by Mark Brandi
‘Nah, have a couple more. I’m pretty ripped already.’ Ben swung his legs from side to side, clapping his boots together.
Fab stood up, leaned against the gate and looked out over the water. He took another drag and blew out a thick plume of blue smoke that whipped back into his face, stinging his eyes.
‘Hey, I just thought of something. Remember that girl, Daisy? The clothesline and all that?’
Ben stopped swinging his legs and didn’t say anything for a second. ‘Yeah.’
‘Remember how we wondered why she did it?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Dion Shea reckons he knows.’
Ben pushed his hands into his pockets. ‘That right?’
‘Apparently her dad was porking her. Can you believe it?’
Ben hopped down from the gate. ‘Dion Shea is full of shit.’
Fab shrugged. ‘He said a friend of the family told him. Parents are split up now.’ He took a long drag. ‘Fuck, this is strong. Must be the stuff from up north.’ He watched Ben kicking at the dirt. ‘Hey, remember that guy up the road from your joint?’
‘Who?’
‘That guy with the car. What’s his name? Ronnie.’
Ben stopped and turned around. Fab sucked in the last of the dope in a bright flare.
‘He was weird, wasn’t he?’
Ben stared at him for a moment, then walked a few steps back up toward the road, the gravel crunching as he went.
‘We’d better keep moving,’ he said, ‘otherwise we’ll never get back.’
‘Hold on a sec,’ Fab followed him up the driveway.
Ben kept walking toward the road. ‘C’mon, let’s get going,’ he said. ‘It’s cold.’
‘Hang on a minute.’ Fab flicked the butt into the bushes. ‘Remember when he took us yabbying? How he knew about this place?’
Ben stopped walking, like he was about to turn around, but then kept going. Faster.
‘Ben,’ Fab ran up and grabbed him by the arm. ‘Will ya stop?’
Ben turned back, his face hard and twisted, and swung his elbow deep into Fab’s chest.
Fab dropped to his knees, with spit dripping from his lips. ‘Fuck!’ He hunched over, braced his ribs and gasped for air.
He looked up the road and watched as Ben disappeared into the darkness.
Four
Interview resumed at 11.55 am. Present are Mr Fabrizio Morressi, Detective Sergeant David Mullins and myself, Detective Senior Constable Vincent Mackie. Okay, so I’d like to ask a few more questions about Mr Bellamy.
FM: Righto.
VM: Did he ever come to your house?
FM: No.
VM: Did you ever go there?
FM: ...
VM: For the benefit of the recording, Mr Morressi?
FM: Sorry, no. I never went to Bellamy’s.
VM: What about your friend, Ben Carver. Did he ever go there?
FM: He did a few chores and stuff like that, from memory. Mowing the lawn and that kind of shit. Then he might have moved, I think.
VM: Bellamy?
FM: Yeah.
VM: Was that to... Navarre Road?
FM: No idea.
VM: Did you know where he worked?
FM: Why would I?
VM: Maybe just answer the question.
FM: He might have worked at the mine. Can’t be sure though – a lot of people worked at the mine. People passing through.
VM: And Mr Bellamy was from out of town, wasn’t he?
FM: Don’t know. Like I said, Ben knew him better than me.
VM: Did you know where he was from?
FM: I don’t know. Melbourne maybe? Look... I’m not sure why you’re asking me about this, I—
VM: We just need some information. To help us clarify a few things.
FM: Yeah, but I’m not sure what any of this has got to do with me.
VM: We’ll come to that.
FM: Is it gonna take much longer? I’m expecting someone at home and I—
VM: Just concentrate on the questions. Did you know he was from interstate?
FM: Who?
VM: Mr Bellamy.
FM: No, I told ya I didn’t know.
VM: Did Mr Carver know?
FM: How should I know?
VM: Well, I can inform you that he came from interstate. He was from South Australia. And before that, Queensland. And before that, New South Wales.
FM: So?
