by Chris Taylor
“Oh, my goodness! I forgot all about it! I was in such a hurry to find you, I just pulled on my robe, collected my keys and walked out. I wasn’t expecting to…”
Her voice drifted off and she glanced back at the Griffin house, now ablaze with lights. Teams of detectives and forensics officers walked in and out of the building. Lachlan sighed. He needed to get back to work.
Tilting her chin up, he kissed her softly on the mouth. “I love you.”
Her arms went around his neck and hugged him tight. “I love you, too.”
“Go home and go back to sleep,” he urged.
“Yes,” she replied, although they both knew she wouldn’t. Sleep would be a long time coming for everyone. At that moment, Lachlan couldn’t imagine finding restful sleep, ever again.
After watching Ava leave in her car, he turned back toward the crime scene. A few hours earlier, the Griffin house was just like every other house on the tidy street. Now it would be forever known as the house of death. Knowing there was nothing for it but to go back inside and offer to help, he walked up the steps and crossed the front porch. Constable David Jacobs met him at the door.
“Have you seen Becker?” Jacobs asked.
Lachlan shook his head and frowned. “No. Has anyone notified him?”
“I’m not sure. I assumed he’d been called by someone at the station.”
“I’ll call dispatch and see what I can find out,” Lachlan replied and pulled out his phone.
A moment later, the police switchboard operator confirmed that Detective Superintendent Nigel Becker had been contacted thirty minutes earlier and informed of the tragic deaths.
At the news, a fresh wave of anger surged through Lachlan. Where the hell was he?
Becker should be here, at the scene of the crime, showing his support for his men. None of them wanted to be here, but they were, because that was their job and it was Becker’s job to lead them, to guide them through the darkness, to reassure and support them during the tough times and mourn the tragic loss of their colleague.
But he was nowhere to be found. With an oath, Lachlan scrolled through his contacts and found a number for his boss. When the call was finally picked up, Becker sounded like he’d been roused from sleep.
“Coleridge. What can I do for you?”
“I’m calling about Martin. He’s dead and so is his family, but you already knew that. Where the hell are you? We need you here!”
There was a moment of silence and then Becker said, “Yes, it’s bloody awful, but there’s nothing I can do for Griffin, or his family. As for the rest of you, suck it up and do your job. I’ll see you in the morning.” And with that, he hung up.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lachlan’s eyes felt gritty and sore and a headache pounded his skull, but his anger remained as white hot and focused as ever. Driving in an easterly direction toward the station, he squinted against the bright, early morning sun. He hoped Becker had found the energy to drag himself out of bed. If he wasn’t at the station by the time Lachlan arrived, he’d just as likely make a house call and pull the superintendent out by the hair. After the night Lachlan had endured and all that had happened, he was just in the mood.
He made a right at the intersection and pulled up outside the station with a squeal of brakes. Hours spent at the crime scene had done nothing to improve his mood. He still couldn’t believe what Martin had done and he couldn’t believe Becker hadn’t bothered to attend. For Lachlan, the absence of their boss was the last straw. He was teetering on the edge.
Not even bothering to make an effort to control his anger, he stormed through the front door of the station and continued up the stairs. A younger officer took one look at him and scurried out of the way.
“Is Becker in?” Lachlan growled at him.
“Y-yes, Detective. He’s in his office. I-I’m sorry about—”
Lachlan pushed past the officer, not bothering to wait for him to finish. He rounded the corner. The door to Becker’s office was closed, but that didn’t impede Lachlan for long. Turning the knob, he barged in and planted himself before Becker’s untidy desk.
“D-Detective Coleridge! Stop right there! What’s the meaning of this?”
Fury like Lachlan had never known boiled up inside his chest. His face burned from the heat of it and his breath rasped in his throat. Though Becker was taller than him and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds, Lachlan rounded the desk and with both hands, grabbed Becker by his shirtfront. Ignoring the pain that shot through his shoulder, he lifted the man off his feet.
