by JD Nixon
I relayed the situation to the Sarge, and he sped up.
“It’s probably nothing,” he said, as if assuring himself. “A false alarm.”
“Maybe he’s sick or something?” I suggested.
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
We pulled into the driveway of the Gatton property and drove its length to park in front of the house. Mrs Gatton met us at the door, her hands twisting together with anxiety, her rheumy eyes shiny with unshed tears.
“I’m just so worried about him. It’s not like him at all. And he won’t speak to me. Won’t say a word,” she said, her voice trembling. “Not a word.”
“Can you show us to his room, please?” the Sarge asked gently.
She led us down the hallway to the staircase. We followed as she made her creaky, slow way upstairs, down another short hall to a closed door on the left.
The Sarge knocked on the door firmly. “Dave, it’s Sergeant Maguire. Can you open the door, please?”
Silence echoed throughout the house, punctuated only by the loud ticking of an old grandfather clock in the downstairs hall.
“Dave, I’d just like to have a chat with you. Could you open the door, please?”
We heard the slight sound of movement through the thick, heavy door.
“Dave. Just chat to me for five minutes, that’s all I’m asking,” tried the Sarge again.
“Go away,” he said, his voice muffled. “I don’t feel like talking to anyone.”
“Dave, just unlock the door and give me five minutes. Your mother is very concerned about you. Show her that you’re all right.”
“Please make my mother go downstairs.”
“Dave,” she cried helplessly.
“Go downstairs, Mum. Please,” he demanded.
The Sarge and I looked at each other, and then he nodded in the direction of the stairs. I took Mrs Gatton gently by the arm and led her towards the stairs.
“Okay, Dave. Senior Constable Fuller is taking your mother downstairs. Now will you open the door so that we can have a chat?”
I took Mrs Gatton to her expansive, spotless, but elderly kitchen and commenced making her a cup of tea – that panacea for many of life’s problems. The Sarge’s voice was only an indistinct murmur from down here, and try as I might, I couldn’t discern what he was saying, or what kind of response he was receiving.
I fussed around with the electric kettle, teapot and tea canister, searching out two mugs, even though a cup of tea was the last thing I wanted. I was just pouring the boiling water into the teapot when the Sarge appeared in the doorway and beckoned to me.
I left Mrs Gatton in the kitchen and we moved a discreet distance from her ears.
“He’s refusing to open the door or to talk to me,” the Sarge said in frustration. “Perhaps you might have more luck?”
“I doubt it. If he’s not willing to talk to another man, I don’t think he’ll want to talk to me.”
“But you’ll give it a try?”
“Of course. You stay here with Mrs Gatton. We should probably keep her downstairs.”
“Okay. Good luck. Yell if you need me.”
“Don’t worry, I will,” I said, jogging lightly up the stairs and feeling every bruise from my earlier encounter with a staircase.
I knocked on the door.
“Dave? It’s Officer Tess. Could you open the door, please? Let your mother know that you’re all right. She’s very worried about you.”
I thought I heard a sound like a sob, cut short. “Just tell her I love her and she’s always been a great mother.”
I knocked more urgently. “Dave. Let me in. If you don’t let either Sergeant Maguire or me in, we’re going to have to find a way to let ourselves in. Do you understand? I’d rather you let me in willingly.”
“And tell her I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but I just couldn’t . . .”
The sound of a chair clattered loudly in the silence that followed.
I banged on the door. “Dave? Dave?” I turned and yelled, “Sarge!”
Without waiting for him to arrive, I kicked at the door lock a couple of times to no avail except exacerbating my earlier injury. The door had been constructed in an era when houses were built solidly, and built to last. I tried again with the same lack of success.
The Sarge bounded up the stairs.
“Something’s wrong,” I explained, not wasting my breath on unnecessary words.
He shoved me out of the way and took a few well-aimed kicks at the door, near the lock, using the power of his leg muscles. After about five kicks, the door started splintering. His sixth kick shoved it open.
Dave hung from a rope attached to a large hook in the ceiling of his bedroom, a chair fallen on its side. His legs kicked about as his face slowly turned purple.
“Shit,” the Sarge said. “Quick. I’ll hold him up. You get on the chair and undo the knots.”
The Sarge grabbed Dave around the legs and hoisted him enough to loosen the pressure on his throat. I righted the fallen chair and stood on it, my fingers desperately and clumsily trying to undo the noose, only too aware we both literally had the life of a man in our hands. When finally, the last tangles of rope freed themselves, Dave slumped on to the Sarge who staggered as he attempted to lay the unconscious man on the ground.
“Is he . . .” I asked, barely daring to hear the answer.
The Sarge checked his pulse and chest. “He’s not breathing.”
He pulled out his gloves and resuscitation shield, but before he could even don them ready to perform CPR, Dave spluttered back to consciousness.
He blinked and looked around the room, focusing in the end on me, and then the Sarge.
“Why?” he said, with a despondency that was heartbreaking to hear. “Why the hell did you stop me?”
Chapter 19
Later, much later, we assured ourselves that Dave, who refused to allow us to arrange any medical help, would be okay – physically, at least. He lay on his bed, his head cradled in his tearful mother’s lap, and we talked.
