A Case in Question

by Herb Hamlet

  “But...” Walter Graham began, but was instantly silenced.

  “In the morning, Mr. Graham.” Justice Barrow brought down his gavel.

  ***

  In the corridor outside the courtroom, Dick Argent made the introductions.

  “Thank you for coming, doctor.” Henry shook the hand of his most important witness.

  “I certainly didn’t want to come, I can assure you, Mr. Flanagan,” Simpson grumbled in a low voice.

  “You must have done some serious talking, Dick.” Henry grinned.

  No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t talk him into coming. In the end, it was the Aboriginal elders who insisted he accompany me to Brisbane. It seems they couldn’t agree to an injustice taking place in court, just because of a perceived inconvenience to their community. In the past, too many of their own people have suffered injustice under our legal system. When I told them of the situation, the elders insisted that Doctor Simpson fly down here with me.” Dick gave Henry a slow wink. “And I promised the doctor you would represent him gratis if the state government tries to transfer or sack him.”

  “You can make book on that, Doc.” Henry again held out his hand. “Now down to business. You know why you’re here?”

  “Yes, of course I do, Mr. Flanagan. I’m here to give evidence to the court on the bashing and rape of James Rankin which occurred on the sixth of April this year.” There was a quiet look of intelligence and integrity about him.

  “Precisely, Doctor, precisely.”

  ***

  Paul Lawson waited expectantly for his visitor in the Premier’s conference room. To relievehis impatience, he went to the bar and removed a bottle, splashing a liberal helping of Johnny Walker over ice cubes in a glass. With drink in hand, he reached for a box of Cuban cigars with the other. Keeping to his usual routine, he removed a cigar from the box and examined the product, twirling it in his fingers. He savored its aroma, before snipping off one end with a solid metal clipper. After taking a large gulp of whiskey, he lifted a lighter and lit the cigar. As smoke wafted toward the ceiling, his eyes narrowed. I’ll still beat that bastard, Flanagan, the working-class fool. Once comfortable in his favorite chair, Lawson let his political mind wander. University academics consistently referred to people like him as ‘Elites’ who set the agenda for the nation, and Paul Lawson was particularly proud to be one of them. He believed that there were two classes of people in Australian society - a class that rules and a class that is ruled. The riffraff.

  To the Queensland Premier, there was nothing wrong with people from elite backgrounds having common interests and common goals. They were members of the ruling class whohad public policy decisions introduced in their favor, and his government had an impressive record of representing their interests. We have become even more wealthy and powerful, and our influence over government policy is strong as ever. A sly smirk hovered on his thin lips. That’s the way it should be. Can’t have the riff raff running things. It’s bad enough that they vote. Yes, and something should be done about that. I’ll phone the Prime Minister and have a little whisper in his ear about our stupid compulsory voting system.

  The light rap on the door brought him back to the matter at hand. “Come in, Inspector.”

  Robert Malone quietly entered the room and Lawson extended his hand. It was taken in a light grip by the Inspector in charge of the force’s notorious Special Branch.

  “Right on time.” Lawson pointed toward the conference table. “Have a seat, Bob.”

  “I always try to be punctual, sir.”

  The Premier nodded. “That business with Rankin went well, Bob.”

  “Yes sir, I sent my best man.”

  “I’ll get straight to the point.” Lawson’s tone became more business-like. “I have another job for you, Bob.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Just when we thought we had everything covered, Flanagan now has a witness who could turn things against us.” His eyes narrowed. “We need to stop him somehow.”

  “I see.” Malone folded his arms. “When you say stop him, do you mean the witness or Flanagan?”

  “Either. But I would prefer Flanagan. That would stuff them up permanently.”

  “As you say, sir.”

  The Premier rose to his feet and again held out his hand. “I think you’ll be the best commissioner this state has ever had, Bob.” He turned back to the bar. “What about having a whiskey with me?”

  “Thank you, sir. That would be nice.”

