A Case in Question

by Herb Hamlet

  Chapter Nine

  The back door of a pearl white limousine with state government number plates, was opened as soon as the brightly dressed man stormed through the automatic doors of Brisbane’s Convention centre. Watching him step out into the morning sunlight, a few pedestrians turned in his direction, pointing to one another, recognising him. He didn’t utter a word to his driver, and made no conversation during the five minute journey to the state government parliamentary annex. His eyes were pinpoints of fury as he read the leading story on page two of the Courier-Mail newspaper.

  The driver proceeded across the Victoria Bridge, making his way to George Street, the vehicle slowing to a halt outside the main entrance of a multi-storied building. The back door opened, the VIP climbed out and strode purposely into the building’s foyer, security staff making a pathway for him. His thin lips twisted with frustration as he waited for the lift to arrive. He impatiently pressed the button for the fourteenth floor. Paul Lawson, the Premier of Queensland, was running late for a very important meeting.

  ***

  The subdued lighting of the state Premier’s well-appointed conference room exuded a feeling of informality, harmony and peace, perhaps even warmth. However, the grim determination on the faces of the three men seated around the head of an antique oak table conveyed emotions that were anything but peaceful. These were men of influence and power, well accustomed to getting their own way in all facets of their political lives.

  The difference between the three seated men was considerable. At the head of the table sat Paul Lawson. His garish appearance was the subject of much discussion, an almost daily topic on talk back radio. In a poll driven society, public image meant everything. Senior politicians therefore ensured they were polite, well dressed and tastefully turned out, their image usually overseen by media staff and minders. They were well aware photographers lurked everywhere, waiting to pounce and snap a shot of any politician caught in an awkward or embarrassing position.

  Paul Lawson was the exception. He was not the slightest bit interested in how he looked to the general public, the newspapers or the television cameras. Furthermore, he let his attitude be known. He once castigated a public relations expert attempting to improve his image in the media. Journalists were often scathing when they reported on his crudely brash appearance. “I don’t give a shit how I look, you fool.” He addressed the PR man contemptuously. “The people voted for me to do a job and that’s what I’m here for. Nothing else.” The Premier’s flamboyant appearance was difficult to describe to someone who hadn’t actually set eyes on him. Some might say his dress was carelessly bright, due to a complete lack of taste. Others thought of him as an embarrassment. It was as if he held a desire for flashy brightness, right down to his loud socks.

  Colleagues claimed his appearance had something to do with his years as a leading property developer, where he’d accrued a fortune. They joked that he liked to impress clients with his showy dress. Aged somewhere in his mid-sixties, the Premier was of medium height and build, with thinning unwashed hair which he combed from a point just above his left ear across his balding scalp, his combover adding to the embarrassment of his appearance. His eyes, however, were something else, dark brown and intimidating. When they focused on an individual, they never moved. In spite of the blue checked suit that hung limply from his frame, he remained the consummate politician.

  Paul Lawson was a prominent member of the conservative party that had ruled the state of Queensland for the previous ten years, going virtually unchallenged. This government had much in common with the government of the Northern Territory, where dubious deals were made behind closed doors, with vast amounts of money changing hands over proposed business deals. Electoral boundaries were drawn up to suit the government’s overwhelming desire to remain in office.

  “Have you read this fuckin’ article?” Paul Lawson roared as he tossed the day’s edition of the Courier-Mail on the table toward his two political colleagues. He then slammed the palm of his hand down so hard, a vase of flowers swayed, nearly falling over.

  “Yes Paul, I think everyone in the Cabinet has seen it.” Phillip Marshall, the State Attorney General, reached down, drawing files from a polished leather briefcase at his feet. In contrast to the premier, Marshall was dressed immaculately in a three piece charcoal grey suit, complimented by a white shirt and pinstriped tie. His full head of dark hair flecked with grey was neatly combed. He had a tanned face; no doubt testimony to the hours he spent at the health spa. “I have legal opinion from the crown prosecutor’s office that such an action cannot be brought against the government. We are protected by legislation.” He smiled smugly.

