What Lies Buried

by John Bishop

PART TWO

  SECRETS

  Discovery

  Friday 7th September 1990

  Walter Blake's body lay beside the stables, like a discarded scraggy effigy, on the rubble where the builders had been digging the new foundations.

  Max heard Judith race across the verandah and down the steps. Later, he would wonder if the wail that brought him running from the homestead was an element of her heritage. By the time he reached her she was sitting on the ground, arms clasped around her legs. He knelt and held her, aware of the salty tinge to an aroma he cherished.

  ‘Why there? It makes no sense! No bloody sense.’ Judith sipped the tea she’d let go cold. She’d not eaten but had settled herself on the end of Walter’s bed, as had been her wont after dinner most evenings, to chat to him about the events of the day.

  It was Friday. She’d been delayed leaving school; one of the parents had wanted to discuss a child’s progress. Entering the room with her bright face on, she found her father’s bed empty. She called for his nurse, Ginny, but there was no reply. It had been Judith’s idea to move him into the family room so he could look through the picture window towards the forest. As she turned from the empty bed, something had drawn her to that view. She’d seen something down by the stables—indistinct, but she knew.

  ‘No bloody sense!’ she repeated now, putting her cup down with a clatter and sloshing tea onto the bedside table.

  Max turned from the window where he’d been staring in the direction of the stables even though the sun had long since set behind the trees. ‘Perhaps he foresaw the end and wanted to be outside when it came. Out in the fresh air and—what did he call it?—the good rich earth of Banabrook.’

  Doc Smithers had come and gone. It was a two-hour round trip from Calway Junction, but death makes its demands. ‘Nothing we didn’t expect,’ he said, ‘other than it happening this way and him being out there. A last grasp at life, maybe. Do you need anything, Judith? To sleep, I mean?’

  ‘I’ll be all right.’ She walked him to his car. ‘We’ve been prepared for it to happen, but...’

  ‘Not quite like this.’

  ‘Thanks for coming so quickly.’

  He hesitated, stepped forward, and kissed her on the cheek. She blinked a few tears and waved as the car disappeared down the dusty drive into the night. She was still there when lights coming over the hill signalled the arrival of the undertaker.

  Aftermath

  Saturday 8th September 1990

  After a disturbed night, Max was up before the kookaburras. Two weeks earlier, he’d moved to Banabrook to help Judith care for her father. Concerned about the propriety of living, unmarried, in the same house as another teacher, he occupied a spare room in the farm manager’s cottage. He pulled on a jumper and track pants, and left quietly to avoid waking his housemates. Standing by the stables at first light, he considered the spot where the body had lain. He tried to tell himself his imagination was over-active. Nevertheless, as he headed for the homestead, the conviction grew: Walter’s visit to the stables had been more than a last grasp at life.

  Judith was already up and making tea. Before he had time to ask she said, ‘I’m fine, but I need to be busy. Ginny’s coming over early. She wants to take the linen away to launder. I was going to say no but I think she wants to be involved. I’ll telephone Mr Ross and ask what legal things need doing. He’ll have to inform Caroline.’

  ‘I thought you might call her yourself.’

  ‘No! And don’t tell me why I should. I won’t, and that’s it.’

  ‘Hey, it’s me, remember.’

  ‘Do you want breakfast?’

  ‘I’ll make myself some toast.’

  ‘If it’s all right with you, I’m suggesting Wednesday for the funeral. Caroline will have to approve but I don’t expect she’ll want to come.’

  ‘You’re happy for me to officiate?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I needed to be sure.’

  ‘I’ll call Rabbi Levi when it’s Mama’s turn. Daddy’s a job for you.’

  ‘Who’s Rabbi Levi?’

  ‘He runs the Jewish Boarding School outside Calway. Used to visit Mama sometimes.’ She paused and sighed. ‘I’ll go and see her today.’ A slight crack in the voice as she added, ‘Oh Max, she won’t understand.’

  ‘I know, darling. But talk to her as though she does. Just in case.’

  Soon after nine o’clock, Max helped Ginny carry Walter’s bedding to her ageing Kombi-van.

  ‘It’s something I like to do when a patient goes,’ she said. ‘We’re both pros so you know what I mean. For me, doing this... well it sort of wraps up the case.’

  ‘Rites of passage come in many forms.’

