A Case in Question

by Herb Hamlet

  “Yes, I was just about to interrupt myself, Mr. Graham. Your objection is upheld.” Justice Barrow’s eyes narrowed menacingly as he turned to Henry. “Mr. Flanagan, you know the procedure.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “You ask a question and the witness answers it. Any more of this academic lecturing and I’ll dismiss the witness. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, of course, Your Honour.” Henry’s tone sounded regretful. Great! They let him go on for longer than I thought they would. “My apologies if you think I’ve wasted the court’s time.” He returned to the witness. “What about the downsizing of staff?”

  “I can emphatically state that it happens just about every time a government enterprise is privatised.”

  “And do you have research statistics to support your claims?” Henry asked politely.

  “Yes, Mr. Flanagan, I certainly do.” Professor Edwards opened a folder and began reading from a typed list of privatised government institutions that had been privatised in the past. He gave particular emphasis to their staffing levels before and after privatisation. The list exhausted, Henry raised his eyebrows at the jury. “And why do the newly privatised enterprises downsize?” he asked in an innocent tone.

  Silent for several seconds, Professor Edwards looked thoughtful. “Well firstly, they automatically think that any government enterprise is overstaffed. The second reason is more pragmatic - profit and an increase in share value for the company’s shareholders.”

  “I object to this particular line of questioning, Your Honour.” Rising to his feet, Graham shrugged sympathetically at the jury. “Members of the jury don’t wish to be burdened with this academic theory.”

  “Your objection is noted, Mr. Graham, however on this occasion, I don’t consider your interjection is warranted. The objection is therefore overruled.” Justice Barrow pursed his lips. “Continue, Mr. Flanagan, but make it brief.”

  “Thank you, Your Honour.” Henry smiled apologetically. “I’ve nearly finished with this witness. “Professor Edwards.” He eyeballed the respected academic sternly. “Could the downsizing of staff at Pukka Correctional centre have contributed to the brutal attack on James Rankin?”

  “Your Honour, I object in the strongest terms.” Walter Graham jumped to his feet and gazed despairingly at the judge.

  “Yes, thank you Mr. Graham.” Justice Barrow sighed. “Once again, I must agree with you. Your objection is therefore upheld.” He swung to Henry. “I’m quickly losing patience with you, Mr. Flanagan. You know better than to put a rhetorical question to a witness in my court.” He turned to the jury. “The jury will disregard the last question.”

  “As Your Honour pleases. I withdraw the question. Thank you Professor.” Henry resumed his seat, his face a picture of smug satisfaction. His expression changed as he turned to Elaine.

  “Could you raise, Dick?” he whispered.

  “No, the message is the same. He’s still in an area not covered by the network.” Sorry.”

  “Shit!” he spat softly.

  “Your witness, Mr. Graham.” Justice Barrow sat back in his comfortable leather chair and folded his hands over his pot belly.

  “Ah, Professor Edwards,” Graham said in a scathing tone. “Your testimony is merely a lot of academic theory, is it not?”

  Surprised by the question, Henry leaned forward in his chair. Stupid prick, Graham.

  “No, not really, Mr. Graham.” Professor Edwards answered calmly. “There have been many edited volumes written on the subject and the vast majority of studies agree with my findings.”

  “Yes,” a dismissive tone crept into Graham’s voice, “but these opinions just emanate from a group of disgruntled academics who have little understanding of the real world, don’t they?”

  “You mean like lawyers?” A small smile played at the corners of the academic’s lips.

  Aghast, Graham appealed to the bench. “Your Honour could you please instruct the witness?”

  “I’m afraid you left yourself open to that one, Mr. Graham.” For the first time since the case began, the corners of Justice Barrow’s mouth lifted in the faintest hint of a smile.

  “Nevertheless, I must remind the witness to answer the questions that are asked of him, and refrain from making other comments or observations. Your witness, Mr. Graham.”

  “I have no further use of this witness.” Walter Graham threw up his hands in disgust.

  “Mr. Pedersen?” Justice Barrow inquired.

  “Nothing from me, Your Honour.”

