by Gary Gregor
For the past thirty minutes or so, he was preoccupied with thoughts other than those of the trial he currently presided over. He knew he could not give the case the attention and concentration it deserved while he remained indecisive in regards to Sam Rose’s request for an exhumation order.
A light blinked on the telephone on his desk. He reached out and picked up the receiver. “Yes?” he snapped.
“I have a Mister Sam Rose on the line for you, Judge,” his secretary announced.
“Put him through,” Hackett responded, softening his tone. “Good morning,” He said.
“Judge Hackett?” Rose’s familiar voice responded. “Good morning, sir. I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“It’s all right. I was just thinking of you."
“Oh?”
“If you’re calling about our conversation last night, I haven’t come to a decision as yet.”
"That is why I’m calling," Sam hurried. "I have some more information that may help you to arrive at a decision.”
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“I’ve just come from Berrimah Prison, where I spoke to a friend of mine in administration. It seems Stringer did have false teeth, a full set of upper and lower dentures.”
“Well,” Hackett mused, “that’s interesting, of course, but I’m still not convinced that alone is enough to justify an exhumation order.”
“There’s more,” Sam said.
“Why is it I’m not surprised?” Hackett responded with resignation.
“Beg your pardon?”
“Never mind. What else do you have?”
“Stringer had an accident a couple of years into his sentence.”
“What sort of accident? Where exactly are you going with this?”
“He was part of a work party doing repairs to the old kitchen block. He slipped, fell off the roof, and broke his leg in two places.”
“And you think an x-ray of the body will reveal the old fracture?”
“Better than that, Judge,” Sam continued. “Apparently it was a pretty bad fall, and the doctors had to insert a steel pin in his leg. He was a long time getting back on his feet again.”
“Let me guess,” Hackett interrupted. “The pin is still there, right?”
“Apparently so, yes. His prison medical records show no sign of it ever being removed.”
“You were given access to his confidential medical records?” Hackett was incredulous.
“Ah, well…yes,” Sam confirmed.
“I don’t think I want to know any more,” Hackett advised. “That admission has implications I’d rather not contemplate at this time.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honour, but when I left your home last night, I was not overly confident you would grant an exhumation order on the little I had to go on. I felt I needed something else. I expected only confirmation that Stringer had false teeth. I never for a moment expected to discover he had a steel pin in his leg.”
A pause developed into an uncomfortable silence. Eventually, Sam could stand it no longer. “Judge Hackett? Are you still there?”
“Where are you?” Hackett asked.
“In my car, outside Berrimah prison,” Sam answered.
“Meet me in my chambers in thirty minutes,” Hackett ordered.
Before Sam could respond, he heard the line disconnect.
Sam knocked softly on the door of the judge’s private chambers.
“Come in,” he heard the judge invite from behind the closed door.
He opened the door and entered the large, cool, richly furnished office. A mildly pleasant smell of leather and furniture polish greeted him. He stopped short, just inside the doorway. Russell Foley occupied a seat opposite the judge.
Foley’s face registered a look of genuine surprise. He glanced quickly at Sam, and then uncomfortably at Judge Hackett.
“Come in,” Hackett beckoned to Sam. He seemed unconcerned at the reaction on the faces of both Foley and Rose. “Close the door and take a seat – there, next to Inspector Foley.” He indicated a vacant chair.
Somewhat tentatively, Sam closed the door and moved further into the room. He stepped up to the only remaining chair and sat down next to Foley. Both men avoided looking at each other, and chose instead to stare inquiringly at Hackett.
Finally, Hackett cleared his throat and spoke, directing his words at both men, his eyes moving deliberately from one to the other.
“Okay gentlemen,” he began. “I had hoped the three of us being together like this, under these circumstances, might have been avoided. It seems I may have hoped for too much.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honour,” Foley interrupted. “But you have me at a disadvantage. I don’t understand why we are here. What circumstances?” He glanced at Rose.
“Bear with me please, Inspector,” Hackett insisted.
“Of course, I’m sorry,” Foley apologised.
“How is the investigation progressing?” Hackett asked directly.
Foley shifted in his chair. “Investigation, Sir?”
Judge Hackett raised a hand. “Let’s not be coy, Inspector, you know to which investigation I refer.”
Russell Foley exhaled deeply, and settled back in his seat. “With respect, sir, the investigation is ongoing and I’m not at liberty to discuss specific details of the case. Particularly in front of civilians,” he threw a sideways glance at Sam.
“Russell,” Hackett said, moving uninvited to the use of Christian names, “I’ve known both you, and Sam, for a long time. You are a damn good cop, as was Sam when he was with the department. I appreciate your concerns about confidentiality and, under different circumstances, I would have no hesitation in respecting those concerns. However, we have an unusual situation here I’m sure you will agree. One which requires the co-operation of all three of us I would suggest.”
“But…” Foley began to protest.
Judge Hackett raised his hand again and Foley fell silent. “Save your objections Russell, please. This is important, hear me out.”
“Of course, excuse me, Your Honour.”
