearing the sad news, that’s all. Tell her I’m thinking of them.”

  Henry phoned Downs Toyota and was told Judy had received an urgent call from prison management for her to come to Pukka Correctional centre, her husband had been hurt. Henry made a snap decision to meet her at the prison. Throughout the busy drive, he couldn’t get the image of Jim out of his mind. A myriad of thoughts consumed him. Poor bastard didn’t deserve to be there in the first place. Now he’s dead. Suicide? That’s crap. He had too much to live for. Who got at him? Lincoln or one of his cohorts? No, Jim was in protective custody. What about Weston, the Chief Correctional Officer? I warned that bastard what would happen if Jim was injured. They won’t get away with it. What about the case? Without Jim, we probably don’t have one.

  After making inquiries at reception, he found Judy slumped on a leather couch in the administration area of the prison.

  “Oh Henry,” she lifted her head and started to speak but couldn’t go on.

  He sat down beside her and held her tight until the tears subsided. “I don’t know what to say, Judy,” he began quietly. “But Elaine and I are here for you. Anything you need. Okay?”

  “Thank you, Henry,” she mumbled almost absentmindedly.

  “Can you tell me what they said when you arrived?” He held her hand protectively.

  “When they called me at work, they said I should come to the prison immediately as something serious had happened to Jim. They wouldn’t say what it was over the phone. I didn’t know what to think and I panicked. I took off straight away. I thought he was ill or that he’d had an accident. I didn’t think for a moment that he was, that he was...” She began to weep bitterly. Regaining her composure, she continued. “When I arrived, Mr. Weston took me into his office and explained what had happened to Jim. I couldn’t believe it.”

  “That rotten bastard,” Henry interrupted.

  Judy held up her hand. “No, he was very nice to me. He looked genuinely shocked.” Judy’s eyes riveted on Henry’s. “They’re saying that Jim poisoned himself.” She shook her head. “That couldn’t be true. He had so much to live for.”

  “I don’t believe for a moment he did anything of the sort, Judy.” He hesitated. “I didn’t know him very long, but I could see he was a fighter. He wouldn’t do such a thing, especially with you and the children.” On uttering the words, Henry wished he could have taken them back.

  “Oh God, Brett and Susan. How can I ever tell them their father is dead.” Her face crumpled as Henry cursed himself,
holding her. Wiping the last tears away with a handkerchief, Judy appeared more composed, even determined. “I want something done about this, Henry.” Her tone was defiant. “I know the prison authorities will simply try and brush Jim’s death under the carpet. I can’t allow that to happen.” She glowered, sounding hostile. “My husband did not commit suicide, and I’ll fight to my last breath in an effort to prove it.”

  “I’ll apply all the pressure I can, Judy. You can rest assured.”

  “What about Jim’s case? What happens now?” She wiped her nose with her handkerchief.

  He gazed at the tiled floor feeling uncomfortably impotent. He wanted so much to win for them. “Without Jim, I’m afraid we don’t really have a case. I mean Jim was the complainant, the Plaintiff.”

  “You, you mean,” she stammered. “They’ll get away with what happened to him?”

  “They will, unless...” A thought entered his head. “Unless we make you the complainant and mount a case on your behalf.”

  “Do it.”

  “What are you going to do now, Judy?” He placed a supportive hand on her shoulder.

  “They won’t release Jim’s body until the coroner has signed the autopsy report.” She placed the lace handkerchief in the pocket of her jacket. “Once they do, I’ll take him home to Dalby.”

  Henry left the administrative area and headed straight for CCO Weston’s office.

  When Henry stormed into his office, Weston nervously licked his lips. “Flanagan.”

  “Yes, you bastard, It’s me.” Henry placed the palms of his hands on Weston’s desk and glared down at him, at the same time fighting to control his temper. “I told you I would hold you personally responsible if anything happened to Jim Rankin, and I will, I promise you that.”