  Ginny waved an arm towards the homestead. ‘It’s a brave face she wears but you’ll have to look after her. She’s worried about her mum, Max. Been a bugger of a few months for her. Absolute bugger.’

  ‘Have you any idea why he went down to the stables? Did he say anything?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about it since she phoned last night. I went in after lunch to make sure the racket from the backhoe wasn’t too much for him. He was standing in the window. He said something about them wasting time digging up the old barbecue slab. I told him he wasn’t the bloody supervisor and shooed him back to bed. I came in again when the crew was leaving. That’d be a bit after four, I reckon. He said it was nice the noise had stopped ’cause now he’d be able to have a nap, and since you two would be home soon I might as well go.’

  ‘Was that unusual?’

  ‘It had happened before. Days when he knew I wanted to get to the shops to avoid coming into town on Saturday.’

  ‘Did you suggest that yesterday?’

  ‘No. But he seemed fine or I wouldn’t have left him.’

  ‘I know, Ginny. We all thought he’d been having a good week.’

  ‘In my business there are no surprises. You can have a ward full of people, and when the alert goes up it’s the one least likely who’s having the heart attack. And that’s something else I don’t need to tell a minister. God’s mysterious ways.’

  ‘Let’s not start that again.’

  ‘I shouldn’t rib you. Not now.’ She touched his arm, squeezed it gently, an unaccustomed intimacy he understood and appreciated. ‘Take care, mate. I’ll see you at the funeral.’

  Max waved at the back of the departing vehicle, closed his eyes against a passing waft of dust, and tried to dredge up a memory. Somewhere in the oral history tapes there was reference to laying a concrete slab.

  As is the way in rural communities, the Kalawonta grapevine traversed vast distances at great speed. News of Walter’s death reached the hospice before Judith arrived; carers emerged from corridors and doorways to say appropriate things and frown, smile or touch.

  She sat beside her mother’s bed and explained why she’d come, choosing words with care but sparing no detail in case something was registering. She stroked the pale cheek and felt the helplessness shared with all whose loved ones come to this.

  The task over, she sat in silence for a while. Then, as always, she began telling her mother what had happened in the days since her last visit: Josephine Little’s drawing of a honeyeater, Martin Blunk’s tantrum, the progress Max was making with the history project, Tom’s battle with the old windmill.

  Suddenly Rachel turned her head and mumbled something. Judith leant closer. With unexpected clarity Rachel said, ‘Walter is gone.’

  ‘Yes, Mama.’

  The frail brow wrinkled with the effort. ‘They tell it to me. Walter is gone.’

  ‘That’s right, Mama.’

  Reaching out, Rachel pulled her daughter closer and whispered. ‘Nobody must find it.’

  Judith looked into the watery eyes—felt the grip tighten. The bony fingers were strong enough to hurt, but to pull away might suggest rejection.

  ‘It’s all right, Mama.’

  ‘Nobody must find it,’ Rachel whispered.

&
nbsp; The grip relaxed and it seemed the elusive thought had again passed into the jumble of memories. Then, as if remembering anew, Rachel added, ‘Near the stables.’ The troubled eyes closed, screwed tight, and Judith waited, hoping for something more. Instead, her mother rolled over on the bed, pulled her knees to her chest, emitted a drawn-out cry, and started to rock from side to side.

  One of the carers hurried in. She sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Rachel’s arm, muttering there-theres and it’s-all-rights, until the moaning subsided. Soon, steady breathing gave way to gentle snoring. The nurse motioned Judith to follow her into the corridor.

  ‘It’s happening more frequently, I’m afraid. We try not to use too much medication because it gives her hallucinations. Fortunately she sleeps a lot without anything to help her.’

  ‘Do my visits set her off?’

  ‘I don’t think so, dear. Even if they do, you must come. She still has lucid moments. She still knows you care.’

  ‘Something I said about daddy’s death seemed to register.’

  ‘We never really know. Things sometimes surface, but there’s no obvious pattern.’

  ‘Does she talk to you... about the past?’

  ‘Only about you. Did you run away some time?’

  Judith felt her cheeks flush. ‘When I was a teenager. I got lost in the forest and they had to come searching for me.’

  ‘Dementia’s a strange condition. Over and over she’s told me you ran away. Nothing else; just that. Somewhere in her mind the memory seems to have become a fear that she’ll lose you again, that you won’t come.’

