A Cop’s Suicide: Part 18 of Gumshoe’s Royal Commission Series

A wedding scene from New York City

Editor’s Note: This “story” will appear in Mary Maxwell’s new book about the child-abuse Royal Commission:

I wish I hadn’t killed myself, but nobody would listen. If I were alive today, the situation would be a lot easier.

When I was a boy, I used to eavesdrop on Dad and Uncle Ted talking about being “on the job”; this would fill my belly with fire and my heart with excitement. All I ever wanted to do was to wear the badge. That day eventually came, in the winter of 1979, shortly after my 21st birthday. I finished my cadet training and at last I was in uniform, just like Dad.

For the most part I loved my job.

I felt I was of service to “mankind.” I had a great social circle at work, heck, I even married another cop. Life was good, my career was going well. Shirley thought we needed a new challenge — we saw an opening in a small town in far north Queensland. And that was that — different town, new people, but same job!

Being in the tropics was wonderful, the vibe was chilled, people were relaxed, the beer seemed colder and the fish certainly were bigger. We spent 4 healthy years up there, until my troubles started. One night I was out of my usual patrol area – I drove past the harbor and happened to see bunch of raggedy looking children getting off a boat.

They didn’t look like tourists; they didn’t look Aboriginal. I thought it was odd. The next day I mentioned it to a mate and he said Don’t go up there on a Tuesday, you’ll be sorry. I didn’t ask any more and I didn’t tell Shirley.

Two months later I had time off and, well, you know I went to the same wharf, on a Tuesday night. You want to talk about spooky? A similar looking bunch of kids were disembarking, but this time the ship was further out and the kids were being rowed in. Many of them were crying. I figured I’d better help.

First I called the station for back-up, in case the boat’s owner was breaking the law. What I surprise I got! My boss said “Get out of there right now and report to the office.” When I got back he said “Son, just do as I say or there will be consequences — for you and your wife.”

If Dad were still alive I’d have called him for advice. I took it to be some kind of threat. I decided not to tell Shirley who was prego. I wondered who in the community could shed light on the subject for me.  It did not occur to me that kids were being trafficked. We didn’t learn this at the Academy.

At first I wasn’t sure if what I was seeing was true. How many people were likely to be involved? How could there be no legal fuss? My fellow cops all seemed to know about it.

I decided to make an appointment with my Commanding Officer. Total shock. As he entered the room he “tripped” and kicked me. I guess that was my last day of a no-fear life.

As you can imagine, it was hard for me to hide this from the mum-to-be. Then she told me that when I was on night duty and she was home, she heard odd noises on the roof. I climbed a ladder next morning and pretended to look for possums but already I had a sinking feeling.

I tried to get in touch with my MP, not even saying what the issue was, but the secretary rebuffed me with various excuses.

Shirl was planning to work until her 7th month. I had in mind that after the kid arrived we move away. Then I got the call. I was told that she was shot, on the job.  I sped to the hospital but she – and my son! – were already “in heaven.” You may think I was overcome with sadness or maybe went into a panic? Neither. I was 100% numb.

My mother came up for the funeral and stayed with me for a few weeks. I was afraid if I told her the story she would blame me for causing Shirley’s death. In fact I was already feeling guilty along those lines.

From then on, my colleagues didn’t even look at me.  I know it’s because they are ashamed. I began to hate working with them. I wanted to have another look around that wharf. But I didn’t, as it seemed that I was the only person who cared, and I had no way of reporting it.

I did write a letter to the Age — anonymously — but I don’t know if anyone desired to act on it.

My doctor had to give me some anti-depressants – or I’d have been staying in bed till noon every day. Because now there was nothing to work for, no one to live for.

One evening, in 1988, I closed the garage door, rolled up the car windows, turned the ignition, and waited for the end.

Today, things would be different. Today me and Shirley would fight those bastards. They wouldn’t dare kill her. And we’d have “company” – Frank, Jr would be turning 30 in 2017. We’d help mankind. Yes we would. Hey, wait — maybe Shirl would have had more kids.

I’ll shout a round of beer on that!

— As indicated in the name “Frank Fictitious,” this suicide did not actually happen. But no doubt similar ones did.

 

Photo credit: Law Enforcement Today (the cops are NYPD)
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Comments

  1. On my April 7 article “What’ll It Be” Nemesis sent this reply. I am moving it to this spot, hope he doesn’t mind:
    .
    I worked with two uniformed officers who shot themselves dead over ‘issues’ that they did not confide to fellow officers about.

    I guess they just did not know who to trust, such is the introspective and controlled atmosphere within the force these days.

    Years ago, and before all police forces throughout the West became heavily ‘educated’ and therefore, completely politicized, officers attending the scenes of crime or other ‘newsworthy’ events gave what they knew to the media prior to even putting forward situation reports (sitrep) to the hierarchy.

    Today, ALL information within the police circle is now heavily controlled and contained while snippets of info are generally given out by the Duty Officer on those ‘newsworthy’ events as to what the public needs to know and not what the public should know.

    The Sydney Lindt Café terrorist act is a classic case in point of that mentality.

    Years ago, and after my medical discharge from the NSW Police Force (Hurt on Duty) I put an article forward to a political magazine concerning how police forces generally had become politicized to the point where the public was being denied true crime fighting ability.

    I received a reply from the acting head of studies of the then, Goulburn Police Academy, Peter Ivanoff – academic, who happened to read that article and who generally tried to take me to task over my ‘exposure’ – as one would expect of someone who was interested in protecting his position, which seems to be the common denominator in all establishments, and rarely does one seeking truthful advice come across anyone in the higher echelons of those establishments who are willing to be frank or allow candor, levity and honesty to encroach into their conversations with anyone! – I gave back to Ivanoff exactly how I felt in another article to which I have never received a reply. I told him to get himself off his office chair and on a car crew over several nights to see what happens out there in the real world and then watch how the real world events are spun into something more politically palatable by the Duty Officer (who is generally the rank of Inspector and gets to learn of what occurs from those who were at the scene via the sitrep) and is an officer, who in my opinion, is akin to the Political officer of the old USSR.

    In my endeavour to expose how police forces have now been truly corrupted by the political process I have contacted ex-officers, serving officers and placed ads in newspapers and magazines, and at my own expense, for anyone interested in assisting me in exposing the corruption to come forward, anonymously if necessary, and out of 17,000 police officers state wide I received one reply, and that person wished to remain anonymous!

    That is the kind of chilling effect the Globalists have been able to achieve against us all and it is such an imposition that it will give all who read and comprehend an inkling into what it is that we are up against.

    • Dear Nemesis, Your one-in-17,000 replies is certainly discouraging. Maybe the wives would have been more helpful.

      I know of 2 persons who did massive mailouts to appropriate people in Assachusetts regarding the Marathon, and did only a smidge better than you in getting replies. Still your effort (and theirs) was probably much appreciated.

      We do find that when you raise one of these big issues with people they seem to be at least aware of the issue, so it isn’t true that “all they need is information.” They need motivaiton. They need to see that it is in their interest to stop doing the galze-over-the-eyes bit.

      I think what they most need to hear about is that ohers are on the case and that it is “trending.”

  2. I would appreciate Perth readers getting in touch with me at the moment. SVP:

    mary.maxwell@alumni.adelaide.edu.au Merci.

    • Victoria, born May 1819, ascended the throne June 1837. She was just eigh-eigh-teen, you know what I mean.

      Any young person out there want to have a go? Leadership is going begging on most fronts….

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