It was a crisp cold night. The late night restaurants on Fitzroy Street Stkilda began to close up shop and the late night stragglers began to head home.
Senior Constable Jones pulled the divisional van into the car park behind the Fitzroy Street restaurant. The car park was almost empty, and we headed towards the rear entrance where Senior Constable Jones parked the Divisional van. We both got out and headed towards a nearby group of men, surrounding a roast on a Spit.
Senior Constable Jones said, “Hi” to the friendly Restaurant owner, and then introduced me to him and his cohorts.
They were having some kind of celebration. I can’t remember what for but he offered us an alcoholic beverage and some food. I politely declined but Senior Constable Jones insisted so I took a drink rather than create a scene. I was a twenty year old female police trainee, and if your ‘senior on the van’ tells you to do something you don’t argue. Of course, I was worried we were drinking on duty, but it seemed like no one else was.
After a little while we said our goodbyes and continued on our way. I was feeling a little buzzed as ‘Jones’ drove the van along the foreshore and the sea mist rolled in. He drove along the pedestrian path heading towards Elwood. It must have been around 4.00 AM. He drove up close to a pedestrian bridge that crossed over the canal and to my shock he began to drive on to it.
I said, “This is not a good idea, we’ve both been drinking, and I’m not sure this bridge will hold a divisional van.”
Jones ignored me and stopped in the middle of the bridge and turned off the ignition. I was thinking that maybe I should just get out, but realized I could not open my passenger door as we were wedged on the bridge. Jones then began to move towards me and attempted to kiss me.
“What are you doing? I said. “You’re married!”
He just laughed and began to put his hand down my shirt and grabbed at my boob. At first I attempted to half jokingly push him off saying “C’mon don’t” and telling him to “stop” and “No, we shouldn’t be doing this,” but he kept pushing himself on me and trying to kiss me.
He began to grab at my belt to try and undo it and I felt frozen in shock, squashed against my passenger door. I couldn’t believe what was happening.
I attempted to push him off again, and he was half laughing, “Come on it will be fun.”
He kept saying things like that and getting more intense as I looked around in panic, feeling trapped against my passenger door. He began to get more aggressive as he groped at me and intensified his voice.
“Just shut up!”
I began to feel nauseous and said so. “I think I’m going to be sick. Get off me.”
Jones suddenly seemed to sober up and he got off me.
He then muttered something along the lines of, “Don’t tell anyone
about this.”
I, of course, did not and from that night on, he basically ignored me when we passed each other in the station house.
I felt equally disappointed by his sexual misconduct and the fact that ‘this supposedly happily married family man’ would try this on me, and that he ruined a friendship of sorts and that he stopped talking to me. I was also sad that the respect for him was gone also.
*This is an excerpt from Sex, Love & Cops.
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