  A short time later Judith pulled onto the highway and headed for home. Something buried near the stables. Something nobody must find. On one level, it was a fascinating mystery. On another, it had the makings of a horror story. If something had been buried, it preyed dreadfully on her mother’s mind. Memories can be hurtful, even memories of trivial things, like the time she’d run away. Again she felt her cheeks burn. Why must we relive our embarrassments, she thought.

  ‘I’ve called you for dinner twice!’ Judith’s tone suggested resignation rather than anger.

  ‘Sorry, darling. Carried away.’

  ‘If you’re like this before we’re married...’

  ‘Unfair!’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Okay. Point taken.’

  At the table in the kitchen, Max devoured spaghetti marinara and praised it enthusiastically. Loyalty to his departed mother, and fear of misinterpretation, prevented him telling Judith how wonderful it was to live with a good cook for the first time in his life.

  ‘So what were you looking for?’ Judith asked.

  ‘On one of the tapes he says something about building the barbecue area. It might provide a clue.’

  ‘To the buried something?’

  ‘I know it’s bizarre.’

  ‘I am getting used to it.’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘Max the historian has been replaced by Max the sleuth.’

  ‘It’s actually the same thing.’

  Dinner over and the washing-up done, Max resumed his search of the oral history tapes. It was some time before he found the segment he’d been looking for. He called Judith. They listened to Walter and Max in conversation.

  We had a lot of fun down there over the years. I built the barbecue myself. Even mixed the concrete and poured the slab.

  When was that?

  Good question. It was [A SHORT PAUSE] well... Emily had been at me to do something about the end of the stables. It wasn’t a good area to grow anything. In the shade all day, and the horses churned it up a bit. But the shade made it ideal for a barbecue once I’d paved it. [A LONG PAUSE]. By the time I’d finished, Emily had gone. [A LONG PAUSE] So I guess that answers your question. It must have been 1945.

  ‘Any help?’ Judith asked.

  Max shrugged and mimed “iffy”.

  ‘If daddy knew something was buried there, why would he let them dig it up?’

  ‘I think I’ve worked that out. He told Ginny they weren’t meant to dig up the slab. I’ve looked at the architect’s specifications. The original plans were for perimeter footings, but the shire council required a new concrete slab foundation. Walter must have thought the old slab would be permanently covered by the new building. Maybe that was his intention from the start. But he hadn’t expected any digging other than the perimeter.’

  ‘So he told Ginny to leave before we came home, and then got himself down there to look?’

  ‘Most of the area had already been compacted. If the buried something hadn’t already been dug up, all might be well. He must have collapsed examining the pile of rubble.’

  ‘He knew we’d be home soon.’

  ‘Stranger things have happened than finding something in the first few minutes of looking.’

  ‘Do you think we should tell the builder to stop work, so we can go looking?’

  ‘Only you can decide that. I’m still a comparative new boy in town.’

  ‘Not any more Max. I’m afraid you’re part of this now. Unless you’re planning to opt out.’

  ‘You know I won’t do that.’

  Arrival of a New Boy

  1987

  Shortly after 4pm on Monday 19th January 1987, Max Kingsley stepped off the train at Arajinna Station. He was the sole arrival and it was not difficult to identify the teacher there to meet him. She and a brown kelpie were the only signs of life.

  ‘Hi! You must be Max. I’m Judith Blake.’ Slender hand, firm grip. She looked at his small suitcase. ‘Do you travel light or is there something in the guard’s van?’

  ‘I have a trunk coming by road.’

  ‘Good. I’d hate to think you weren’t staying. We’re very short handed.’

  ‘Were you able to find a room for me?’

  She laughed and put a hand to her mouth. He was already captivated.

  ‘I’m afraid Arajinna doesn’t run to boarding houses, but there are several empty cottages close to the school. We’ve rented you one for a month. You can make your own choice when you’re ready. We also borrowed a small car from someone who hopes you’ll buy it. You can pick it up tomorrow.’

  ‘Great.’

  Judith led him to a dusty ute and lifted a canvas tarpaulin. ‘Put your case under there; otherwise Barney might mark it for reference.’ She whistled once and the kelpie leapt aboard. ‘It’s hardly elegant transport, but I was expecting you’d have more gear.’

  ‘I’ll remember who to call when the trunk arrives.’