  ***

  It was approaching dusk as Henry drove his old Volvo sedan westward in the outside lane of traffic. He failed to notice a large black sedan with the muddied registration plates and darkened windows slowly moving up inside him. The vehicle pulled alongside and continued to maintain a steady pace with the Volvo. Henry had almost reached the far side of a bridge, when he noticed a fully laden semi-trailer approaching from the opposite direction. The large monster almost upon him, without warning, it began to stray into his lane.

  Henry hit the brake pedal hard and tried to pull over into the centre lane but the black sedan refused to budge, holding him in the outside lane. Swallowing the bile rising in his throat, Henry saw the other approaching lanes were clear of traffic. In desperation, he accelerated, swinging the Volvo across the pathway of the oncoming semi which attempted to follow him. Fortunately for Henry, it had left its move too late. He barely caught a fleeting glimpse of a man seated behind the wheel as it shot past him. Henry heard the screeching of brakes from oncoming vehicles, and hit his own brakes hard, trying to regain control of the Volvo as it mounted the footpath on the opposite side. He sat behind the wheel, his heart pounding, his body a lather of nervous sweat, his breaths coming in gasps.

  ***

  Emerging from the parked Volvo in his garage, Henry heard the telephone ringing inside his unit.

  “Henry Flanagan,” he grunted impatiently.

  “You got your warning, Flanagan. Don’t come to court in the morning.” The receiver was slammed down in his ear.

  As soon as he replaced the handset, his phone started to ring again. “Listen...” Henry began, immediately silenced by the strained voice of his former wife.

  “Henry, it’s Fiona,” she interrupted. “The girls have gone missing. Are they there with you?”

  The words sent his emotions reeling and a hundred questions ran through his head. “G, gone missing?” he stammered in disbelief, thinking he had misunderstood her. “What the bloody hell do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I said,” she answered worriedly. “When I arrived home, they were gone.”

  Hurtful words sprang to mind. He controlled them. “Shit!” he exploded. “I don’t need this now. I’m up to my ears with this case.”

  “They’re your daughters, too.” Her tone was sarcastic.

  Only when things go arse up, he thought, but replied civilly enough, “You’ve certainly changed your bloody tune.” He took a deep breath. “Did they take anything with them?”

  “Just some clothing.”

  “Bloody hell, all right, leave it to me, I’ll track them down.”

  Without a further word, Fiona Graham terminated the conversation. Henry’s nerves began to fray as he tried to think the problem through.

  It was at this time Elaine came bustling through the front door, her face flushed with excitement. She stepped toward him, her eyes warm as she tried to form the words in her mind. “Henry,” she began.

  He interrupted her. “You should be pleased you didn’t have any kids, Elaine, they can be a total bloody pain in the neck sometimes.” He reached for the phone and dialed Dick Argent’s number.

  His words were like a hot wire searing through her brain. She stood dumbfounded, shaking her head, unwilling to believe the Henry she knew and loved could have said something
so hurtful, especially with the miraculous news she’d just received. In a daze, hopes and dreams dashed, tears streamed from her eyes as she stumbled through the front door into the evening air.

  Henry’s imagination could conjure no set of circumstances that would explain his daughters’ behavior. The phone was answered on the sixth ring. “Dick, I’m sorry to interrupt you while you’re having dinner, mate, but something very urgent has turned up. Fiona just phoned. It seems our two girls have gone missing. Could I call on your services to help me locate them?”

  “No problem, mate.” He hung up.

  Guilt from his uncharacteristic outburst at Elaine started to hit home hard. Henry looked around only to discover there was no sign of her. He searched his unit, calling her name as he went from room to room. Shit, not this on top of everything else. Why did I say such a terrible thing, to her of all people? Especially since she’s not been herself lately. You bloody idiot. Later, he tried to phone her but there was no answer.

  ***

  The courtroom the following morning was packed for Justice Barrow’s decision, the media poised like a pack of hungry sharks in a feeding frenzy. Henry looked around anxiously waiting for any sign of Elaine but she failed to appear. I’ll call her later.