VM: He was also known by a different name. Mr Frank Steers. Did you know he’d been to jail in the past, Mr Morressi?
FM: No, look I told you I hardly knew him. I was just a kid, you know?
VM: Well, he had been in jail a number of times. Mostly for sex offences against children. He is also a person of interest in a number of disappearances.
FM: Well... there’s a lot of weirdos around, isn’t there?
VM: Did you know that Mr Bellamy and Mr Wolfe knew each other?
FM: Well, you said he rented off him so...
VM: That’s not what I meant. Did you know they had been friends for many years? That they had worked together?
FM: No.
VM: Did you know they had lived together, interstate?
FM: ...
VM: Mr Morressi?
FM: No.
VM: No what?
FM: No... I didn’t know they... that they lived together.
VM: Mr Morressi, this may be difficult for you to answer, but did Mr Bellamy or Mr Wolfe ever have any inappropriate contact...
FM: Inappropriate contact?
VM: With you. Anything ah... sexual.
FM: No. Absolutely... no. Definitely not.
VM: Nothing sexual at all? No touching? Anything like that?
FM: No. No way.
VM: And what about your friend. Mr Carver?
FM: ...
VM: Mr Morressi, what about Ben Carver? Your friend?
FM: I um... I don’t think so. Not that he said. I mean, I wouldn’t really know, would I?
VM: Well, was Ben at his house very often?
FM: Just for the jobs. The mowing and that, like I said.
VM: How often was that?
FM: Dunno. Once a month maybe?
VM: And did Mr Bellamy ever take Mr Carver anywhere else?
FM: I... don’t know. Maybe. Maybe just once. Once that I remember.
VM: And what happened that time, Mr Morressi?
FM: I don’t really know. I mean... we’d been yabbying. All three of us.
VM: Bellamy too?
FM: Yeah, he took me and Ben to his block out at Glenorchy.
VM: And then?
FM: I got dropped home.
VM: And what about Ben?
FM: He went with Bellamy. He was supposed to take him home, but...
VM: He didn’t take him home?
FM: I’m not... I don’t think so, no.
VM: Do you know what happened when he went with Bellamy?
FM: Not at the time I didn’t... I mean, not exactly. He said he was going to drop him home, but I didn’t know so I...
VM: You say “not at the time”.
FM: Yeah.
VM: What did you find out later, Mr Morressi?’
Five
Ronnie said the shack was his secret. He said it wasn’t on a farm or anything and the trees surrounded it completely, so you wouldn’t even know it was there. He said it wasn’t too far, so it wasn’t gonna take long. He just needed to get his tools.
Once they got out of town, Ronnie turned off the highway and they were on a dirt road for a long time. As they went further into the Black Ranges, the trees got thicker and closer as the road narrowed. Ben had never been there before, but he knew Fab went there with his dad sometimes.
It wasn’t til they were a long way out that Ronnie spoke. ‘So how’d you like that magazine I gave ya?’
Ben felt the blood rush to his face. ‘It’s all right.’ He crossed his arms. ‘Good, I mean.’
‘Yeah?’ Ronnie had a big
grin. ‘What bits did you like?’
Ben wasn’t sure what to say and he tried not to think about the weird picture.
‘The girls, I spose.’
‘You spose?’ Ronnie laughed. ‘What did you like about them?’
‘I dunno.’ Ben’s heart pounded. ‘Their boobs and that.’
‘Yeah, some good tits all right.’ Ronnie got his smokes out from the console. ‘Did ya like what was being done to them?’
Ben thought about the red faces, the sweat, the big veiny dicks and how the girls looked in pain.
‘Yeah,’ he said.
Ronnie lit a smoke and powered down the window, the cool air rushed inside and was a relief on his skin. Ronnie took a long drag and blew the smoke out sideways.
‘Would you like to do that to them?’ he said.
Ben looked at the glove box, with its round steel lock and its leather trim. He wondered what was inside it and what sort of key opened it and he wished like anything that Ronnie would stop talking.