“You fucking coward!” he shouted, giving his boss a hard shake. Becker’s face went white.
Gasping with anger and pain, Lachlan released the larger man and stumbled back, cursing the fresh wave of agony that burned through his shoulder. “We needed you, you bastard! We needed you there!”
Becker merely shook himself off and found his composure. He regained his seat behind his desk.
“Detective Coleridge, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You had plenty of men on the scene. A forensics team even came over from Tamworth, or so I was led to believe.”
Lachlan stared at Becker and nearly choked on his anger. “You’re the boss! The team leader! You should have been there for us! We were trying to piece together the meaningless and tragic deaths of one of our own and his entire family and you couldn’t even be bothered to get out of bed!”
Lachlan shook his head in disbelief and continued. “No wonder you scoff at counseling. You never get your hands dirty! You never see the shit we do, the kind of crap we’re forced to deal with day after day after day. Martin was suffering from depression and post-traumatic stress. You know firsthand the shit he’s had to deal with, but did you care? Of course you didn’t! You don’t give a shit about any of us.”
“That’s not true, Detective. I—”
“Bullshit!” Lachlan interrupted, unwilling to hear Becker’s weak excuses. “If you truly cared you wouldn’t have brushed me off when I came to you asking for help. It took a lot of guts for me to approach you. I’ve been a cop long enough to know how the establishment feels about any sign of weakness, but I was at my lowest ebb. I needed help. In the end, I decided to hell with the job. I needed to get my head right. I had therapy and I’m so much better for it, no thanks to you or to the establishment.”
Becker’s eyes widened in surprise, but he remained silent. Lachlan was far from finished.
“I could tell Martin was teetering, too,” he continued. “I’ve been there. I know the signs. I suggested he seek counseling, but he was having none of it. He was up for a promotion, you see.”
Lachlan let his words sink in. Becker turned an even lighter shade of pale. The bastard knew where this was going. Lachlan’s lip curled up in a snarl. He leaned over Becker’s desk, in a deliberate effort to intimidate the man. Despite his impressive size, Becker shrank back.
“You see,” Lachlan continued in an almost conversational tone, “Martin Griffin knew the system, too. He knew as a law enforcement officer, he was expected to put his life and body on the line in the course of duty. He saw things and did things that no one should ever be forced to see and do and yet he did them regularly and without complaint in an effort to help keep his community safe and provide for his family.
“But when the horror of it all got too much for him, there was nowhere he could turn. Oh, the establishment was there to pay him lip service and provide him with a counselor on the end of the phone. They’d even pay for face-to-face counseling, if he requested. But like you and me and Martin know only too well, any admission of weakness—any sign you aren’t coping with the stress on your own—and word gets around.
“Not only are you treated differently by your peers, but you can kiss any hope of a decent promotion good-bye. After all, no one wants a weakling, a pussy on their team. Right, Superintendent?”
Becker’s brows came down to meet in the middle. “I don’t make the rules, Detective. It sounds very m
uch like you’re blaming me for the unfortunate death of Detective Griffin.”
The stare Lachlan directed at his boss was deadly. When he spoke, his voice was as cold as the ice that now filled his veins. He leaned even closer to the man before him, until their faces were mere inches apart.
“Make no mistake, Superintendent Becker. Let’s be clear on this. You killed Martin Griffin and his family, just as surely as if you’d loaded the gun and pulled the trigger. And it’s time the world knew it.”
* * *
Ava made another note in the patient file in front of her and tried to concentrate. Though she’d spent a fair portion of her Sunday at home under the bedcovers, mourning the tragic deaths of the Griffin family, it had been difficult to drag herself out of bed Monday morning and face the day. But, no matter how reluctant she was, she had appointments booked for most of the day and it wasn’t fair to her patients to cancel.
