implored, ‘give me a hand here. These harridans are accusing me of raiding the kitty. Why would I do that?’
Curly weighed up the options. Who can I afford to piss off here? Mac ran the show, but Curly knew where the real power lay – behind the throne. Jo could provide reliable camera crews, creative editors and all the other important elements needed to get his stories to air in a timely fashion. And Kim could turn out to be a handy ally if he was going to get the Tugga Tancred story to develop. Pragmatism won the day.
‘The pub probably declined your credit card again,’ Curly said with an apologetic shrug and half smile to his boss and good mate. The ladies turned to Mac with triumphant smiles and rattled the tin kitty which contained a few coins.
‘Oh, you Judas,’ Mac wailed as if standing before Pontius Pilate. Tearing at his imaginary crown of thorns wouldn’t do any good either; everyone knew Mac was guilty, although there would be no need for a crucifixion.
Kangaroo courts, with Jo and Kim as judge, jury and executioners, were becoming regular events after another of The Hatchet’s cost- cutting measures – recalling all the executive credit cards. The tea, coffee and biscuit kitty had become Mac’s alternative to the ATM when his plastic failed at the pub. Two ex-wives and three kids in private schools never left much beer money by Friday. Strictly speaking, Mac shouldn’t have qualified for a company credit card as Richard Templeton held the title of executive producer. But Mac arrived at the station under a previous administration and it had taken The Hatchet almost two years to discover that oversight. Most times Mac managed to replace the cash before the guardians of the kitty went shopping. Jo and Kim had now sprung him three times in a month, and Curly thought he knew why.
‘Did you back that nag the sports guys were tipping at Flemington on Saturday? Surely you checked the form, Mac. That horse hasn’t won in two years.’
‘I know that, but they said their mate was the trainer’s cousin and he was setting times better than Phar Lap before the Cup,’ Mac replied with a guilty look. He pulled out the lone $10 note in his wallet and promised to find the rest by lunch time. Mollified, the guardians departed for the nearest 7-Eleven for a caffeine fix as the tea, coffee and biscuit containers were nearly as empty as the kitty.
Fortunately, Mac’s lack of horse sense didn’t extend to his news judgement. He knew there was a reason Curly let the girls eviscerate him. ‘So, what have you got up your sleeve that you need Jo and Kim’s help with?’
Curly smiled. ‘Did you see that news story on the landscaper who drove off the cliff near Lorne on the weekend, the one I scrambled together for the news guys?’
‘Yeah, just a drunk falling asleep at the wheel, wasn’t it?’
Curly baited the hook. ‘Could be a bit more than that.’
Mac raised a bushy ginger eyebrow. ‘Okay, I’m listening.’
‘I managed to get right down to the wreck on the rocks,’ Curly elaborated. ‘Being out of a suit and not carrying a big camera can work in our favour at times. Anyway, I heard a cop questioning his sergeant about skid marks in the layby. It sounded like he’d spent time with one of those crash investigation units. He said another vehicle could have been involved.’
Mac absorbed the information for a moment before asking the pertinent question. ‘Did the cop think it was accidental involvement, or deliberate?’
‘Unfortunately, that’s when your citizen reporter was rumbled and sent back up to the road with the other ne’er-do-wells,’ Curly said, as he walked back to his desk to retrieve his mobile phone. He scrolled through to his picture gallery and presented it to Mac.
‘I went back to have a look at the skid marks after the news boys left.’ Curly tapped through several images. He then went back to the first of six pictures. ‘Initially I didn’t see anything strange. Looks like the drunk woke up as he started to drift towards the layby and braked to correct himself. You know, instinctive?’
Curly pointed at the first image which showed a short tyre mark. The next picture showed the angle of the skid in relation to the road. It seemed to support his hypothesis. Curly then moved through to another picture and another skid mark, this one on an angle away from the barrier and cliff. He then explained how he ensured he kept his alignment with the direction the car would have been travelling if the driver had woken up.
‘He’s braked twice,’ Curly pointed out to Mac, who was now listening intently. ‘Wouldn’t you think someone – even a drunk – who’s just woken to a nightmare on the Great Ocean Road would stand on the brakes once he realised he’s headed for the cliff ? There should have been a 40-metre-long trail of rubber there. Depending on his speed, he might even have slowed enough to be stopped by the barrier?’
Curly allowed his producer to mull that information for a moment before suggesting his possible scenario.
‘I think he’s been given a couple of nudges at speed.’
Still no response from the boss as he flicked back and forth between the pictures.
‘My suspicion is that Tugga Tancred wasn’t asleep when he was tapped the first time. See – that first skid mark is right at the entrance to the layby.’
Curly retrieved the appropriate picture on his phone to help them visualise the scene. He then progressed to the wide-angle photo of the second skid mark close to the cliff.
‘From what I heard about this Tugga, he was a big guy, not likely to be pushed about. I think he jumped on the brakes when he felt the first whack at the start of the layby. Then the ego kicked in – you don’t tangle with Tugga Tancred. He planted the foot on the accelerator to outrun the idiot causing him grief.
‘That’s when he was hit the second time. Tugga suddenly found himself heading straight for the cliff, he stood on the brakes again, but it was too late and he went flying into Bass Strait.’
Mac didn’t say anything for another 20 seconds as he flipped back and forth between the pictures. Finally, he broke the silence as he heard more reporters and camera crews arrive for their first planning session. He handed back the phone. ‘Interesting theory, mate, but it’s thin.’
Curly was undeterred. Mac hadn’t dismissed him outright. ‘Well, there is more potential evidence.’ He found another picture from his Saturday sequence and turned it around to show Mac. It revealed red brake light fragments on tar seal.
‘See that? It was scattered around the first skid mark.’
‘Yeah,’ Mac sighed. ‘But that could have been from any car – at any time.’
‘Well, that cop who raised doubts about Tugga’s flying act thought it was important.’ Curly held up his final picture, a profile shot of the policeman with the glass in an evidence bag.
Mac rubbed a hand through hair that looked as if it would require shearer’s clippers to cut. ‘Did you get that cop’s name?’
‘Yep. I think he’s based in Lorne but I’ll get the Media Centre to confirm that.’
‘How are you placed for your stories this week? You know we have to keep churning it out to justify our existence.’
Curly sensed he was winning the battle. ‘Tuesday’s story is almost in the can, I need a couple of finishing edits tomorrow. And Kim is helping line up interviews
