Field Walking

by John Bishop

except to the extent that it becomes obvious if, for example, we appear for them in court. But if I see a man at the football, I can say I saw him at the football.’

  ‘You’re playing with me Gilbert. What do you know?’

  ‘I know that Tolis Lansing’s wife, whose name I recall was Marguerite, was admitted to hospital at Calway Junction and that the doctors didn’t really believe she fell down that wonderful staircase you now own. I know that Mrs Lansing—Marguerite— never returned to the house on the river. She discharged herself from hospital and bought a single one-way train ticket to Sydney. This I know because, much later, I was asked to advise somebody else who needed to know from whom he could legally take instructions in relation to a subsequent issue. Exactly what the issue was, I shouldn’t disclose; but it is not relevant to your enquiry. What I’ve told you is information dating back many years. Tolis Lansing died of a heart attack in his fifties. There was a will leaving everything to the son. That’s how Magnus inherited the house. That, and the fact that he sold it in 1982, is on the public record. Not on the public record, but not privileged information from my viewpoint, is that Magnus left Arajinna before settlement of the sale.’

  ‘And the sister? Rita?’

  ‘She was sometimes seen around town. For a while she was the local eccentric.’

  ‘What became of her?’

  ‘What a very interesting question.’ Gilbert sat back in his chair, opened his arms and shrugged.

  ‘Why so interesting?’

  ‘Because that’s something I don’t know either as privileged information or as a citizen of Arajinna during all the years in question.’

  ‘One of my skeletons?’

  Gilbert repeated his shrug and raised his eyebrows in what Tony thought to be the most animated act he had ever seen from this crusty old solicitor.

  15th November 1992

  Dear Edwin

  Magnus Lansing disappeared from Arajinna ten years ago. Presumably your records would have revealed this to you if he had rejoined any of the Valley People enclaves your organization has listed. Presuming he’s still alive, he would only be mid-forties. Do you have anybody who might be able to search for the name in government records? I’m thinking of things such as driving licences. Nobody around Arajinna can tell me much about any members of the Lansing family, which is unusual for a rural community. Mystery upon mystery.

  Yours

  Tony

  On 22nd November, Tony received a telephone call from Edwin.

  ‘We’ve found him, my friend. Found him. I had to call you straight away. Amazing what our members turn up when you throw them a problem. Can’t tell you how it was done. “Protecting my sources” as the journalists say; although like the journos what I really mean is the methods used were probably illegal. Somebody knows somebody who owes somebody a favour. You still there?’

  ‘Slightly stunned, but yes.’

  ‘And you haven’t heard the stunning bit yet. Magnus Lansing changed his name by Deed Poll to Marcus Loader. Finding that was routine. The odd thing was picking him up in prison records—and that was “off the record” in every sense.’

  ‘Prison?’

  ‘Lansing is serving a life sentence for murder under the name of Loader. If Meg did a search she’d have only found him if the change of name had been linked to the prison file—the name Lansing wouldn’t have shown up in the data bases she would normally use. Deed Poll records are something we often check because we found one cult insisting all its devotees adopt new names given by the high priestess. It’s not what happened here. Lansing must have changed his name of his own volition. Why? Good question eh?’

  ‘Who did he murder?’

  ‘A member of The Valley People.’

  ‘So he did re-join the cult.’

  ‘Not that we can determine. I’ll be going to the library to look at newspaper reports of the trial. I’ll let you know what I find. And I’ll let Meg know.’

  Interview with Marcus Loader

  Friday 4th December 1992

  On 4th December 1992, Detective Constable Megan Schmitz and Detective Senior Constable Paul Walsh visited Marcus Loader in prison to interview him about the skeletons. Although Megan was Paul’s junior in rank, it had been agreed she would take the lead. She had been well schooled by Justin Brody in his softly softly approach to first interviews. After consulting with a prison supervisor, Megan rejected the offer of a sparsely furnished interview room. Instead, she and Paul were shown into the small office Marcus used in his role as prison librarian. They already knew Marcus was in his mid forties. Although she would not have described him as handsome, Megan found him pleasant to look at. He had untidy, thick, blond, wavy hair and a smile that frequently softened an otherwise solemn expression. He was slightly flustered when he realised he had only one visitor’s chair beside his small desk. He went immediately to find another.

