A Case in Question

by Herb Hamlet

  A visiting doctor was in the process of packing a small medical bag. His expression showed his surprise and growing concern as Jim entered. “My God!”

  Jim took two steps into the room before collapsing.

  ***

  Fighting his way from the blackness consuming his mind, Jim thought he heard low voices in the background. Opening his eyes, he noticed the doctor addressing Weston. “This man has been severely bashed and raped.”

  “So?” Weston shrugged his shoulders. “This is a prison. These things happen.”

  “This is a criminal offense.” It was clear the doctor was fighting to control his outrage. “I must report it to the police.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort. Do you hear me?” Weston snarled. “You’re almost retired, doc. And this is the only job you’ve had since being stripped of your medical license for your addiction to drugs.”

  “That was just a temporary disorder.” The older man’s tone was pleading. “Surely you understand I must report this.”

  “You do that and you lose this bloody job. That’s a promise, Simpson. You hear?”

  Jim lifted his head from the pillow. “If he doesn’t report it, I will and I’ll also report you.” He pointed to Weston. “For placing me in jeopardy.”

  Weston sneered down at him. “Ah, so Mr. Tax Cheat’s come to has he?” He turned back to the doctor. “Get going, doc. I have to explain the facts of life to Mr. Rankin here.”

  The doctor couldn’t meet Jim’s gaze as he placed a small parcel on the bed. “Here’s some painkillers and some soothing ointment for your anus.” He hesitated for a moment at the door. “And I’ve taken some blood samples to check for HIV infection.” The door closed behind him.

  “Shit! Bloody AIDS,” Jim exploded as the implications dawned on him.

  “Right.” Weston stood over him. “You’ll do nothing, do you hear?”

  “Like bloody hell I won’t.” Anger replaced his shock.

  Western didn’t look at all concerned. “Just think about it for a moment, Rankin.” A small smirk hovered on his lips. “If you report this incident, you’ll have to implicate all those who were involved in the matter, including Lincoln and his friends. And just remember, you’ll still be in here with all of them.” The last words said in a sing-song voice.

  Jim’s incredulity intensified. “You know he organized this?”

  “I hear about these things, little whispers here and there.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Do you really think Lincoln and company will let you bring charges against them? They’ll do you before that happens.”

  The frustrating truth of his situation hit home and Jim shook his head in disbelief. Tears filled his eyes. “You bastard, you’re a disgrace to your position.” He knew he was beaten.

  “I’ll forget you said that, Rankin.” His tone became a little more conciliatory. “You rest up here in the infirmary for a couple of days. Then you can go back to your kitchen duties.” He exited the room.

  Jim felt as if he resided in some sort of twilight zone where nothing was as he expected. He laid his head back on the pillow. A mixture of emotions enveloped him; anger, retribution, shame, humiliation and frustration. They all seemed to come at once. My God, how will I ever face Judy?

  ***

  Visiting time the following Sunday, Judy looked shocked at the profound change in her husband’s appearance and demeanor. Noticing his bruised, cut face and split lips, she frowned. She took his hand in hers and held it tightly. “Are you all right, love?”

  “Yes, of course.” He tried to reassure her, but failed. He knew he sounded miserable.

  “Something terrible has happened to you, Jim. I know it.” Her voice shook. “I can see the bruises on your face and I can see it in your eyes. Whatever is wrong?”

  Her words, the love and care in her voice, brought tears to his eyes. He longed to tell her but couldn’t muster up the courage. He felt he had to tell someone or he would explode. Mixed emotions tore him apart. “Oh God, how can I tell you, of all people?” He laid his head on the table and wept.

  Tears streamed down Judy’s cheeks as she stroked his hair. “I love you, Jim. There’s nothing you can’t tell me.”

  “I was bashed and raped by three men,” he whispered in despair, turning his face away, unable to meet her eyes.