“Now,” Hackett began again. “I don’t have a lot of time. I have a trial in brief adjournment as we speak, so I want to get this done as quickly and as discreetly as possible. Can I count on your cooperation?” He looked first at Russell, and then at Sam.
“Yes, sir,” Sam said immediately.
Hackett looked at Foley. “Russell?”
“Yes, of course,” Foley responded unconvincingly.
“This is important, Russell,” Hackett repeated. “I want you to put aside any personal problems you and Sam may have, for the moment at least. Can you do that?”
“Yes, Your Honour.”
“Good. Now,” Hackett fixed Foley with an earnest stare. “Russell, I understand you had a visit from Sam last night, is that correct?”
Foley nodded. He looked surprised and shot a sideways glance at Sam. “Yes, sir.”
“Is it true he indicated to you he knew the identity of the person responsible for these murders?”
“Well… yes… I mean he speculated something to that effect.”
“I also understand you gave very little credence to his theory?”
Russell Foley threw Sam another look that left no doubt in his former partner's mind that he was far from impressed with this perceived tattle tailing to the Honourable Judge Hackett.
“Russell?” Hackett prompted.
“I gave it absolutely no credence at all. I considered it to be nothing more than fanciful speculation. The suspect he nominated is dead. He killed himself months ago.”
“John William Stringer?” Hackett asked.
“Yes, that’s right,” Foley confirmed.
“Before I continue,” Hackett said glancing briefly at both men, “I want your word that what we discuss in this room this morning stays in this room.”
“Of course,” Foley and Rose said almost in unison.
“Thank you. Now, Russell, perhaps I should tell you that
, after Sam had left you last night he came to my home.”
“I don’t understand,” Foley sounded confused.
“He told me,” Hackett continued, “the same thing he told you about this Stringer character.”
“Why?” Foley shrugged.
“Apparently because you didn’t believe him and you refused to seek a court order to exhume the body he alleges is that of a homeless character named…” he looked at Sam, searching for help.
“Ulstrom,” Sam prompted. “Bert Ulstrom.”
“Yes, Ulstrom. Apparently you didn’t believe him when he suggested Stringer murdered this unfortunate Ulstrom fellow.”
“I didn’t believe him last night, and nothing’s happened since to convince me otherwise. John Stringer is dead. He died by his own hand in a vehicle fire. There are dental records confirming the body was Stringer’s.”
“Indeed,” Hackett agreed. “And I must admit, like you I was reasonably certain Sam was barking up the wrong tree, so to speak.”
“Are you suggesting you have changed your mind?” Foley asked.
“Not based on anything he told me last night,” Hackett clarified. “But, apparently he learned something else this morning. This new information throws a somewhat different light on things.”
“Oh?” Foley looked suspiciously at Sam.
“Sam,” Hackett invited. “Would you like to tell Russell what you told me on the telephone earlier this morning?”
Sam turned to face Foley. “I discovered Stringer did have false teeth.”
“So what? Foley shrugged. “It means nothing.”
Sam continued. “I also found out he had a pin inserted in his leg as a result of an accident while he was in prison. I’m certain an x-ray of the body we all believed to be Stringer will reveal no such pin.”
Foley looked at Judge Hackett. “Sir, this is all just wild speculation on Rose’s part. Everything he has is circumstantial.”
“You’re right, Russell, it is circumstantial. But, we’ve all been in the system long enough to know the value and strength of circumstantial evidence, if there is enough of it. On its own, the false teeth thing is not enough. But, add it to everything else we now know, and it begins to stand up. It would seem, in this instance, we have several pieces of such evidence, and together they begin to add credibility to Sam’s theory.”
“For instance?” Foley was beginning to sound a little unsure of where all this was heading.
“Okay,” Hackett offered. “Let’s look at what we have. First, there is a record of serious threats made by Stringer, both during and after his trial, to get everyone involved in his arrest and subsequent conviction. To date, four people directly involved in that process have been murdered. Second, we know when he was released from prison, he resided at the same Salvation Army hostel as this Bert Ulstrom fellow, and they appeared to become friends. Third, Sam learned from the chap in charge at the hostel that Ulstrom, and Stringer, disappeared together, in Stringer’s car. Later, Stringer is found burned to death in that very same car, Ulstrom is never heard from again, and no one cares or even seriously misses him; he was just a homeless drunk after all.”
“What about the dental records?” Foley interjected.
“I’m coming to that,” Hackett said dismissively. “Last night Sam showed me this,” he picked up some papers from his desk. “It is an autopsy report on the body found in the remains of the car, confirming evidence of advanced liver damage attributed to years of alcohol abuse. I understand Stringer never drank.”
“We don’t know that for sure, it’s just hearsay,” Foley offered in explanation.
“Yes, yes, it is,” Hackett agreed. “But, in the absence of any evidence to refute it, let’s assume for the moment it is correct, and add it to our growing list of circumstantial evidence.”
Foley remained silent, merely nodding in frustrated acquiescence.
