Human Frailty, a Detective Mike Bridger novel

by Mark Bredenbeck

  Chapter Twelve

  It had been Nine o'clock the previous night when Bridger had finally arrived home. Laura had been in bed already, and was in a deep sleep, not even stirring when he had checked on her. With no dinner that he could find left out for him, Bridger had made do with a couple of Jamesons with just a drop of water this time. If anything, it had helped him sleep. Restless dreams and a stitch of guilt waking him before 6:00 am to find Laura had already risen; he could hear her in the shower. Closing his eyes for a second he woke with a start as the front door banged shut. His eyes shot to the clock on the bedside table, his heart skipped a beat as his eyes registered the display that read 7:45am. He must have fallen asleep again. "Shit, shit, shit" he yelled into his pillow. It would be not a very good look for his first morning as Detective Sergeant, rolling in late.

  Jogging up to the front door of the Central Police station on Great King Street, last week’s shirt found on the floor, slightly damp with perspiration, Bridger entered the spacious foyer area. He let himself through the staff only door with his swipe card.

  The modern surroundings were a vast improvement on the old Victorian era police station, now more of a tourist attraction, situated between the equally as old Dunedin Prison Complex and the Court buildings at the bottom of Stuart Street.

  Although the old building still had the charms of any building of that age, he much preferred to work in his new modern surroundings.

  Foregoing the stairs for the lift, he stepped out on the second floor and made his way down towards his office, thankful that the warm air conditioning was drying his damp shirt. Sweating in wintertime in the Dunedin climate was a rare thing, brought on usually by vigorous exercise, but in his case, it was probably over indulgence, his body just trying to purge the toxins.

  Halfway along the corridor he heard the unmistakable voice of the district crime manager and his boss, inspector Greg Matthews.

  "What the fuck were you thinking"?

  It took a few seconds for Bridger to realise that he was actually addressing him.

  "My office, now”, he turned his back before waiting for a reply.

  Bridger turned in time to see Inspector Matthews disappearing into the stairwell heading for the third floor.

  Bridger hated the third floor, as it was full of bosses. People he liked to avoid at the best of times. A trip to the third floor usually meant it was not a usually a social call. The bosses usually made the effort to descend from the ivory tower if the meeting was informal.

  Bridger had never had much time for his superior officer. He had first met Matthews when he was still a Detective Sergeant and Bridger a General Duties Constable. Bridger had dared to call him out on a decision not to charge a man with the vicious assault on his wife after she withdrew her statement. Matthews had as good as said to Bridger to 'Pull his inexperienced head in' when he asked for reasons.

  Matthews had explained in a condescending manner that he did not see the point in wasting police time, that what happened between a husband and wife should usually stay that way. That the wife only used the police to solve an immediate problem, and that she would be back with him as soon as he had time to calm down and apologize.

  Bridger doubted then, and still did, that a broken tooth, and seven stitches in her lip was only just an immediate problem.

  The police attitude had changed for the better in the years since, the culture changing as new blood washed through the ranks. Although it seemed to him that, it took longer to change in Dunedin than further north. He had not had much to do with Matthews after that until coming to work in the CIB. Matthews had been the final say in his promotion after the panel recommended him. Surprisingly, there was not any opposition that he knew of. He wondered if Matthews still remembered that encounter.

  Matthews’s sixth sense must have kicked in as Bridger approached the door in what he thought was a stealthy manner.

  Not stealthy enough he thought; as Matthews yelled into the corridor for all to hear.

  "Bridger I hope you have a bloody good explanation for this".

  Confused, Bridger entered his office, which was a relatively small room for someone of his rank. Bridger noticed the lack of personal effects as if the arrangement was just temporary. Maybe Matthews thought that he was destined for greater things. He couldn’t’t miss Matthews perched behind his desk though, a big bullish man at the best of times, he now looked twice the size as he was practically leaning across the desk, his face an angry puce colour.

  "Bridger have you not learned anything in your uninspiring career. You know I did voice my doubts about you to the interview panel for you promotion, but I was overruled. Bloody new system needs a good shake up if you ask me. I'm beginning to think I was right to have my doubts".

  Matthews paused for breath, giving Bridger the opportunity to butt in.