  As soon as Megan introduced the subject of the visit, Marcus said, ‘My sister Rita was the skeleton in the tree. The other was a man named Jamar... Jamar... no I can’t remember... I’d rarely used his surname and it escapes me now.’

  ‘We can come back to it,’ Megan said. ‘Could you tell us how they came to be where they were found?’

  ‘Yes. And I will, of course. But where to start? Jamar and I undressed Rita and put her in a tree? It’s not the sort of explanation I’d expect you to accept easily.’ He shrugged and gave a brief smile.

  Megan had to suppress an urge to laugh before replying. ‘You’re right. It does raise questions.’

  ‘What might help is that I’m writing a sort of memoir.’ He picked up a manila folder. It’s handwritten, even in this electronic era. I’m a bit old fashioned in some respects. But I’ve taken a photocopy in case you want to take it away. Perhaps you could browse through it now and ask me questions as you go? That might get us started.’

  Megan took the folder and glanced at Paul who said, ‘Sounds like a plan to me.’

  Megan handed Paul a copy of the manuscript and they began reading.

  I do not recall exactly when I first realised my father, Tolis Lansing, was violent to my mother. I knew he was an unusual man; but the insular life my family led did not provide me with a broad experience to allow much comparison between our lives and the lives of other families.

  It was a while before I came to realize my mother was not as clumsy as my father said she was. I must have been twelve when I became aware my young sister Rita was afraid of him.

  I think my father would be considered a religious fanatic of sorts. He always took us into Calway Junction early on Sunday so we could confess before Mass. On the way home, my father would ask Rita and me to tell him what we had confessed. He said the head of the house had a right to know. I usually gave him a made up response and I suspect my sister did too. He said he would hear about my mother’s confession in the privacy of their bedroom.

  We lived an oppressed and private life. I had no real friends. The only treat we were allowed was to go to the cinema in Arajinna, on Friday nights. On occasions we would get as far as the doors of the Odeon and he would declare a poster for the film to be sinful and take us home.

  If my father thought my sister or I had been naughty he would call the family together, lecture us on the ways of the devil, and administer a spanking in front of the others. For this purpose, he used an old fishing rod. His behaviour on such occasions was strange because he would make a show of modesty by instructing those not to be disciplined to turn their backs while the victim bared their bottom and bent over. When the victim was ready, the others would turn back to witness my father strike that bare bottom six times. We were required to touch our toes for each blow. As the punishment continued, it became increasingly difficult to do so. By the last stroke, touching the toes was quite painful. I could not be sure of it, but I often felt he hit my sister harder than he hit me. I have wondered since, whether he had a problem dealing with women. I’ve seen it a lot with men in the prison. To my shame, it wa
s me who sometimes shed tears. I don’t recall my sister ever doing so. I would see the six red stripes appear on her bottom, and watch as she straightened up and walked stiffly from the room, never looking back or making a sound. I admired her for that. I do not think he abused her in any other way. I suspect it was warped piety and not depravity that made him so awful.

  In 1971, when I was 24, my mother was taken to hospital after falling down the stairs. Rita and I were not allowed to accompany my father when he went to visit her. The next day, after my father had returned from the hospital, I pretended I was going fishing at a spot upstream. I hid my fishing gear under the bridge and caught the bus into Calway Junction. My mother told me she had been pushed down the stairs by my father who thought she had sinned in some way. She was ready to be discharged and told me she would not be coming home because she could not take the abuse any longer. After going into Calway the next morning, my father ceased visiting the hospital. He said nothing to us to explain our mother’s absence.

  Paul cleared his throat and said, ‘Question?’

  Megan looked up and nodded.

  ‘Your mother’s fall down stairs. Was there a police report?’

  ‘No. Something one of the nurses said made me think the hospital staff were suspicious. But I suppose, if my mother hadn’t made a complaint, it would be difficult for them to intervene. And I’m