  ***

  Lunch was taken at a small Greek cafe near the Brisbane court complex. “Your usual table is vacant, Mr. Flanagan,” the proprietor greeted them at the door.

  “Thanks George.” Henry led Elaine and Judy to a comfortable corner booth, away from the other patrons, and handed them menus. “What will you have?”

  “What do you think, Henry?” Judy asked once the orders were taken.

  “It’s early days yet, Judy. But I think we’ve got our nose in front so far.” His expression clouded. “This afternoon will be somewhat of a test with Weston on the stand. Truthfully, I don’t know what to make of him. He seemed genuinely sorry about Jim’s death. But I suspect he’ll do everything in his power to protect his job and won’t admit to the assault taking place. And that’s a big problem for us, because somehow, we have to clearly establish in the minds of the jury that the attack on Jim actually occurred.” Elaine noticed his concern and rested her hand on his. “And the evidence has to come from the witnesses that are presented to the court. I just can’t get up and inform the jury that the attack took place at Pukka on the sixth of April. I’ll press Weston hard and watch his reaction carefully. We must prove that Jim was actually assaulted. Without any witnesses, we are stuffed.”

  “After lunch, I’ll try to get Dick again,” Elaine offered.

  “Thanks, sweetheart.” He squeezed her hand.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Call your next witness, Mr. Flanagan.” Justice Barrow looked down over his granny spectacles.

  Henry slowly rose. “Thank you, Your Honour, we call Chief Correctional Officer, Barry Weston.” He turned to the side door expectantly. Smartly turned out in his prison guards dress uniform, CCO Weston strode confidently into the court. Taking the oath, his cleanly shaven head gleamed under the courts fluorescent lighting. He appeared a picture of efficiency. Once positioned in the witness box, he focused his full attention on Henry who had begun to amble in his direction.

  “Mr. Weston, you are the Chief Correctional Officer at the Pukka Correctional centre, are you not?”

  “That is correct.” Each word was pronounced precisely.

  “On the sixth of April this year, an inmate named James Rankin was bashed and raped within the confines of Pukka. Is that not correct?” he asked, sounding hostile now.

  Weston’s whole face tensed. “There’s nothing in the records at Pukka to indicate that such an attack was perpetrated upon the prisoner, James Rankin, Mr. Flanagan.” His voice remained courteous, almost apologetic.

  Henry’s aggressive tone remained. “Because your records have been expunged to hide the unfortunate incident. Isn’t that correct?”

  Oscar Pedersen rose to his feet. “Your Honour, I object. Without any evidence to the contrary, Mr. Flanagan is attacking the witness,” he accused. “And in the process, he’s also attacking the integrity of my client, International Corrections.”

  “I agree, Mr. Pedersen. Your objection is upheld.” Justice Barrow’s tone came with a tinge of impatience. He swung toward Henry. “Mr. Flanagan, you know better than this! You need to provide evidence before making such accusations. Now please move on.”

  “As the court wishes.” Henry bowed to the bench before continuing. “Mr. Weston, a Doctor Simpson complained to you about the assault on Mr. Rankin, did he not?�
�� Henry held up a hand. “Before you answer, I must warn you taht the penalties for perjury are very severe and that I will personally pursue legal action against you if it is subsequently found you lied when answering this question.” Henry knew he was clutching at straws. “Now Mr. Weston, you may answer.”

  “We have no record of a Doctor Simpson practicing at Pukka correctional facility.” Each word was stated slowly and deliberately, as if knowing he was on safe ground.

  “You presently have an inmate named Lawrence Lincoln incarcerated at Pukka, do you not, Mr. Weston?” “That is correct, Mr. Flanagan.”

  “This inmate, Lincoln, is known to the other inmates as Lurch.” Henry turned to the jury with raised eyebrows. “He arranged for the attack on Mr. Rankin and you knew about that, didn’t you, Mr. Weston?”

  “As I informed you previously, Mr. Flanagan, I have no knowledge of any such attack.”

