The Story of Danny Dunn (56 page)

James continued. ‘The current would not cut out, as would be normal in the event of a short circuit in the system, but would continue to flow, overheating and eventually burning the insulation material protecting the circuits and causing the area around the wires to burst into flames.'

‘Can you explain to the court why the fuse boxes were not destroyed completely?' Danny asked.

‘Yes, sir. The materials supporting the fuses are fire resistant and I was able to photograph the fuse box the following morning to show the partly melted copper-wire bridge in both fuse boxes.'

‘Your Worship, I wish to submit these photographs supporting Mr James's evidence. We are most fortunate that the fire brigade arrived so promptly and that the front section and hallway weren't destroyed.'

Danny turned back to his witness. ‘Mr James, I ask you, is such bridging of fuses normal or acceptable practice?'

‘No, sir, it is not only dangerous but also illegal. It would render any insurance cover void.'

‘Why, in your opinion, would anyone resort to such a criminally stupid act?'

James, his face serious, replied, ‘The cost of wiring premises such as this, with all the modifications to the rooms and the redistribution of electrical current, would be very expensive, sir. By bridging the fuses with copper wire they would be attempting to avoid fuses blowing, which would otherwise have led to the need for expensive rewiring.'

‘Mr James, did you see any evidence supporting the previous testimony that the fire was probably started by someone smoking in bed?'

James paused, an old hand in the witness box. ‘In this instance I could find no evidence that the fire started in this manner or, for that matter, that it started in any of the cubicles . . . er, bedrooms. The original short almost certainly occurred in the kitchen area in one of two appliances requiring 415 volts.'

‘Objection, Your Worship,' Hammer cried, jumping to his feet. ‘The kitchen was entirely destroyed. How can the witness maintain with absolute certainty that a 415-volt short started the fire and not someone, as previous experts have attested, upstairs with a lighted cigarette left to burn after they fell asleep?'

‘Your worship, before you rule on my learned friend's objection I believe we can offer further proof,' Danny said hurriedly.

‘Very well, Mr Dunn.'

‘How can you be certain the fire started from a 415-volt short in one of two kitchen appliances requiring such voltage, Mr James?' Danny asked.

‘The victim discovered in the hallway proves this conclusively, Mr Dunn. Unfortunately the body – all the bodies were removed illegally before photographs of them could be taken on the site. But I have closely examined the photographs taken in the morgue, as well as those taken by your associate, Mr Landsman.'

‘Your Worship, I now tender these photographs. All have been certified by the forensic pathologist examining the bodies and carry his signature.' Franz rose and handed the photographs to the clerk. Danny turned back to James. ‘Please continue, Mr James.'

‘Well, sir, as you would know, a 240-volt shock is nasty and in some circumstances can kill a person, but a 415-volt shock will cause devastating burns and is far more likely to cause death.

‘The photograph shows that the right hand and arm of the deceased found in the hallway beside the meter board is charred to the bone, and remarkably the handle of the brass switch knife is still fused to the remains of the fingers of his right hand. It indicates that he was attempting to turn off the power by pulling the brass switch knife downwards, but with the insulation melted around the knife he was, in effect, grasping a bare, electrically alive piece of red-hot metal. I believe he would have died instantly.'

‘Can you venture an opinion about why the deceased would have done such a thing?'

For once James looked surprised. ‘Why, to cut the current, to prevent the fire, sir.'

Danny, anticipating an objection, cut in quickly. ‘But you said the knife handle was red hot. Would he not have seen this?'

‘The hallway would have been filled with smoke. It is entirely possible that, acting in an emergency, he would not have been aware of the condition of the knife switch.'

Danny expected an immediate objection from Hammer – it was a leading question and James had offered a personal opinion in reply – but to his surprise it didn't come. At that precise moment he knew he'd won.

‘And, Mr James, could there be any other reason for attempting to throw the switch?' Danny asked.

‘No, sir, the switch has only one reason to exist, and that's to shut down the power. It is reasonable to conclude that Mr Laidlaw was attempting to save the lives of the people trapped upstairs and died in the attempt.'

Danny glanced up into the gallery to see Helen with her arms around Bullnose, who was weeping for his old mate. He could also see the expression of intense pride on his wife's pretty face.

Harry Prout was regarded by his younger associates as an old-school magistrate, sliding unnoticed towards the end of his forty years on the bench. He was neither brilliant nor dull, notorious nor outstanding. He had done his job and, although wiser, was going to leave it as honest and straightforward as he had been on his first day on the bench. He had made mistakes, some poor judgments, but they were all his own doing. He had never succumbed to pressure or coercion, and his honesty was as plain and unambiguous as he was himself.

When Green's evidence damning Riley emerged, Prout immediately saw that he was dealing with more than simply a corrupt man with a predilection for perversions that were almost beyond his comprehension as a Presbyterian elder. He saw clearly that he was dealing with larger and systemic corruption that might exist within a municipal council aided and abetted by the police force, the housing commission and therefore the state government. But it was not his job to follow up on this, other than to recommend that the attorney-general's department pursue the issue. He had merely to decide whether Riley had knowingly neglected to ensure the safety of the people in the boarding house and consequently whether he faced the possibility of a charge of manslaughter or even murder.

Almost from the moment Harry Prout began his summing up, aided by a surprisingly animated Ray Onions, Danny knew it spelt disaster for Riley and his Double Bay Syndicate.

‘I find the eight deceased victims perished because of an electrical fire resulting from wilfully neglectful conduct on the part of the owners of the premises. Their actions were carried out with a knowing and callous disregard for the consequences. I also recommend that the attorney-general investigate whether the owners of the property were aided and abetted by the failure of council staff, and other government bodies responsible for the safety of tenants, to carry out their duties. I would anticipate strong public interest in this matter, relating as it does to the safety of our citizens.