  "Could you tell me what I am supposed to have done, sir?”

  "Don't take that tone with me Sergeant, that bloody fiasco in the weekend with the jumper, and then putting Mrs. Watson through that ordeal, for nothing as it turns out. You’re bloody lucky she isn't putting in a formal complaint".

  "What do you mean sir?”

  "I've have had the Abbywood clinic on to me, it seemed they had misplaced one of their patients, a young female. The same female you now have lying in the freezer at the hospital. Did you not think to check man, instead of jumping the gun and telling Mrs. Watson her daughter had tried learning to fly off of Lawyers Head?"

  Bridger was about to defend his decision but thought better of it, how a female from one of Dunedin's private mental health facilities was able to walk naked, in the middle of winter, the entire ten kilometers from the top of Taieri Road all the way through town and out onto Lawyers Head unnoticed was beyond him.

  "When was she reported missing from the clinic sir?”

  "Late Saturday night Sergeant, well before you attended the scene where she ended it. The only reason I am not asking for your newly acquired rank to be rescinded is that the paperwork did not make it past the front desk until late on Sunday night, some mix up with the bloody useless Civvies downstairs".

  Bridger noted the use of the word 'Civvies' to describe the non sworn staff that worked within the police, a job that was well appreciated by most of the staff these days, but to policeman of Matthews era were still just bloody Civvies, tolerated but not trusted.

  He pictured Julie's smiling face, toiling away under an ever-increasing workload, happily complaining about it but not caring. Such a good-natured person was an asset in their environment.

  "I want you to pass the file on the jumper over to the uniforms to follow up on, she seems to be just a straightforward loony tunes who can't live with the devils in her mind and commits Hara Kiri type thing. Let the Inquest officer do some work for once".

  Bridger cringed inwardly at his boss’s crude analogy.

  "But what this means Sergeant, is that you still have a missing girl out there and I would like her found as soon as possible. I am getting pressure from influential people outside the job and I do not like pressure. Go and retrieve the file from the uniforms, make it high priority. Oh and you may need this for the jumper file", Matthews added, tossing Bridger an envelope. "It's the note, the clinic found it in her room under her pillow. They were preparing her bed for another patient; it seems they must not have expected her back".

  Bridger looked at the envelope, a bird like scratching on the front, reading, 'To be opened after I'm gone'.

  "Have you read this?” he queried.

  "No, I have not got time for that, I don’t want to hear the bleating of a deranged mind moaning about why they can't live with themselves... That will be all". Matthews dismissed Bridger with a wave of his meaty hand.

  Bridger retreated from the office feeling slightly deflated, "What the hell does he want from me", he mumbled under his breath, "Maybe if you answered your phone once in a while you could have enlightened me with your opinion earlier, you to
sser".

  One good thing, he thought, at least Mrs. Watson knew now it was not her daughter lying inside the cold drawer back at the hospital. The memory of Mrs. Watson's anguish for not recognizing her daughter was still playing on his mind. Nevertheless, it was still someone's daughter. Someone’s daughter who had obviously had mental health issues,

  What a waste of a life, he thought, he just hoped she had found the peace she had been looking for, but doubted it very much. Tucking the envelope in his pocket, he headed for the stairs.

  As Bridger walked into his office back on the second floor, four heads turned and looked at him in stony silence, as if expecting something from him. Bridger was still feeling a bit on edge from his encounter with Matthews so was standing there staring back, unsure of what to say. He had worked with most of the four people in the room for the best part of 5 years, he had hoped that his promotion would not get in the way of what he thought was close bonds, but now he was not so sure.

  After what seemed like an eternity, he heard a slight snigger coming from behind the desk of Detective Grant Wylie. He looked over in time to catch Grant desperately trying to hold back the tears as he collapsed into a fit of laughter.

  "Gotcha Mike…, or should I say Sergeant?" Grant was the joker of the office and had probably set up the little scenario that had just played out.

  "We've all known each other long enough so Mike is still fine with me", Bridger was saying, as he shook each proffered hand. "But if you're going to treat me like that maybe it should be Sergeant".

  "Not sure I could do it Mike, you're nothing like your predecessor, you've never been a stickler for formalities, coming to work should almost be a pleasure now that the new king has arrived.”The king is dead, long live the king", Grant smiled his trademark cheeky smile as he smacked Bridger on the arm good-naturedly.