  “Can you imagine the hide of that Labor bastard, Flanagan.” The Premier grunted angrily. “Suing us because his bloody client got assaulted in prison.” His tone remained indignant. ‘What the hell does he think a correction centre is - a bloody guest house?” His voice rose loudly as he stared at the empty glass of scotch and water on the conference table in front of him.

  “The man was also raped, Paul,” the third man at the table, the state treasurer, Lionel Joury, said. “Don’t forget that.”

  “The prick’s in bloody prison,” Lawson fumed. “Those things happen to bloody crims.”

  “He is incarcerated for a taxation matter, Paul. He didn’t steal or hurt anyone,” Joury replied meekly.

  “It doesn’t matter, Lionel. The bastard is an inmate,” he spat back, remaining silent for several moments. “We can’t let this bastard, Flanagan, get to court.” He turned to his Attorney General. “Get back to the Crown Prosecutor’s Office, Phillip, make sure we are in the clear.”

  As if on cue, the meeting was interrupted by Phillip Marshall’s mobile phone. “Excuse me.” He pursed his lips. “I told my staff to only interrupt me if it was important.” He pressed the answer button and listened. All he said was, “I see,” and closed the mouthpiece. “That was the Crown Prosecutor’s Office.” He gave a grim sigh. “I’m sorry to report that they’ve had a rethink on Flanagan’s case. It appears we’re not being sued over the actual bashing and rape of this Rankin fellow.” He gazed from one to the other. “We’re being sued for what is called ‘our failure to meet our duty of care obligations’. The department thinks there are sufficient precedents for Flanagan to make a case.”

  “What the fuck’s duty of care?” the premier exploded.

  “Flanagan will argue that we had a responsibility to protect the prisoner, James Rankin, and that our lack of supervision contributed to the offense.” He shrugged.

  “What a load of shit.” Lawson’s mind had moved on. “Fuckin’ hell! What if every bastard who’s been bashed or raped in prison also takes legal action on those grounds?”

  Joury gave a short nervous laugh. “If they were successful, there wouldn’t be enough money in the treasury to pay them.”

  “That’s it then.” Lawson’s eyes narrowed. “We have to nip this action of Flanagan’s in the bud.” He turned to his Attorney General. “You’re the legal eagle, Phillip. How do we do it?”

  For several seconds, Marshall leaned back in his chair and examined the plaster ceiling. By the time his eyes rested on the other pair, he wore a smug look. “We’ll pass back-dated legislation outlawing duty of care cases where prisoners under the control of the Department of Corrective Services are concerned.”

  “That’s great, Phillip.” A malicious grin spread over Lawson’s lips. “Get the legislation drafted as soon as possible.” He chuckled. “That’ll stop that prick Flanagan in his tracks; the Labor bastard.”

  ***

  Henry entered the outer office and watched Elaine answer the phone.

  “It’s for you, Henry.” She held her hand over the mouthpiece, whispering, “A male - Irish accent.”

  “I’ll take it in my office, love.”

  He emerged a couple of minutes later, sm
iling. “We’ve been working day in and day out. What about taking a short break with me?”

  “What do you mean by a small break?” Minute lines creased her normally smooth brow.

  “Go away with me for three days.”

  “Where would we go?” A smile drifted across her face.

  “That’s a surprise,” he teased.

  “When would we leave?” She sounded uncertain.

  “We’ll close the office at lunchtime tomorrow and take off then.”

  “All right, I’ll be in it.”

  “Good girl.” He grinned, drawing her to her feet, hugging her.

  Arriving at the office the next morning, she carried a brown leather suitcase. They worked flat out until midday when he strode from his private office. “Time to go, sweetheart.”

  ***

  “You still won’t tell me where we’re going?” She lightly berated him as she climbed into the front seat of the old Volvo.

  “Nope!” He chuckled. “All I’ll say is, we’re heading in a southerly direction.”