Hackett continued. “Early this morning, motivated by Sam’s theory, I took it upon myself to talk to Major Chris Thomas from the Salvation Army hostel where both Stringer and Ulstrom lived. He confirmed everything Sam told me last night, and he also told me Ulstrom had false teeth as well. What a coincidence! Both men had full dentures. Amazing! He knows Ulstrom had false teeth because he was always returning to the hostel pissed to the eyeballs and was forever spewing his teeth into his bunk, or worse, into the toilet.”
“Charming,” Sam observed.
“Indeed,” Hackett agreed. “And if we are to accept as fact that which we now know about Ulstrom, it is more than reasonable to assume he suffered from severe liver damage as a result of his long-term alcohol addiction. Can you see a picture starting to form here?” he looked at Foley, inviting a response.
Foley shrugged. “It’s far-fetched,” he insisted unconvincingly.
“Oh, it is that,” Hackett nodded. “And, I was as sceptical as you at first, and in all honesty, I still am a little. However, in the light of all the evidence, circumstantial or otherwise, I’m inclined to want to give sympathy to Sam’s theorising.”
“You can’t possibly be considering exhuming the body?” Foley posed incredulously.
“Why not, Russell? What have we got to lose? Now we find out Stringer had a steel pin surgically implanted in his leg, a pin that was apparently never removed. An x-ray would confirm either way whether the body is Stringer. Prove to me Sam’s wrong, Russell. Give me another suspect, a stronger suspect. Then I’ll leave you to get on with it. Have you got a better suspect?”
“Well… no… no, but we are working around the clock on this thing. A breakthrough could come at any moment.”
“Please don’t get me wrong, Russell. I don’t for one moment doubt your diligence, but really, the truth is you’ve got nothing. You must know questions are being asked about the effectiveness of the investigation to date.”
“The investigation itself, or my handling of it in particular?” Foley asked. “Hey wait…,” he sat bolt upright in his chair. “Wait just a minute!” He looked at Sam and then at Hackett. “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it! I knew Rose was working for someone! He had to be! He’s working for you, isn’t he?” he accused Hackett. “Jesus Christ! I don’t believe it!” He looked at Sam. “It’s true isn’t it?”
Sam looked at Foley, and then looked at Judge Hackett, hoping for some guidance.
“Yes, Inspector,” Hackett confirmed. “Well, not for me alone exactly, for my colleagues and myself to be precise.”
“Christ, why?” was all Foley could manage to say.
“Because,” Hackett continued. “Too many people have died at the hands of this madman, whoever he is, and by your admission you have no clues as to who he might be. You are a good cop, Russell, but you are not infallible. No one is. Your investigation has stalled. You and your team are banging your heads against a brick wall. I don’t mind telling you there are some worried members of the judiciary around here, myself included.”
“Worried about what?” Foley asked.
“About the progress, or lack of it, being made of course.”
“Are you telling me that you and your colleagues have lost faith in the ability of the police department to solve this case, or is it my ability in particular that concerns you?”
“You’ve had problems of a personal nature in recent times; that’s common knowledge. The truth is, some of us feel you are not performing to the ability we all know you are capable of.”
Foley turned back to Sam. “What else have you been telling people about my personal life?”
“Sam has told me nothing about your personal problems, Russell. He didn’t have to. You are a high profile police officer whether you like it or not. You can’t always keep your private life private from those of us who move in the circles we do. It’s true we felt you may not have been giving the investigation the concentration it deserves. So, Sam was hired to look into the case privately and confidentially. We hoped he might come up with something your people might have missed. A fresh e
ye so to speak.”
“I assume you gave due consideration to the risk you were taking,” Foley speculated.
“Of course,” Hackett nodded. “That is why it is so important to keep our conversation here this morning just between the three of us. Obviously the implications of it becoming a matter of public knowledge that the Northern Territory judiciary hired a private investigator to find a killer do not bear thinking about.”
“Then why the fuck did you do it?” Foley shook his head in wonderment.
“I think I’ve already explained that, Russell,” Hackett replied. “I hope you don’t take this too personally. It was never designed to be a criticism of your ability as an investigator. You have the runs on the board in that regard. We just felt things were at a standstill and you were, for the moment, pre-occupied with… well… matters of a domestic nature.”
“With respect,” Foley scoffed, “my domestic situation, as you so succinctly put it, is my own business; it’s a little difficult not to take it personally.”
“I understand that,” Hackett conceded. “But there are positives to come out of this you know.”
“You’ll forgive me if I find that somewhat condescending, your Honour,” Foley observed.
Hackett ignored the remark. “If you were to request an exhumation, and it turned out that Sam was right, you would, of course, receive credit for the breakthrough in the case.”
“And if he’s wrong?”
“Then there’s no harm done. It’s just another lead being diligently followed and subsequently eliminated from your inquiries.”
“What’s in it for him?” Foley thrust his thumb towards Sam.
“Sam’s been retained to find the killer. He thinks he’s found him, at least his identity. That’s all we required of him. Either way he is to be compensated for his services. Everybody wins here, Russell. You get the credit for catching the bad guy; Sam gets his fee, and we all get this bastard off the street before he kills again.”