The White Girl

by Birch, Tony;

  Lowe’s authority was rarely questioned by anyone, let alone by an Aboriginal woman.

  ‘You may not feel that you owe us, or that you are responsible to us but Odette Brown certainly is. And she will soon be made aware of the fact. The child, Cecily, must be returned to Deane, for her own welfare.’

  ‘Welfare? Oh, you’ve looked after the welfare of our young girls for a long time now. Most of them are dead, disappeared, or were sent mad by what you did to them in the institutions. That’s not welfare, Sergeant. I think your own law would call that murder.’ Millie turned her back on Lowe and walked away.

  Bill Shea cursed his boss as he walked out to Henry Lamb’s yard. Thoughts of his looming retirement were not enough to calm his anger. He unscrewed the cap on the bottle he’d taken from his drawer and stashed in his pocket before leaving the station. He took a long swig, savouring the warm liquid. He wiped his chin and took a second drink before knocking at Henry Lamb’s gate. While he was waiting for the junkman to answer, he walked the length of the fence. It was riddled with holes. Shotgun cases littered the track. Henry had opened the gate and was quietly observing him, studying the bottle in his hand.

  ‘How are you, Henry boy?’ Bill asked, soothed by the alcohol.

  ‘I suppose I’m good,’ Henry answered, defensively.

  ‘Really?’ Bill took another drink of rum. He’d almost emptied the bottle in three gulping mouthfuls. ‘I don’t see how that could be, Henry, with these young fellas using your front fence for target practice. Couldn’t miss, I suppose,’ he laughed. ‘Did you see who did this? My sergeant has sent me out here to investigate.’

  ‘I didn’t see them,’ Henry said. ‘But I did hear them. I know that truck engine. I know the sound of all sorts of engines. One from the other.’

  ‘I bet you do,’ Bill said. He took his notebook and pencil from his pocket, examined them as if they were foreign objects and put them back where he’d found them. ‘Tell me then, Henry, whose truck are we talking about?’

  ‘The truck engine that I heard belongs to the Kane boy. He’s been coming by here with his brother. It’s the older one who is all the trouble. I come down to the station and told your sergeant about it, but those boys, they keep coming back.’

  Shea offered Henry the dregs of the bottle. ‘You want a drink?’

  ‘No. I have never had a drink and don’t want one. My father, he was a drinker. I think it made him crazy.’

  ‘I know all about that,’ Bill mused. He took a last drop, emptying the bottle, and hurled it into the scrub. ‘Well, Henry,’ he said. ‘The next time Aaron Kane comes by here, we want you to come into the station and make a statement.’

  ‘I have to go inside now,’ Henry said. ‘I’m working.’

  ‘Before you go,’ Bill said, almost forgetting Lowe’s instructions. ‘Have you seen Odette lately? She’s not up at her place and the boss wants to know where she is.’

  The two men looked suspiciously at each other.

  ‘Haven’t seen her at all,’ Henry answered. ‘But then, I haven’t been outside this gate, not until you banged on it. I’m working in here.’

  Shea huffed. ‘Alright then. Alright. What are you working on?’

  ‘I’m just working,’ Henry said. ‘I have valuables in here that need fixing.’

  ‘Well, you keep on fixing and stay out of harm’s way. See you, Henry.’

  Shea made his way slowly back along Deane’s Line. His mouth was parched and a pain ground away in his head. He approached the old saddlery. Millie Khan was hanging over her front fence, keeping an eye on the policeman staggering along the road.

  He stopped at the gate. ‘Good afternoon, Millie.’

  ‘Hey, Bill, you don’t look so well,’ she said. ‘You’re the second policeman I’ve seen this afternoon. Must be a crime wave going on.’

  ‘Do you happen to have a drink in there?’ Shea asked.

  ‘Oh, no Bill. We don’t take alcohol. You should know better than to ask. Yusuf is a Muslim man. He’s always been of the belief that the grog is an evil.’

  Shea scratched at an insect bite on the side of his neck. It began bleeding. ‘He said that? Evil?’

  ‘Oh, he did.’

  Bill grinned, stupidly. ‘You know, Millie, I can’t ever remember your husband speaking a single word.’