  For a long moment, Judy sat stunned trying to take in the significance of what had just been imparted to her. She knew it had to be something very bad, but she hadn’t expected this! She tried to speak. “Bu but...” she began but could not go on. She urged herself to get a grip. She continued stroking his head as he poured out his suffering.

  A couple at the next table looked on with disdain. Unbridled rage spewed through Judy. A vision of herself flashed through her brain, of her spitting out bitter insults at them. For an instant, the vision became so sharp, the reality around her blurred into oblivion. She heard nothing but the pounding blood in her ears. “How’d this happen, sweetheart?” she asked angrily.

  Recovering his composure, Jim quietly told her of all the events leading up to the bashing and subsequent rape. While he couldn’t bring himself to describe the actual violation, he told her of the HIV tests and his nervousness over the upcoming results.

  She was so overcome with shock and rage, she remained speechless. She had to think of him, support him. He was floundering on the edge and desperately needed her.

  “Can’t you go to authorities?” she finally managed. “It’s not fair. Surely they can’t just get away with it.” She shook her head in disgust.

  “I don’t know what to do, love. I feel so ashamed.” He lowered his head.

  “Don’t be, sweetheart.” She tenderly placed a palm on his cheek. “You’ve done nothing wrong here. It’s those animals.” She waved her hand in the direction of the door. “Including the prison staff who allowed this to happen. And it doesn’t make any difference to me. You’re still my Jim and I’ll never change the way I feel about you. I love you, you silly man. I always will.” Mist filled her blue eyes and a large tear formed then rolled down her cheek.

  ***

  Once visiting hours were over, Judy made her way to the prison’s administrative area, demanding an immediate interview with CCO Weston. She was politely informed by the receptionist that the Chief Correctional Officer would be back on duty at eight a.m. the following morning. Judy arranged a time to meet with him.

  Judy was right on time for her appointment. Weston, however, kept her waiting outside his office for twenty minutes.

  At long last, he opened his office door and beckoned to her, pointing to a straight backed chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Mrs. Rankin.” He gave her his most charming smile. “What can I do for you?” He knew why Mrs. Rankin wanted to see him and the last thing he needed on that morning was some bleeding heart prisoner’s wife making a complaint, simply because her spouse had been assaulted.

  “You know why I’m here.” She glared at him. “My husband was bashed and raped and nothing is going to be done about it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His forced his eyes wide as if surprised. “No one has brought any such offense to my attention.”

  “I know you’re lying and you know you’re lying,” she shot back angrily. “What sort of people are you?”

  “Now now, Mrs. Rankin, I can see you’re very upset. But getting angry at me won’t help.”

  “Don’t patronise me, you bastard.” She leaned forward ready for a fight. “My husband told me everything, including the fact it was you who put him in the vulnerable position that allowed this to happen. He is also positive one of your guards witnessed the offense and did nothing to stop it.”

  Weston rose from his chair and placed the palms of his hands on the surface of his desk as he glared back at her. “
I don’t have to put up with this sort of crap from a bloody jailbird’s spouse. You better get used to it, lady,” he grunted. “Your husband’s now in prison. It’s not a nice place. Unfortunately, in such a volatile institution, there are occasions when inmates assault other inmates. And there’s nothing your husband or you can do about it.” A small supercilious smirk played at the corners of his mouth.

  “That’s what you think, you arrogant bastard.” Blazing with fury, Judy rose to face him. “If we can’t get any satisfaction from prison authorities or the state government, then we’ll take civil action against the department and the company that runs this prison. A civil action may even be taken out against you personally, Mr. Weston.” She gave him a withering look. It gave her a glimmer of satisfaction to notice a look of uncertainty spread over his face.

  `”That would be a stupid bloody thing for you to do, Mrs. Rankin.” His voice oily, though now uncertain he leaned toward her in an intimidating manner. “In the first place, the civil action would fail because, apart from your tax-cheating husband, there wouldn’t be any other witnesses to the alleged assault. And secondly, you would be taking on the vast resources of International Correctional Services as well as that of the state government itself. You’d have no hope.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We’ll still do it.” She stood her ground, her head up, her chin thrust out. He wasn’t going to frighten her off.