When he spoke, he refused to look any of us in the eye, and being someone who’d felt deep humiliation in life myself, I perceived a strong sense of that in him. Whether that was because he was embarrassed he’d had to be rescued, or because he’d failed in his attempt, it was far too early, and beyond my professional capacity, to determine.
“You don’t know what it’s been like since you arrested me, Officer Tess,” he said eventually, his voice colourless.
“I do, Dave,” his mother avowed, stroking his hair.
“Only part of it, Mum. None of you know what it’s like to be shunned in a town you grew up in, a town that your own family helped build. You don’t know what it’s like to have people mocking you, even.”
I gave a silent ironic laugh. I do actually, Dave. I really do, I thought to myself.
Unaware of my thoughts, he continued, “People who were my friends, who invited me to their houses. Now they turn the other way in the street. If they’re with their kids, they shield them from me.” He glared at me. “They think I’m a pervert. The school doesn’t ask me to talk about farming at career day anymore. The community group I belonged to expelled me by unanimous vote. People in this town have spat on me and thrown things at me. I’m not a pervert. I didn’t mean to do anything wrong that day.”
“I’m sorry, Dave. I didn’t have a choice but to take you into custody that day. Those parents looked like they wanted to lynch you. I did it for your own safety as much as for what you did.”
“It’s not your fault, Officer Tess,” Mrs Gatton said kindly. “Dave knows that.” She continued to stroke her son’s hair gently. “And he knows that I’ve also suffered from being shunned in town because of my support of him in court that day.” She looked at us fiercely. “My son’s a decent man, and I don’t care if people in this town take umbrage when I dare tell them that.”
“Dave,” asked the Sarge, “how long has this been brewing?”
/>
Dave blinked away tears – tears that were hard won from a plain speaking, no-nonsense man of the land. “It was that couple.”
“Do you mean the young couple who carjacked you?” I asked.
He nodded, turning his head away from all of us. “Being robbed by them when I’d just tried to do them a good deed. I was on my way to Little Town anyway and they both looked tired.” He paused for a long time. “It was the last straw for me. And then . . .”
“Then what, Dave?” asked the Sarge.
“Then those detectives turned up, and I could tell they’d already judged me. Probably thought I’d picked up those teenagers for other reasons. I couldn’t bear anyone else judging me. I’ve just had enough.”
“Dave . . .” his mother said, her soft tears falling on his face.
“I know I haven’t been much of a success with women in my life. But I don’t enjoy being single, and now I won’t have a choice about it. I would have liked to have had a wife and a family.” He glowered at us. “I’m not interested in kids in that way. I’m not. I was just taking a leak that day, that’s all.”
“Dave’s a good man,” his mother asserted again. “What are you going to do to him? Are you going to arrest him?”
“No,” said the Sarge. “Of course not. We’ll find someone to help Dave talk through his problems. Does he have someone trusted he can talk to? Perhaps his GP or a minister?”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” he declared.
“I’m afraid we have a duty of care to refer you to some professional help,” the Sarge insisted. “It would be extremely negligent of us not to do so. But until I can give you the name of a counsellor, please remember that Lifeline is only a phone call away. I would strongly suggest you ring them when we leave so you can have a confidential conversation with a counsellor.”
He rattled off the phone number, making Mrs Gatton write it down and leave it in a prominent place near their phone. He then pulled her to one side to discuss not leaving Dave alone for the rest of the day.
“Mrs Gatton, please encourage Dave to ring Lifeline. Even ring them for him. I really think he’d benefit from talking to someone who isn’t going to judge him. The counsellor could also suggest some coping strategies for him when he has those negative feelings and thoughts again,” I said.
“I will, Officer Tess.” She walked us to the door. “Thank you so much for taking me seriously, and for coming so quickly.” Her eyes shone with tears again. “I can’t imagine what would have happened if you hadn’t. I couldn’t bear to lose Dave. Especially like that. He’s all I’ve got.”
I patted her on the arm in sympathy and we left her standing on her verandah, watching us driving away.
“Do you think he’s going to be all right?” I asked the Sarge.
“I hope so. Depression causes a lot of suffering.”
“I feel responsible for his situation. If I hadn’t arrested him, none of this would have happened.”
“You had no option, Tess. He was breaking the law. And do you really think those parents would have been happy for you to give him a slap on the wrist and send him on his way? I mean, I wasn’t even here at the time, but it doesn’t take too much imagination to know how angry the parents would have been.”
“I really did need to arrest him for his own safety.”
“Then you have nothing to blame yourself over.”
“I do feel sorry for him though. His mother is right – he really is a decent bloke. He made one stupid drunken error, and just look at the impact it’s had on his life.”
“I sincerely hope he does talk to someone.”
“This whole situation with Annabel is having such a negative impact on so many lives – Dave, Jamie, baby Jamie, and Annabel herself. It’s almost like a tragic play in a number of acts.”
“It’s that Merrick who’s to blame for it all.”
“True. Bastard. Hope he gets caught soon.”
Back at the station, he rang Big Town to obtain the contact details of the counselling service to which they most commonly referred people. He then rang Dave to pass on the number, but hung up quickly.
