Death by Cop Fire is not a rare event.
With the growing tide of ‘Ice’ Users and other drugs of choice seriously altering their minds, it has become a common event that all Police Officers have to deal with. Some can live quite easily with the event while others, whether it is that or a shooting for other reasons, there are those who cannot accept their actions in killing some-one regardless of the criminality or not of the action. There is a growing number who seek help while staying in the Force with Cop Suicides the result for too many sufferers. There are those who leave, unable to reconcile that their actions have killed another human being, regardless of them being just bad, drug effected or in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It means little … and training cannot prevent the onset of PTSD which along with the ADF, the Police Force are sadly lacking in understanding the disease.
Old people die, others are shuffled into tenancies when they become vacant. Does the non-appearance of an elderly lady mean anything, perhaps she is bed-ridden, taken a fall or was being looked after by a caring daughter…is there something more sinister in the arrangement?
Some old people look forward to their appointment with death, satisfied they have lived a full and rewarding life…is there anything wrong in them accepting death. As they’ve aged they have become afraid of the way the World is turning…is there anything sinister in their final wishes of wanting to go to a place free of pain, torment, and suffering.
Is there something more grotesque than meets the eye in arranging their death by appointment organised by a cruel and selfish person dressed in a Doctor’s white coat? Does he in fact commit these premature deaths which is totally opposed to the Hippocratic Oath that all Doctors swear to at the beginning of their careers … or is the fraudulent money available enough to sway a previously excellent Doctor away from this Oath?
Detective Lind feels that he may not be able to arrest and charge a Doctor as all Doctors would be aware of others ending a Patient’s life if the quality of life is endangered … what proof can be unearthed if the Patient is cremated?
Excerpt:
He slowly lowered himself onto the hard Park Bench-seat, letting out a sigh as he leaned back to find the solid surface of the seatback. The curve not helping his sore back…but what seat did? Not the most comfortable seat he had ever sat in…but it was his for the next couple of hours, rain, hail, or shine. He’d forgotten how many years he had been coming here, sitting himself at this park bench. To spend the morning hours looking down the slope of the lush grass to the Harbourside wall and out onto the Harbour where busy Ferries and boats plied through choppy water. To watch Office-workers scurry about like busy Bees searching for their share of nectar, either ignoring or following the several pathways across the vast lawn. To turn his head towards the City Skyline that was for-ever changing…still, it was one of the most beautiful cities in the world for all its scaffolding and cranes. The Council Workers doing as instructed from a higher being, still able to smile, wave or salute the old bloke as they passed, preparing for their morning chores in the beautiful Park. He would play a game with himself, guessing the profession of each walker heading towards the centre of the city. He reckoned he could guess whether certain persons loved their job or not, just by the way they walked and the speed they walked. He would never take the game further by talking to any of his quarry, instead satisfied that he was more than fifty per cent correct in his judgements. A satisfied smile his only reward…a toff of his hat if the City-walker came close to his seat…no-one would stop to chat a while as they were all too busy just going to their place of employment. As though their career path kept the World turning. A foolish thought shared by many he would think. A smile to lodge his humorous thought.
The Groundsmen always gave him a wave; a smile as they went about their chores. Good naturedly, they would chide him saying he was nothing but an old perve. He would accept this the way it was offered, giving them a smile or laugh, his days of pursuing the female form long gone. This form of passing away the hours much better than the alternative…sitting out on his narrow veranda being assaulted by the whines of complaining old biddy neighbours who couldn’t be positive about a bloody thing even if their lives depended on it!
The consensus among the Park employees was he was a harmless old codger who had nothing to do so what’s the problem, he was doing no one harm, so let him be. In a way, it was reassuring he turned up every day…
It was his failure to appear one sunny morning that got people talking…the Gardeners enquiring after his health…and where he might live. The remarks becoming limited…and then the occasional gambit of ‘do you remember that old bloke who used to come and sit at that park bench? Always neatly dressed…he must have had a woman in his life…he’d always tip his hat to us…remember him?’
‘Yeah…every morning for around seven, maybe eight years…sun, rain or hail…I wonder whatever happened to him…’
‘Most likely he died…I reckon he was over eighty which is a bloody good run for anyone’.
‘Yeah…a good innings…he was a bloody old bloke I reckon…life caught up with him, huh…sad’.
This would be his epitaph from people who really didn’t know him; what made him tick…or didn’t even know his name. It was a big city and strangers were to be suspected, even an old bloke who always had a smile, always dipped his hat to those walking past. Doing no harm but bringing a smile to those who hurriedly passed his position…but there was always those unfounded suspicions…rumours that whirled about unabated.