  “Please yourself.” He pointed to the door. “Now get out”

  Chapter Four

  Henry Flanagan, a leading Queensland barrister, had an unusual rise to fame. The son of an Irish steel worker, he was raised and educated in Newcastle, New South Wales. It was never his aim to follow in his father into the steel mill, however the family’s economic circumstances determined he would. Henry had achieved high academic results during his years at school, nearly always topping the class, rarely out of the top two places in the entire form. The school’s principal was understandably outraged a student with such potential would be leaving full-time education after completing grade eight. Young Henry had no illusions and bore no grudge against his battling Catholic parents, even though he had yearned to take his education much, much further.

  Leaving school and going to work was the norm for children from working-class families in Newcastle. If you were male and old enough, you joined the work-force in the steel mills. With a brood of hungry children to feed, Molly and Liam Flanagan had little alternative. They were well aware of their oldest son’s potential, and experienced a great deal of guilt over him leaving school at such an early age.

  Henry entered BHP’s steel works as a fifteen year old, just a slip of a lad. By the time he’d reached eighteen, he stood five feet eleven inches in his stocking feet, and possessed heavily muscled arms and body. Feeding a blast furnace was no job for a weakling, his father once told him. Working in the scorching atmosphere around the furnace, Henry was grateful he’d inherited his mother’s dark, olive complexion. As fair as Henry was dark, his father, Liam, battled against the scalding heat of the white hot steel, his face beet-root red, his skin constantly blistered.

  There were three things Henry’s Irish father hated most in life. First and foremost were the bloody English, no doubt about that. The second was the Liberal Party of Australia, which he considered to be anti-worker and anti-working class. Bob Menzies, party leader, was the third thing he detested. “Sold pig iron to the Japs and it came back to us as bombs,” he would often say.

  A political science academic from the University of New South Wales left a lasting impression on the young idealist, Henry, after an enlightening lecture at his local Labor Party branch. “Political parties are the driving force behind government and the opposition,” he told them. “They are also essential for the effective operation of parliament and for democracy. Without parties, political debate would not be properly organised. Political parties set the agenda for differing points of view in parliament, where Labor and the Coalition constantly strive for supremacy over each other.” The academic smiled sardonically. “The Coalition accuses Labor of being a left-wing, union-dominated organisation, with socialist policies which restrict individual freedom. On the other side, the ALP criticises the Coalition for being a bosses organisation, full of right-wing reactionaries, and that it acts against the worker’s interests on behalf of the rich in the country. The truth, my friends, is somewhere between those extreme points of view.”

  “What would happen without political parties?” Henry once asked his father.

  “Probably nothing very much I suppose, son,” he said, shrugging. “Someone has to organise the political agenda and the debate in the country. It’s the Labor Party which organises electoral competition with the bloody Torys. But we don’t have the newspapers in our pockets like the Liberal Party does,” he growled. The politically biased Australian press was another of Liam Flanagan’s hates.

  Nineteen seventy-two was a year of excitement for the Flanagan family. The long-serving local Labor member for South Newcastle announced his retirement from federal parliament, and Henry, at the tender age of twenty-two years, was surprisingly endorsed as the Labor candidate for the safe seat. Liam and Molly Flanagan were bursting with pride over their son’s unexpected selection. But there was more to be excited about. To win government after twenty-three years in the political wilderness, the ALP was favored in the up-coming federal election. Henry and his father sat sharing a drink with their work mates at the local hotel where the election was the popular topic of conversation with the steel workers.

  “The friggin’ Torys are in bloody tatters, Henry,” old Ned Siddens opened. “‘Bout time we got rid of the bastards and got somethin’ done for us workers.” He then grinned. “That Billy McMahon couldn’t organise a root in a brothel with a fist full of fivers.” Everyone laughed.