‘I am, in particular, concerned with what appears to be a blatant attempt by Mr Gareth Lachlan Riley to coerce witnesses appearing at this inquest into giving false evidence to protect himself and others. Other parties who should be investigated include Leonard Arthur Green, Sergeant James Patrick White, Mr David Seamus
Docker, Mr Garry Wilfred Griffin, and the directors of the Double Bay Syndicate. All have played a part in these tragic events or in this inquiry, and the evidence they have tendered on behalf of the defendant has proved to be of doubtful veracity. I venture to say there may be others whose names have not appeared in this hearing, all of whom may have shown a contempt for the rules and regulations protecting the citizens of this state, who may have to answer to the attorney-general's department.

‘I also wish to comment on the apparent lack of diligence on the part of the police responsible for investigating this tragic affair and their failure to carry out a full and proper investigation of the fire, in particular, their insistence, against all precedent, that the bodies of the deceased be removed before a proper on-site forensic examination.

‘Finally, the conduct of Mr Daniel Corrib Dunn, representing one of the surviving victims, has been exemplary and I wish to thank him for the service he has rendered to this coronial inquest on behalf of his client. I wish him and his client and all the victims of this tragic event well in any subsequent actions they may take to pursue damages for the pain, loss and suffering they may have experienced.'

The reporters rushed for the exit. Here was a story they'd been waiting for, a real story that had legs, one they suspected could lead them up the rungs to the very top of the political ladder. Everyone knew that the government was on the nose and that all and sundry were taking bribes. The trick was to prove it. When business and government collude it is extremely difficult to obtain proof of such collusion. It took a case such as this one to wedge the door open a fraction. No government could ignore the findings of the chief coroner, and the attorney-general would have no way of preventing Riley from standing trial for, at the least, a manslaughter charge. Any attempt to do so would indicate clearly that the state government was up to its neck in corruption. Thanks to the separation of powers, once someone was within the court system the government was no longer in control. The justice system was flawed, but it wasn't corrupt and couldn't be manipulated. They had no choice – Riley had to be sacrificed.

While previous cases had achieved notoriety for Nifty Dunn, this one had all the trimmings required for a media bonanza. There were questions in the house and for once the opposition had a field day, in fact a week where, for the first time in years, they had Labor, if not on the canvas, certainly in a corner, covering up while trying to recover from wobbly knees. The coroner's inquiry was the preliminary bout, but everyone knew Riley's trail would be the big stoush.

Danny's ‘heroic' role in the inquest was played up by the media for all it was worth. As a story it had all the elements of a pantomime: a proper villain who was exploiting the poor and the helpless, the strongest possible suggestion of a corrupt system that was aiding and abetting him, and a noble hero who was prepared to tilt at the tallest windmills and had elected to do so at no charge.

In fact, Danny was made in media heaven: he was a war hero who sported a rakish eye patch and whose face, showing clear marks of suffering at the hands of the Japanese, drew immediate sympathy. He dressed like a prince and yet he was clearly a man of the people, with a set of social convictions they could readily admire. The usual dirt-diggers found none. His wife was clever and pretty and plainly her own person, a one-time lieutenant colonel in Australian intelligence and soon to be one of only a small number of the country's female academics to have been awarded her doctorate. Somebody leaked the news that Bullnose Daintree, one of the victims of the fire, had been given permanent refuge in the Dunn home, which, despite Danny's attempts at clarification, only increased his heroic status.

The story of the twins out rowing with their father on the harbour four mornings a week also gave Danny the imprimatur of caring father and family man, and to Brenda's joy the
Women's Weekly
did an entire article praising the virtues of the high-profile lawyer and the academic who still managed to be ideal parents to their twin daughters.

Nor did the media neglect the twins in the scramble for more material. Gabrielle was portrayed as a violinist who showed early promise and Samantha was being spoken of as potentially the next Dawn Fraser, ready for the 1966 Commonwealth Games and then the 1968 Olympics, when she would be seventeen years old.

While basing any predictions on the pre-teen talents of either twin was drawing a pretty long bow, this didn't stop the newspapers and magazines from speculating, much to the increasing annoyance of their mother, particularly when she caught Sam cutting out articles from magazines and pasting them into her school scrapbook.

‘Samantha, what are you doing?' Helen asked sharply.

‘Fixing my scrapbook, Mummy,' Samantha replied, surprised at the tone of her mother's voice.

‘Not with that scuttlebutt, darling,' Helen said, realising that Sam was unaware of what she was doing.

‘What's scuttlebutt?' Sam asked.

‘Gossip, tittle-tattle, rubbish, that sort of thing.'

‘But why can't I paste it into my book?'

‘Because what it says is simply not true about any of us. The journalists exaggerate to make a good story. For instance, comparing you to Dawn Fraser is nonsense, it's —'

‘No it's not, Mummy. I'm going to win three gold medals just like her.'

‘Darling, you don't know that.'

Sam looked at her mother, her expression shocked. ‘Yes I do. I promised Sammy!' She pointed to the article already pasted into her scrapbook. ‘They're only saying what's going to happen.'

‘Samantha, it's very good to have ambition, but one thing we don't do is count our chickens before they hatch, and in this case you haven't even laid the eggs.'

‘I have! I have so! My coach says I'm doing the same times as Dawn did when she was eleven, and I'm only nine! So that's fair!'

‘Darling, Dawn didn't go around at ten or eleven telling everyone she was going to win three gold medals; she just went and did it.' Helen made a mental note to have a quiet word with the twins' swimming coach.