  “But I did everything possible to keep him safe from harm. I assure you.” Weston swallowed. “Look, I’ll admit I was a little antagonistic toward him when he first came to Pukka. But after my last meeting with you, I made sure he was closely supervised in the protective custody wing. None of the inmates could get at him there.”

  “Someone got at him,” Henry spat.

  “They think he committed suicide.”

  “That’s bullshit!” Henry exploded.

  “Then you think he was murdered?” Weston’s eyes opened wide in genuine surprise.

  “You can bet on it,” Henry answered through clenched teeth.

  “That would mean one of my guards had to be involved in some way.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I find that difficult to believe.”

  “You’d be surprised.” Henry’s demeanor became less aggressive.

  “I’ll do my best to find out, Mr. Flanagan.” His voice sounded sincere. “I feel real bad about this. I mean it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  A bitterly cold Darling Downs winter morning, Henry took hold of Elaine’s gloved hand in the chapel of Dalby’s crematorium. Gazing at the polished cedar coffin at the front of the chapel, a small tear escaped and trickled down her cheek. She removed a black kid glove and reached into her purse for a handkerchief to dab her damp eyes, before again drawing on the glove. She focused on Judy, seated in the front row, her arms wrapped protectively around the shoulders of her two teenage children, Brett and Susan. The small chapel was packed. Family, business associates, and friends milling outside, unable to find a seat.

  An Anglican priest, a close friend of the family, presided over the ceremony, the mayor giving the eulogy. After the service, a few of the locals approached Henry and spoke highly of Jim’s character and his contribution to the Dalby community.

  Judy had invited Henry and Elaine to attend the wake at the family home. It took some time before they finally caught her on her own. She held out her hand. “Thank you for coming, Henry. I know how busy you are.”

  “We had to pay our respects,” he said softly. “It was the least we could do.”

  “Thanks to both of you.” A trace of a smile flickered on her lips.

  “I’m so sorry.” Elaine didn’t know what else to say.

  “Thank you.”

  Henry interrupted. “Look Judy, I know this is a very bad time, but there’s a couple of things we need to discuss.”

  “Very well.” She folded her arms resignedly. “Go ahead.”

  “Yesterday afternoon, I had a call from Emily Atkins from the Prisoner’s Aid Society. She threatened to withdraw their financial support for the case, now there is no prisoner actually involved in proceedings.” He wanted to put a comforting hand on her shoulder but refrained. “Because of strong media interest in the case, I was able to talk her out of that course of action. I said I’m still in a strong position to promote their cause, especially with the death of a prisoner in custody.” After she didn’t reply, he continued. “I’m sorry for raising the subject, Judy, especially after this morning.”

  “That’s alright, Henry. Go on.”

  “The Department of Corrective Services and International Corrections have already urged the court to suspend any further proceedings where Jim’s ‘duty of care’ case is concerned.” He exhaled and lowered his voice so no one would hear. “I have to go to court tomorrow morning and argue against any such move. I must also gain the court’s permission to replace Jim with you as the Plaintiff in the case.” He hesitated for a brief moment. “I’m afraid we have other more pressing problems. Now Jim is not available to testify, we desperately need other witnesses to testify that the bashing and rape actually occurred when he said it did. The case is scheduled to begin a week from next Monday. That doesn’t give us much time.” He sighed.

  “What about prison staff?” Judy asked.

  “I wouldn’t rely on any of them coming forward on our behalf, although the Chief Correctional Officer did seem genuinely shocked by Jim’s death. He may be a possibility, but I wouldn’t bet on him helping.”

  “I think we should remember that one of the defendants in the case is their employer. In the end, I don’t think prison staff would risk losing their jobs just to help us,” Elaine offered in a quiet voice.

  “Doesn’t anyone have a conscience?” Judy gave them a weary look.