  ‘That’s his way,’ Millie shrugged. ‘Yusuf has never been a fella for idle chat. I suppose he’s never had a word he wanted to share with you.’

  Millie said goodbye and went into the house. Bill wandered on, his only thought was for another drink.

  Lowe stood in front of the list on his blackboard, concentrating on only one name, Cecily Brown. The telephone rang. He picked up the receiver. ‘Deane Police Station.’

  ‘That you, Bill?’ the male voice on the other end of the telephone asked.

  ‘No, it’s Sergeant Lowe. I’m in charge of this station.’

  ‘Oh. It’s Sergeant Carter. I’m with Central Highlands. What’s happened to Bill Shea?’

  ‘He’s about to retire. This is his final week. If this is a personal call, it may be best if you call Officer Shea after hours, at his home.’

  ‘No. This is police business. I’ve been working with a couple of Immigration boys, tracking down a young Pole who’d run off from one of the migrant camps. And—’

  ‘And what?’ Lowe interrupted, impatiently.

  ‘And I came across a couple of Abos, a bloke and a sheila. She came from over your way. The old girl showed me her travel papers. I had nothing to hold her on, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she was doing a runner with this fella. He was travelling on an exemption tag. A bit of a smart-arse.’

  ‘What has this got to do with my station?’ Lowe asked.

  ‘I’m getting there, Sarge. We found the migrant kid and were hauling him to the lock-up when I saw the woman again. She had a young girl in tow. Might have been a white kid, I couldn’t be sure. The woman was dragging her by the hand. I would have grabbed them on the spot, but the Immigration boys were having trouble with the Pole, who was resisting, talking some wog bullshit. I had to give him a clip with my baton to shut him up.’

  ‘The woman,’ Lowe asked, suddenly interested in the conversation. ‘Did you get her name?’

  ‘I did. I wrote it down. Her name was Odette Brown.’

  Lowe gritted his teeth. ‘Do you have any idea where they were heading?’

  ‘The only train leaving the station that afternoon was on its way to the capital. The fella she was with was a John Haines, who goes by the name of Jack. He was catching that train, too.’

  ‘You say she had a travel permit,’ Lowe asked. ‘That’s not possible. She approached me for permission to travel, for both herself and the child, and I refused. You obviously did not see the documentation for yourself,’ Lowe said, attempting to chastise the officer.

  The comment insulted the policeman on the other end of the line. ‘I’m not an idiot. I wouldn’t take an Abo’s word for anything. She had the permit, alright. It was signed by your offsider, Bill Shea. That’s why I’m calling.’

  ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘Like I said, Sarge, I’m no idiot.’

  Lowe held the receiver in his hand and stared blankly across the room. In that moment Shea staggered through the door. The stench of alcohol filled the air. Shea bumped against his desk, collapsed into his chair and, ignoring Lowe, started searching through the desk drawers.

  ‘Hello? Are you still there?’ Carter asked, on the other end of the line.

  ‘Yes, I’m here,’ Lowe answered. ‘I appreciate the information. It is vital to a situation that I’m dealing with. I will need to talk to you again, but for now I have something more urgent to attend to.’

  Lowe slammed the receiver down. Shea had his head tilted back and his eyes closed. Lowe walked across the room an
d kicked the leg of his chair. Shea fell to the ground, awkwardly sat up and laughed. ‘Hey, you take it easy there, Sergeant. Or I’ll have you arrested for assaulting an officer of the Crown.’

  ‘Get up!’ Lowe demanded. ‘Get up, you drunkard.’

  ‘Take it easy. I’m just throwing myself a little send-off. No harm done. I don’t suppose you’d like to help me to my feet?’ Shea comically stood to attention. ‘What can I do for you, Boss?’ He laughed, having found courage in the bottle.

  Lowe rested a hand on the officer’s shoulder. He wanted to make sure Shea heard his next words. ‘Bill, there is something that I need you to know. It’s information that I need you to fully understand.’

  Shea grinned, rocking slightly on his feet. ‘Sure. Whatever you need to say, Boss.’

  Lowe glanced at the telephone on his desk. ‘I have just spoken to Sergeant Carter from Central Highlands.’