Her cell phone vibrated on the desk and she glanced across at the screen. In anticipation of her first appointment, she’d switched the phone to silent mode. The name Samantha Wolfe came up on the screen and Ava let out a little sigh. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone about what had happened, not even her sister, but there would never be a good time. Sam had known Pam, too, though they’d been in different years. Her sister would be just as devastated as Ava was to hear about her death.
Picking up the phone, she reluctantly answered the call. “Hi, Sam, how are you doing?”
There was a slight pause and then Sam replied. “Ava, are you all right? You sound a little…weird.”
“Yes, I’m fine… No, actually, I’m not.”
With tears in her eyes, she stumbled through the events that had occurred in the early hours of Sunday morning. Sam was shocked to hear of the terrible deaths.
“I wonder if that’s why Lachlan’s on the morning news. Rohan just called me and told me to switch on the TV. I’m in the tea room at work. It looks like Lachlan’s giving an interview.”
Ava frowned. She hadn’t spoken to Lachlan since the morning before, outside the Griffin home. She hadn’t realized he’d be the one fronting the media. As if he didn’t have enough of a burden to carry.
Forcing her anger down, Ava quickly ended the call and searched for the live news stream on her phone. Sure enough, Lachlan had a microphone pinned to his shirt and was talking to the camera. He was dressed in the same clothes he’d worn the night before and looked more than a little tired and disheveled. When Ava turned up the volume she was shocked for a second time.
“This is a travesty!” Lachlan said to the reporter. “The deaths of Martin and Pam Griffin and their young children should never have happened.”
“Are you implying this tragedy could have been prevented?” the reporter asked.
Lachlan stared straight down the lens of the camera, his expression fierce. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Too many police officers take their lives every other day. When are we going to say, enough is enough! When are we going to remove the stigma from depression and post-traumatic stress and get these people the help they need instead of treating them like lepers, as if they’re undesirable weak links if they seek help.”
“Are you saying the police service is lacking in this area?” the reporter asked.
“Absolutely,” Lachlan replied. “But don’t take my word for it. Ask any number of police officers. Or better yet, go back and search through some old, and not-so-old records and just take a head count of the number of officers who have committed suicide over the years.”
“Many of those have taken their lives after they’ve left the job,” the reporter insisted. “Are you still blaming the police service for their deaths in that instance?”
“Yes,” Lachlan replied without flinching. “They’ve left because they either can’t take it anymore or they’ve been stood down permanently on sick leave. They mightn’t be actively on duty when they kill themselves, but make no mistake, it’s the job that’s brought them to that level of desperation where they see no other way out.”
“What do you think should be done about this, Detective Coleridge?” the reporter asked.
“I want to see wholesale changes in the system, starting right at the top. Our police commissioner has a lot to answer for. He and the minister responsible for policing make the rules. It’s time those rules were overhauled. It’s time attitudes toward mental illness changed and especially the toxic attitude toward it, within the police service. How many more good men and women are we going to let die?” Once again, Lachlan’s steady, somber gaze filled the screen.
The interview came to an end and Ava blew out a shaky breath. Her heart was beating double time, but she silently applauded Lachlan’s bravery. He’d come a long way from the broken man who couldn’t find the courage to seek help. Here he was, fronting the media, speaking in public about the police service’s secret shame. She was sure he knew his actions wouldn’t be without consequences and that he’d weighed those before stepping forward.
His disloyalty to the thin blue line and wilful breach of the code of silence would have long-term effects on his career and yet, he’d done it anyway. She swiped at the tears of emotion that filled her eyes and smiled. She’d never felt more proud of this man she loved.
* * *
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Becker screamed the minute Lachlan cleared the front entryway of the station.
“What you should have had the guts to do long ago,” Lachlan growled without breaking stride.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Becker shouted, racing to keep up. “You’re not going to go back upstairs and pretend nothing just happened. Not on my watch. Get out! Get out! I don’t want you here. We don’t need the likes of you.”
