by John Bishop
while they looked for work to make a new start to their lives. Jamar accepted the challenge and was soon looking much better. Baldo was clearly reluctant to mend his ways.
One day, I spent the morning at the library in Calway Junction and arrived home early in the afternoon to find Rita lying on the couch in an attitude that set my heart racing with anxiety. She was dead—strangled. Her clothing was askew and I had no doubt she had been sexually assaulted. In the kitchen I found Jamar slumped at the table. He was alive but there was a strong smell of liquor. At first I thought him comatose from drink. I grabbed his shirt and yanked him up to abuse him. Then I realised he’d been badly beaten. It was some time before he recovered sufficiently to tell me what had happened. Baldo had observed me topping up the kitty of cash I maintained in a secret location so Rita would have access to money if anything happened to me. It had never bothered me to have large amounts of cash on hand. Baldo had suggested to Jamar that they take the money and leave. He also suggested they give Rita a parting gift. His sniggering and gestures left Jamar in no doubt what he meant. Baldo then made advances to my sister. When Baldo became abusive, Jamar tried to intervene. He was a smaller man than Baldo and was attacked and beaten. When he awoke, Rita was dead. He was feeling nauseous and dizzy and went into the kitchen to get water. He had collapsed at the table and not regained consciousness until my return. The smell of liquor was rum the drunken Baldo had spilt.
I asked Jamar if he had any idea where Baldo might go after leaving Arajinna. To my surprise, Jamar was quite certain he knew. He told me Baldo would go to Sydney to the home of his parents whom he had said were now too old to order him around. Jamar believed Baldo had originally been thrown out of his parents’ home because of a drug habit, but more than a decade had passed and Baldo had said they owed him things he had been denied. Jamar even knew the name of the suburb, though not the precise address.
The expectation of any law-abiding citizen would surely be that the appropriate action would be to call the police. I thought about how things might unfold if I did—what the authorities might think about me and others in this strange drama. I knew how far from the norms of society our behaviour would seem, how keen the tabloids and Sunday papers would be to tell the story in sensational terms, how my innocent Valley People friends, who had taken me in at a time of need, would be ridiculed and vilified. I also knew there was no certainty Baldo would be brought to justice under a system I believe has failed to find a proper balance between the interests of the falsely accused and the interests of the community at large. There is no perfect justice system. Even the most rigorous procedures will see some innocents convicted and some guilty go free. My belief is that our system relies too much on form and too little on trying to find the truth. I was now alone in life and my only thought was to make sure the man who had violated and murdered my gentle, harmless sister, did not escape punishment. If this makes me a vigilante, or a one-man judge and jury, I don’t care.
Haste to action had never been my way. I knew the saying about revenge being a dish best served cold. An advantage of having lived a private existence was that it might be a long time before anybody other than Jamar and I wondered what had become of the eccentric woman who had rarely ventured from the house on the river since my return there. I decided not to arrange a funeral for Rita. Instead, I got Jamar to help me with the ceremony we had learnt from The Valley People. We undressed Rita, bathed her, washed her hair, and took her into the orchard where I found in me the strength to climb the highest tree and tie her so she faced up the valley. Jamar and I stood at the base of the tree with our hands against the trunk.
I had told Jamar I was happy for him to stay as my guest—more to guard against him telling others what had happened than to be charitable. But events took another strange turn. As we were making our way out of the orchard, Jamar tripped and fell. He was weak from the beating he had taken, and from the effort of assisting me with Rita, so I was not surprised when he did not get up at once. When I rolled him over I found that a stick had penetrated his eye. It must have inflicted some awful trauma because he was already dead. Next day, I dug a shallow grave where he had fallen, and buried him. I had neither the energy nor the inclination to repeat The Valley People ritual.
Megan winced. A moment later Paul shook his head and looked up. Marcus said, ‘I’m afraid the stick through the eye was as gruesome as it sounds.’
Paul said, ‘In the briefing paper I read before we came, there was something about cutting down the body after sixty-six days. Obviously that didn’t happen.’
