Chapter Seventeen

“Call your next witness, Mr. Flanagan.” Justice Barrow looked down over his granny spectacles.

Henry slowly rose. “Thank you, Your Honour, we call Chief Correctional Officer, Barry Weston.” He turned to the side door expectantly. Smartly turned out in his prison guards dress uniform, CCO Weston strode confidently into the court. Taking the oath, his cleanly shaven head gleamed under the courts fluorescent lighting. He appeared a picture of efficiency. Once positioned in the witness box, he focused his full attention on Henry who had begun to amble in his direction.

“Mr. Weston, you are the Chief Correctional Officer at the Pukka Correctional centre, are you not?”

“That is correct.” Each word was pronounced precisely.

“On the sixth of April this year, an inmate named James Rankin was bashed and raped within the confines of Pukka. Is that not correct?” he asked, sounding hostile now.

Weston’s whole face tensed. “There’s nothing in the records at Pukka to indicate that such an attack was perpetrated upon the prisoner, James Rankin, Mr. Flanagan.” His voice remained courteous, almost apologetic.

Henry’s aggressive tone remained. “Because your records have been expunged to hide the unfortunate incident. Isn’t that correct?”

Oscar Pedersen rose to his feet. “Your Honour, I object. Without any evidence to the contrary, Mr. Flanagan is attacking the witness,” he accused. “And in the process, he’s also attacking the integrity of my client, International Corrections.”

“I agree, Mr. Pedersen. Your objection is upheld.” Justice Barrow’s tone came with a tinge of impatience. He swung toward Henry. “Mr. Flanagan, you know better than this! You need to provide evidence before making such accusations. Now please move on.”

“As the court wishes.” Henry bowed to the bench before continuing. “Mr. Weston, a Doctor Simpson complained to you about the assault on Mr. Rankin, did he not?” Henry held up a hand. “Before you answer, I must warn you taht the penalties for perjury are very severe and that I will personally pursue legal action against you if it is subsequently found you lied when answering this question.” Henry knew he was clutching at straws. “Now Mr. Weston, you may answer.”

“We have no record of a Doctor Simpson practicing at Pukka correctional facility.” Each word was stated slowly and deliberately, as if knowing he was on safe ground.

“You presently have an inmate named Lawrence Lincoln incarcerated at Pukka, do you not, Mr. Weston?” “That is correct, Mr. Flanagan.”

“This inmate, Lincoln, is known to the other inmates as Lurch.” Henry turned to the jury with raised eyebrows. “He arranged for the attack on Mr. Rankin and you knew about that, didn’t you, Mr. Weston?”

“As I informed you previously, Mr. Flanagan, I have no knowledge of any such attack.”

Oscar Pedersen once again dragged himself to his feet and shook his head. “Your Honour, I must object in the most strenuous terms.” He groaned. “Mr. Flanagan is going nowhere with this line of questioning. Indeed, Mr. Weston has answered all of his questions honestly and truthfully. When Mr. Flanagan didn’t obtain the answers he desired, he has resorted to badgering the witness who is a well-respected employee of my client.” “What about that, Mr. Flanagan? Where is this leading?” Justice Barrow raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve finished with this so-called witness.” Disgust was written all over Henry’s face.

“Mr. Graham or Mr. Pedersen?” Justice Barrow looked from one defense barrister to the other.

Approaching the witness, Oscar Pedersen positively beamed. “Mr. Weston, you’re a Vietnam veteran, are you not?”

“Yes, sir.” Weston turned to the jury. “I’ve served my country in war.”

“And you served in the Regular Army for fifteen years, rising to the rank of Warrant Officer Class Two. Isn’t that correct?” Pedersen’s voice was filled with admiration.

“Yes, sir, that is correct.”

“Have you any knowledge of any alleged assault on Mr. James Rankin?”

“No, sir. As I kept telling Mr. Flanagan, there’s no record of any attack on the inmate, Rankin.”

“Very good, Mr. Weston. Very good. You’re dismissed.”

Weston had almost stepped down from the witness box when Henry rose to his feet. “Redirect, Your Honour?”

“If you must,” Justice Barrow consented, sounding a little annoyed.

Stepping back into the box, a look of uncertainty clouded Weston’s eyes.

“Ah, Chief Officer Weston, sorry to hold you up,” Henry opened sarcastically. “However, I would like to clear up a few things about your service in the Army.” He noticed the witness lick his lips.