  "Did you get any sly punches in on Friday night", Grant said. "Bit of an exciting end to the night wasn't it. Did you hear Gillian got thumped as well, by some angry Goth chick or something"?

  "I was just leaving as it all kicked off", Bridger said. "So I missed it all. I needed to get some sleep before the duty shift on Saturday".

  Grant looked at him with a knowing smile. "I thought you had disappeared pretty quickly when it all went pear shaped. Some of those new uniforms downstairs can handle themselves well though".

  "What's on the agenda today then boss?” Becky Wright, the only female in the office asked.

  Bridger looked at each one of them in turn.

  "I've just had my backside kicked by Matthews about a missing twenty seven year old female so I think we will get on with that".

  "Twenty seven is a bit old to be missing, how long has she been gone Mike? Can't the uniforms deal with it?”

  Bridger looked over at John Mouller who had asked the question, at twenty-seven, he was the newest Detective on the squad. He was a good worker when he could be bothered, but he had a clearly defined idea of what Detectives did and what was just a job for the uniforms, and he hated having to do the latter now that he had passed his exams.

  There was always enough work to go around without making an issue of it, thought Bridger. At least that was what the bosses pushed with the latest ‘Whole of Policing’ approach to crime fighting.

  Bridger Frowned a little before answering John’s question. "Her mother has not seen her in a week; the job came in on Saturday morning and landed on my desk. I have not been able to follow up on much yet, mostly because we thought we had found her at the bottom of Lawyers Head yesterday morning. It turns out that was a patient from Abbywood. It seems that 'Him upstairs' has been getting outside pressure on this one from someone so he has moved it up the scale of priority, and before you ask, I don't what pressure, or from whom, he did not see fit to let me know".

  Brian Johnson spoke up from behind his desk, "Count me out for the next week or two Mike, the Le Cruick trial is starting today and I have a feeling that it is going to need me full time to coordinate the witnesses and exhibits".

  Brian was the oldest in the squad, at fifty-seven he had been a Detective for as many years as John Mouller had been alive. He had been acting supervisor for the last twelve months while their last boss went on stress leave then finally quit after a failed attempt to gain compensation for undue stress caused at work. Brian had not been at the party on Friday night, having a dinner for one of his daughters to attend.

  He was the most experienced member of the team and had worked his fingers to the bone to break open a long established burglary ring and bring the self-styled leader Jack Le Cruick to Court to face forty-seven separate charges. The team had worked some long hours on that one, but no one had worked harder than Brian had.

  Many people in the station had picked Brian for promotion instead of Bridger, especially as he had been acting in the position for almost a year. Nevertheless, as with every other time, he had declined the opportunity stating he did not need the extra pressure in his life of supervising all the ‘Children’ in the police these days.

  "I think we can cope without you for a couple of weeks Brian, but I will try and rustle up a uniform attachment to give us a hand as we are already one down with my well deserved promotion", Bridger said, smiling.

  "It will be a pleasure to get on with some real work for once, now that you have officially taken the reins from me", Brian said.

  Bridger looked around the room and wondered if he really had the support of every member of the team.

  Bridger went downstairs with the paperwork from the weekend’s suicide in the hope he could find the inquest officer. Passing the Senior Sergeant's office, he looked in to find John Maine chatting to a female Constable with her back facing the door.

  "John, can I have a word when you’re free?” He asked, popping his head inside the door.

  "Come in Mike, I hear you have already met Jo".

  He looked over and saw her now familiar face; she had her long hair tied in a bun this morning.

  "Yes", Bridger said, giving her a nod.

  Jo held out her hand and said, "Jo Williamson, Sergeant, I did not get a chance to introduce myself properly yesterday".

  "Jo here has just expressed an interest in CIB work Mike; it seems you made quite an impression on her yesterday".

  Bridger looked at Jo and smiled, he could see she had turned a slight shade of red.

  "It's just that sometimes you need to get to the bottom of things, find out why, and not just pass it on, like I did yesterday", Jo stuttered, going an even deeper shade of red.