Lachlan came to a sudden halt and spun on his heel. Two steps higher than his boss on the staircase, Lachlan’s face was mere inches from Becker’s.
“What?” Lachlan snarled. “You don’t need officers with the courage to look people in the eye and say what’s right? I told the truth and everyone in the New South Wales Police Service knows it. It’s time the rest of the world knew it, too.”
“I’ll see you dismissed for this, Coleridge,” Becker spluttered, pulling back.
Lachlan turned without another word and took the rest of the stairs two at a time. He had no intention of staying. At least, not for the rest of his shift, but he refused to go down without a fight. They’d have to force him to clean out his desk.
Collecting a jacket he’d left in his locker, he shrugged it on, ignoring the fresh pain in his shoulder. No doubt word would have spread. By now, there’d be even more television crews with cameras outside the door. He strode across the squad room and caught the eye of David Jacobs.
“You did good out there, Lachlan,” the man said. “Good on you for saying what a lot of us wish like hell we had the guts to say. You have my support.”
Lachlan bit down on a sudden surge of emotion and threw the man a grateful nod. What he’d started was only the beginning and it was going to get a lot worse before it got better. He only hoped he’d get to see the day when it did get better. That was the reason he’d finally done what he had. It was what he was counting on.
As fast as he’d ascended them, he walked back down the stairs. Becker was still shouting and sputtering in the foyer to anyone who would listen. The man was a disgrace. He spied Lachlan, and launched himself toward him, but Lachlan sidestepped out of the way. He was done with Becker. He had bigger game in his sights.
* * *
“I saw you on the news this morning,” Ava said as she stroked Lachlan’s hair. He’d texted her an hour earlier to ask if he could come over. She’d only just arrived home after a hectic day, but his text sent her fatigue into the ether and she immediately texted him a ‘yes’.
She’d met him at the door and without words, he’d taken her in his arms. They’d made sweet, gentle love in silence from the comfort of her bed and now sat on t
he sofa together. Lachlan’s feet dangled over the side and his head was in her lap. He opened his eyes at her comment.
“Really? I thought you were at work?”
“Yes, I was, but Samantha called and told me you were being interviewed.”
He smiled softly. “You told your sister about us?”
Ava blushed and shook her head. “No, but she knows that I’ve met you a few times.” She poked him gently in the chest. “Now, don’t go trying to change the subject. I’m on to you.”
His smile slowly faded. “I had to do it, Ava. I had to. Not just for Martin, but for all of us. There are so many officers walking around with undiagnosed mental illnesses. Depression and anxiety, mostly, but a fair number of them have PTSD and the police service hierarchy refuses to acknowledge it.”
Favoring his injured shoulder, he sat up, as if unable to remain lying down. He turned to face her.
“Official statistics are only kept on police deaths that occur to serving police officers. No one wants to know about the number of deaths that happen after they retire from the service, or are medically discharged, and in particular, by their own hand. It’s not considered acceptable even to mention that kind of thing. No way! We can’t go around talking about things like that. If we did, the powers that be might have to acknowledge there is a problem.” His voice was thick with sarcasm. “So, we continue to suffer in silence and only those directly affected by it care at all.”
Ava’s heart broke at the bleakness in Lachlan’s voice. His eyes were clouded with pain. This thing went deep and wouldn’t be fixed overnight and she wanted to support him every way she could.
“Do you really mean to take this up with the police commissioner?” she asked, recalling what he’d told the reporter.
“Yes, and if I don’t get the right answers from him, I’ll go even higher. I’ll demand a meeting with the state premier before I’m through.”
Ava smiled tenderly at the fierce determination in his voice. She knew he’d fight until he had what he wanted and only then would he rest. It had been the same with his marriage. He’d tried to hold it together until it became obvious things were no longer going to work and even then, he’d made the decision not to contest the pending divorce—not for his benefit, but because he believed it was the best thing for his children.
