by Herb Hamlet
Dick shook his head. “No, Jim Rankin was in protective custody at the time so it couldn’t have been them. At this stage, we don’t know who did the horrible deed.” He returned to the subject at hand. “Look, we need you to come to Brisbane and give evidence to the court that the bashing and rape actually took place. We have no other witnesses to the offense.”
“No! I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” was the shrill reply.
“Why not, for heaven’s sake?” His lips compressed, his expression one of frustration.
He shot Dick an uneasy look. “Because the state government is the only employer with whom I can obtain permanent employment. You must know of my past record.” He added sheepishly, “My license to practice medicine was suspended for three years. As a consequence of that, I can no longer get work in the private sector.” He turned his head away to avoid Dick’s critical gaze.
“Yes, we are well aware of your record. In fact, it was your unusually large request for morphine that brought my attention to this settlement in the first place.”
Doctor Simpson looked up, aghast. “You think I ordered that for myself?” he exploded in disbelief.
“Sorry, Doc, the thought did enter my head, I must admit.”
Visibly annoyed, his eyes held Dick’s. “Then, like most other people, you are ignorant of the deplorable state of health that exists in Aboriginal settlements such as this one.” He paused. “Of course, there’s more morphine required here. The simple reason for that is the number of people suffering excruciating pain is exceedingly above the state average.”
“What do you mean?” Dick knew Aboriginal settlements had problems, but his knowledge ended there.
“First, there are a significant number of diabetics in Aboriginal communities. Again, far in excess of the Queensland state average. As you may or may not be aware, diabetes causes secondary conditions, some very serious. Secondly, the majority of Aboriginal children suffer from the most severe ear infections.” Simpson leaned forward in his chair. It was a subject obviously close to his heart. “The pain they endure borders on intolerable. Add to this the high incidence of Hepatitis A, alcohol addiction and domestic violence in the community and what do you have? A settlement in crisis, that’s what you have.”
“Looks like I found you by luck then, doc.”
“It would appear so.”
Dick exhaled and lowered his voice. “Will you return with me and give evidence?”
“No, I’m sorry. And not just because of my need to keep my present position” His face filled with resolve. “The people in this community haven’t had a doctor here for some time, and this has accelerated the decline of their overall health. No, for the first time in many, many years, I’m really needed.” It was as if the truth had come crashing down upon him with clarity. “Yes.” He sat up straight and squared his shoulders. “These people need me.”
Dick tried to bring him back to Earth. “Mrs. Rankin also needs you, doc. You can’t turn your back on her. Not if you’re an ethical man.”
“Don’t you understand?” Sweat ran down his inflamed cheeks. “The Government will sack me.”
“I promise they won’t. We just won’t allow it to happen. If they try any of those antics, my barrister friend, Henry Flanagan, will take them to the industrial court to have your sacking overturned. And he would win, I can assure you. In doing so, Henry would arrange adverse publicity, embarrassing the government which has no chance of filling medical vacancies in remote places such as this. If you caome with me, I can guarantee your position here would be safe.”
“I can’t go with you.” His shoulders slumped again. “I’m sorry.”
Chapter Sixteen
In the corridor outside the court room, Judy came face to face with friends from Dalby who’d traveled down to support her. A few kissed her on the cheek, others shook her hand and wished her well.
Entering the courtroom, she found it different from the one her husband had been tried in. Being a civil case, three long tables had been positioned directly in front of the judge’s bench: one for Henry, Elaine and Judy; one for the Department of Corrective Services’ barrister, Walter Graham and his two assistants, and one for International Correctional Services’ legal team, led by noted Sydney barrister, Oscar Pedersen QC. She gazed around, not an empty seat in the public gallery. Journalists from the national dailies, television and radio news reporters, they were all there, faces filled with anticipation.
The first two hours of proceedings were taken up with jury selection, Walter Graham going out of his way to frustrate Henry at every opportunity, Oscar Pedersen QC, nodding in acquiescence whenever Graham scored a point.
Henry knew they would have spent much time together, planning their defense strategy. No doubt they’ve talked about specific areas where they think they can ambush me. I’ll have to be on my guard.
Following the lunch adjournment, Justice Barrow looked down from the Bench in Henry’s direction. “You wish to open, Mr. Flanagan?” He raised his brush-like eyebrows expectantly, removing the granny spectacles perched on the end of his nose.
“Thank you, Your Honour.”
Quiet and attentive, Judy sat beside her barrister, aware that all eyes were on Henry as he stood to place his hands on his hips.