  Shea’s vague recollection of the name was not helped by his drunkenness. ‘Don’t know that I know the bloke.’

  ‘You may not know him, but he is certainly aware of you.’ Lowe paused for effect. ‘He tells me that he has recently come into contact with Odette Brown and her granddaughter, Cecily, travelling by train. When she was confronted by Sergeant Carter, Mrs Brown was able to produce a travel permit, executed at this police station.’ Lowe leaned forward and whispered in Shea’s ear. ‘The permit was signed by you, Bill.’

  ‘By me?’ Shea asked, as if he genuinely did not understand what Lowe was talking about. ‘I signed it?’

  ‘Yes, you did, Bill. And as a result, you are in serious trouble.’

  Shea’s eyes began to water. He raised a hand as if there was something important he wanted to say, but could not get the words out.

  Lowe slapped him on the cheek. ‘Please do not embarrass yourself, Bill,’ he said, almost affectionately. ‘Let me assure you that there is nothing that you could say at present that would be of any assistance to you. What I need to do is firstly find Odette Brown, and secondly, rescue the child, Cecily, and put her in our protection. You understand that, don’t you, Bill?’

  Shea nodded his head and began sobbing, without fully knowing why.

  ‘And, of course,’ Lowe added, ‘you are due to retire very soon, which presents me with another matter of urgency. I will be furnishing a report that will, no doubt, have you charged with negligence. You will not be retiring, Bill. I expect you will be dismissed, dishonourably. Which means,’ he said, smiling, ‘that you will be receiving no pension. You will leave the force with nothing more than the grubby uniform you are wearing.’

  Shea began to wail. It was a sound Lowe was familiar with, like the cry of an abandoned child. His face darkened and he reached out, grabbing Shea by the throat. ‘Did you think you could undermine me, you useless drunk?’ He shook Shea like a rag doll. The officer collapsed to the floor, rolled on his side and vomited. Lowe towered over him. ‘Be out of this station before I return. And clean up your mess before you leave.’

  Lowe put his cap on, left the station and walked briskly past the courthouse, his hands clasped behind his back.

  Shea kicked over a rubbish bin and chair and swept an arm across Lowe’s desktop, scattering files across the floor. He opened the top drawer of his desk, took out a service revolver and clumsily checked that the gun was loaded. He went into the bathroom and opened the door of his metal locker. He rifled through it and retrieved a small flask of rum. He took a swig, rinsed his mouth and spat on the floor. He took a second drink, which he managed to hold down. He left the station and was hit by the glare of the sun. Lowe was nowhere in sight. He walked down the centre of the main street, the revolver in one hand, dodging the occasional passing vehicle and cursing the drivers. People walking along the footpath scattered behind parked cars and into shop doorways. When he reached the end of the street Shea crossed the red dirt track and slid down the bank of the dry riverbed.

  ‘You dog, Lowe!’ he screamed into the air. ‘You fucking rotten dog!’

  Shea took a final drink from the flask and threw the empty bottle to the ground, smashing it. He stumbled and fell, then crawled into the shadow of the bridge that crossed the riverbed. He took off his shoes and socks, followed by his tunic and shirt. He sat bare-chested, shifting the revolver from one hand to the other. It finally settled in his right hand.

  ‘You dog, Lowe,’ were the last words Shea uttered.

  Yusuf Khan found the policeman’s body late the next afternoon. Officer Shea was almost unrecognisable, his bloated face slumped against his bloodied chest. When Yusuf returned home and told Millie of his discovery, Millie seemed unsurprised by the terrible news.

  ‘How long has he been there?’ she asked, casually.

  ‘I’m not sure, woman,’ Yusuf said. ‘He smelled off. A day. Could be more.’

  ‘Had to be yesterday. I saw him stagger by here in the afternoon. Poor old Bill. He should have stuck with us when he was a kid. Growing up itself can be a curse for white people.’

  Millie sat down beside her husband. ‘I need you to keep this story to yourself, Yusie. This is none of our business. This is white folks’ trouble and we don’t need to be involved in this. If we go talking to that new copper about this, no good will come of it. We’re deaf and dumb on this.’

