see a dog sniffing about the fence, separating him from the chickens which pecked about, a mix of white and brown and the sound of their high-pitched clucks rose up to meet us. The dog was digging at the ground, tail wagging like the clappers.
‘Oh…shit, look, he’s got a kid with him. I hate that,’ I muttered.
It’s always messy and I end up feeling like the bad guy when I’ve got to approach a suspect accompanied by a child. The complainant has already approached this guy apparently and said her piece, so Bergin was going to know why we were there. That made it a little easier. I wouldn’t need to spell it out in front of his kid.
The guy looked up at us and his face literally fell apart. He stared at us like we represented the total devastation of his life and in so many ways we did. Even if the charges got dropped or he was found innocent, this shit sticks like superglue and you can’t scrape it off. Not ever. His marriage, his friendships, his career…all thrown away for a bit of pants-action when he’s high as a kite. Stupid moron.
The guy must have been exhausted from a long tour, high on endorphins, he has a line or so of cocaine and some booze and he’s got girls in his room dressed like street hookers and it gets out of hand. The girls don’t look like kids and they went willingly to his room. It’s not a popular view and not one I share with any of my colleagues. They’re very black and white on the issue of the age of consent. My sometimes grey attitude could get me sacked if I ever shared it aloud. But the way some of these girls get around…really….men are only human. It’s not the same as some bottom- feeding, boy-raping Catholic priest or some creep who sits at his computer all day haunting kiddie sites hunting for ten year old prey. I’m just saying…
‘Christopher John Bergin?’ I asked.
He nodded and had the good sense to send his daughter back inside.
‘Run those eggs back up to Mum hey, Olive? That’s a good girl.’
She was a pretty girl, just developing. Probably about thirteen or fourteen. That was going to really eat at this bloke’s wife. His daughter was only a few years short of the alleged victim of his sexual assault. That was gonna smart. That’s for sure.
‘You know why we are here? There has been an allegation of sexual misconduct with a child under the age of sixteen.’
‘It was consensual and I had no idea she was …that young,’ he stuttered.
‘Stop right there, Mr Bergin,’ Osterloh cautioned. ‘I need to let you know that you have the right to remain silent and the right to engage legal counsel…you know the drill.’
‘You’re arresting me?’ he stammered, the colour receding down under his t-shirt, leaving him as pale and cracked as my grandmother’s china. ‘Now? Like…taking me away?’
‘We need to apprehend you and take you to our Sydney station to make a formal statement. I suggest that you get your lawyer to meet us there. Do you have a lawyer?’
The man nodded. He certainly didn’t look much like a superstar. He was kind of lanky and hairy, he stunk of armpits and his clothes were covered in dirt and grime.
‘This hasn’t leaked to the press has it?’ he muttered, distractedly, like a shifty-eyed hobo.
‘Not that I’m aware of,’ I answered him but I felt I had to be honest and make him aware of how it would probably unfold. ‘I’ve got to level with you though Bergin. You’re a celebrity. You were the Australian of the Year a while back for your contribution to the music industry. It’s going to get out and my guess is that it won’t take real long either, so if you want to change into something …more suitable, we’ll wait. There might be cameras already.’
Osterloh snorted and frowned at me.
‘It’s Chris Bergin. He’s not going to run. Let the man put something half decent on.’ I went to bat for the bloke.
To be honest, I was keen to have a squizz inside his house. It looked pretty impressive
‘Oh…shit, look, he’s got a kid with him. I hate that,’ I muttered.
It’s always messy and I end up feeling like the bad guy when I’ve got to approach a suspect accompanied by a child. The complainant has already approached this guy apparently and said her piece, so Bergin was going to know why we were there. That made it a little easier. I wouldn’t need to spell it out in front of his kid.
The guy looked up at us and his face literally fell apart. He stared at us like we represented the total devastation of his life and in so many ways we did. Even if the charges got dropped or he was found innocent, this shit sticks like superglue and you can’t scrape it off. Not ever. His marriage, his friendships, his career…all thrown away for a bit of pants-action when he’s high as a kite. Stupid moron.
The guy must have been exhausted from a long tour, high on endorphins, he has a line or so of cocaine and some booze and he’s got girls in his room dressed like street hookers and it gets out of hand. The girls don’t look like kids and they went willingly to his room. It’s not a popular view and not one I share with any of my colleagues. They’re very black and white on the issue of the age of consent. My sometimes grey attitude could get me sacked if I ever shared it aloud. But the way some of these girls get around…really….men are only human. It’s not the same as some bottom- feeding, boy-raping Catholic priest or some creep who sits at his computer all day haunting kiddie sites hunting for ten year old prey. I’m just saying…
‘Christopher John Bergin?’ I asked.
He nodded and had the good sense to send his daughter back inside.
‘Run those eggs back up to Mum hey, Olive? That’s a good girl.’
She was a pretty girl, just developing. Probably about thirteen or fourteen. That was going to really eat at this bloke’s wife. His daughter was only a few years short of the alleged victim of his sexual assault. That was gonna smart. That’s for sure.
‘You know why we are here? There has been an allegation of sexual misconduct with a child under the age of sixteen.’
‘It was consensual and I had no idea she was …that young,’ he stuttered.
‘Stop right there, Mr Bergin,’ Osterloh cautioned. ‘I need to let you know that you have the right to remain silent and the right to engage legal counsel…you know the drill.’
‘You’re arresting me?’ he stammered, the colour receding down under his t-shirt, leaving him as pale and cracked as my grandmother’s china. ‘Now? Like…taking me away?’
‘We need to apprehend you and take you to our Sydney station to make a formal statement. I suggest that you get your lawyer to meet us there. Do you have a lawyer?’
The man nodded. He certainly didn’t look much like a superstar. He was kind of lanky and hairy, he stunk of armpits and his clothes were covered in dirt and grime.
‘This hasn’t leaked to the press has it?’ he muttered, distractedly, like a shifty-eyed hobo.
‘Not that I’m aware of,’ I answered him but I felt I had to be honest and make him aware of how it would probably unfold. ‘I’ve got to level with you though Bergin. You’re a celebrity. You were the Australian of the Year a while back for your contribution to the music industry. It’s going to get out and my guess is that it won’t take real long either, so if you want to change into something …more suitable, we’ll wait. There might be cameras already.’
Osterloh snorted and frowned at me.
‘It’s Chris Bergin. He’s not going to run. Let the man put something half decent on.’ I went to bat for the bloke.
To be honest, I was keen to have a squizz inside his house. It looked pretty impressive
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