“If it please the court.” Henry searched the face of each individual juror. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this case is about an everyday hardworking person, just like you and I, who, in good faith, signs his taxation return each year. Unfortunately, his accountant does not complete the return in the way that is demanded by the Taxation Department. The man innocently places his signature on the return and is subsequently charged with taxation fraud. He pleads guilty, thinking he will simply incur a heavy fine. To everyone’s surprise, he is imprisoned.” Henry continued to let his eyes drift from one face to the next. “I’m sure every one of you feels a little dubious when signing your taxation return? I know I do. Indeed, virtually everyone tries to get a little extra out of the Taxation Department. And the person in question, James Rankin, did not even complete the taxation return. He merely placed his signature to it.” He fired them a scandalous look. “Whilst incarcerated in prison, he is viciously bashed and raped.” He let the loud statement sink in. “What exacerbates my client’s grief and anxiety, a few months later, while supposedly in protective custody at Pukka Correctional centre, her husband, James Rankin, is found deceased in the corridor outside his cell.” Sympathetic jury eyes turned in Judy’s direction. “As a direct consequence of the Corrective Services Department’s and International Correctional Services’ gross negligence in their duty of care responsibilities to James Rankin, his wife, Judith, has suffered immeasurable pain and suffering. My learned colleagues seated at the other tables,” Henry waved his hand dismissively in their direction, “will try and convince you that the Department of Corrective Services and ICS are protected by law and that an inmate cannot take legal action against a state correctional facility as a consequence of being attacked. And they would be perfectly correct. This case, however, is not about the actual assault itself. No, indeed, this case is specifically concerned with the Department of Corrective Services’ and International Correctional Services’ ‘duty of care’ responsibilities in relation to James Rankin, who was under their direct care and control at the time.” Henry again paused to let the jury absorb his words before continuing. “Those who offend against society’s laws should be imprisoned for punishment and rehabilitation. I’m sure we all agree with that. They are not incarcerated to be bashed and raped, and I’m sure we all agree on that as well. Indeed, the state government and organisations which run prisons on their behalf, have a ‘duty of care’ to ensure that attacks and rapes, such as that perpetrated on James Rankin, do not occur in our correctional facilities.” His expression became one of resolve. “I will be calling witnesses who will testify that staff numbers e
mployed at privately conducted prisons have been drastically reduced, thereby placing inmates in unsafe situations where they cannot be closely supervised. Yes,” Henry emphasised, “this unfortunate downsizing has left prison inmates vulnerable to attack. In this regard alone, there is no doubt the Department of Corrective Services and International Corrections have breached their duty of care responsibilities.” Henry noticed an elderly male juror nod. “I will also be calling prison staff and a subpoena has been issued to the Minister for Corrective Services, Johnathon Windsor, who will be appearing.”
The quiet buzz in the courtroom caused the judge to reach for his gavel and slam it down on the pad in front of him. “Quiet in the court.” He ordered in a stern voice. The room became hushed and he turned back to Henry. “Please continue with your opening statement, Mr. Flanagan.”
“Thank you, Your Honour.” He bowed slightly toward the bench before turning back to the jury members. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have no doubt that once you’ve heard all the evidence, you’ll have no other choice than to make an order in favor of my client. Thank You.” Henry sat back in his chair and squeezed Judy’s hand.
“Mr. Graham, your opening, if you please.” Justice Barrow raised his thick eyebrows.
“As the court pleases, Your Honour.” Walter Graham turned toward the jury, his face a picture of innocence. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my learned friend,” he pointed in Henry’s direction, “has made an emotional opening address to you, no doubt in a desperate attempt to obtain your sympathy.” He took in a deep breath and began to speak sternly, like an over-zealous school teacher. “As responsible jurors, who have sworn a legally binding oath, regardless of how sorry you feel for the Plaintiff, you cannot reach a decision based on sympathy or any other such human emotion. As the court will direct you in the closing, you can only make a determination based upon the evidence presented during these legal proceedings.” Graham paused to let the jury digest his words. “There is no doubt the Plaintiffs’ case will turn out to be a complete and utter waste of yours and the court’s time.” He gave a dismissive shrug. “Indeed, the Plaintiff will be unable to produce any witnesses, or provide any evidence, that an attack was ever perpetrated upon the now deceased prisoner, James Rankin.” He looked at the jury with disdain. “How can the Plaintiff argue that this so-called assault was due to a lack of ‘duty of care’ on the part of the Department of Corrective Services or ICS, when there is no evidence that an attack actually took place? Such an argument is simply preposterous.” Graham resumed his seat and looked smugly across at Henry.
Henry had turned and whispered in Elaine’s ear as Walter Graham made his opening statements. “We need that doctor. Where the hell is Dick?”
“I’ll go out and try and raise him on his mobile phone again. He seems to be in an area where there is no reception.”
“All right, see what you can do.”
Justice Barrow looked down from the bench at Oscar Pedersen, QC. “Mr. Pedersen, have you an opening statement?”
The distinguished barrister rose to his feet, twiddling the stem of his spectacles in his right hand. “No opening, Your Honour.I think Mr Graham has said all that needs to be said.”
“Very well.” The judge fixed his gaze on Henry. “Call your first witness, Mr. Flanagan.”
“If the court pleases.” Henry rose to his feet. “We call the State Coroner, Doctor Stewart Senden.”
A short plump bald-headed man, dressed in a wrinkled suit, entered the court room through a side door. The swearing in over, Henry slowly approached the witness box. “Ah, Doctor Senden,” Henry’s tone became gravely serious. “Did you perform a post-postmortem on the body of James Rankin?”
“Yes, that is correct, Mr. Flanagan,” he replied matter-of-factly, as if he’d done it all so many times before.
