The Outing, page 17
Pete swallowed the rest of his beer, his face trying to feign indifference.
Robert wondered if he'd made a mistake, “Tank does too. And Blue.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
“Honestly? Don't know. Wait. See what the inquest turns up and hope those bastards get what they deserve.”
“Another?” Pete held up his empty glass.
Robert stood, “No. Thanks. Gotta go.”
“Stay in touch, eh?”
Chapter 32
On the steps of the Government offices in George Street, Robert waited, a little bemused to be hanging around outside dad's work like a teenager.
“Oi,” Barry's voice brought him out of his reverie. “Come on. Let's go.”
His plan was to chat on the way, and introduce the idea of Simon before introducing him for real, but as ever they were on different wavelengths. He turned his attention back to what his dad was saying. He'd heard it before and cut in.
“What about Mike?” And when his dad turned questioning, “Ahern. I met him at your place.”
“In my opinion,” Barry puffed up to deliver it, “he's as crooked as a telegraph pole.”
“But?” Robert knew there was more.
“He wouldn't stand on his own. Not cut out to be an Independent. He knows that to change anything he'll have to be inside the system. It's not the same for me.”
They walked on in silence. Barry interrupted it, looking sideways with a sheepish smile, “Anyway, what did you want to see me for? This some kind of special occasion or are you in some kind of trouble?”
Robert wanted to ask what he meant, but it wasn't the time, and part of him didn't want to know.
“I've been thinking about your plans, to go independent. And I've got this friend, sort of friend. He was hoping to hear what your thoughts were about the Nationals, Joh and everyone, and-”
“What? Is he thinking about politics?”
“He's a journalist. Do you remember that piece about the judge? He called the police out on the evidence going missing in that big betting, gambling case,” he waited, “and I represented someone in relation to what happened afterwards. The cops weren't too pleased about it.”
Robert stopped talking.
Barry continued walking head down, like he was pacing in his own office, looking up occasionally to check his direction was sound, “Go on.”
“It's well, after representing this case, something bad happened. He died. My client. But before that he'd been trying to improve things for some parts of the community… gays,” Robert looked straight ahead through the slightest pause, “and he'd been talking about it with my friend, the journalist. So after, when I told the journalist what had happened to my client, and he knew you and I were related, he said he'd like to get some inside perspective, political perspective and…”
Barry maintained his pace and kept listening.
“Well,” Jeeez dial it down, “I said I'd introduce you. I thought you could help each other, and you'd have an ally in the media. Someone to give you a platform, hopefully a leg up the Independent ladder.”
“No wonder you lot get paid by the minute. What's his name?”
“Simon, Draper. Do you know him?”
“Mmmm. Heard of him.”
“So you don't mind?”
“Won't know till we talk. You staying?”
“Do you want me to?”
***
Returning to the office, Anna handed him a message, “He didn't leave a name.”
Robert read.
“He said you'd know what it meant.”
“This just gets better and better,” Robert sighed. “Come in.”
She walked in ahead of him and waited.
Now that the emotional nerve endings weren't so raw and exposed, Robert could pretend more easily, but he still needed to look away, “It's Johnny Saunders. We'd been friends, a long time.”
Anna nodded.
“He didn't kill himself, Anna. Someone did it for him.”
“That's how you know he was hurt?”
He nodded, “I'm trying to get information. Anything that can help. And this,” Robert waved his hand dramatically, “doesn't help.”
“You were supposed to get information from him?”
“Backflipping bastard.”
Anna looked confused, “But he didn't say he wasn't going to give it to you. He just said don't come into the station. Assuming it's a police station. He probably doesn't want you there for a reason.”
“Bloody hell. You're right. Of course,” he smiled. “At least one of us has their head screwed on. You're an angel.”
Pleasure and relief sparked in her eyes.
“His name's Kowalski.”
Chapter 33
Kowalski stopped pacing when Robert came in, “Sorry to keep you waiting. Anna can get us some tea.”
“I won't be long,” Kowalski checked the contents in an A4 envelope. “These first. These are from the night before you came in.”
Robert started reading.
“I made copies after you left. There's no right way to say this, but it's happened before. Jumping to conclusions and then adjusting the paperwork to match.”
“Have you told anyone?”
Kowalski's lip puckered, “No point. My mate, he did. Should have kept his mouth shut. Hounded off the force. And he's not the only one. He reckons bide your time.”
“But you're here, so…”
“So, if I can do something to help, then I feel like it's my duty.”
“Would that duty extend to helping an undercover investigation?”
“Is there one?”
“Not a police one,” Robert raised an eyebrow, “I've heard they don't get very far. A friend, journalist. You'd be anonymous.”
“I don't know,” Kowalski fidgeted, and Robert didn't want to lose sight of what was still in envelopes on his lap.
“Just thought I'd mention it. Maybe when the time's right. When it can actually do some good eh?” Robert's smile was as reassuring as he could muster given his desperation not to offend. “Like you said, no point now. What else have you got there?”
