Crisis of Identity

Coping with the sadness from losing dad continues to be difficult. Every day I am reminded of what I miss about him. I still wipe a tear when my emotions creep up on me.

Whoever said “time is a great healer” has clearly never lost a loved one. When it comes to psychological hurt, Time doesn’t heal shit. All Time does is allow the brain to cover the pain with new memories. Nothing heals. Underneath all the psychological padding that forms over time is the same hurt, still as raw as ever.

Tonight I expect the pain will only get worse. The empty seat beside me is a telling reminder of what I have lost.

Mitch, dad and I are season ticket holders to the Perth Wildcats, the current reigning champions of the National Basketball League.

Before every Perth home game the three of us would meet straight after work in the member’s lounge for beers and dinner. We were always full of hype as we discussed the visiting team and its unlikely chances. After dinner we’d move out to our seats in the 3rd row, located behind the Wildcats bench, in time for the player introductions.

The Wildcat games were a passion dad and I shared. It was a father-son ritual I looked forward to every home game. The three of us each had all-access VIP passes to the player change rooms for post-game meet and greets of players and coaches.

Tonight’s game against the Brisbane Bullets will test me. It is my first game since losing dad. A win will earn us outright top spot, so usually we would be excited at the prospect. But not tonight. Pre-game beers and dinner didn’t taste the same. The lustre of the occasion has tarnished.

We were a quarter in when Mitch did a beer run. My eyes fell heavily to the empty seat beside me. For a brief moment I saw dad smiling proudly from ear-to-ear as our boys fought hard for the “W”.

I quickly wiped an escaping tear when I saw Mitch edge his way along the row with a beer in each hand. I accepted my beer from Mitch. He held his up to me. ‘Cheers, mate…’ he said as he slid into his seat.

I touched cups. ‘Cheers.’

‘How ya holdin’ up, buddy…?’ Mitch said as his eyes fell to the empty seat.

‘It’s a lot harder than I thought it would be, mate…’

’I agree. Would you rather we just go…? I can catch the replay on Foxtel later tonight.’

‘No. No. I have to get used to this. I have to get used to dad not being here with us.’

‘You will, mate...’ Mitch said with a reassuring tap on my knee.

Even a 10 – 0 run from our boys failed to lift my spirits. Normally on runs likes this, dad, Mitch and I would be firing off high fives everywhere, but not tonight; maybe not ever again.

‘I meant to ask, Kado…’ Mitch began. ‘How’d everything go with your mum’s warrant?’

‘Went well… The lawyer successfully argued to have it withdrawn…’

‘I bet Vicky’s pleased…’

‘She’s rapt…’ I removed my phone and opened a text message and showed it to Mitch. ‘I received this from our lawyer today...’

Mitch accepted the phone and read the message. ‘Wow. Your lawyer must have them running scared…’

I accepted the phone back. ‘Hopefully.’

’No “hopefully” about it, bro… If the Managing Editor is prepared to meet with you over that article… I’d say they want to make this right. They want to fix it. It’s called damage control.’

I lifted my beer in a toast. ‘Let’s hope so, bro.’ I took a sip. ‘Let’s hope so.’

As is the norm for our home games, during the last minute of play, while the clock counts down, the 15,000 supporters stand and applaud the boys home to victory.

I stood. I applauded, albeit half-heartedly, but it was hollow. The 23 point ‘W’ had everyone in raptures. For me though, I wasn’t feeling it. I didn’t care about the game, or the result.

When the crowd started to file out of the stadium Mitch asked, ‘Do you wanna go down to the rooms…?’

’You know what, bro. ‘You go… I think I’m just gunna head home.’

Mitch raised his hands. ‘Not that important, bro… Let’s head back to yours for a beer.’

By the time we arrived home at mine it was 10 o’clock. It was still a balmy twenty-six degrees outside so we sat in the back yard under the stars, enjoying a quiet bourbon or three.

I’d just sparked up a jozza when my phone rang. I handed Mitch the stick while I checked my phone. ‘Fuck me…’ I rolled my eyes in disgust. ‘I think it’s Dawes...’

Mitch checked his watch. ‘What the…. It’s gotta be, what… 1am in Queensland… What the fuck’s he doing calling at that hour?’

I stared at the phone ringing and vibrating in my hand. After the night I just had, he is the last person I want to speak to.

‘Ya gunna take it…?’ Mitch asked. ‘Probably about the defamation letter you sent him…’

‘What do ya think…?’

‘Take it. Maybe he wants to tell you he is going to do as asked and apologize.’

‘I doubt it…’ I said as I answered the call then activated the speaker phone. ‘What the fuck do you want…?’ The time for pleasantries with this bloke has long passed.

‘Don’t be like that, Kade…’ The sound of his voice made my skin crawl. ‘Hey… Good win by the Wildcats tonight… Did you go?’

‘What do you want, Dawes? You’re calling me at 1am in the morning — your time… so, what is it?’

‘I received your lawyer’s letter and I’ve gotta say… I was little surprised.’

‘Surprised! You’re kidding, right?’

‘No.’

‘OK. Gotta go…’

‘Wait. Don’t hang up…I just want to explain myself…’

‘Explain it to the Judge…’

‘You don’t get it, do you? This will never get to court, Kade.’

‘We’ll see…’

‘Look. I’m a cop and I was conducting an investigation into a cold case abduction. What you don’t understand is… you can’t sue me for defamation for doing my job. I am entitled to form opinions and have suspicions. That’s how we roll.’

‘OK. Like I said… Tell it to the Jud—’

‘I’m trying to help you here Kade…’

‘Bullshit.’

’If this goes to court and when I win, the department will seek costs against you… You don’t want that sort of legal bill on top of your own… I’m trying to help you here…’

‘So… You won’t be apologizing and withdrawing your comments.’

‘Definitely not… As a matter of fact, that journalist misquoted me. She’s the one you should be chasing. I never made those comments about your parents. I suggested you were only suspects. So you see… You can’t sue me for defamation if I am misquoted by a journalist…’

‘You never told that journalist how you believe I am that missing kid and my parents took me and brought me to WA…?’

‘I did not. I told her I have my suspicions… nothing was said to her about it being factual. What she wrote in that article was not my fault...’

Maybe Dawes was right. Maybe I don’t have enough to pursue a defamation case against him. I looked to Mitch for assistance. All he did was shrug.

‘You still there…?’ Dawes asked.

‘What do you want me to say…?’

‘I want you to drop the law suit… I’m just a cop doing my job…’

‘It’s gone well beyond you “just doing your job”… Your relentless harassment of me and my mother has to stop… From where I sit, this lawsuit is the only way I can get you to do that…’

‘You’re making a mistake, Kade…’

‘So are you.’ I ended the call and dropped my phone to the lawn beside me.

’Do ya reckon he was misquoted?’ Mitch asked. He handed back the Joz.

I dragged in a lung full. ‘I’ve got my doubts.’ I exhaled onto the end of the Joz, then took another toke.

While staring at what was left of the Joz in one hand and the glass of neat Jack in the other, my reliance on these things, just to get by, was increasing. I can’t remember the last time I fell asleep without a toke, or a shot or three of bourbon; sometimes both.

My life was a mess but I realize this wasn’t because of dad’s passing. This reliance on mind-numbing substances is all attributed to my chance encounter with Detective Brent Dawes. That was the day my life changed. And it is phone calls like this with Dawes that suggests to me, it won’t be improving any time soon. I took a last toke and handed it back to Mitch to finish.