“I object, Your Honour?” Oscar Pedersen looked displeased. “I mean, is this really necessary? Mr. Weston already provided a brief account of his distinguished career in the armed forces. Any further questioning would surely be a waste of the court’s time.”

Justice Barrow shrugged. “You opened up the subject, Mr. Pedersen. I have no other choice than to allow Mr. Flanagan a redirect. Your objection is therefore overruled.”

“Thank you, Your Honour.” Henry turned to the Chief Officer. “Just to clear up a couple of points. When you were in Vietnam, you were simply a corporal clerk in the unit’s orderly room, were you not?”

Weston’s face pinkened. “Er, yes,” he answered in a hushed voice.

“The court could not hear your answer, Mr. Weston.” Henry waved to the public gallery. “Could you please speak a little louder?”

Unbridled hate filled Weston’s eyes. He obviously thought everything had gone so well. “Yes,” he replied in a much louder voice.

“You never went out on patrol or anything like that? The truth is you never even carried a rifle, did you?” Although asked quietly, there was nevertheless an implied criticism in Henry’s tone.

“No.” Weston lowered his head.

“And in relation to your fifteen years of military service. Why did you leave the Army?” Henry folded his arms and locked his gaze on the witness.

“I took a discharge. My time was up.” Weston didn’t meet his eyes.

“After just five more years’ service, you would have been eligible for a Defence Force Retirement Board pension for the remainder of your life.” Henry hesitated. “Yet you left the service.”

“Yes, as I told you, my time was up.” His face beet root red, Weston’s tone had lowered to a guttural rumble

Henry went on the attack. “Did your leaving the service have anything to do with the missing sum of money in your unit’s Sergeants Mess accounts?”

In obvious incomprehension at Henry’s gall, Weston’s mouth opened and closed.

Henry could see his temper was close to the surface now. He saw it burning in his eye. He’s going to explode. He asked the question again. “Did your leaving the army have something to do with missing money in your unit’s Sergeants Mess accounts?”

“Fuck you.” The Chief Officer finally lost control. “You fuckin’ shyster bastard.”

“Mr. Weston, control yourself.” Justice Barrow looked down angrily. Weston was obviously beyond caring. “And the same goes for you, you old fart,” he yelled at the top of his voice. “You legal bastards are all the same.”

Judge Barrow looked to the rear of the courtroom and beckoned two uniformed officers, addressing them in a stern voice. “Remove Mr. Weston from the witness box and escort him to the holding cells. He is being held for contempt of court.”

As they attempted to restrain him, Weston fought them violently, screaming obscenities every step of the way.

Resuming his seat, Henry smiled at Elaine. “That Dick is good,” he whispered. “I just hope he can have as much success in locating Doctor Simpson.”

Henry rose to his feet. “Your Honour, we call the Minister for Corrective Services, the Honourable Johnathon Charles Windsor.”

The witness clerk rose from his chair and addressed the court. “Your Honour, the Minister apologises to the court. He has been called to an urgent Cabinet meeting and cannot attend.”

“I’ll bet,” Henry said softly to Elaine

The witness clerk went on, “He advises that he will be available from nine a.m. tomorrow morning.”

“Very well.” Justice Barrow looked over his granny spectacles at Henry. “Next witness, Mr. Flanagan.”

Henry took advantage of a legitimate means of holding up proceedings. I need to give Dick as much time as he needs to get hold of Dr Simpson. “If it please the court,” he began in an earnest voice. “It is of paramount importance that I be able to question the minister first, as the information I am seeking from him will form the basis of questions I may put to other witnesses. We therefore seek an adjournment until the Minister is available.”

“Oh very well, Mr. Flanagan.” Justice Barrow sighed. “The court is adjourned until nine a.m. tomorrow morning.”

***

The phone was ringing as they entered the office. “Dick, thank God.” Elaine answered, transferring it to Henry. From his demeanor, Elaine could tell everything wasn’t going well.

“Shit!” He slammed down the receiver. “The bloody doctor won’t come and Dick can’t convince him.”

“We’re done for, Henry.” Judy slumped into a chair.

“At this stage, it would appear so, Judy.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Unless I can unsettle the Minister or the CEO of International Corrections.” She sensed by the grim look on Henry’s face that achieving this would be difficult “They’ll be hard eggs to crack. If we can’t prove to the jury that the assault took place, then we’re out of business, I’m afraid.”

“You’ll do your best, Henry, and that’s all anyone can ask. And for that I thank you with all my heart.” She forced a thin smile. “At least the treatment of inmates is now on the political agenda.”

