Sex Crimes (14 page)

I sensed that the rape charge was dubious at best. The girl was pregnant. That much was certain. A baby born with Bergin’s DNA would prove the charge of penetration of a child under sixteen although it would be hard to force if it was found to be a consensual matter as she is almost of age. It would neither prove the rape charge or disprove and therefore I had to look for the evidence of rape. Of non-consensual intercourse. At bes,t that day of the committal hearing, all we had to go on was her word. Although even the musician couldn’t dispute it, claiming drug-induced amnesia. There was no physical evidence of rape, no prior pattern of behaviour from the defendant and only concerning opinions about the character of the girl in question.

And yet she was but fifteen years of age. A child. A child who needed protection and the swift punishment of those who would attempt to corrupt that youth. In any situation, an unwanted sexual act forced upon an individual is rape and there are no excuses. If Bergin forced the girl in a post-coital frenzy after having sex with the Proudfoot girl, he had to be held accountable. 

I returned to the court which had been adjourned to listen to the surprise new witness, a Master Chester McNaughton. I went to graduate school with a McNaughton and wondered if there was some connection.

He was a gaunt and scruffy youth. Long hair pulled back into a mousy ponytail. Long face. Fuzz on chin. He was not in appropriate court attire but it transpired that he had been summonsed  with some haste.

He looked nervous but most people wandering through my court with their woeful tales were nervous.

‘State your name,’ I said beginning the routine.

I’m like a high priest of the law, repeating the same old script time and time again. Once we were over the formalities, Murphy went to work. I could tell the man had not had prior contact with this boy. He was frantically reading the young man, taking in body language and demeanour.

‘I’m Tim Murphy, a defence lawyer,’ he said by way of introduction. ‘We’re here making some enquiries about the rape charge brought against Mr Chris Bergin by one, Elizabeth O’Neil. Are you aware of these charges?’

‘Everyone is,’ he nodded. ‘It’s all over the newspapers and all over the school.’

‘That would be Beekman House where you are a senior student and Vice-School Captain?’

‘That’s correct,’ he replied.

‘And you know Libby O’Neil?’ the lawyer smiled.

‘Yes. She’s in Year Ten and I’ve known her for years. Our parents are close friends.’

‘What is the nature of your relationship with Libby? You are friends?’

He took a deep inhalation and ran a hand over his face.

‘I thought we were. I…,’ he spoke with a quiver in his voice. ‘I was very attracted to Libby. She’s beautiful and smart and funny and I thought we were friends. I would have liked more but she said upfront that she wanted to be friends and nothing more. And then in April…’

‘Go on,’ Murphy urged as the boy stalled.

‘In April at her father’s birthday party she took me upstairs to her bedroom and started kissing me.’

‘What date was that?’

‘The fifth of April. I know that because I’ll never forget that date. It was the day I lost my virginity,’ he said and the poor boy’s face was colouring deeply. ‘Libby made me take a little blue pill…she said it was her Dad’s and would work to make me extra …well…you know but I didn’t really need that because I was very into Libby and had no problem…you know…’

He dropped his eyes and looked like we had half beaten him to death but he was well spoken and compliant with the questioning and I was intrigued as there had been a glaring vacuum when it came to any other potential suitors of the young Miss O’Neil. Here, we had one.

‘Libby said she’d been out all night and hadn’t slept. She did look a bit wired. She told me she’d pinched some of Abbie’s ADD medication and asked if I wanted some of that. She said it was like speed. I said no.’

‘That would be Abigail Proudfoot you are referring to?’ I asked, unable to help myself.

‘Yes,’ he nodded.

There was a pause and the boy looked around the room, saw the O’Neil’s and immediately addressed them.

‘Oh Mr and Mrs O’Neil, I’m sorry. I didn’t….when I found out Libby was pregnant I came around. Remember? And I offered to help. I would have even married her but…then she..’

‘Going back a little, Chester,’ Murphy interrupted. ‘You had sex with Libby?’

‘Yes,’ he said bowing his head.

‘Did you use a condom?’

