Read Online Ghost Child by Caroline Overington - Free Book Online
Authors: Caroline Overington
Ads: Link
up her hand to shield her face. Peter’s eye was immediately caught by the reporter who was trying to look like Jana, and blow me down if he didn’t look ready to flirt.
I opened the way I always do. I said, ‘Ladies and gentleman, thank you for coming.’
I’ve always enjoyed that line. It’s like, ‘Thank you for coming!’ As if they were invited! I went on. I said, ‘I’m Detective Senior Sergeant Brian Muggeridge of the Barrett CIB and I’m here today to make a public appealfor witnesses to what I think we’d all describe as a particularly cruel attack on a young boy.
‘I’d like to introduce you to Lisa Cashman. Lisa is the mother of young Jacob Cashman, Jake Cashman, who is the child that some of you might have seen yesterday, being taken to the Children’s Hospital.’
‘And the dad? What’s his name?’ said one of the reporters, signalling behind me to where Peter Tabone was standing.
I said, ‘No, the dad’s not here. This here, Peter Tabone, he’s an acquaintance of Mrs Cashman, here to give Mrs Cashman some support. We’ve also got young Harley here, who witnessed the attack, and we’re going to have both of them speak to you briefly this morning, and what we’d like you press people to do, if you don’t mind, is get out an appeal for witnesses.’
I explained the details of the case again and then made an appeal to the public for information. I said, ‘Jacob’s got very serious injuries, and we obviously want whoever did this off the street. So we’re asking people who might have seen these two boys on their way back from the shop at around 5 p.m. yesterday, or seen any strange men in the area, anything at all that triggers a memory, to come forward, to do as we said yesterday and call Crime Stoppers. It can be completely confidential, but any information could help us.
‘And now I’m going to introduce you to young Harley, who was with his brother. You’ll appreciate thatit’s been very traumatic, and you’ll understand that we don’t want Harley to answer any questions at this point, but he might be able to say something.’
‘Harley.’
Harley had been standing behind my legs. I stepped to the side, so he could be seen. In the glare of the TV lights, his white hair gleamed. He put half a foot forward, but was mute.
I said, ‘Harley, you can just tell these folk what it was that you saw yesterday.’
There was a moment of awkward silence, but finally, he said, ‘We got bashed up, me and Jake.’
The press waited, but that seemed to be all Harley wanted to say. He dropped to his haunches to inspect something on the porch. Lisa lifted him by the top of his pants.
‘He hit Jake, didn’t he?’ she said. ‘Where did he hit him?’
Harley said, ‘Tummy.’
I said, ‘All right, Harley, that’s fine, and now, Mrs Cashman, if you could just speak?’
Lisa looked at me and then stepped forward. Now, we are talking here about a time before obesity became the scourge of the working class. Lisa was scrawny and pale and wearing a dress that was basically a column of terry-towelling material, held up by a band of elastic. She was a mother of four, and four pregnancies had taken a bit of a toll. Whatever she’d had up top beforethe kids arrived was well and truly gone. There wasn’t enough in her boobs to hold up the dress, so it was kind of hanging from her nipples. Later, when I saw the TV footage, which showed just Lisa’s head and shoulders as she spoke, I thought, ‘Oh no, she looks naked.’
What else can I tell you about her? Well, people don’t like to admit there’s a class system in Australia, but as a cop, I can tell you it’s a fact. You’ve got crime at the top end, but it’s white-collar crime and tax evasion and the occasional jealous rage. At the bottom, you’ve got Indigenous families living on welfare – frankly, nobody is all that surprised when their kids get it in the neck. Lately, you’ve got more refugees – Sudanese and Somalis, the
I opened the way I always do. I said, ‘Ladies and gentleman, thank you for coming.’
I’ve always enjoyed that line. It’s like, ‘Thank you for coming!’ As if they were invited! I went on. I said, ‘I’m Detective Senior Sergeant Brian Muggeridge of the Barrett CIB and I’m here today to make a public appealfor witnesses to what I think we’d all describe as a particularly cruel attack on a young boy.
‘I’d like to introduce you to Lisa Cashman. Lisa is the mother of young Jacob Cashman, Jake Cashman, who is the child that some of you might have seen yesterday, being taken to the Children’s Hospital.’
‘And the dad? What’s his name?’ said one of the reporters, signalling behind me to where Peter Tabone was standing.
I said, ‘No, the dad’s not here. This here, Peter Tabone, he’s an acquaintance of Mrs Cashman, here to give Mrs Cashman some support. We’ve also got young Harley here, who witnessed the attack, and we’re going to have both of them speak to you briefly this morning, and what we’d like you press people to do, if you don’t mind, is get out an appeal for witnesses.’
I explained the details of the case again and then made an appeal to the public for information. I said, ‘Jacob’s got very serious injuries, and we obviously want whoever did this off the street. So we’re asking people who might have seen these two boys on their way back from the shop at around 5 p.m. yesterday, or seen any strange men in the area, anything at all that triggers a memory, to come forward, to do as we said yesterday and call Crime Stoppers. It can be completely confidential, but any information could help us.
‘And now I’m going to introduce you to young Harley, who was with his brother. You’ll appreciate thatit’s been very traumatic, and you’ll understand that we don’t want Harley to answer any questions at this point, but he might be able to say something.’
‘Harley.’
Harley had been standing behind my legs. I stepped to the side, so he could be seen. In the glare of the TV lights, his white hair gleamed. He put half a foot forward, but was mute.
I said, ‘Harley, you can just tell these folk what it was that you saw yesterday.’
There was a moment of awkward silence, but finally, he said, ‘We got bashed up, me and Jake.’
The press waited, but that seemed to be all Harley wanted to say. He dropped to his haunches to inspect something on the porch. Lisa lifted him by the top of his pants.
‘He hit Jake, didn’t he?’ she said. ‘Where did he hit him?’
Harley said, ‘Tummy.’
I said, ‘All right, Harley, that’s fine, and now, Mrs Cashman, if you could just speak?’
Lisa looked at me and then stepped forward. Now, we are talking here about a time before obesity became the scourge of the working class. Lisa was scrawny and pale and wearing a dress that was basically a column of terry-towelling material, held up by a band of elastic. She was a mother of four, and four pregnancies had taken a bit of a toll. Whatever she’d had up top beforethe kids arrived was well and truly gone. There wasn’t enough in her boobs to hold up the dress, so it was kind of hanging from her nipples. Later, when I saw the TV footage, which showed just Lisa’s head and shoulders as she spoke, I thought, ‘Oh no, she looks naked.’
What else can I tell you about her? Well, people don’t like to admit there’s a class system in Australia, but as a cop, I can tell you it’s a fact. You’ve got crime at the top end, but it’s white-collar crime and tax evasion and the occasional jealous rage. At the bottom, you’ve got Indigenous families living on welfare – frankly, nobody is all that surprised when their kids get it in the neck. Lately, you’ve got more refugees – Sudanese and Somalis, the
Similar Books