“I just hate to see the bastards win, that’s all. Especially that mongrel, Lawson.” Henry’s features tightened.

***

As predicted, and try as he might, Henry couldn’t break the Minister who denied all knowledge of the attack. In desperation, he tried another tack. “A prisoner is incarcerated for punishment and rehabilitation, would you agree, Minister?” Henry’s tone had become conciliatory.

“Yes, I agree with that observation, Mr. Flanagan.” John Windsor looked uncertain, apparently wondering where this line of questioning was leading to.

“What about bashing and rapes in prison? Should any inmate have to suffer the pain and degradation that comes with such an assault?” he asked calmly.

There was a long pause as the Minister considered the question. “No, of course not,” he answered carefully. “And in that regard, I have instructed all the staff under my control to report any such offense to relevant authorities for action to be taken against the perpetrator.”

“That is very commendable of you, Minister.” Henry flashed a triumphant smile before pouncing. “Then you admit that bashings and rapes do occur in prisons?” he asked stiffly.

John Windsor licked his lips. “I suppose such things happen on rare occasions,” he admitted quietly.

“Do you keep statistics on such attacks?”

The Minister was caught off guard. “I’m, I’m not sure, Mr. Flanagan,” he stammered.

“You’re the Minister for Corrective Services in the Government of Queensland and yet you are unsure whether your department keeps statistics on bashings and rapes within the walls of our correctional facilities?” Henry shook his head in disgust. “I find that difficult to believe.”

Oscar Pedersen rose slowly to his feet. “Your Honour, I object to this line of questioning. No government minister can be aware of all the statistical information that is collected within his or her portfolio. My learned friend,” he waved a hand in Henry’s direction, “is merely attempting to enhance his own case by dragging up red herrings which are completely irrelevant.”

“I agree with you, Mr. Pedersen. Your objection is therefore upheld.” Justice Barrow’s lips became a thin line. “Are you nearly finished with this witness, Mr. Flanagan?”

“Just a couple more questions, Your Honour.” Henry’s tone was far from apologetic.

“Minister, within state conducted prisons, what is the ratio of warders to inmates?”

Minute lines creased the Honourable John Windsor’s brow. “Er, I’m unsure, but I think it is somewhere in the vicinity of one to twenty.”

Henry raised his eyebrows. “And what is the ratio of warders to inmates in privately conducted institutions?”

“I, er, don’t know, Mr. Flanagan.” The Minister looked a little sheepish.

Henry looked to the jury, his face filled with disgust. “You don’t know. How very convenient for you.” He swung back to the witness. “Minister, James Rankin was a federal prisoner who was incarcerated in a state prison, a part of your portfolio. Mr. Rankin subsequently died within the confines of Pukka Correctional centre. The question I wish to ask is, who was responsible for his safety and what are your duty of care responsibilities in the matter?”

Another long pause. Finally, the Minister cleared his throat. “Where Mr. Rankin’s safety was concerned, every possible precaution was taken by ICS staff, even though there was no evidence he had ever been assaulted in the first place. The staff merely acceded to your request, Mr. Flanagan, to place him in the protective custody wing, as a precaution.” John Windsor sounded convincing.

“You are dismissed, Minister.” Making his way back to his chair, Henry couldn’t help thinking how well he’d been briefed.

“Mr. Graham or Mr. Pedersen.” Judge Barrow glanced from one to the other.

“Nothing from me, Your Honour.” Graham resumed his seat.

“Me either, Your Honour.” Oscar Pedersen barely rose from his.

“Mr. Flanagan, your next witness if you please.” Justice Barrow leaned back against his chair, his gazed fixed on Henry.

“Thank you, Your Honour,” Henry answered politely. “We call Emily June Atkins.” After taking the oath, her fingers trembling, the beak nosed woman looked expectantly at Henry. He gave her one of his most charming smiles as he approached. “Ah, Miss Atkins. I won’t keep you long. You represent an organisation called the Prisoners Aid Society of Queensland, do you not?”

“Yes, Mr. Flanagan.” She pursed her lips. “That is correct.”

“And what is the role of your organisation?”

Before she had the chance to answer, Walter Graham was on his feet. “Your Honour, I must object in the strongest possible terms,” he growled. “The matter before the court has little to do with the role of the Prisoners Aid Society. I would request that my learned friend restrict his questions to those that are relevant to the case.” He resumed his seat.