‘No,’ he shook his head. ‘She said she was on the pill and it was all such a rush. So urgent. Like she was deranged. Maybe she was still wired from the night before and I should have said no, but I loved her and I had wanted her for so long. Just to hold her and touch her.’

‘And what did Libby say when you went to her to discuss her pregnancy?’ Murphy asked the question we were all wondering.

‘She told me to butt out and not tell anyone we had sex and that if I did she’d accuse me of rape?’

There was an audible gasp from the gallery and a frantic tapping of handheld devices. Rustling and shuffling as if the room had come to life.

‘Did you rape Libby O’Neil?’ Murphy asked firmly.

‘No, Sir. I did not.’ His voice was loud and strong.

‘Did Libby mention that she had been raped only hours earlier?’ Murphy went head to head with the boy. You could have heard a pin drop.

‘No she did not.’

‘You were a virgin you tell us. What of Libby? Did she tell you if she was a virgin or not?’

‘She didn’t have to,’ Chester said and a solitary tear ran down his flushed cheek. ‘I felt some…you know…resistance and there was a little blood…’

Murphy remained silent and let us all have that echo in our heads. And echo it did!

‘When she told you to never mention the sex, did she admit you are the father of her unborn child?’ I asked, leaning down toward the boy, disregarding the defence counsel.

Chester McNaughton looked up at me sadly.

‘Um, no Your Honour, she said the father was some musician and inferred that she had simply decided that. I knew she’d been to that concert the night before and there was no way she could know if it was me or him and I never understood why she came on so strong and then ignored me and ….well I didn’t believe her and I still do believe that I’m responsible for that pregnancy and I’m still willing to be supportive financially…but after what she said, I no longer care so much for Libby O’Neil. Okay, I had sex with her when she was fifteen but I loved her and that shouldn’t be a crime. She’s really a mature girl you know.’

‘Why didn’t you come forward with this information, Chester, when you read about the case and heard the allegations?’ I asked.

‘I was scared,’ the boy answered. ‘She threatened me with a rape charge that I was not guilty of and Sir, that has got to be one of the most terrifying things a man can face. I only came today because your assistant contacted me and asked me about this. I felt bad for that guy, Chris Bergin, if he didn’t do it. I didn’t want to see a man burn for something he didn’t do and that Libby is bad news. It breaks my heart to say it, Mr and Mrs O’Neil but I think she’s got problems…up here.’ With that the boy tapped at his forehead and then began to stifle a sob. ‘I’m sorry.’

The prosecutor leapt into the ring and tried to pull the boy apart limb by limb but he kept a level head and maintained his story with enough emotion that I was moved to believe every word he spoke. A jury would be highly unlikely to believe the girl against testimony like that.

***

17.

Sue Shine

This was the story of the year. If Hollywood had directed it, it couldn’t have been crazier. I was becoming obsessed with the whole drama.

When I first heard the news that Chris Bergin had been arrested and charged with the rape of an underage girl, I felt ill. It was much the same sense of disappointment and disbelief that my parents felt when rumours began circulating about Rolf Harris. Chris was gorgeous and rich and famous and had the reputation of being a happy family man. He worked for charities and lent his name to some wonderful causes including one that offered support to parents and families who had lost babies to miscarriage. He was the Australian of the Year a few years back and in a split second, as soon as the news broke he became the Arsehole of the Year.

Being a survivor of rape, I was immediately heartbroken for the young girl. She must have been going through hell and so publicly. That must have been hard. The court tried to suppress her name but the girl came out and spoke publicly and I thought she was brave to do so. It meant that other girls might feel safe to step out of the shadows and report their own histories of abuse.

The day the committal hearing began, I’ve got to tell you, things got weird.

The media, particularly the English newspaper I worked for, had been pretty brutal on Chris Bergin. The fifteen year old girl was only two years older than Bergin’s own daughter and the birth of his son the previous week was never reported without mentioning the unborn child that his rape victim was carrying. I begged my editor to let me cover the case and he agreed and ever since I have been like a woman possessed. I flew out to Australia immediately and began gathering information. I thought about nothing else. I was addicted to Google searches for each and every snippet of information about all the key players and believe me when I tell you, it was a theatre with a cast of incredibly interesting characters.

