lock when you….’ I said as I opened the heavy wooden door but shut-up abruptly when I came face to face with two heavy set men in bad suits. One flashed a badge at me.
‘Detective Simmonds from the Sex Crimes Squad,’ he said, his black moustache bouncing, his voice flat and unemotional. ‘Is Christopher John Bergin home, Madam?’
I felt the blood run from my face and gripped the door way hard.
‘What is this in regard to?’
‘A complaint has been made and we would like to interview Mr Bergin.’
‘My husband is in the chook house. Around the side of the house,’ I said hoarsely, pointing south.
They nodded and left and I felt my bladder lose control and a warm stream of urine run down my leg as I hobbled back to the bedroom, leaving a trail behind me.
Sex Crimes? My blood thickened and slowed into a dull thud. Sex crimes? Not my Chris. I couldn’t believe this was not happening.
***
9.
Detective Simmonds
Jesus. The guy had some money, I’ll say that much. Whenever we get an allegation against a well-off celebrity, alarm bells will always ring. That’s not to say that where there’s smoke there’s not fire. Quite the opposite. I’ve rarely investigated an allegation of sexual misconduct that didn’t at least have something that smelled bad behind it. Even the false allegations, and I’ve seen a few, even those seem to target defendants that have dubious histories outside the scope of our investigations. This guy was a rock-star, the complainant was a teenage girl. It was pretty cut and dry I reckoned, but my first impression of the girl was that she was a sly one. She was keeping the baby and that was a strange decision for a start, at her age. And she was already talking compensation and that was also a strange thing, for her age.
‘Jeez, check out the view,’ Osterloh said, jabbing me in the arm.
It was spectacular and I gave a low whistle of approval. That view didn’t come cheap.
‘You gotta feel sorry for that wife,’ I said. ‘She looks ready to pop. Talk about crap timing. Bad time to cheat on the missus.’
‘Bad time to get caught out, you mean. This guy’s a sex symbol and he’s on the road travelling for half the year. You can bet this is not a one-off lapse of judgement. He’d be boning everything that throws itself at him. And you see how those kids dress at rock concerts? Like prostitutes.’ Osterloh was not mincing his words.
My partner is a hard bastard. He’s about as emotional as a multiplication table. He can investigate some truly disturbing cases and not lose sleep. On the other hand, I’m not as good at keeping as calm, tidy and patient in my work. The truth is sometimes it gets to me. So many kids, young women, old women, even young guys who have their lives disintegrate into a bog of misery all because of some arsehole’s sexual perversions. I’ve seen some bad, bad things and met some characters who belong in Hell. Never to be released.
‘So if he can get it on tap why lure these particular young ladies, drug ‘em and then have sex with one of them and when she fell unconscious, rape the other one?’ Osterloh repeated his earlier statement.
‘I don’t like that line of thought that goes to thinking that just because he didn’t have to rape, means that he didn’t. Mike Tyson. Fucking famous footballers…they don’t have to…you know…no-one has to rape,’ I tried to explain. ‘Rapists are not all lonely losers that can’t pull a root. You and I both know that!’
‘Thrills,’ I guess, Osterloh shrugged his heavy shoulders. ‘Upping the ante. Getting it too easily would become stale after a bit, I reckon?’ The man had a bullet neck sand ample jowls up around his lips so that he looked like a ruddy clown. ‘Not that I’d know,’ he wheezed.
‘Yeah when was the last time your old lady put out?’ I laughed.
‘Oh, in about 1998,’ my partner lobbed back.
I looked up and saw the timber chicken coop up ahead. I could
‘Detective Simmonds from the Sex Crimes Squad,’ he said, his black moustache bouncing, his voice flat and unemotional. ‘Is Christopher John Bergin home, Madam?’
I felt the blood run from my face and gripped the door way hard.
‘What is this in regard to?’
‘A complaint has been made and we would like to interview Mr Bergin.’
‘My husband is in the chook house. Around the side of the house,’ I said hoarsely, pointing south.
They nodded and left and I felt my bladder lose control and a warm stream of urine run down my leg as I hobbled back to the bedroom, leaving a trail behind me.
Sex Crimes? My blood thickened and slowed into a dull thud. Sex crimes? Not my Chris. I couldn’t believe this was not happening.
***
9.
Detective Simmonds
Jesus. The guy had some money, I’ll say that much. Whenever we get an allegation against a well-off celebrity, alarm bells will always ring. That’s not to say that where there’s smoke there’s not fire. Quite the opposite. I’ve rarely investigated an allegation of sexual misconduct that didn’t at least have something that smelled bad behind it. Even the false allegations, and I’ve seen a few, even those seem to target defendants that have dubious histories outside the scope of our investigations. This guy was a rock-star, the complainant was a teenage girl. It was pretty cut and dry I reckoned, but my first impression of the girl was that she was a sly one. She was keeping the baby and that was a strange decision for a start, at her age. And she was already talking compensation and that was also a strange thing, for her age.
‘Jeez, check out the view,’ Osterloh said, jabbing me in the arm.
It was spectacular and I gave a low whistle of approval. That view didn’t come cheap.
‘You gotta feel sorry for that wife,’ I said. ‘She looks ready to pop. Talk about crap timing. Bad time to cheat on the missus.’
‘Bad time to get caught out, you mean. This guy’s a sex symbol and he’s on the road travelling for half the year. You can bet this is not a one-off lapse of judgement. He’d be boning everything that throws itself at him. And you see how those kids dress at rock concerts? Like prostitutes.’ Osterloh was not mincing his words.
My partner is a hard bastard. He’s about as emotional as a multiplication table. He can investigate some truly disturbing cases and not lose sleep. On the other hand, I’m not as good at keeping as calm, tidy and patient in my work. The truth is sometimes it gets to me. So many kids, young women, old women, even young guys who have their lives disintegrate into a bog of misery all because of some arsehole’s sexual perversions. I’ve seen some bad, bad things and met some characters who belong in Hell. Never to be released.
‘So if he can get it on tap why lure these particular young ladies, drug ‘em and then have sex with one of them and when she fell unconscious, rape the other one?’ Osterloh repeated his earlier statement.
‘I don’t like that line of thought that goes to thinking that just because he didn’t have to rape, means that he didn’t. Mike Tyson. Fucking famous footballers…they don’t have to…you know…no-one has to rape,’ I tried to explain. ‘Rapists are not all lonely losers that can’t pull a root. You and I both know that!’
‘Thrills,’ I guess, Osterloh shrugged his heavy shoulders. ‘Upping the ante. Getting it too easily would become stale after a bit, I reckon?’ The man had a bullet neck sand ample jowls up around his lips so that he looked like a ruddy clown. ‘Not that I’d know,’ he wheezed.
‘Yeah when was the last time your old lady put out?’ I laughed.
‘Oh, in about 1998,’ my partner lobbed back.
I looked up and saw the timber chicken coop up ahead. I could
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