“I must say I agree. The objection is upheld.” Justice Barrow looked over his granny spectacles at Henry. “Mr. Flanagan, during these proceedings I’ve given you considerable latitude, however, my patience is quickly diminishing. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Honour.”

“Then get on with your questions.”

“Of course, Your Honour. My apologies to the court” Henry bowed. “Miss Atkins, does your organisation gather statistical information regarding the care and treatment of prisoners?”

“Yes, that is correct.” Emily Atkins removed a folder from a black leather briefcase.

“Miss Atkins, could you please inform the court, what ratio of warders to prisoners is needed to ensure an inmate receives the necessary supervision?”

Emily Atkins checked the file. “Academic research has indicated that a ratio of one to fifteen is required.” She set her lips firmly together and glanced at the jury.

“I see.” Henry hesitated, letting the numbers sink in. “And what is the current ratio of warders to prisoners at Pukka Correctional centre?”

“One to forty, Mr. Flanagan.” She emphasised the words with much indignation.

“Thank you, Miss Atkins.” Henry leaned forward. “Now finally, by reducing staff numbers at Pukka Correctional centre, have the State Government and ICS breached their duty of care responsibilities to the prison population?”

“Yes, they most certainly have, Mr. Flanagan.”

“Thank you, that’s all.”

Walter Graham approached the witness box, his upper lip curled, causing a shiver to run up Emily Atkins’ spine.

“Miss Atkins.” He could see she was nervous. “Your organisation exaggerates the so-called plight of prisoners, does it not?” He turned his back on her, raising his eyes at the jury.

She took a deep breath and gritted her teeth. “No, definitely not.”

“In relation to the so-called statistics you offer to the court as evidence, the required academic research you refer to was undertaken by what institution?”

“The Social Science Faculty of Griffith University,” she offered proudly.

“Who funded this supposed research?” He swung back, his eyes boring into hers.

“What do you mean?” She looked mystified, her expression changing to one of anxiety.

“It’s a very simple question, Miss Atkins. Who provided the funding so the so-called research could be undertaken?”

“Why it was the Prisoners Aid Society of Queensland,” she reluctantly admitted.

“The Prisoners Aid Society of Queensland.” Walter Graham’s tone was scathing as he repeated the words before going on. “In funding research you knew would point to a low ratio of warders to inmates, your organisation achieved the outcome it desired. Isn’t that right, Miss Atkins?” He pointed an accusing finger at her.

Henry wanted to go to her aid, but didn’t want to alienate the jury by a trivial interruption. He drummed his fingers on the table, wondering if he had underestimated his adversary. He’s on the ball today, the flea.

“No, no that’s not true.” Emily Atkins’ quivering voice was strained and unconvincing.

“Now I refer to your statement that the present ratio of guards to inmates at Pukka Correctional centre is one to forty. How did you come by this statistic?” Graham pushed his advantage.

Emily Atkins’ fingers trembled. “Through staff employed at the correctional facility.”

“I see.” Graham gave a dismissive wave. “Some disgruntled union member guard, looking for an increase in staffing, approaches you and provides you with incorrect information regarding the guard to inmate ratio at Pukka, and your organisation willingly accepts his words as fact.”

Henry jumped to his feet. “Your Honour, I must object. Mr. Graham is making unsubstantiated statements and is badgering the witness.”

“I agree, Mr. Flanagan. I uphold your objection. The jury will disregard Mr. Graham’s statement.”

“My apologies to the court.” Graham bowed. “I have no further use of this witness.”

“Mr. Pedersen?” Justice Barrow raised his bushy eyebrows.

“No questions, Your Honour.”

“Next witness, Mr. Flanagan.”

“Thank you, Your Honour. We call Mr. Allan Bruce Hartman.”

The Chief Executive Officer of International Correctional Services Australia strode toward the witness box, looking uncertainly in Henry’s direction. After being sworn in, he coughed to clear his throat.

“Mr. Hartman, you are the Chief Executive Officer of International Correctional Services Australia. Is that correct?” Henry nonchalantly ambled toward the box, a pencil in his hand.

“Yes, sir.” His accent was crisply American.

“When the state government made the decision to privatise Pukka, your organisation won the tender, did it not?”

“That is correct, sir.”

“I believe that six other companies also quoted to conduct the prison.”

“That is correct.”

“To win the tender, your quote must have been very competitive?” Henry sounded impressed.

“Yes, sir, the industry is a competitive one.”