  “Gough is all over them. They have no answer to him”. Liam Flanagan went on to boast. “Henry’s met him, haven’t you mate?”

  “What’s he like?” Young Jimmy Elder’s eyes glistened.

  “He’s bloody big, I can tell you that. I’m five eleven and I get a crick in the neck just looking up at him,” Henry said admiringly. “But he has a good sense of humor and he really wants to change things.”

  Larry Elder, Jimmy’s older brother, looked up from his beer, sourly eying his companions. “You all know my son died fighting as a Tory nasho in Vietnam. Their stupid policies killed him,” he spat. “I hope Gough brings all our young diggers home.” His tone brought a serious turn to the conversation.

  “Should never have been there in the first bloody place.” Henry placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder.

  “The Torys and the Yanks say that the Vietnam War is the result of Communist expansion in Asia. What a loada bullshit.” Liam Flanagan took a swig from his schooner of Tooth’s old. “Vietnam’s just a nationalist struggle, an attempt by the Vietnamese people to oust foreigners from their country.”

  “But isn’t Ho just a puppet of the Chinese Commos?” Jimmy Elder was keen to air his knowledge.

  The others all laughed at the naïve statement.

  “You’ve been reading that crap the bloody newspapers serve up,’ his brother replied. “Look, mate, the Vietnamese and the Chinks hate each other. The Yanks went to Vietnam because of the stupid bloody Cold War. Any uprising that happens in the world is blamed on the Commos. We just tagged along as we always do and in the process, hundreds of young Aussies are now dead. Poor bastards. I should know, my son was one of them,” he added bitterly.

  A well groomed man turned toward the group. “You lot are traitors for not supporting your country in this war,” he accused.

  Henry’s father’s eyes narrowed at the accusation. He spun around to confront the speaker. “Listen shithead, no one asked you to butt in.” He paused to contemptuously examine the man’s three piece suit. “First of all, no one has attacked us, an
d there’s no declared war. Secondly, people from all over the world are against our involvement in this stupid bloody war. It’s got nothing to do with our country, Australia.”

  “The Northern Communists invaded the democratic South, everyone knows that.” The man indignantly stood his ground.

  Every person within earshot burst out laughing at the illinformed assertion, even Liam. “Have you ever read anything about this war?”

  “I read the papers, my friend,” the well-dressed man said stiffly.

  “Well, that explains it,” Liam replied sarcastically, “Fuck off and come back when you know what you’re talkin’ about, you ignorant prick.”

  “What more can you expect from rabble?” The well-dressed man tossed his head and turned away to leave.

  “Tory supporter for sure.” Ned Siddens nodded.

  Liam Flanagan shrugged. “Look, I like the Yanks and I’m grateful we’ve got the ANZUS Treaty with them. I’m just sayin’ they got t’ings terribly wrong in Vietnam, that’s all.”

  “He’s just a wanker.” Larry screwed up his nose.

  “He’s entitled to his opinion.” Henry finally entered the conversation.

  “Spoken like a real politician, son.” Liam smiled broadly. They all laughed.

  The new Labor member for Newcastle South was elected with a record majority of twelve thousand, five hundred and seventy two votes.

  ***

  The fall of the Whitlam Government in November, nineteen seventy-five, found Henry out of a job. Many within the Labor Party urged him to wait for the next election and stand again. However, the events leading up to the Whitlam dismissal had disillusioned Henry who was more than aware that politics in Australia could be a mean and tough business. Henry thought the political situation had reached a stage where it had become tarnished and dirty. A number of incidents had left a certain bitterness in his mouth, none more so than he Queen’s unelected representative in Australia, the Governor General, ignoring the will of the people. The Queensland Premier’s unwillingness to adhere to political convention in the selection of a Senate replacement added to that bitterness. In spite of the adversity, there was one bright light. For the first time in his life, Henry found himself in a position to decide his own future. The law had always interested him, so at the age of twenty-five, he enrolled for a degree course at the University of New South Wales.