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Authors: Nikki McWatters
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from the outside and I wanted to be able to tell Karen all about it when I got home.
‘Have you told my wife?’ I could hear the pain and shame in his voice.
‘Nope. Not allowed. But we did tell her who we were and I don’t think that went down too well,’ I responded. ‘When’s your baby due?’
‘Four weeks,’ he mumbled. ‘Shit. It’s going to kill her.’
‘It always does,’ Osterloh said under his breath.
The wives or girlfriends and the mothers. They were the other victims of this sort of crime. It’s not just that little girl he stuck it to, however that came to be. Her family. Her friends. All up this business was more destructive sometimes than an outright murder. Then you had grieving and closure. Sex crimes hung around like a toxic fog for years. Years and years sometimes.
Inside, I was not surprised by the elegance. It was stylish and chic without being completely decadent. There were some nice homey, crafty touches like the Grange Hermitage bottle turned into a lamp.
The wife had changed out of her pyjamas and looked ill. She searched her husband’s eyes and asked us if they could have a moment alone.
‘He’s just changing clothes to accompany us to the city to help us with our enquiry,’ I smiled and nodded, trying to keep the damn thing as benign as possible. ‘You go with him upstairs, if you like and have a few words. But remember Mrs Bergin, it’s just an accusation at this stage.’
I didn’t want the poor woman to go into premature labour. That would be compounding this devastating fork in her life. The little girl looked at us curiously. She had an intelligent face.
‘What do you want to talk to my Dad about?’ she asked.
‘Olive!’ both her parents cautioned.
‘Be quick though please, Mr Bergin. It’s a two hour trip back and then we’ve got a long day ahead of us.’ I nodded at the musician.
The husband and wife disappeared toward the bedrooms upstairs and I smiled at the girl, hoping she was well-adjusted enough to cope with the nightmare that was about to explode around her. Would her love for her father be tested? Yes it would. Would it survive? Chances are that it wouldn’t and that was sad. But be it for what it was, the bottom line was…well..it was the line that he crossed when he unzipped his trousers. That was a line he crossed and if you do that enough, you get cocky and slack and when someone finally squeals, it’s all over Red Rover. It’s always a gamble when you sleep with a pretty strange girl. Sometimes it doesn’t pay off quite the way you hoped. Did he rape her? That’s what we needed to find out.
The man came out again, about five minutes later, still unshaven but wearing a crisp button-up white shirt and a pair of casual blue jeans. He had a lap-top bag strung over one shoulder and his wife was crying and sobbing beside him.
‘Sorry mate,’ I nodded at the bag. ‘There’s some fellows outside who are coming in to look around the place. They’ll want to look at that.’
He frowned and looked confused. His wife looked scared. They both looked shattered.
‘They’ve got a warrant. I’m sorry Mrs Bergin,’ I smiled but felt awful. ‘They’ll be very respectful and keep out of your way.’
‘Call Tim Murphy,’ the rock musician called back to his wife, his voice thin and stringy. ‘Tell him to meet me in the city. Clayton’s got the number.’
‘Where do I tell him to go?’ she sniffed, still shaking and obviously distraught.
‘Tell him to call the Sex Crimes Squad main number and they’ll let him know,’ I said, trying to sound light-hearted, but I caught the sudden shock on Bergin’s daughter’s face. Like someone just punched her in the head.
That look said it all. I walked out behind the other two and couldn’t look back at the two, the woman and the child, who had just had their lives ripped out from under them.
***
10.
Tim Murphy
The press will undoubtedly drag out that tired old moniker the
‘Have you told my wife?’ I could hear the pain and shame in his voice.
‘Nope. Not allowed. But we did tell her who we were and I don’t think that went down too well,’ I responded. ‘When’s your baby due?’
‘Four weeks,’ he mumbled. ‘Shit. It’s going to kill her.’
‘It always does,’ Osterloh said under his breath.
The wives or girlfriends and the mothers. They were the other victims of this sort of crime. It’s not just that little girl he stuck it to, however that came to be. Her family. Her friends. All up this business was more destructive sometimes than an outright murder. Then you had grieving and closure. Sex crimes hung around like a toxic fog for years. Years and years sometimes.
Inside, I was not surprised by the elegance. It was stylish and chic without being completely decadent. There were some nice homey, crafty touches like the Grange Hermitage bottle turned into a lamp.
The wife had changed out of her pyjamas and looked ill. She searched her husband’s eyes and asked us if they could have a moment alone.
‘He’s just changing clothes to accompany us to the city to help us with our enquiry,’ I smiled and nodded, trying to keep the damn thing as benign as possible. ‘You go with him upstairs, if you like and have a few words. But remember Mrs Bergin, it’s just an accusation at this stage.’
I didn’t want the poor woman to go into premature labour. That would be compounding this devastating fork in her life. The little girl looked at us curiously. She had an intelligent face.
‘What do you want to talk to my Dad about?’ she asked.
‘Olive!’ both her parents cautioned.
‘Be quick though please, Mr Bergin. It’s a two hour trip back and then we’ve got a long day ahead of us.’ I nodded at the musician.
The husband and wife disappeared toward the bedrooms upstairs and I smiled at the girl, hoping she was well-adjusted enough to cope with the nightmare that was about to explode around her. Would her love for her father be tested? Yes it would. Would it survive? Chances are that it wouldn’t and that was sad. But be it for what it was, the bottom line was…well..it was the line that he crossed when he unzipped his trousers. That was a line he crossed and if you do that enough, you get cocky and slack and when someone finally squeals, it’s all over Red Rover. It’s always a gamble when you sleep with a pretty strange girl. Sometimes it doesn’t pay off quite the way you hoped. Did he rape her? That’s what we needed to find out.
The man came out again, about five minutes later, still unshaven but wearing a crisp button-up white shirt and a pair of casual blue jeans. He had a lap-top bag strung over one shoulder and his wife was crying and sobbing beside him.
‘Sorry mate,’ I nodded at the bag. ‘There’s some fellows outside who are coming in to look around the place. They’ll want to look at that.’
He frowned and looked confused. His wife looked scared. They both looked shattered.
‘They’ve got a warrant. I’m sorry Mrs Bergin,’ I smiled but felt awful. ‘They’ll be very respectful and keep out of your way.’
‘Call Tim Murphy,’ the rock musician called back to his wife, his voice thin and stringy. ‘Tell him to meet me in the city. Clayton’s got the number.’
‘Where do I tell him to go?’ she sniffed, still shaking and obviously distraught.
‘Tell him to call the Sex Crimes Squad main number and they’ll let him know,’ I said, trying to sound light-hearted, but I caught the sudden shock on Bergin’s daughter’s face. Like someone just punched her in the head.
That look said it all. I walked out behind the other two and couldn’t look back at the two, the woman and the child, who had just had their lives ripped out from under them.
***
10.
Tim Murphy
The press will undoubtedly drag out that tired old moniker the
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