  All eyes were on Justice Barrow, as he took up his position on the bench. He carefully removed his characteristic granny spectacles from a black leather case, placing them on the end of his nose and began reading from an open manila folder.

  “Mr. Pedersen, Mr. Graham, Mr. Flanagan, I’ve given this matter a great deal of thought during the night and have come to the conclusion that in the best interests of justice, Doctor Simpson should be permitted to give evidence in this case.” The courtroom erupted and Justice Barrow brought down his gavel until the noise had subsided. He went on. “As Mr. Flanagan rightly points out, sooner or later the doctor’s evidence will be placed before a court of this land. I can see no point in delaying the inevitable.”

  “I must protest, Your Honour.” Graham rose.

  “Protest all you like, Mr. Graham. My decision stands.” The judge indicated to Henry. “NowMr. Flanagan, call your last witness.”

  Henry swung toward the witness clerk. “We call Doctor Reginald Anthony Simpson.”

  Look ing the part, Doctor Simpson strode into the court room wearing a beige suit, white shirt and striped tie. The few strands of hair remaining on top of his head were slicked down over his scalp. After being sworn in , he looked expectantly in Henry’s direction.

  “Would you please state your full name and occupation,” Henry requested in a formal tone.

  “Certainly sir. My name is Reginald Anthony Simpson, I’m a medical practitioner.”

  “Doctor Simpson, could you please tell the court where you were on the morning of the sixth of April this year?”

  Doctor Simpson turned toward the jury. “I was on duty as medical examiner at the Pukka Correctional centre.”

  A murmur ran through the courtroom.

  “And on that morning, did you happen to treat an inmate named James Rankin?”

  “Yes, that is correct.”

  “What was the nature of James Rankin’s medical condition?”

  “He had been severely bashed and raped.” That was as far as the doctor was allowed to proceed before Walter Graham bounced to his feet.

  “Your Honour, I object to the answer Doctor Simpson has provided here. He wasn’t witness to any alleged assault. Therefore, he is not in a position to comment on how any supposed injuries were sustained.” Walter Graham slumped back in his chair, knowing full well Henry would merely ask another question to ascertain the necessary information.

  “Mr. Flanagan, I must agree with Mr. Graham.” Judge Barrow sighed. “The objection is upheld.”

  “My apologies to the court, Your Honour, I’ll put the question another way.” Henry bowed.

  “I wish you would, Mr. Flanagan.” Justice Barrow replied sarcastically.

  Henry turned back to his witness. “At this stage, Doctor Simpson, please just describe the injuries James Rankin sustained.”

  “Very well.” The medico’s features grew stern. “Mr. Rankin was badly bruised, mainly in the facial and torso areas of the body. He had internal injuries to his rectum as well as bruising to the area, and there was profuse bleeding.”

  “Had you seen these sorts of injuries previously at Pukka, Doctor?” Henry continued.

  “Yes, many times.”

  “Now doctor, you may answer the question. In your opinion, these types of injuries are consistent with what type of assault?”

  “That’s simple, Mr. Flanagan, physical assault and anal rape,” the doctor replied succinctly.

  When the courtroom erupted, Justice Barrow took hold of his gavel and rapped it repeatedly on the pad in front of him. “Order in this court. Order. Or I’ll have the courtroom cleared.” He waited for the noise to subside. “You no doubt wish to cross examine, Mr. Graham.”

  “Of course, Your Honour.” Walter Graham glared at Reginald Simpson as hestepped toward him. “Isn’t it true that your license to practice medicine was revoked for three years, Doctor?”

  “That is correct,” he replied evenly.

  “Why was your license revoked?”

  “I had an addiction to morphine.”

  “Then you admit to being a drug addict,” Graham scoffed.

  “No, I admit to being a reformed drug addict,” Doctor Simpson replied indignantly.

  “With your discredited record, how can you expect this court to believe the unsubstantiated evidence you put before us? I mean there is nothing in Rankin’s medical file at Pukka to support your claims.”

  “I can personally assure this court that I recorded James Rankin’s injuries in his medical file. I can only suggest that the original file was replaced with another file.”