“Guess that’s a good sign. Their phone was engaged.”
“Hopefully he’s talking to Lifeline.”
“Remind me to ring back again later to check on him.”
My stomach rumbled loudly again, making him laugh.
“Come on, kid. Let’s go have some lunch.”
“Don’t call me kid. You know I don’t like it.”
“And after lunch, you can get stuck into writing your reports – on your encounter with this Merrick guy and what just happened with Dave.”
“I s’pose,” I conceded. It seemed to me that I spent more time in front of my computer than doing actual policing work. “Let’s go to my house for lunch. It’s about time I paid you back for all your hospitality.”
“Hospitality? Aren’t you the woman who complains about everything I prepare for her?”
“Yeah, but come on – it’s always tuna. Who wouldn’t complain?”
“Not tuna today then?”
“Nope. I have lots of eggs though.”
Now it was his turn to look unenthusiastic. “All right. If you insist.”
“I hope my Land Rover gets fixed soon,” I said as he locked the front door of the station. “You’re going to have to let me use the patrol car until it is.”
“I’m going to have to?”
“Yes,” I replied firmly. “I can’t go without wheels. How am I supposed to get to work otherwise?”
“I’ll give the mechanics a ring to see if I can hurry them up. I know what happens when I let you have control of the patrol car.”
“And what’s that?”
“Reckless pursuits, that’s what.”
I blew a disrespectful raspberry at him. “That’s nothing but slanderous rubbish. I haven’t chased anyone since you left.”
“I presume that had something to do with the fact that Baz wouldn’t let you drive.”
“I know. He was such a pain in the arse about it, no matter how much I asked him. You have no idea what I had to endure working with him.”
He laughed. “I’m glad he forced you to behave yourself. And I’d appreciate it if you did me a huge favour and continue to behave yourself. It would make my relationship with the Super so much more congenial.”
It was my turn to laugh. “She doesn’t have a congenial relationship with anyone, so don’t think she’s going to treat you like some special little snowflake.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, waiting for a semi-trailer to pass before pulling out on to the highway.
My tummy grumbled loudly again.
“Speaking of food, I heard you had dinner with Trig and Harry while they were here,” he said casually.
“Yeah,” I admitted, pausing for an embarrassed moment. “It didn’t go very well.”
“I heard you pulled your knife on Harry.”
“He tried to hug me without any warning. I barely knew him, and you know how I feel about strangers touching me. I reacted badly.”
“He’s a nice guy, Tessie. One of the good ones. He didn’t mean you any harm.”
“I know that, and I felt really bad about being so . . . um . . .”
“Threatening?”
“Is that what he called me?” His diplomatic silence told me everything. “I did apologise to him the next day. And I genuinely did feel bad about it.”
“I suppose you haven’t had much to feel good about for a while.”
“Not really.”
“Then we’ll have to think of something that will make you feel good.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. What would make you feel good about life?”
“Looking after my chickens makes me feel good. Eating Tim Tams does too. And I’ve started making my own bread. I find that very relaxing, not to mention budget-friendly.” I considered his question more. “Being with Jakey make
s me happy. If we’re not arguing, that is.”
“Okay.”
“All the Bycrafts being wiped out by some sort of extremely painful and Bycraft-specific plague would make me feel really good.”
“Um, that one might be going a step too far.”
“Perhaps, but do you want to know the one thing that would make me genuinely happy?”
“Yes. Of course I do. That’s why I asked.”
“Taking your Beemer for a spin,” I said with a sly smile.
“Oh, God. You never give up, do you?” he groaned. “And by ‘spin’, I assume you mean chasing some Bycrafts at a ridiculous speed into the next state?”
“Maybe,” I smiled again as he pulled into my driveway.
“If that’s what would make you happy, then I’m sorry to say, you’re just going to have to stay unhappy.”
“Geez, you’re so mean to me sometimes. Do you want me to make you lunch or not?”
“Only because it’s a slightly better option than starving. Although now that I think about it . . .”
“Mean and rude, Maguire.”
I preceded him into the house, calling out to Dad that we were home for lunch. He was in the lounge room, asleep in his wheelchair, a cold, untouched cup of tea on the small table next to him.
“Dad?” I asked, gently shaking his shoulder.
He woke with a jolt, groggily looking around before he managed to focus and snap out of his slumber.
“Sorry, love. I didn’t hear you come in. Must have dozed off for a second.”
“You probably needed it,” I said, despairing at the lines of tiredness and pain etched into his pale face, the shape of his bones visible in his increasingly thin body and face. “I’ll make you some lunch.”
“I’m not that hungry, Tessie.”
“Just a little sandwich. I’m sure you can eat that,” I urged.
“Hello, Trev,” said the Sarge quietly.
“Hello, Finn.”
Dad shook his head as if trying to shake out some cobwebs, wheeling himself towards the kitchen, his bony wrists protruding from the long-sleeved shirt he wore. It seemed these days that he felt the cold intensely, even though it was a warmish summer day.
I hovered around him, wanting to push him myself and save him the energy, but he impatiently waved me away like a particularly annoying mosquito.