Kowalski's face flickered from indecision to resignation. Someone not trained to notice would probably have missed the parade. “OK well, here, see the names. Four officers mentioned, plus Alan John Peters, who by rights should've been in the lockup till after 10am, but wasn't.”
Robert scanned. Nichols, Andrews and Thompson appeared several times, and the report was signed by Constable Brady, “I can keep these?”
“Do I get those engagement letters?”
“Here you go.”
“I've made notes on the backs, to make it easier,” said Kowalski. “These are next. They appeared a couple of days later, and those ones,” he pointed to Robert's hand, “disappeared.”
Nichols and Andrews no longer made an appearance. The charge sheet for Alan John Peters was missing. The incident was marginally different.
They caught eyes.
Kowalski handed over the next envelope, “These are completely different. It's why I said don't come to the station. I don’t want anyone looking at me sideways. This is private.”
Robert read, 'unidentified person running from the scene of an altercation in a known homosexual beat.'
“I reckon they're gonna pin something on poor old Alan John Peters, if they can find him,” Kowalski nodded agreeing with himself. “I bet they're pissed off at whoever let him go.”
“Meaning?”
“They have a perfect patsy, but they don’t know where he is.”
Robert let out a breath.
“I'm no expert,” Kowalski handed Robert another envelope, “but, my uncle is. I asked him to look into it. The tides don't support the suicide story. Especially in light of where they found the body.” He cringed, “Sorry, I mean Mr Saunders’ body. Now there's gonna be a proper inquest, that would've stuck out like a sore thumb. So, their story had to change.”
“But Constable Brady, can he do that? Won't he get into trouble?”
“You're kidding me,” one side of Kowalski's mouth was imitating a smile, the other side wasn't.
Robert's eyes scanned the document again.
“Look sir, Robert,” said Kowalski, “I checked into the whole Judge Matthews thing. The constable that misplaced that evidence, he got promoted.” He sighed, “Probably why I'm still plugging away trying to make senior constable.”
Robert nodded, “I know, in a roundabout way, what's going on, of course, but it’s different when you're hearing it direct and it's people you know. It's sort of frightening isn't it?”
“Yeah. Not easy. I was all inspired after the Inquiry…”
“Heard that before.”
“I dunno where this is gonna end up. My uncle, he's told me stories about what it's like behind the Iron Curtain. The SB.”
Robert frowned.
“The Polish version of the Stasi and the KGB. He reckons just 'cause it's not snowing in Queensland, doesn't mean it's not a police state. I'm so busy watching my back and trying not to stand on anyone's toes I sometimes wonder if it's worth it. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only honest bloody cop in Queensland.”
“I hope not. You said you have more,” Robert held up the envelope. “Other examples of this sort of thing.”
“Yeah, probably never see the light of day. And hey,” he pressed his lips together, “apologies. I shouldn't be letting off steam like that. I'll stick with it. And if I hear or see anything else about this, well, you can count on me.”
Chapter 34
After Kowalski left Robert sat tapping his index finger on the envelopes. Another head would be useful.
He left a message for Simon. Then he and Anna went over who'd been picking up his slack, and he went to see Duncan.
“Got a minute?” His foot hit the door-frame. “I wanted to apologise. I dropped the ball. Some of my clients are happy to stay with whoever they're with now. I thought I'd see if you needed anything. Gotta earn my keep.”
“As it happens, I'd planned some time off. So, yes,” Duncan stopped. “What? Don’t look at me like that. I'm entitled.”
“Yeah. Sorry. You surprised me. Anywhere special?”
“Great Barrier Reef. Cairns.”
“I've always wanted to go. What made you decide there?” It was supposed to be a conversational pleasantry, so Robert was surprised by Duncan's slap-down.
“It's a week off. I don't have to justify myself.”
“I- of course not. Let me know when it suits for a handover. And thanks.”
***
At home after work, the jagged edges of interrupted thought kept coming.
“Uni starts soon and if you haven't got someone up to speed,” Lauren's brow creased, “you'll start relying on poor Anna to fill the gaps again. Not fair.”
“I'm sure she'll have it sorted soon. Did they find a replacement for you yet?”
“Don't know, don't care.” Lauren laughed, handing him their empty dinner plates, “Here make yourself useful.”
His mother’s words made him wince. He hoped Lauren thought he was joking.
She shook her head in mock exasperation when the phone rang, “Go on. I don't know how we'll manage when we're both lawyers.”
*
Robert told Ernie-blue-eyes the abbreviated version of Kowalski's visit and asked if he'd seen or heard anything from or about Alan John Peters.
“They're covering their arses,” said Robert, “and he won't have a leg to stand on with four police witnesses. I'm worried for him. If they moved him on, they'll know where he is, surely.”
“Not necessarily. Might not even be in Brisbane. I'll try further afield.”
“Either way, we need to find him before they do. Warn him.”
“You're a decent bloke,” said Ernie. “I can see why your Johnny kept you around.”
“He had a- he was my best friend.” And decent isn't a word I'd use.