  "Well Jo, it's just as well you caught me yesterday and not the day before, I don't think I would have made quite the same impression on Saturday", Bridger said, giving her what he thought was a disarming smile, but just causing her redness to spread even further past her cheeks. He wondered how old she was.

  "As it happens John I am looking for someone to spend a bit of time in our office as an attachment, Brian's out for a couple of weeks with the Le Cruick trial, Jo here would be welcome to join us if you can spare her".

  He looked back over at Jo and the smile he received back was radiant.

  Maine nodded.

  "Go get changed out of that uniform Jo and I will see you upstairs in half an hour". Bridger turned back towards Maine as Jo made her way out the door.

  "She's a keen one Mike…, and easy on the eye”, he added, with a mischievous grin.

  "I hadn't noticed," Bridger said, tossing the file in his hand on Maine’s desk. "Deal with that for me Senior, will you".

  Bridger left Maine’s office wondering whether he needed to clear his new member with Matthews.

  "For those of you who haven't met, this is Jo, Jo this is everyone". Bridger waved his hand around the small office indicating the squad.

  Jo had let her hair down and rustled up a pair of jeans and a tight t-shirt showing off her shapely form, which John Mouller was now unashamedly appraising as he shook her hand. Jo did not seem to notice and continued the hurried b
ut awkward introductions.

  It was funny how you could lose touch with who was working downstairs in the uniform branch when you were only one floor above them on a daily basis. The staff members downstairs seemed to change from week to week to Bridger. Every time he went down there, someone new was sitting in a chair looking nervous as if it was his or her first day. He could never keep track of the names and faces even when he was in uniform. It was all but impossible now.

  Jo and Becky seemed to know each other, sharing a private joke together as they looked sideways at John.

  "Right, now we are all present, we should come up with some tasks for everyone to see if we can progress this enquiry. Here's what we know so far".

  Bridger gave a rundown of what he knew.

  "Marion Watson, 27 years old, she’s not been seen since Friday last week. She attends the university as a Masters student, lives in a flat in Castle Street North, and has a boyfriend named Mat".

  "Just the basics then Mike", John chipped in.

  Bridger shot him a look and carried on, "We need to go and see Mrs. Watson again, get a statement. We need to get into Marion's flat and we need to trace her boyfriend and friends, see if they can shed any light on where she might be". Bridger paused for a moment to see if there were any questions. Seeing there were none he continued, "I'll go and see Mrs. Watson, I already have a relationship of sorts with her, Jo you can come with me. Grant, Becky, you go to the flat, see what you can dig up. John you're on locating the boyfriend and friends, start with the boyfriend, with any luck she will be with him, Mrs. Watson will have her daughter back and we can get on with some other work".

  Bridger handed out the relevant details, and then motioned for Jo to grab her notebook before walking out the door, heading for the basement garage where he hoped he would find one of the two vehicles allocated to his squad.

  Vehicles were a hot commodity in the current climate, there were barely enough to go around. Occasionally, as they held the spare keys elsewhere, other squads or even the uniform staff borrowed the vehicles allocated to his squad. When this happened, nobody usually bothered to advise them and would sometimes find an empty park where they had left the car the previous day. Not today, Bridger could see the brown three-year-old Holden parked where he had left it the previous evening.

  Throwing Jo the keys, he climbed into the passenger seat and rummaged around in the glove box looking for a CD he could replace the one he had in the stereo, remembering the incident yesterday.

  Inappropriate music selection would be the least of his worries today; Mrs. Watson had every right to be upset with him for her ordeal at the morgue. For some reason he was feeling slightly uneasy, his run in with Matthews was playing on his mind as Jo guided the car out onto the one-way system heading north. What was he going to say to Mrs. Watson, probably just hold his hands up and apologize, then take it from there. She still had a daughter who was unaccounted for and it was his job to find her. Maybe having Jo with him would help the situation.

  A flick on the shoulder brought him out of his thoughts. Surprised by such an intimate gesture from someone who he had really just met, he looked over at Jo with a puzzled expression.

  "Sorry Sergeant", Jo was saying, the familiar redness returning to her cheeks, "I was just trying to get your attention; I don't actually know where we are going".

  "No need to apologize Jo, I was miles away, and call me Mike, I still have not got used to the word sergeant".