  “Aha.” She nodded. “We’re going to the Gold Coast.”

  “Wrong again.”

  They snaked their way through traffic until they reached the M One highway. Henry pressed down on the accelerator pedal, almost exceeding the one hundred and ten kilometer per hour speed limit. A little over an hour later, they crossed the border into New South Wales, still heading south.

  Elaine remained perplexed. Where on earth is he headed?

  Three and a half hours after leaving Brisbane, they reached the large provincial centre of Grafton. Elaine thought she knew their destination. We’re going to Coffs Harbour.

  An hour or so later, Henry slowed almost to a halt for road works just outside the coastal town.

  “Is this it?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Just how far are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  A coordinating officer stood in the centre of the road, a green ‘GO’ sign in one hand, directing the cars making their way past him. He finally beckoned to Henry who accelerated past. It was nearly nine-thirty when he turned the Volvo off the Pacific Highway and headed for Newcastle.

  “This is your home town?”

  “Yep. It certainly is.” He went on to tell her a little about growing up there.

  ***

  He pulled the Volvo to a halt in front of a neat low set worker’s dwelling with a solitary light shining in the front window.

  “Come on.” He stepped from the vehicle and opened her door before going to the boot for their suitcases.

  “But where are we?” She looked at him quizzically.

  “You’ll see.” He chuckled.

  Approaching the brick steps, the perfume of red and white roses growing along the front wall of the house filled Elaine’s nostrils. He pressed the door bell and waited, and when there was no response, he pushed the button again. The sound of footsteps approaching could be heard above the crickets chirping in the background. The door was tentatively opened by a fit looking elderly man with a ruddy complexion. He beamed, unable to disguise his delight. “Henry, my son.” He grinned broadly. “I can’t believe you came.” He took his son’s offered hand in a vigorous grip before embracing him.

  Henry turned to her. “Dad, I want you to meet Elaine.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Flanagan,” she greeted him shyly.

  “‘Tis a pleasure to know you, girl. Welcome to our house.” His eyes locked with hers in a twinkling gaze. The Irish brogue sounded like music to her ears. Her own father had been Irish.

  “Who is it, Liam?” A voice inquired from the rear of the neatly appointed cottage.

  “Come and see, love.” The older man put a finger to his lips.

  A short plump woman came bustling from the direction of the kitchen. On sighting Henry, her face lit up. She stopped for a moment and lifted her hand to her mouth. Then she stumbled toward him with her meaty arms outstretched, tears of happiness filling her eyes.

  “Henry, I can’t believe it.” She hugged him vigorously.

  “Couldn’t miss your seventieth birthday, Mum.” He threw his arms around her and squeezed.

  Before Molly Flanagan had a chance to reply, Elaine turned on him. “Why didn’t you tell me it was your mother’s birthday?” she asked critically. “I would have brought her something.” Her cheeks turned pink.

  “For exactly those reasons,” he admitted lightly. “We’ve had a longstanding policy in this family; no presents. We could never afford them.” He gave a short laugh before introducing Elaine to his mother.

  “You must be hungry, love, after that long drive.” Molly slipped her arm around Elaine’s waist. “Come into the kitchen and I’ll get you something to eat and a cup of tea.”

  Ignoring Henry’s and Elaine’s protests, cold meat and a fresh salad was soon on the table before them. Placing the last morsel in his mouth, Henry sat back in his chair and patted his stomach. “You could always put a meal on the table quickly, Mum,” he said admiringly.

  “With eight children to feed, as well as a hungry husband, I had no other choice, did I, son?”

  “Are they all coming, Dad?” Henry raised his eyebrows.

  “Everyone but Michael. You know he’s still overseas working.”

  “That’s great. It’s ages since I’ve seen them all.”