“In your agreement with the Department of Corrective Services, what ratio of warders to prisoners are you required to maintain at any given time?”

The CEO thought for a long moment. “I think it’s one guard to twenty-five inmates.”

“I see.” Henry moved closer to the witness box, never letting his eyes leave those of the witness. “What was the ratio when you took control of the prison.”

“I believe it was in the vicinity of one to twenty, sir.” Hartman’s tone remained uncertain.

Henry arched his eyes inquisitively. “What is your present ratio, and please remember you are under oath.”

Hartman thought for a long moment before answering. “At present, the ratio is a little wider than normal.” He hedged. “This is mainly due to early retirements, long service leave, illness and staff attending training courses. However, once our recruitment targets are achieved, I’m sure the required ratio will once again be achieved.”

Henry wasn’t fooled. “You still haven’t said what the current ratio is, Mr. Hartman.”

“I’m not sure.” He lifted up his palms apologetically. “Perhaps one to thirty?”

“One to thirty.” Henry scoffed. “I’m informed it is closer to one to forty.”

The CEO shook his head defiantly. “No, sir, that’s not true.”

Henry’s voice became more animated. “Isn’t it simply company policy to downsize staff at any government prison ICS assumes control of?”

“No, there’s no such policy, I can assure you, Mr. Flanagan.” He was becoming a little flustered.

“Come now, Mr. Hartman.” Disbelief in Henry’s tone. “In the USA, Great Britain and other states of Australia, whenever ICS has won a contract to manage a prison, for some unknown reason, staff numbers are quickly and dramatically reduced. Is this just a coincidence, sir?”

He seemed uncertain as he tried to gather his thoughts. “I can’t speak to you about other prisons, Mr. Flanagan.” He licked his lips. “But I can definitely state there is no official policy to reduce staff at government institutions, taken over by ICS.”

“No such policy. How convenient for you.” Henry’s tone facetious, his scowl deepening. “I’ll try and ask you a question you can answer, Mr. Hartman.” You could hear a pin drop in the courtroom. “Would a decrease in supervisory staff make a prisoner more vulnerable where his safety is concerned? Surely you can answer that?”

The gleam in Henry’s eye made Hartman feel uneasy. “It may, then yet again it may not, Mr. Flanagan. It depends on the circumstances.”

“A little vague for a man in your position, Mr. Hartman.” Henry made no attempt to hide his critical tone.

Oscar Pedersen interrupted. “Your Honour, I think Mr. Flanagan has overstepped the mark.”

“Mr. Flanagan, I’m inclined to agree with Mr. Pedersen.” Justice Barrow gave a deep sigh.

“I’m sorry Your Honour. Just one more thing.” Henry turned back to his witness. “By reducing staff numbers, your organisation placed James Rankin in a vulnerable position where he was bashed and raped. As a consequence, your organisation and the state have breached their duty of care responsibilities? Do you agree?”

“No sir, I do not.” The CEO’s tone was emphatic.

“I have no more questions of this witness.” Henry strode back to his table.

“Mr. Pedersen?” Justice Barrow leaned back in his leather chair.

“I don’t think there’s any need for me to cross examine this particular witness, Your Honour.” Uttering the words, Pedersen glanced across at Henry, smirking in triumph.

“We will begin the summations after lunch.” Justice Barrow rapped his gavel down on the pad.

***

At lunch in the same Greek cafe, Henry, Elaine and Judy sat despondently sipping their coffees. Their appetites were non-existent. “That’s it. We’re done for,” Henry said despondently.

Judy took a long sip and placed her cup on its saucer. “It is nothing more than we expected, Henrt,; she sighed. “At least we brought prison bashings and rapes to the public’s attention.”

Elaine remained silent. Henry thought she looked pale, her features a little drawn. “Are you feeling okay, sweetheart?”

She lifted a handkerchief to her lips. “No, I’m a bit off colour today, Henry. In fact, I haven’t been myself for the past few days.”

“You’d better see a doctor.” He patted her hand.

“It’s probably just menopausal,” she replied softly. “My doctor said I’d experience days like this.”

“Nevertheless, I still want you to go back and see him.” Henry paused. “Do you feel like something to eat?”

The thought of food made her stomach turn. She held her hand to her mouth until the uncomfortable feeling dissipated. “No, definitely not, Henry.”

“Don’t come back to court this afternoon. You make an appointment to see the doctor instead. Okay?” He squeezed her hand.

“Very well, Henry, I think I will.”