Before I went into the court house for the hearing I had a file on my computer just bursting with information that I’d gathered. First Chris Bergin. He’s thirty-two shortly, married to his high-school sweet-heart, Megan Perkins. The pair moved to Sydney from Adelaide fourteen years ago and enrolled in Sydney University. He studied music while she studied literature. In July of their second year of uni, Megan gave birth to daughter, Olive. Both dropped out at the end of that year. Chris did some session work and played in local clubs and bars while Megan began to write the novels that she would later become famous for. Chris founded a band,
Drop Dead Gorgeous
three years later with his best friend Clayton Farrelly.

The band was soon recording and their first album went platinum world-wide, an extraordinary feat, and the band were suddenly the hottest thing on the planet. They earned a reputation as a hard working band and the only scandal was when a tour was cancelled due to a falling out with a promoter who subsequently sued but lost and the time that the guitarist was caught with a small amount of marijuana. They kept their noses clean and continued to have hit after hit. I’d been to one of their gigs a few years earlier and had been a fan. So the whole thing felt kind of personal to me

Chris and Megan got married officially and their wedding was a women’s magazine wet dream. Their daughter Olive was the flower girl, Clayton, best man and his wife, the maid of honour. It was a photogenic affair that took place on a beach in Thailand. Brad and Angelina were even there.  Later that year, Megan’s book for young adults entitled The Martian Resistance won a book-shelf full of literary awards and Megan Perkins was on every teenagers reading list. She always wrote using her maiden name to distance herself from her rock star husband. She was successful in her own right. The Bergin’s were living the dream.

It was easy to pull together this biography because their story had been told in hundreds of interviews and magazine spreads over the years.

A few years ago, the Bergin’s moved  to Leura in the Blue Mountains and built their dream estate. Chris collected vintage cars and life was sweet apart from the pain of a series of miscarriages.

And then there was a chasm. A chasm called ‘That Night’ and everything for Chris and Megan became ‘before that night’ and ‘after that night’. There would be no going back for them now even if the charges were dropped. It was a scandal that no-one could survive and it was even doubtful that Chris would continue with the band.

On the other side of the fence we have Elizabeth O’Neil, the young girl who is pregnant and pointing the finger squarely at Chris, who she claims, forced her into a sexual act against her will. She admits to having been in his hotel room and imbibing drugs and alcohol but it was her friend who had consensual sex with the rock musician. Then when the friend went to the bathroom, Chris raped Elizabeth, who is more commonly known as Libby. He has admitted the consensual sex with the sixteen year old friend and the consumption of drugs but claims the girls must have drugged him and that he has no memory of having intercourse with the alleged victim.

It stank. It really did. It would have been hard to find a member of the public, in Australia or indeed world-wide, who thought Chris Bergin was innocent. He’d confessed to the smoke and that suggested that he was also guilty of the fire.

Unfortunately the crime of rape is tragically convicted in only a small percentages of cases due to lack of evidence. It is so often a ‘he says, she says’ situation and far too often a girl’s word is not enough. This means that women become afraid to step forward and name their abusers because there is little likelihood they’ll see them punished. I watched my rapist walk away from a preliminary hearing just like this. I testified and it was almost as horrible as the rape itself. I felt humiliated and judged. What was I wearing? Was I a virgin? It was despicable for these men in suits to suggest that I had been responsible for my own rape. And so I was pleased that Libby was not going to take the stand. I don’t think I could have sat and watched that, because, sadly, not much has changed over the intervening years.

Already by that stage the social media had begun to swing about, shifting some of the blame onto the young girl’s shoulders. Some of the comments I found on twitter and Facebook were so alarming from ‘she asked for it’ to ‘hope he came all over her pig-dog face’. Anonymity breeds monsters online. But even other legitimate publications were asking why a fifteen year old girl had gone willingly to a man’s hotel room and taken drugs and watched as her friend had sex. My answer to that was that at fifteen we take risks and make stupid choices. The law of consent is there to protect those girls and so it should be vigorously defended to prevent pregnancies such as Libby’s. But whenever there’s a high-profile case like this, the rape apologists also come out in force.