  “My private investigator, Dick Argent, is still trying to track down the doctor who treated Jim at Pukka immediately following the assault. So far he’s been unsuccessful and that is very unfortunate for us.” Her lips began to quiver and Henry placed a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry too much, Judy, if anyone can track him down it’s Dick.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was almost midnight as Dick Argent sat at his dining table examining a multitude of investigative notes. His family slept upstairs. He frowned, shaking his head. Where the bloody hell is this doctor bastard? He’s definitely not in the medical system, that’s for sure. Then where is he? He stroked his chin. His license was suspended for three years over his illegal use of morphine. Is that a lead? Could he still be hooked on the stuff? I’ll check the medical supply requests from all the state government’s regional and remote communities. Shit, that’ll take for bloody ever. There’s only a few days left before the court case commences and Henry urgently needs the medico to give evidence. I’ve got no other bloody choice. Who can access that sort of information? He smiled when a name came to mind. Yeah, Col, he works in a state warehouse. He should be able to access medical supplies and track down any unusually large requests for morphine. The best thing is, he owes me bigtime.

  ***

  “I shouldn’t be doing this, Dick. I could get into a lot of trouble, you know that.” While speaking, Col Smith kept his eyes riveted on the computer screen, scrolling down an endless list of state government orders from major drug companies.

  “I wouldn’t have asked you if I wasn’t desperate, Col.” Dick patted him on the back. “It’s just a little payback after all these years. Just remember it was me who got
your brother out of that gambling jam with the heavies.”

  “Yeah, I know, Dick, and I’m grateful. I wouldn’t be bloody-well doing it otherwise.” He stopped for a moment. “Wait on, this doesn’t seem right.” He indicated to the highlighted entry on the screen.

  “What is it?” Dick dared to hope.

  “Considering its small population, a remote Aboriginal reserve in North Queensland has requested an unusually large amount of morphine.” His expression turned curious

  “Right,” Dick removed a note pad and pen from a pocket of his jacket. “Give me the details.”

  “Then you can bugger off. I don’t want you to be seen here.”

  ***

  “Walter Graham on behalf of the Crown, Your Honour.” Henry’s opponent rose from his seat. “The Queensland Corrective Services Department and International Corrections strongly argues that since the Plaintiff in the legal action is now deceased, there is no case to be answered, as there are no other witnesses to the alleged offense.” Graham waved a hand dismissively in Henry’s direction. “Even my learned colleague representing the deceased Plaintiff would have to agree, would he not?” He arched his eyebrows in a supercilious manner.

  “On the contrary, Your Honour.” Henry leaped to his feet. “As usual, my learned friend has jumped the gun.” His expression became one of resolve. “We fully intend to proceed with the civil action against the department and ICS. To facilitate this, we wish to have the court’s permission to change the name of the Plaintiff in the legal proceedings from James Rankin to Judith Rankin, his wife.”

  “That’s preposterous, Your Honour.” Graham’s upper lip curled in disbelief. “Mrs. Rankin wasn’t the one who was allegedly attacked. How can she possibly be the Plaintiff?”

  “As my learned friend should now be aware, this case isn’t about the actual attack perpetrated upon James Rankin. This civil action is based upon the Department of Corrective Services’ and ICS’s abject failure to meet their duty of care obligations where the safety of inmate James Rankin was concerned.” A look of disgust flickered over Henry’s face. “I should not have to remind Mr. Graham that James Rankin’s wife, Judith, has suffered immeasurable pain and grief as a consequence of the assault on her husband who passed away while still in the custody of the Department of Corrective Services and International Correctional Services. Without any evidence to substantiate their opinion, the state government has jumped the gun to assert James Rankin committed suicide, a claim the coroner’s office is yet to rule upon. If Mr. Rankin did commit suicide, and I must admit that I personally refute this assertion, then the state and ICS must also admit that the assault of the sixth of April drove him to such despair he took his own life,” he added indignantly. “The state department and International Corrections can’t have it both ways. Mr. Rankin’s unfortunate demise has certainly exacerbated Judith Rankin’s pain and suffering.”