‘I spose.’
‘How’s it make you feel when you think about it?’ Ronnie spoke more softly, and Ben could hardly hear him above the wind rushing in.
‘I dunno.’ He fumbled at the buckle of his seatbelt, looking at the shiny chrome, rubbing his fingers against it. ‘I like it, I spose.’
Ronnie got a big smile on his face again. ‘Fair enough. Well, I might have some more mags for you up at the shack. What d’ya reckon?’
Ben didn’t really want any more of them. He was worried enough that his mum might find the one he had. But he’d be happy if he could get just one more, just one more for Fab.
‘Yeah, maybe.’
The rain got heavier and the sky got dark. Ben was hungry and he wondered what his mum might be doing. She might be starting to cook lunch, or maybe sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea and watching the midday movie on the little telly. She might have let Sunny inside to sit by the heater.
Ronnie flicked his smoke outside, powered the window back up and turned on the headlights. He stayed quiet the rest of the way there, but laughed to himself a few times and shook his head, like he’d thought of something funny.
* * *
After a while, the dirt road ended in some thick scrub and he stopped the car. There was another car there, a yellow van. It was old and had curtains in the back, like a caravan. Ben thought he had seen it once before, parked outside of Ronnie’s, but on the opposite side of the street.
Ronnie pointed to a narrow trail leading off the gravel and twisting away through some bushes. They’d have to walk from here, he said. It was up a hill, not too far.
‘I’ll even let you lead the way.’
The trail was really skinny and slippery, with prickly branches that scratched your skin. It was like one Ben had been on in the Grampians when they had a school excursion last year. They’d walked to an old bluestone quarry; it had an old railway line running to it, but it was broken and rotted. Burke said that the stone from the quarry built parliament or something, but no one really cared. Fab said they should have gone to Sovereign Hill, like the grade six kids did, instead of some stupid walk to a quarry.
But this trail was quieter, apart from Ronnie’s footsteps and the splatter of rain. And you couldn’t see very far ahead because the shrubs were really thick and the track was winding.
Eventually, the path split and Ronnie pointed to a small clearing off to the left, where some sick-looking gum trees, grey ones, shrouded a small, rusty tin shack.
‘This is it,’ he said.
* * *
The shack was dark inside and smelled like the grease his dad used on the car sometimes. Ronnie stayed close behind him and shut the steel door with a heavy clank. He’d said it wouldn’t take long, so Ben wondered why he shut the door behind them. He figured it was to stop the rain getting in.
There were two small windows, but they were dirty and only a bit of light came through, so it was hard to see anything. The rain got louder, the wind stronger and the roof creaked and clattered, like some of the iron might be loose. It felt good to be out of the rain, but more than anything, Ben wanted to go home. His belly groaned. He wanted to see Sunny. And he wanted his mum.
There was a click and a small, yellow globe hanging above fizzled to life. ‘Got a generator last month,’ Ronnie said from behind him. ‘Best thing I ever did.’
The roof was low and angled from the back down to the front wall. It was just one room, a rectangle of rusted corrugated iron sheets. The floor was dirty concrete and it was only four or five steps from one end to the other. Along the sides were two long timber workbenches with heavy steel vices bolted in. The back wall had one of those boards with shapes where tools were supposed to hang, but there weren’t any there.
At the end of the bench near the front wall was a heavy steel stool that pivoted from the middle with a thick, greasy screw. Its green cushion was cracked and split all over. Just past the stool was a low timber bench, strung against the end wall with thick rope. It had a thin, stripy mattress rolled up on top, like one of those camping ones. A yellow pillow was at one end, but there were no sheets or blankets.
The rain was coming down harder, but he could still feel the stifled heat of the morning trapped inside those iron walls. They both stood there, quiet, as the rain drummed on the roof. Ben thought he could hear footsteps in puddles outside, but then they stopped. Ronnie hadn’t moved and Ben wondered what he wanted him to do. He thought he should ask; that’s what his mum would say he should do. Like a polite young man.
