wasn’t a roadblock, what was it?’
‘The persons involved are suspects in an inquiry and an attempt was made to apprehend them.’
‘That’s the Charles Bourgoyne attack?’
‘Correct.’
‘Did both victims die of gunshot wounds?’
‘One of them. Unfortunately.’
The journalist said, ‘And is that Luke Ericsen, the nephew of Bobby Walshe?’
‘I’m not yet in a position to answer that,’ said the commissioner.
‘And the other boy? What did he die of?’
‘Injuries sustained in a vehicle accident.’
Another journalist said, ‘Commissioner, the officers involved, were they uniformed police?’
‘There were uniformed police at the scene.’
‘So if it wasn’t a roadblock, was this a chase gone wrong?’
‘It was not a chase. It was an operation designed to avoid any danger to everyone involved and…’
‘Can you confirm that two police vehicles were travelling behind the vehicle that crashed. Can you confirm that?’
‘That’s correct, however…’
‘Excuse me, commissioner, how is that not a chase?’
‘They were not pursuing the vehicle.’
‘It wasn’t a roadblock and it wasn’t a chase and you have two dead Aboriginal youths?’
The commissioner scratched his cheek. ‘I’ll say again,’ he said. ‘It was an interception operation designed to minimise the possibility of injury. That is always the intent. But police officers in danger have the clear right to act to protect themselves and their colleagues.’
‘Commissioner, Cromarty has a bad reputation for this kind of thing, doesn’t it? Four Aboriginal people dead in matters involving the police since 1987. Two deaths in custody.’
‘I can’t comment on that. To my knowledge, the officers involved in this incident, and that includes a highly respected Aboriginal police officer, behaved with the utmost respect for protocol. Beyond that, we’ll wait for the coroner’s verdict.’
Villani gestured to Hopgood to switch off the monitor. Cashin was standing at the window, looking at the noonday light on the stone building across the street, having trouble focusing. He was thinking about the crushed boy in the ute. Shane Diab looked like that, the life squeezed out of him.
Pigeons and gulls were walking about, some drowsing, apparently living in amity. Then full-on violence broke out on the parapet— wings, beaks, claws. The peace had only been a lull.
‘The position is,’ said Villani, rubbing his face with both hands,ageing himself, ‘that this operation has brought upon me, upon you, upon this station and upon the entire fucking police force an avalanche of shit. We are buried in shit, the guilty and the innocent.’
‘With respect,’ said Hopgood, ‘how can you know that a driver will be so dumb? What kind of stupid cunt swerves around a car at red lights and loses control?’
‘You can’t,’ said Villani. ‘But you wouldn’t have had to if you’d listened to me and taken them at home. Now you’d all better pray these kids are the ones attacked Bourgoyne.’
‘Ericsen had no reason to fire on us,’ said Hopgood. ‘He’s a violent little arsehole, he’d likely have done the same if we’d waited till they were home in the Daunt.’
‘My understanding,’ said Villani, ‘is that Ericsen’s in an accident, he gets out, sees two civilians jump out of an unmarked car and come at him. Could be mad hoons. Three years ago four such animals did exactly the same thing, beat two black kids to pulp, the one’s in a wheelchair for life. Also in this town a year ago a black kid walking home was chased down by a car. He tried to run away and the car mounted the pavement and collected him. Dead on arrival. law. For something anyway.’
Villani had been looking around the room. Now he stared at Hopgood. ‘You familiar with those incidents, detective?’
‘I am, boss. But…’
‘Save the buts, detective. For the inquiry and the inquest. Where you will need all the buts you can find.’ Villani
‘The persons involved are suspects in an inquiry and an attempt was made to apprehend them.’
‘That’s the Charles Bourgoyne attack?’
‘Correct.’
‘Did both victims die of gunshot wounds?’
‘One of them. Unfortunately.’
The journalist said, ‘And is that Luke Ericsen, the nephew of Bobby Walshe?’
‘I’m not yet in a position to answer that,’ said the commissioner.
‘And the other boy? What did he die of?’
‘Injuries sustained in a vehicle accident.’
Another journalist said, ‘Commissioner, the officers involved, were they uniformed police?’
‘There were uniformed police at the scene.’
‘So if it wasn’t a roadblock, was this a chase gone wrong?’
‘It was not a chase. It was an operation designed to avoid any danger to everyone involved and…’
‘Can you confirm that two police vehicles were travelling behind the vehicle that crashed. Can you confirm that?’
‘That’s correct, however…’
‘Excuse me, commissioner, how is that not a chase?’
‘They were not pursuing the vehicle.’
‘It wasn’t a roadblock and it wasn’t a chase and you have two dead Aboriginal youths?’
The commissioner scratched his cheek. ‘I’ll say again,’ he said. ‘It was an interception operation designed to minimise the possibility of injury. That is always the intent. But police officers in danger have the clear right to act to protect themselves and their colleagues.’
‘Commissioner, Cromarty has a bad reputation for this kind of thing, doesn’t it? Four Aboriginal people dead in matters involving the police since 1987. Two deaths in custody.’
‘I can’t comment on that. To my knowledge, the officers involved in this incident, and that includes a highly respected Aboriginal police officer, behaved with the utmost respect for protocol. Beyond that, we’ll wait for the coroner’s verdict.’
Villani gestured to Hopgood to switch off the monitor. Cashin was standing at the window, looking at the noonday light on the stone building across the street, having trouble focusing. He was thinking about the crushed boy in the ute. Shane Diab looked like that, the life squeezed out of him.
Pigeons and gulls were walking about, some drowsing, apparently living in amity. Then full-on violence broke out on the parapet— wings, beaks, claws. The peace had only been a lull.
‘The position is,’ said Villani, rubbing his face with both hands,ageing himself, ‘that this operation has brought upon me, upon you, upon this station and upon the entire fucking police force an avalanche of shit. We are buried in shit, the guilty and the innocent.’
‘With respect,’ said Hopgood, ‘how can you know that a driver will be so dumb? What kind of stupid cunt swerves around a car at red lights and loses control?’
‘You can’t,’ said Villani. ‘But you wouldn’t have had to if you’d listened to me and taken them at home. Now you’d all better pray these kids are the ones attacked Bourgoyne.’
‘Ericsen had no reason to fire on us,’ said Hopgood. ‘He’s a violent little arsehole, he’d likely have done the same if we’d waited till they were home in the Daunt.’
‘My understanding,’ said Villani, ‘is that Ericsen’s in an accident, he gets out, sees two civilians jump out of an unmarked car and come at him. Could be mad hoons. Three years ago four such animals did exactly the same thing, beat two black kids to pulp, the one’s in a wheelchair for life. Also in this town a year ago a black kid walking home was chased down by a car. He tried to run away and the car mounted the pavement and collected him. Dead on arrival. law. For something anyway.’
Villani had been looking around the room. Now he stared at Hopgood. ‘You familiar with those incidents, detective?’
‘I am, boss. But…’
‘Save the buts, detective. For the inquiry and the inquest. Where you will need all the buts you can find.’ Villani
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