‘I’ve already mentioned I didn’t believe the ritual. Strangely, however, doing something ritualistic seemed appropriate, and there was something a bit sentimental and romantic about putting Rita’s body in the tree. I was happy for it to stay there. With Jamar, I confess, I said a short prayer over the grave. We humans are strange beings aren’t we?’
Megan said, ‘If you’re prepared to include this memoir in an official statement, the story is consistent with where we found the remains. There will be a coroner’s inquest and I expect you’ll be called to give evidence.’
‘Will I be charged with anything?’
‘In relation to the deaths, it might depend on whether there is any other evidence to confirm or refute your story.’
‘I can’t imagine there is,’ Marcus said.
Paul said, ‘Your failure to disclose what you knew, particularly the location of human remains, is certainly contrary to law. But, given your guilty plea to the murder for which you are currently serving time, the crown prosecutor might decide those are not crimes he will pursue.’
Marcus nodded and gave his now familiar quick smile. ‘It doesn’t matter much. Nobody bothers me in here. I am the librarian and my fellow inmates respect me. I’m happier now than when I lived with my father. And I no longer have a sister to care for, except to arrange for a more conventional burial now she’s no longer able to gaze down the valley.’
Megan said, ‘Apart from getting you to make a formal statement, I think we’ve probably covered our brief, but I’d like to consult with Paul in private. It might save another visit. Is there somewhere?’
‘Do it here. Just give me a call when you’re ready. I’m happy to give you a statement and to waive any right to legal advice if that’s an issue. My supervisor can be a witness.’
When they reconvened ten minutes later, Megan said, ‘A statement based on what you’ve written here might be all we ever need. But it’s not our call. We’ll report to our superiors. I’ve read the file on your conviction for murder. Because you pleaded guilty, it’s a bit short on detail. I’m not sure yet if any of the untold story is of official interest to the police, but, having read this much, I’m sure it would be of interest to the people who are compiling a history of Kalawonta. Do you feel inclined to write the story up?’
‘Why not. I had intended to continue the memoir, and anybody who writes is happy to find a reader. So consider it done, subject to a condition.’
‘Which is?’ Megan asked.
‘Find someone in Arajinna to be my contact to organise a burial for Rita. And for Jamar, too. And support my application to be allowed out to attend.’
‘That’s not a commitment I can make without permission from my superiors. But let me make some enquiries.’
‘I trust you,’ Marcus said. ‘I’ve had problems with police in the past. Present company excepted.’ He looked at Paul and gave the small grin. ‘See what you can do!’
Conviction for Murder
December 1992
On the afternoon of the interview with Marcus Loader, Justin Brody gave Megan permission to visit Arramulta. She rang Edwin and, after a call to Tony, it was arranged to meet in Arajinna the following day, a Saturday. Megan and Edwin left Sydney early and arrived in time for lunch. They were greeted by Tony, Emily, Max, Judith and Constable Dominic Gerado.
As soon as Megan had finished telling them about the interview, Tony said, ‘I’d be very happy
to be the contact to arrange a funeral for Rita and Jamar. How do you feel about adding one presumed lapsed catholic and one “religion unknown” to your multi-cultural graveyard, Max?’
‘If Marcus agrees, it’s fine by me. It sounds as though he’s no longer practising his original faith; although the urge he felt to say a prayer over Jamar’s grave interests me.’
‘Then I’ll telephone the prison tomorrow,’ Tony said. ‘And I’ll pay Marcus a visit to introduce myself within the week.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be pleased,’ Megan said. ‘But it will probably be some time before you can get the remains released by the coroner, and Marcus has to get approval to attend, so don’t talk dates yet.’
When Tony visited him less than a week later, Marcus was well advanced with the last part of his memoir. Tony asked him to send it to Max with written permission for it to be used as a source document for the history of Kalawonta. The memoir and the permission arrived at Banabrook on Monday 14th December. Max telephoned Tony immediately and invited him to bring Emily to Banabrook for dinner that night.
Drink in hand, Tony settled in the family room before dinner to read the memoir. The first parts were not much altered from the version