‘So, what tools do you want to get?’ Ben said. His voice sounded high-pitched and he hated it. He cleared his throat, concentrated, and spoke as deeply as he could. ‘Which tools, I mean.’
The roof creaked and Ronnie didn’t answer, but Ben could hear his breathing below the wind, deep and rough. He felt him move closer behind him.
‘Be a good boy,’ he said.
And the light went out.
Six
‘VM: Are you feeling all right, Mr Morressi?
FM: Yeah.
VM: You look a little pale. We can pause if you like. If you need a toilet break or—
FM: Nah. Let’s just get on with it.
VM: Well, you remember I mentioned earlier that we’d found something.
FM: Yes.
VM: Can you tell us anything about that?
FM: No. I mean, I don’t know anything about it.
VM: I haven’t told you what it is yet.
FM: Either way.
VM: Well, let me tell you something about it then. See if it jogs your memory. It was found in the Wimmera River. Does that ring a bell?
FM: No.
VM: Well, what do you think it might be?
FM: Is this some sort of riddle?
VM: You would remember if you dumped something in the river, wouldn’t you?
FM: I reckon.
VM: Well, it’s a rubbish bin. A local council wheelie bin.
FM: Crime of the century.
VM: Our guys at forensics think it was left there a long time ago.
FM: So?
VM: Well, forensics have told us other things about that bin.
FM: Good for them.
VM: There are human remains in that bin, Mr Morressi.
FM: Got nothing to do with me.
VM: Well, it’s interesting you say that.
FM: Lots of things are interesting to you, aren’t they?
VM: Forensics are pretty sure that bin belonged to you.
FM: I um... I don’t know what you’re talking about.
VM: Mr Morressi, we believe we can prove the bin is yours.
FM: There must be a mistake. Your forensics people. They’ve made a mistake.
VM: There is no mistake.
FM: I don’t know...
VM: Mr Morressi, listen to me carefully. This isn’t just all going to go away. Things like this don’t just go away. Do you understand?
FM: I just...
VM: And we’re not just going away either.
FM: I just don’t know...
VM: I really think it’s in your best interests to tell us what you do know.
FM: I don’t think you understand... It was a long time ago...
VM: We are trying to understand, Mr Morressi. That’s why we’re here.
FM: But it wasn’t like you think...’
Seven
They were at the beginning of a narrow trail that twisted and disappeared into the dark scrub. Fab had never been up this path before, but he knew the land well. He knew the smell of the rich volcanic earth and the sigh of wind through the trees. He knew the steep slope of the hills, the brush of the long weeds on his legs, and the sharp grass seeds scratching in his socks. It was the land of winter, of hunting, of his father.
They made their way silently up the path, with Ben leading the way.
After ten minutes or so, he stopped and pointed to a small clearing off to the left, about twenty or thirty metres from where they stood.
In the moonlight, surrounded by a clutch of thin gum trees, was a small, dark shack. It looked to be made from timber and old iron, its walls a patchwork of corrugated sheets, fibro and weatherboard – the roof low and mean. Fab thought he could see a trace of smoke from a thin chimney pipe slipping silently into the night air.
‘Still wanna do it?’ he said, his voice soft and low.
Ben shivered, but Fab didn’t think it was from the cold.
Ben slowly shook his head. ‘Maybe we should just go.’
But Fab couldn’t leave things like this.
Not now.
Not now that he knew.
He squatted down and put his hands in the dirt, feeling for the biggest stone he could find.
‘We going?’ Ben’s voice was shaky.
Fab didn’t answer, but stood up, leaned back and threw the stone as hard as he could. It fizzed from his hand and disappeared until, after a brief moment of perfect stillness, he heard it crash through glass, the broken shards tinkling sweetly to the ground.
Suddenly, a yellow light lit two small windows like wolf’s eyes. Fab looked across at Ben; his mouth fell open as he stared at the shack, then at Fab, then back at those yellow eyes.