  ‘I thought I’d get you settled in; then take you home for dinner with my parents.’

  ‘That’s kind. Thank you.’

  ‘I need to warn you my mother is a little vague. She has Alzheimer’s. Early stages.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘We’d better pick up some milk and anything else you’ll want for breakfast. There’s a staff meeting at ten to kick the year off.’

  Later that evening, when Judith dropped him back at the cottage, Max was already dealing with unexpected emotions. Apart from her driving an old ute, he was uncertain why he’d assumed dinner with her parents would be taken around the table of a more modest abode. Banabrook Homestead had come as a shock. For somebody brought up to radical socialism on a crowded housing commission estate, this was foreign territory. Six months later, he still had moments when his conscience insisted he was subjugating his political principles to personal enjoyment, but he chose to ignore them. Few weekends passed without his driving his second-hand Mazda hatchback to Banabrook for lunch with the Blakes and lessons in the pursuits of country gentlefolk.

  ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Not as though I was born in the saddle, but I’m over the stiffness.’

  ‘You’re doing well.’ Judith took the makings for lunch from the saddlebags.

  ‘Do we need to tie them up?’

  ‘Not with Polkadot in charge.’

  ‘I’ve been meaning to ask where she
gets her name.’

  ‘It’s a bit like calling a redhead bluey. That grey coat is so far removed from a bright primary colour.’

  ‘Which is why you call the other grey Carmine!’

  ‘You’ve got it.’ She spread a rug and laid out the food.

  They ate in silence until she said, ‘Penny for a thought.’

  ‘Is it so obvious?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘There’s something I need to tell you. About me. I’d been hoping to avoid it but it might become an issue.’

  ‘How fascinating.’

  ‘What would you say if I told you I was an Anglican minister?’

  ‘I would say “good heavens!” followed by “go on.” ’

  Encouraged by Judith’s nods, he found himself telling her many of the details of his early life: his joining a church choir as an excuse for keeping away from a drunken father, his path to the priesthood, and the crisis that precipitated his resignation. The story ended and there was silence until he said, ‘That’s it. Potted history of my life.’

  ‘I can’t wait for the unabridged version.’

  He glanced at her and could tell she was mulling over the story. It was a while before she spoke.

  ‘If I ask you a question will you promise me an honest answer?’

  ‘I don’t want to leave any other skeletons to uncover.’

  ‘The business at the Kings Cross shelter; were you completely innocent?’

  ‘I’m sure I would have been found guilty of the assault. I was lucky the police dropped the whole case.’

  ‘And the victim?’

  ‘I think there was some sort of trade-off. In those situations, police are sometimes a bit...creative.’

  ‘Ends justify means?’

  ‘Apart from the El Alamein fountain at night, the Cross is not a pretty place.’

  ‘If you were innocent—well at least not convicted of anything—why did you leave the ministry?’

  ‘Partly because I was an embarrassment to the diocese. But mainly because it drove home to me that I’d escaped the housing commission environment to plunge into something even worse. I knew I’d become a minister for all the wrong reasons, and I’d proved I wasn’t up to it.’

  ‘That was five years ago.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the media didn’t continue to hound you?’

  ‘They’d thoroughly milked my involvement in the early months. When the charges were dropped they lost interest.’

  ‘You said it might become an issue here. Why?’

  ‘Well, for one thing, I’ve been living a lie.’

  ‘By not disclosing your past?’

  ‘And letting people think I’ve been teaching for yonks.’

  ‘Did you say that?’

  ‘It’s been assumed, and I haven’t denied it.’

  ‘Oh how naughty!’

  ‘My classroom experience is quite limited.’

  ‘You’re a bloody good teacher, Max. Arajinna is lucky to have you, and you know it. So what’s brought this on now?’

  ‘I’m thinking of blowing my cover.’

  ‘How exciting. Do tell!’

  ‘Your father believes Olive Sampson is pining because she can’t take regular communion.’

  ‘I could believe that.’

  ‘He takes a special interest in her.’

  ‘She’s an old family friend. I call her Aunty.’

  ‘I’m still ordained, and St Mark’s is still a church. It occurred to me I might be able to get the Bishop’s approval to consecrate bread and wine, and administer the sacraments to her.’

  ‘Oh Max, she’d be so grateful.’

  ‘You don’t think it would be hypocritical?’

