Chapter 3: Detective Clarke

“Let me be clear—no one is above the law. Not a politician, not a priest, not a criminal, not a police officer. We are all accountable for our actions.”

—Antonio Villaraigosa

“Detectives Clarke, Gourley; this is my father, Jason Kargo, and my husband Dan, his lawyer. I’ll sit in on the interview as his support,” said Lauren, pursing her lips into a thin line.

Jason looked at the serving table, and on it was a heavy double-sided hammer and three enormous sharpened wooden stakes. He grinned. Both detectives looked at Jason, frowning. Lauren smiled, observing where Jason was looking. Jason sighed.

Clarke smiled briefly. It didn’t touch his eyes. “Thank you very much for seeing us, Mr. Kargo.”

Clarke paused and looked at Dan and Lauren.

“Are you sure you must have your lawyer and daughter with you? If you’ve nothing to worry about, do you need minders?”

“Yes,” replied Jason.

“Do you have something to hide?” Clarke asked, losing his smile.

“I want my lawyer and my daughter present.”

“Do you’ve something to hide?” Clarke asked.

“Can you be more specific, as I don’t know what you are talking about?” replied Jason.

“Your involvement in your wife’s death,” said Clarke impatiently.

“What involvement are you asking about?”

“You assisted and facilitated the death of your wife?”

Jason looked at Clarke and paused before replying.

“I didn’t help my wife to kill herself.”

“Please tell me what happened on the morning of your wife’s death?” Clarke asked.
“I woke at 5:30, which I do on cycling days. I tried not to disturb Sarah. I went downstairs after I dressed and made myself a smoothie and a coffee. I got my water bottles ready and was out of the house by six. I cycled to our meeting spot next to Raffles on the foreshore.” Jason sipped his water.
“I cycle with a group of five others. We stopped for coffee in Fremantle on the way back. I fell when I lost my balance, moving around a barrier at the entrance to a park on the way home.” Jason pointed to his knee and arm.

“I got back at 10:30. As soon as I opened the garage, I heard the dogs barking. They sounded distressed. I let them in as soon as I got inside. It is unusual for us to lock them outside on the weekend. Sarah hadn’t opened the curtains. I put on the lights.”

Jason sighed. “The dogs dashed upstairs, barking frantically. I followed as fast as I could. I find it hard to climb stairs, particularly after a ride. My knees are arthritic. I stopped several times as I felt faint, and my knees were sore. Sarah had closed the bedroom door. The dogs were whining outside. The room was dim. The only light was from the balcony door, which was open.”

Jason paused and sipped some water.

“I walked to the door and saw Sarah hanging from a cord attached to a rafter on the balcony. A white plastic chair was lying on its side near her feet. I felt for a pulse, but there was nothing. She was ice-cold and blue. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her pupils dilated.

“I collected a knife downstairs. I couldn’t reach the rope, so I climbed on a chair to cut her down. I lowered her to the ground and climbed off the chair. I called an ambulance, and my daughter.”

“Why did you not resuscitate her?” Clarke asked.

“I thought she had been dead for some time. Her body was cold, and her eyes open, her pupils fixed and dilated.”

“You had information on your computer about assisted suicide. You encouraged your wife to commit suicide and helped her do it,” Clarke shouted, then banged the side of his fist on the table.

“Despite my age, I am not deaf, detective,” said Jason, sighing.

“Please answer my questions.”

“That was a statement, not a question.”

Clarke angrily asked Jason about the information on assisted suicide on his computer.

“I volunteer at the residential home around the corner from my house. The residents asked me to lead a discussion on the merits or otherwise of assisted suicide. You saw the email request. I researched the topic. I talked about the models available for medically assisted euthanasia available elsewhere, which overflowed into a second meeting. It was a lively discussion, but I didn’t express an opinion on the merits of the process or otherwise. I told my wife about the talk and the subsequent discussions. It was about six months ago. I did not plan, assist, or facilitate the death of my wife. I didn’t know she was suicidal!”

“I see in your and your wife’s will that you both state that you do not want a doctor to use active measures to resuscitate you if you have catastrophic illness or injury. Did you not view your wife’s condition as a disaster? You knew she would act and didn’t prevent it, and you deliberately went out that morning to provide the opportunity for her,” said Clarke, standing and looking down at Jason before continuing. “I put it to you; did you conspire with her to commit suicide? Did you stay away from home to facilitate her suicide?”

“No,” said Jason.

“Is that all you have to say?” Detective Clarke asked, thumping the table.

“I cycle with friends twice a week. I go to the gym twice. I’m eighty years old and keep myself in good condition. I’ve had a regular exercise routine since my teens. I walk the dogs for hours at a time, alternating with Sarah. There was nothing unusual about my going out yesterday morning. I’ve cycled on Sunday mornings with friends for sixty years. Sarah stays in bed on Sunday until 8:30.”