  Oscar Pedersen once again dragged himself to his feet and shook his head. “Your Honour, I must object in the most strenuous terms.” He groaned. “Mr. Flanagan is going nowhere with this line of questioning. Indeed, Mr. Weston has answered all of his questions honestly and truthfully. When Mr. Flanagan didn’t obtain the answers he desired, he has resorted to badgering the witness who is a well-respected employee of my client.” “What about that, Mr. Flanagan? Where is this leading?” Justice Barrow raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ve finished with this so-called witness.” Disgust was written all over Henry’s face.

  “Mr. Graham or Mr. Pedersen?” Justice Barrow looked from one defense barrister to the other.

  Approaching the witness, Oscar Pedersen positively beamed. “Mr. Weston, you’re a Vietnam veteran, are you not?”

  “Yes, sir.” Weston turned to the jury. “I’ve served my country in war.”

  “And you served in the Regular Army for fifteen years, rising to the rank of Warrant Officer Class Two. Isn’t that correct?” Pedersen’s voice was filled with admiration.

  “Yes, sir, that is correct.”

  “Have you any knowledge of any alleged assault on Mr. James Rankin?”

  “No, sir. As I kept telling Mr. Flanagan, there’s no record of any attack on the inmate, Rankin.”

  “Very good, Mr. Weston. Very good. You’re dismissed.”

  Weston had almost stepped down from the witness box when Henry rose to his feet. “Redirect, Your Honour?”

  “If you must,” Justice Barrow consented, sounding a little annoyed.

  Stepping back into the box, a look of uncertainty clouded Weston’s eyes.

  “Ah, Chief Officer Weston, sorry to hold you up,” Henry opened sarcastically. “However, I would like to clear up a few things about your service in the Army.” He noticed the witness lick his lips.

  “I object, Your Honour?” Oscar Pedersen looked displeased. “I mean, is this really necessary? Mr. Weston already provided a brief account of his distinguished career in the armed forces. Any further questioning would surely be a waste of the court’s time.”

  Justice Barrow shrugged. “You opened up the subject, Mr. Pedersen. I have no other choice than to allow Mr. Flanagan a redirect. Your objection is therefore overruled.”

  “Thank you, Your Honour.” Henry turned to the Chief Officer. “Just to clear up a couple of points. When you were in Vietnam, you were simply a corporal clerk in the unit’s orderly room, were you not?”

  Weston’s face pinkened. “Er, yes,” he answered in a hushed voice.

  “The court could not hear your answer, Mr. Weston.” Henry waved to the public gallery. “Could you please speak a little louder?”

  Unbridled hate filled Weston’s eyes. He obviously thought everything had gone so well. “Yes,” he replied in a much louder voice.

  “You never went out on patrol or anything like that? The truth is you never even carried a rifle, did you?” Although asked quietly, there was nevertheless an implied criticism in Henry’s tone.

  “No.” Weston lowered his head.

  “And in relation to your fifteen years of military service. Why did you leave the Army?” Henry folded his arms and locked his gaze on the witness.

  “I took a discharge. My time was up.” Weston didn’t meet his eyes.

  “After just five more years’ service, you would have been eligible for a Defence Force Retirement Board pension for the remainder of your life.” Henry hesitated. “Yet you left the service.”

  “Yes, as I told you, my time was up.” His face beet root red, Weston’s tone had lowered to a guttural rumble

  Henry went on the attack. “Did your leaving the service have anything to do with the missing sum of money in your unit’s Sergeants Mess accounts?”

  In obvious incomprehension at Henry’s gall, Weston’s mouth opened and closed.

  Henry could see his temper was close to the surface now. He saw it burning in his eye. He’s going to explode. He asked the question again. “Did your leaving the army have something to do with missing money in your unit’s Sergeants Mess accounts?”

  “Fuck you.” The Chief Officer finally lost control. “You fuckin’ shyster bastard.”

  “Mr. Weston, control yourself.” Justice Barrow looked down angrily. Weston was obviously beyond caring. “And the same goes for you, you old fart,” he yelled at the top of his voice. “You legal bastards are all the same.”