  ‘It would be a kindness. I’m sure God would approve.’ She looked to the sky and appeared to be listening, then smiled and gave a thumbs-up.

  ‘I’ve always thought it’s what the communicant believes that matters, not what the priest mumbles. But I can’t help wondering how the town might take to finding it has a minister teaching at its decidedly sectarian high school—a minister who hadn’t disclosed the fact.’

  The response was an outbreak of the laughter he found so captivating. ‘Forgive me, but it’s such a ludicrous thing to worry about—well considering the bits of your past they won’t be told. A crisis of faith will explain anything, and the town will have something new to talk about.’

  ‘And if the rest of the story does come out?’

  ‘Olive is one of the most loved citizens in the whole of Kalawonta. Everybody knows how much her faith has meant to her since Brian’s death. They’ll think it wonderful if you can help her. There are lots of crime-neutralising brownie points for you there.’

  ‘Do you think your father will approve?’

  ‘I’m quite positive.’ She rose and stretched. ‘Let’s pack up. Mama will be resting, so you’ll have Daddy to yourself. Then you can put your collar on back-to-front and get on the telephone to the Bishop or whoever.’

  As they organised the horses, Judith said, ‘Tell Daddy the whole story but don’t try to explain it all to Mama. She’d try to follow but...’

  ‘I know. She has to keep checking with you or Walter to remember who I am. It’s sad.’

  ‘She remembers she likes you. That’s clear.’

  ‘It’s your opinion I care about.’

  ‘I like a man with a colourful past.’ She swung herself effortlessly into the saddle. ‘Is it an uppercut I should be looking out for, or a left cross?’

  He took breath to respond; but she’d touched the stallion lightly on the flank and taken off, her characteristic giggle audible above the beat of hooves.

  The revelation that there was a minister in their midst did not unsettle the community of Arajinna. Within a month, Max received written permission from the Bishop to provide limited pastoral care as an associate to the vicar of All Saints church, Calway Junction. On the first Sunday of each month, he went alone to St Mark’s to prepare the sacraments; then to Olive Sampson’s property, which her Cornish forebears had named Land’s End. Through Olive he learnt much of the history of the Kalawonta district, although he sensed she had some local knowledge she considered inappropriate for the ears of a newcomer.

  As the end of his first year at Arajinna High School approached, he felt a contentment that had been missing from his life. It was to be short lived. In the week before Christmas, he came home to his rented accommodation to find a police constable sitting on the doorstep.

  ‘Reverend Maxwell Kingsley?’ The constable asked with solemn formality.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve been asked to give you a message from a Detective Inspector Brody in Sydney.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘He says why the hell don’t you have a telephone and would you call him on this number.’

  Max walked the short distance to the post office to use a public telephone. Justin Brody did not take long to come to the point. ‘I thought you should know Lenny d’Aratzio has been paroled.’

  ‘So soon?’

  ‘Overcrowded gaols, and a parole board of idealists who believe a mind as twisted as Lenny’s gets straightened out in rehab. I’m sorry Max, but that’s the system. And if I can track you down, so can he. Might take him a bit longer. He might not even try.’

  ‘Thanks for the warning. At least, in a place like this, strangers get noticed.’

  ‘Good. Happy Christmas!’

  Max returned to his rented cottage, poured himself a beer, and thought how quickly five years had passed since a previous conversation with Justin Brody.

  A Day in Court

  Thursday 19th August 1982

  It was a warm Thursday morning in 1982. No longer employed at the shelter in Kings Cross, Max was free to attend Court and watch Lenny d’Aratzio led away to begin a lengthy gaol term. Lenny was not the man Max had assaulted, but a higher link in the drug trafficking chain of command. Although Max did not to rise with others in the galler
y to cheer the sentence, he did contribute to the applause—and felt justifiably included in the Judge’s low-key ticking off. His feelings about the event did nothing to change his belief that he’d been miscast as a minister. He had no inclination to forgive. On the contrary, he felt like Nemesis delighting in justice and retribution. As he left the courtroom, a voice behind him called, ‘Reverend Kingsley. Have you a moment?’

  Detective Inspector Brody had handled the allegations about the Kings Cross shelter and ordered Max’s arrest. Subsequently, the charges had been withdrawn without explanation.

  ‘Good result,’ Brody said.

  ‘I’ve been chastising myself for being so pleased.’