“Will you please tell the court the cause of Mr. Rankin’s death.” Henry glanced at Judy.
“Mr. Rankin died of cyanide poisoning.” There was a short buzz of voices around the room.
“Have you been able to determine how the cyanide was administered, doctor?” Henry leaned forwards expectantly.
“During the autopsy, I found traces of the poison in his evening meal.”
“I see.” Henry scratched the tip of his chin. “Where would one obtain cyanide in a prison, sir?”
“Research tells me that cyanide is generally used for fumigation purposes,” he explained. “I’m sure there would be quantities of the substance at the Pukka correctional institution.”
“Have you been able to determine if the cyanide was self-administered, or if another person was involved in Mr. Rankin’s death?”
“No, there’s no evidence, one way or the other, Mr. Flanagan.”
“Doctor Senden, if an inmate was in protective custody, surely it would be difficult for that prisoner to access a poison like cyanide?”
“I suppose that would be correct, Mr. Flanagan.”
“Thank you doctor, no more questions.” Henry resumed his seat.
“Mr. Graham, your witness.” Justice Barrow looked over his spectacles.
“Thank you, Your Honour, I have only one question.” Sauntering toward the witness, Graham’s eyes never left the jury. “Doctor Senden, with regard to your investigation into the death of James Rankin, have you ruled out suicide?”
“No, Mr. Graham, I haven’t.”
“Thank you, doctor, no more questions.”
“Your next witness if you please, Mr. Flanagan.” Justice Barrow opened his notes.
“If the court pleases, we call Professor Eric Edwards.” Henry turned to the side door. After a few moments, a court official led a tall, thin casually dressed man into the courtroom. His hair was caught up in a ponytail, and a short goatee beard and mustache adorned his face. He looked like a seventies beatnik, his appearance having little in common with most peoples’ perception of a respected academic. After the professor was sworn in, Henry gave the man his most charming smile as he approached the witness box.
“Professor Edwards, you are the Reader in Political Science at the University of Queensland?”
“That is correct.” He nodded.
“Professor, we are arguing that a lack of trained staff in a recently privatised prison, created an unsupervised environment that made James Rankin vulnerable to attack.” That was as far as Henry was able to proceed before Walter Graham jumped to his feet.
“Your Honour, I object. Mr. Flanagan is leading the witness.”
“Your objection is upheld, Mr. Graham. Be careful, Mr. Flanagan.” Justice Barrow warned in a stern voice.
“I was merely trying to acquaint the witness with the facts of the case, Your Honour. My apologies to the court.” Henry bowed before turning his attention to the witness. “I’ll come straight to the point, Professor. Does a reduction in staff go hand in hand with the privatisation of government services?”
Walter Graham was on his feet in an instant. “Your Honour, I object to this particular line of questioning, he said indignantly. “I mean, we’re not here to be lectured on the advantages and disadvantages where the privatisation of government owned organisations is concerned. It would be a profound waste of the court’s time.” Graham’s tone sounded bitingly critical.
“I’m inclined to agree, Mr. Graham.” Justice Barrow agreed, turning his attention to Henry. “Where are you going with this, Mr. Flanagan?”
“If the court pleases, it was just a simple question, one that is very important and relevant to our case.” He furrowed his brow. “Indeed, we wish to provide members of the jury with a brief overview on the downsizing of staff that usually follows the privatisation of a government owned facility. Since the matter is rarely analysed in any depth, we have called Professor Edwards as an expert witness to enlighten the jury.”
“Very well, Mr. Flanagan.” The
judge reluctantly acceded, placing his elbows on the bench, and rested his chin on the back of his hands. “But keep it brief.”
“Thank you, Your Honour.” Henry again bowed. “Now Professor Edwards, if you please, I’ll return to the question I asked a few moments ago. In your expert opinion, does a reduction in staff usually go hand in hand with the privatisation of government services?”
“Generally, I’d have to say yes. But the issue goes much further.” The Professor looked askance at him.
“What do you mean?” Henry leaned forward expectantly.
“I don’t wish to get the court bogged down with political theory so I’ll try and simplify the relevant arguments.” He paused. “Supporters of neo-liberalism argue that the way to overcome economic problems is to return to the fundamentals of neoclassical liberal thought, which supports reducing the size and role of government in society.” He cleared his throat. “These free traders point to economic efficiency as the overriding objective in any enterprise, private or public. The same people also claim that the overall efficiency of public-owned enterprises is hampered by external controls relating to government funding and recruitment. They are also the ones who constantly question the size and efficiency of the public service and the role of the entire Australian public sector.” His voice had become critical. “They see the public sector as a parasite on the private sector. They claim it to be wasteful, too costly, inefficient, ineffective and spawns bureaucracy. To solve perceived public sector inefficiencies, neo-liberal policies support deregulation, corporatisation, privatisation, consultancies, user pays, out-sourcing and contracting out. Economic rationalism dictates that as much of the national funds as possible should be shifted from the public to the private sector. That’s why there has been ongoing pressure to privatise government owned enterprises...”
Walter Graham sprang to his feet, outraged. “Your Honour, I object!” He snapped. “The witness is not answering the question. He is simply lecturing to us.”