  “You and Elaine take the front bedroom, Henry.” Molly rose. “I’m a bit tired, love. I’ve been baking all day. I think I’ll go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” She turned to Elaine, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’m so pleased Henry has found someone at last, Elaine. He told us all about you during our weekly phone calls.” Her gaze fleetingly shifted to her son. “You see, we’ve been a little worried about him over the past few years. I know we’ll be good friends,” she added with a smile, kissing Elaine on the cheek, doing the same to Henry. “Just leave the dishes in the sink and I’ll do them in the morning.”

  “I think I’ll be off also, lass. Have a good sleep.” Liam rose from his chair and followed his wife.

  Henry turned to her. “What do you think of them?”

  “They’re wonderful. I feel like I’ve known them all my life.” She began clearing the table.

  “Mum said to leave the dishes in the sink.”

  “And leave them for her?” She shook her head. “I’ll do them. It won’t take long.” She threw a teatowel at him. ‘You can wipe up.’

  ***

  The following morning, Elaine assisted Molly with preparations for her party to be held that night in a rented marquee in the Flanagan’s back yard. At ten am, Henry and Liam put their heads around the corner of the kitchen. “I’m takin’ Henry down the pub for a drink, love,” Liam explained. “All his old work mates want to see him, now that he’s a big-time legal man.”

  “Alright, Liam.” A slight frown creased her brow. “Don’t be too long and don’t be drinking too much, do you hear? We’ve got a very big day ahead of us.” Her tone was stern.

  “Don’t you be too long either, Henry.” Elaine looked up from the table. There’ll be alcohol there.

  “Okay boss.” He grinned. God, she looked so sweet with a dusting of white flour on her cheeks and a spot on her nose. It was all he could do to stop reaching for her, to hold her in his arms.

  In the hotel’s public bar, Henry met up with many of his old colleagues from the BHP steel works. They teased him mercilessly over him being a famous Queensland barrister.

  “I suppose you vote Tory now, Henry.” Jimmy Elder sniggered.

  “That’ll be the day.” Henry eyeballed him as he lifted a glass of ginger ale to his lips. He looked around. “Where’s old Ned?”

  “Died a couple of months ago, mate.” Jimmy’s older
brother, Larry, gave a grim sigh.

  “Well, here’s to old Ned.” Henry raised his glass and the others did the same.

  It was late in the afternoon when Henry’s brothers and sisters and their respective families all began arriving for Molly’s seventieth birthday celebrations. Children of all sizes and shapes seemed to materialise and begin running everywhere while Molly looked on beaming with pride. In spite of the number of people, whenever Henry looked in Elaine’s direction, she seemed to be in deep conversation with his father. She noticed Henry watching and her face lit up.

  ***

  “‘Tis nice to have you here, lass,” Liam continued. “It’s the happiest our boyo has been for a long time.”

  “I hope so, Mr. Flanagan,” she answered shyly. “It’s a bit overwhelming meeting so many of his relatives.”

  He chuckled. “Noisy buggers too, the lot of them. But they are the salt of the earth, just the same. Love every one of them.”

  “I look forward to knowing them better.”

  “I suppose I’d better give Molly some of my attention, instead of sitting here spruiking to a beautiful woman.” He gave her a peck on the cheek. “After all, it’s her birthday.”

  ***

  The time came for the night’s formal proceedings, and it was left to the eldest son to make the toast to Molly, a task he carried out with his usual courtroom eloquence. Just after midnight, they all pitched in with the cleaning up before making their farewells.

  “What a rousing success, Mum. Everything was lovely.” Henry wrapped an arm around her.

  “Yes it certainly was, son. And it was especially wonderful having my eldest here to direct proceedings.” Molly stood on her tip toe to kiss his cheek. “Well, I’m off to bed. There’s Mass in the morning.” Her eyes locked with his. “Are you coming?”

  “No, I don’t think so, Mum.” He looked sheepish.

  “Why ever not, Henry?” Elaine lightly scolded him. “I love going to Mass on Sunday mornings.”

  “You go to Mass?” He looked flabbergasted.

  “Then, then y...you’re a Catholic girl?” Liam flashed a grin.