  ‘I’m off duty for the rest of the day. I wondered if I could buy you a drink.’

  ‘Well–’

  ‘I know it must seem unusual; but I thought we might chat.’

  Whether from curiosity or because the idea of a drink and some company was welcome, Max said, ‘Why not? I’m... “off duty” too.’

  ‘You’ve not been reinstated?’

  ‘My resignation was voluntary. And I think there are some in the synod who’d be happy if I just disappeared.’

  ‘I guess a synod is like any other committee. There’s always at least one voice raised in righteous indignation.’ He nodded in the direction he intended them to walk. ‘We’ll skip the pub. Hotbed of lawyers and reporters. Nearly got my nose punched one day by a bloke who’d just been acquitted. There’s a restaurant up this way. Closed right now, but if I knock three times and ask for Pete...’

  ‘Insider knowledge, eh?’

  ‘In a way. Pete’s my brother.’

  Ten minutes later they were lifting their first glasses of Crown Lager, and Max was waiting to find out why they were there. Fortunately, Justin Brody was not an oblique person.

  ‘Can I call you Max?’

  ‘It’s your round, you can call me what you like.’

  Brody laughed. ‘I’m Justin.’ He held out his hand as though they’d just been introduced. ‘The main reason I wanted to talk to you was to say how sorry I am you copped so much shit. I know what it’s like when charges get dropped. Your name’s been spread all over the front pages, but the public never gets to hear the other side. We’re not meant to apologise, the police commissioner would have my guts for garters if he knew, but too bad—too bloody bad! I hate these cases. I have kids myself, so it’s hard not to get emotionally involved. These evil bastards ruin life for all of us. I’ll deny it if I’m asked, but my solution would be to cut their balls off. Anyway, we had our reasons, and I appreciate how readily you accepted the decision to let it drop.’

  ‘You’ve got somebody under cover.’

  Justin took a swig of beer and looked away.

  Max said, ‘Don’t worry. I know you can’t confirm it. His name’s Vince. I won’t do anything to put him in danger. I wish I had his guts.’

  ‘They’re bastards, these dealers. One of my colleagues says he has a grudging admiration for their evil inventiveness. He’s with me though, he’d cut their balls off if he had the chance.’

  ‘I was surprised you dropped the assault charge.’

  ‘For some strange reason the miscreant decided not to lodge a complaint. Which made things easy. And you did us a favour.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘One of these days the broken nose will help identify him.’ He finished his drink and banged the table. ‘More beer Pete. What sort of bloody establishment are you running here?’

  ‘My round,’ Max said.

  ‘Thanks, but forget it. It’s a clip joint. I can only afford it because he doesn’t charge me.’

  Pete, an amiable character who’d said nothing after the initial introductions, brought them two more Crown Lagers. Max wondered how many informal interviews had been conducted in this room, how many had been apologies with obscure sub-text, and how many had been designed to winkle out vital snippets of evidence. He said, ‘I’d really be more comfortable if you’d let me pay.’

  ‘Okay,’ Pete said. ‘Put five bucks in the box on the counter. It’s St Vinnies but I’m sure that won’t upset you.’

  Justin pushed his chair back and stretched. ‘So, Max, where to from here? Any family ties?’

  ‘None. My mother passed away a couple of years ago. My father was a war veteran— Korea. We had to move him back to the Repat, and he died in January.’

  ‘Plans?’

  ‘I think I’ll go back to university. I’m thirty but I need a fresh start.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘Now I have a question.’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘Was the real reason for this meeting to see if I raised the little matter of d’Aratzio’s threats?’

  ‘It might have been at the back of my mind. Most threats to get back at witnesses don’t lead to anything. But they should never be forgotten. I have a list of creepy crims up here.’ He tapped his temple. ‘Blokes I’ll keep an eye on for the rest of time. I want you to get on with your life. I’m paid to do the worrying.’

  Max returned that evening to his rented bed sitting room, watched by the woman opposite, who, like a character from a crime novel, peered constantly between the slats of her venetian blinds, gathering information for the weekly game of rummy. In an action he would later describe as a moment of inner-suburban madness he saluted her. He laughed as he saw the slats of the blind drop back into place. Yes, he thought, time for a change. On the table near the window, he’d laid out brochures and application forms. All it needed to commit himself to a new career as a teacher was his signature. And he now had an additional referee—a detective inspector no less.