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It
was Maundy Thursday. I was pleased to be home after a
bad day at work. There'd been a vicious attack on an invalid
pensioner at an ATM, a suicide off the Domain Bridge and
for light relief, kids pinching lollies from the local
7 Eleven.
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1 |
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I
was sprawled in front of the television with the kids,
pleased the day was behind me and looking forward to a
few days off. My sister, Jane, was coming down from Canberra
to spend Easter with us. We'd pick her up at the airport
at nine o'clock.
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2 |
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I
was considering helping Di in the kitchen, when the phone
rang. It had to be trouble. Good news doesn't ring at
tea time.
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3 |
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I
was right. There'd been an accident near the railway station.
A girl had been run over and the driver didn't stop.
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4 |
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I
told Di I'd probably be late and asked her to collect
Jane. Then I left before she could express her views about
a happy family Easter.
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5 |
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It
was dirty weather. The wipers smeared the windscreen and
made things worse. I drove as quickly as I dared. I could
understand how easy it would be to hit a pedestrian in
these circumstances — everyone rushing home for the
long weekend, heads down, collars up, vision of both drivers
and pedestrians impaired by the rain. What I could not
understand — never will understand — was the
driver's failure to stop.
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6 |
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Uniform
had cordoned off the street and the body had been covered
with a piece of blue plastic sheeting. Someone's daughter
wasn't coming home tonight. The only good thing about
the rain was that we were spared the usual crowd of onlookers,
gawking at someone else's tragedy, irresistibly attracted
by the repulsion of the event.
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7 |
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I
lifted the plastic. She looked about nineteen. I thought
of my own little girl, safe at home, eating her tea and
squabbling with her brother.
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8 |
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A
handbag found nearby belonged to Peggy Williams who lived
at 119 Main Street. She must have been running across
the road to the railway station, intent on where she was
going. Evidently she didn't see the car, and nor did the
driver see her. From the skid marks on the road, it looked
as if the car hadn't braked until after the impact.
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9 |
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I
told the boys on duty that I'd tell her parents, and they
seemed grateful. It's one of the worst things a policeman
has to do — informing the next of kin.
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10 |
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