  “You expect the court to believe that a respectable company such as International Correctional Services tampered with the medical file of an inmate? What an insult to the integrity of this firm.” Graham’s tone was scathing. He approached the jury frowning. “It is well documented that you can never trust a drug addict.”

  “You can say what you like to discredit me, Mr. Graham, but it doesn’t alter the fact that James Rankin was bashed and raped whilst an inmate at Pukka Correctional centre.” Dr Simpson fired back.

  As the words flowed, Walter Graham did everything in his power to appeal to the bench. “Your Honour, this witness is not answering the question I put to him. He is rambling.”

  “You left yourself open by not asking a question in the first place, Mr. Graham.” Justice Barrow paused. “Have you any further questions of this witness.”

  “No, Your Honour.”

  “What about you, Mr. Pedersen?”

  The experienced barrister knew better. “No questions, Your Honour.”

  “The witness is dismissed.” The judge turned to the defense. “You may resume your summation, Mr. Graham.”

  In a hushed silence, Walter Graham slowly rose to his feet and solemnly faced the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, nothing much has changed since I last attempted to sum up this case to you. Indeed.” He slowly approached the jurors. “The only difference now is that a drug addicted doctor has stated that James Rankin was injured on the sixth of April this year. Can we really believe the testimony of a medical practitioner who has been so discredited in his own profession?” Graham’s eyes searched the face of each juror. “I call on all of you to remember that Doctor Simpson’s unsubstantiated testimony is the only piece of so-called evidence that the alleged assault on James Rankin actually took place. More creditable witnesses have emphatically testified that no such attack was ever perpetrated on the inmate. I urge you to use your common sense while deliberating, and you will have little difficulty in d
eciding who to believe.” His eyes narrowed. “As stated previously, an inmate cannot sue the State Government or International Corrections for injuries supposedly sustained whilst being legally incarcerated. This case, however, relates to whether the Department of Corrective Services or ICS has breached their duty of care responsibilities. Given the evidence that has been placed before you, it is abundantly clear they have not. Thus you have no other choice than to return a verdict in favor of the defendants.” Graham nodded solemnly. “Thank you ladies and gentlemen for your attention.” He turned and made his way back to his chair.

  Justice Barrow looked up from his notes. “Mr. Pedersen?”

  “I think Mr. Graham has covered everything admirably, Your Honour.” The QC resumed his seat.

  “Very well, Mr. Flanagan. Your summation if you please.”

  “Thank you, Your Honour.” As Henry slowly ambled toward the jury, he placed his hands on his hips. A wide smile lit up his face as he eyed them individually. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I must apologise on behalf of my learned colleague who just addressed you.” Henry waved a hand in Graham’s direction. “Unfortunately, he has resorted to bluff and half-truths in a vain attempt to convince you that James Rankin was not viciously assaulted on the sixth of April this year, and that neither the Department of Corrective Services or ICS have breached their duty of care responsibilities where James Rankin’s safety was concerned. But we all know better, don’t we?” He sought to become one of them. “I’m sure you all agree that no attempt to denigrate Doctor Simpson personally can undermine his emphatic testimony that James Rankin was bashed and raped on that date whilst an inmate within the confines of Pukka Correctional centre. It is also abundantly clear that inadequate supervision was a major contributing factor to the unsafe environment within Pukka prison. Indeed, it has been clearly established that staffing levels have been reduced to alarming levels with the profit motive of International Correctional Services putting individual prisoners at risk, especially those who were vulnerable. As a consequence, there is no doubt the Department of Corrective Services and ICS have breached their duty of care responsibilities.” Henry deliberately paused. “Unlike Mr. Graham, I am not using bluff or any dirty tricks when I state that under the precarious environment within the confines of Pukka, an environment that led to the bashing and rape of James Rankin, your only alternative is to return a verdict in favor of the Plaintiff. I’m afraid you have no other choice. You must also agree on the amount of compensation that should be paid to his widow, Mrs. Judith Rankin. Thank you ladies and gentlemen.” Henry returned to his seat.