  Judge Barrow looked to the rear of the courtroom and beckoned two uniformed officers, addressing them in a stern voice. “Remove Mr. Weston from the witness box and escort him to the holding cells. He is being held for contempt of court.”

  As they attempted to restrain him, Weston fought them violently, screaming obscenities every step of the way.

  Resuming his seat, Henry smiled at Elaine. “That Dick is good,” he whispered. “I just hope he can have as much success in locating Doctor Simpson.”

  Henry rose to his feet. “Your Honour, we call the Minister for Corrective Services, the Honourable Johnathon Charles Windsor.”

  The witness clerk rose from his chair and addressed the court. “Your Honour, the Minister apologises to the court. He has been called to an urgent Cabinet meeting and cannot attend.”

  “I’ll bet,” Henry said softly to Elaine

  The witness clerk went on, “He advises that he will be available from nine a.m. tomorrow morning.”

  “Very well.” Justice Barrow looked over his granny spectacles at Henry. “Next witness, Mr. Flanagan.”

  Henry took advantage of a legitimate means of holding up proceedings. I need to give Dick as much time as he needs to get hold of Dr Simpson. “If it please the court,” he began in an earnest voice. “It is of paramount importance that I be able to question the minister first, as the information I am seeking from him will form the basis of questions I may put to other witnesses. We therefore seek an adjournment until the Minister is available.”

  “Oh very well, Mr. Flanagan.” Justice Barrow sighed. “The court is adjourned until nine a.m. tomorrow morning.”

  ***

  The phone was ringing as they entered the office. “Dick, thank God.” Elaine answered, transferring it to Henry. From his demeanor, Elaine could tell everything wasn’t going well.

  “Shit!” He slammed down the receiver. “The bloody doctor won’t come and Dick can’t convince him.”

  “We’re done for, Henry.” Judy slumped into a chair.

  “At this stage, it would appear so, Judy.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Unless I can unsettle the Minister or the CEO of International Corrections.” She sensed by the grim look on Henry’s face that achieving this would be difficult “They’ll be hard eggs to crack. If we can’t prove to the jury that the assault took place, then we’re out of business, I’m afraid.”

  “You’ll do your best, Henry, and that’s all anyone can ask. And
for that I thank you with all my heart.” She forced a thin smile. “At least the treatment of inmates is now on the political agenda.”

  “I just hate to see the bastards win, that’s all. Especially that mongrel, Lawson.” Henry’s features tightened.

  ***

  As predicted, and try as he might, Henry couldn’t break the Minister who denied all knowledge of the attack. In desperation, he tried another tack. “A prisoner is incarcerated for punishment and rehabilitation, would you agree, Minister?” Henry’s tone had become conciliatory.

  “Yes, I agree with that observation, Mr. Flanagan.” John Windsor looked uncertain, apparently wondering where this line of questioning was leading to.

  “What about bashing and rapes in prison? Should any inmate have to suffer the pain and degradation that comes with such an assault?” he asked calmly.

  There was a long pause as the Minister considered the question. “No, of course not,” he answered carefully. “And in that regard, I have instructed all the staff under my control to report any such offense to relevant authorities for action to be taken against the perpetrator.”

  “That is very commendable of you, Minister.” Henry flashed a triumphant smile before pouncing. “Then you admit that bashings and rapes do occur in prisons?” he asked stiffly.

  John Windsor licked his lips. “I suppose such things happen on rare occasions,” he admitted quietly.

  “Do you keep statistics on such attacks?”

  The Minister was caught off guard. “I’m, I’m not sure, Mr. Flanagan,” he stammered.

  “You’re the Minister for Corrective Services in the Government of Queensland and yet you are unsure whether your department keeps statistics on bashings and rapes within the walls of our correctional facilities?” Henry shook his head in disgust. “I find that difficult to believe.”

  Oscar Pedersen rose slowly to his feet. “Your Honour, I object to this line of questioning. No government minister can be aware of all the statistical information that is collected within his or her portfolio. My learned friend,” he waved a hand in Henry’s direction, “is merely attempting to enhance his own case by dragging up red herrings which are completely irrelevant.”