As he started back for kitchen duty, the phone rang again. After an overview of the changes in the records and the tide information, Robert told Simon his fears for Mr Peters.
“I'll check the shelter tomorrow. Check the notice is still up. Could you- is there some way of checking, statewide, stories, incidents, through the Paper.”
“Don't you think I'd’ve thought of that?”
“Yeah. Honestly, I'm second guessing everything at the moment. But what Ko- what I learned today? I’m worried. If they find him first, I honestly doubt he'd make it to an arrest.”
“Your source,” Simon said, “he doesn't know about you and Johnny?”
Robert looked up.
“They may not be looking for Mr Peters.”
“I- You think me?”
“Not you specifically, but someone who was running from the scene.”
“Excellent timing,” Lauren plonked a saucepan into the drawer. “At least you can pour me a drink.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I called Marnie today. To see how she was. There's a date for the inquest.”
Robert waited.
“In six weeks. So Harry's going ahead with his holiday, trip, whatever. He and Johnny were supposed to go to Cairns. He decided he’d have a complete rest, while he had the chance.” Her lip wavered, “I almost said lucky bugger. Oh Robert, this is all too, too sad.”
When he hugged her, he noticed his underarms were damp.
Chapter 35
“There’s a lot more pages in this report,” Marnie said when Robert and Harry came in after Jack. They stared at the envelope in her hand. It trembled as she put it back down on the desk. “I couldn’t wait.”
Jack reached for it.
She looked at him, eyes unfocussed, “It's graphic, Dad. Meticulously graphic. I can feel it.”
She absently rubbed her knee. “Remember when I fell off my bike? The pain in my knee. It was like someone stabbing me with a blunt needle, but it wouldn't go all the way in, so they pushed harder. Drove it in.”
Jack nodded.
“That was one tiny, tiny crack and it was excruciating,” she put her hands over her face, “I can see his face Dad. He must have been in so much pain. He was broken. Everywhere.”
Tears plopped onto her cheek. She let them fall.
“Go and make some tea,” he said, handing her a glass. “But first have this. Whisky.”
He handed one to Harry and Robert.
As Harry read, he kept moving his head from side to side like a captive elephant that believed it was incapable of moving. Stuck in the horror.
It was clear the previously stated injuries consistent with a fall had been naïve at best. The debris causing facial injuries didn't make sense when they were diametrically opposite. There was, as the earlier report said, minimal water in his lungs and stomach. What had been missing was that he had still drowned, in the blood filling his airways. His genitals were a mess of contusions, which in the history of falls had never been documented. His liver had been split in multiple places, more consistent with an explosion than a major force from height, and the other damaged organs were floating in an internal bloody ocean. It was consistent with multiple blows not one big one. The only injury consistent with the original report, was a broken collar bone and dislocated shoulder.
Black scuff marks, residue of shoe polish on his jacket, shirt and jeans, was lodged in the fibres of the fabric and visible despite being in the river. Ingrained dirt and traces of grass on the back of his jacket and the inside waistband of his jeans and belt at the back. It was in his hair and the back of his scalp too.
Inside Robert's head was the senseless image of Johnny rolling around on the ground, rubbing his head in the grass and dirt, and polishing his shoes with his clothes before deciding it was time to go jumping off a bridge.
“Good God,” Harry interrupted Robert's thoughts. “This can't be whitewashed. Robert, have you got those statements you had from your Candowski? Have they seen them?” he nodded towards Jack and Marnie.
“Not yet. I've got some photos too.”
Jack and Marnie leaned in closer.
“I went down to where Johnny was found, and I went back again so I had low and high tide.”
Robert handed them the photos. He could feel Johnny watching him from the corner of the room and tried to recall when that had started.
No one said anything as Robert explained the river, the bridge, the water's edge, the mud and the roots of the mangroves looking like they were holding the trees up on top of the water. There was the blue and white check tape. There were the patches of bent grass, he'd photographed.
Next, he went over Kowalski's information.
In their faces, he recognized the wishful disbelief. He'd felt it in his own face. The layers of information keeping everyone suspended in a net knotted together with grief and anger, sadness and futile longing for a different outcome. He wanted to tell them it was all true. He'd seen it. Some of it. Marnie half knew. He looked at her. She didn't look at him. He looked up at the corner where he felt Johnny watching. The impulse to speak up abated.
“These pictures only show the average difference in the tides. It was super low, the tide the next day, when they found him. I looked it up. Point zero nine of a metre. It doesn't get much lower, ever. I'll get a picture when it's close to that again. The high around ten-thirty that night, was two point five. That's a massive difference.”
He stood up bending over, “This is the low, and this,” he straightened up stretching the other arm above his head towards the ceiling, and their eyes followed, “is the high. If it hadn't been super low the next day, he may not have turned up as quickly. Sorry.”
“What?” said Marnie.
“I don't know. I hate talking about Johnny like this.”
“But what you're saying,” Harry said, “is that whoever killed Johnny, and let's all be clear, he didn't do this to himself, would probably have gotten away with it.”
