INTERLUDE 1: MS CLARK

10:03am, 23/01/2019, Ms Clarks’ home, Penrith.

There were times I regretted leaving Amnesty International. Work at the OMR was not just challenging, but we lacked legal or historical precedent to fall back on. In Amnesty International we knew what laws, case studies, court cases and International law applied. We knew the game and the rules, but the OMR lacked that certainty.

In the aftermath of the Emergence the State and Federal Governments scrambled to get a handle on the situation, issuing emergency measures. State Governors and the President issued Executive Orders as the legislative and judicial arms scrambled to keep up. 

At a Federal level the White House ordered the formation of the Government Task Force on the Emergence, to investigate the phenomenon, issue interim legal procedure and coordinate government departments and agencies. You had to wonder which Presidential minder arranged it.

At a state level it varied with some states taking a more lax approach and with others rapidly contracting then modifying private prison facilities and ordering the mass arrests of potentially dangerous Emerged citizens.

Constitutional rights and Civil liberties had been waved on mass for Emerged individuals, as pundits debated if they counted as human or citizens at all and in the chaos many of these illegal measures had yet to be challenged in court. It wasn’t uncommon for Emerged individuals to have been denied a lawyer, a trial or even the ability to contact friends or loved ones in the rampant hysteria.

When the OMR headhunted me from Amnesty International, I felt obligated to step in and try to counter these injustices. I hadn’t stood by in the face of injustice back in New Zealand and I wasn’t going to now, but this legal mess was a source of constant headaches.

That said I relished the challenge and what kept me going was the victories. 

Restoring Emerged individuals’ legal identities, reuniting families, freeing individuals from unlawful incarceration, taking charge in precedent setting civil rights legal battles and the list went on. However at the end of the day, the best part was my clients’ relieved smiles when I managed to help them.

Robin was one of my most complex, but favorite cases. It seemed pretty unbelievable thinking back...

* * *

Saturdays are normally my day off, the one day of the week I would sleep in for and use to recover from the stresses of my work week. So you can probably imagine my happiness at being awoken by my mobile ringing out at half past six in the morning. Now normally at this point I would have turned it off and thrown away it across the room, but it was my boss.

Now my boss, Ian O’Reilly is a reasonable guy as far as bosses go, so this call had to be an emergency or something of equal urgency. Now for some time we had been trying to get access to the private prison complex, the Penrith Centre for the Confinement of Dangerous Emerged and the Emerged within. Only recently we had managed to obtain a court order compelling the prison to allow us access to the inmates. 

The Centre had in defiance waited until the deadline for their compliance, to arrange a first meeting.  That’s where I come in, Ian wanted a person he could trust to make the first contact and the case he passed onto me was apparently the Centre’s best hope for scaring us off. 

Stolen novel; please report.

The case I had been assigned was an unknown Emerged responsible for a two block blackout, multiple unconscious individuals and a suspect in the murder of a police office, so I was understandably worried. My meeting with the warden only inflamed those worries, the man referred to my client as a monster and warned me against going down to its cell.

I found myself being escorted to an elevator where I was swiped in and handed a head mounted flashlight. I’m not sure what was more baffling and scary, being handed the flashlight or the guard sending me on my own. It seemed that this place was run unlike any prison I had visited during my time at Amnesty International, which was unnerving and if I am allowed to brag, working with prisoners on death row and corrupt prison administrations, I don’t get unnerved easily.

The oddities continued to build up. When the lift opened up on the second basement floor, I emerged into a pitch black level.  Flashlight had revealed empty cell after empty cells as I ventured deeper into the thick darkness. Private prison’s never leave cells empty if they can, those bastards often overpack them to increase their payout.

My imagination was starting to play havoc on my mind, as I wondered what they were keeping down here, but what I actually found blew me away. An unkept young girl in a torn jumpsuit, anxiously peering out at me. My heart instantly went out to her and I found myself letting my old accent slip out.

This girl’s testimony was stranger than fiction and too big to be a lie, I found myself believing every word. Not that I wasn’t going to investigate her story to confirm it, I had to do that If I wanted to help her. 

And when I did help her, Robin Wraith, her smile drove away the oppressive darkness of her surroundings. It was smiles like that, that keep me doing this job. I couldn’t wait to see the smile she would give me when I got her out of here.

Only she didn't want to leave and when I learnt why, Kelly, I felt rage and panic in equal measures. Anger at this system and what it was doing to these young girls and fear, I would have little recourse without political backing or widespread outreach and either options risked the ‘problem’ disappearing, when any scrutiny was applied. 

I needed hard evidence, friends further up the food chain and a plan..

* * *

That brings me back to the present, I needed to confirm Robin’s account again, then seek out witnesses and evidence. I had proof of a Kelly Newhall existed and a death certificate that confirmed she had died, but that told me nothing, a lawyer could claim Robin had heard of the incident in prison. 

No, I had to interview her friends and family, in particular the individual called Kalia who was reportedly at the scene of her death. After that I would have to interview the officers and paramedics who were on the scene and follow the chain of custody from the scene to the morgue and beyond. If there was evidence it would be there.

Checking a file, I dialled and then raised the phone to my ear. 

“Newhall residence, what’s your business?” an exhausted voice answered. This must be her mother, I need to be careful not to insinuate her daughter may be alive, it would be cruel to raise her hopes in such an event, I am wrong or we fail to produce her.

“Good Morning, My name is Ms Clark with the OMR. I am sorry to bring this up, but I have a few questions concerning the circumstances of your daughters death, in regards to an active investigation,” I was used to making phone interviews and didn’t have to worry about my accent sneaking into my speech.

“Is this about that beastly Emerged who caused her death? The fox girl? We both showed her hospitality and she went and got my daughter killed! I want her off the streets! You hear me?” bitter anger replaced the exhaustion in her voice.

“I’m sorry ma’am, I can’t comment on the details of the investigation,” I proceeded to ask her about how she was notified of the incident in its aftermath, if she was asked to identify the body or saw it at all, no and details on how to find or contact her daughter’s friends. She was able to provide me with the number of several of their parents and where they hung out in Sherwood mall, but refused to talk about Kalia or as she called her, ‘that beastly girl.’

I thanked her for her time and apologised for her loss before hanging up. I needed to make a few calls then hit the streets. Those kids might know where this Kalia is.