  A further two days passed before Shea’s body was found for a second time, by a young boy who’d skipped school and gone down to the riverbed to smoke cigarettes. Shea had no wife or children, and little effort was made to locate his extended family. To ensure the officer’s violent death did not impact on his own reputation, Lowe prepared a dossier for the state coroner, outlining a history of drunkenness, years of misdemeanours and his recent dereliction of duty, ensuring that if Bill Shea was to be remembered at all it would be as a failure.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Odette woke in a haze with no idea where she was. She opened her eyes, rested her chin on her chest and looked down at a fresh white sheet covering her body. Opposite her was an elderly woman lying in bed, her mouth agape. Odette tried turning her head and felt stiffness in her neck. She looked down at her toes, poking out of the sheet. She closed her left eyelid, adjusted the focus of her right eye, and read the card attached to the end of the bed rail. LIQUIDS ONLY. Above it was a name: Miss Betty Haines.

  A nurse walked past and noticed Odette was awake. ‘Hello, Betty. You’re back with us. Fantastic. Let’s get your obs done.’

  Betty?

  The nurse took Odette’s blood pressure and temperature and wiped Odette’s face with a wet cloth.

  ‘Let me get you a glass of water. Your brother will be pleased to hear that you’re awake.’

  ‘My brother?’ Odette’s throat was raw and swollen.

  The nurse patted Odette on the forehead. ‘It’s no surprise you’re a little confused. You’ve had an operation. Several days ago.’

  ‘What operation?’

  ‘It’s best for the duty doctor to explain the details to you. He’ll be doing his rounds later. What I can say is that you had no capacity in your left lung because of a tumour pushing against it. The doctors were amazed that you had no medical complaints before the collapse. You also have some swelling and stitches in the side of your head. You had a fall. Your brother said that you’d been as good as gold until the emergency. You must be strong as an ox, Betty.’

  Odette didn’t feel strong at all. Nor did she understand why the nurse continued to call her Betty.

  The surgeon visited later that morning and explained to Odette that while the operation to remove the tumour had been complicated, it was found to be benign.

  ‘Your brother says that you had no signs of illness or pain before you collapsed in his kitchen. Is that so?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Odette evasively.

  ‘That’s quite remarkable. Your family live close to the hospital and we have checked all of our records f
or your medical history, but you’ve never been a patient here. Did you ever see a doctor about your condition?’

  ‘No,’ Odette answered. ‘Never’’

  The doctor shook his head. ‘Extraordinary.’

  Odette slept through the afternoon. When she woke, Jack Haines was standing at the side of the bed with an Aboriginal woman. ‘I’m Alma,’ the woman whispered. ‘Jack’s wife.’ Jack had tears in his eyes. Odette assumed something was wrong.

  ‘Sissy?’ she asked. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘She’s fine. Just perfect,’ Alma said. ‘She’s top-shelf, that girl. There’s nothing wrong at all. Don’t worry about Jack. He’s pleased to see you back with us, is all. He told me that he didn’t know if you’d come good and I told him he was talking the way men always talk when a woman is ill. They think there’s either nothing wrong with us or we’re on our deathbed.’ She tapped Odette on the wrist. ‘I told him you’d have been through tougher times than this, and that you would pick up.’

  ‘But my granddaughter?’ Odette asked again, her voice hoarse.

  ‘You can shush up about that one,’ Jack said. ‘She’s safe at home with us and our own granddaughter, Lidia. Your girl will be dancing the hula when we tell her you’re finally awake.’

  Odette remained confused. ‘What happened to me?’

  ‘You had a fall in the hotel,’ Jack said. ‘The young one there, Wanda, she was in her room along the hall and heard a thump. She found you.’

  Odette looked at the card with her new name on it. She raised her eyebrows inquisitively.

  ‘I’ve never had to think so quick on my feet,’ Jack laughed. ‘The ambulance brought you here and that girl, Wanda, she took Sissy to her room and kept her safe. Lucky for you, she asked Sissy if you had people in the city. The girl said no, and then she remembered you had that stub with my name and address written on it. Wanda brought Sissy to our house, and me and Alma came straight here. They were doing these tests on you, and they told us we couldn’t see you unless we were related. Straightaway, I told them you were my sis. I had to give the nurse a name.’