A Killer Among Us

by Rhys Stalba-Smith

  That evening, where Tom spent a night in jail was the twenty-seventh of August. On the twenty-eighth of August, Sarah as good as died and the Burke’s truly did.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Charlie sat in the corner of the Fleety. Roger still hadn’t arrived. He’d been sitting there for almost half an hour now, closer to an hour really. He was thinking about the murders. About Eve. Allowing himself to, beer in hand, finally think about it all. The photos. The name. He still heard everyone talking about it. Discussing the pictures like that of a gallery curator. Where are their faces? Look at the hole in that one’s chest? What’s the name they spell again? …

  Sarah.

  That was how Charlie for almost the first time in twenty seven years, began thinking about his sister. Well truth told, he was always thinking about his sister. And it hadn’t been twenty seven years, he knew that. But his thoughts had always been different. When he thought about her he thought how he missed her, how she would’ve loved the kids, how she probably would’ve got on with Eve. That she’d probably be doing something pretty fantastic with her life too. No, the truth was it was the first time in a long time that he thought about the end of his sister. The night that changed her life, his and his parents lives. The night that had been the gateway to the slow road to the end of her life. Twenty-eighth of August, 1963. Two years later, almost to the day, she committed suicide.

  Before Charlie could descend any further into the abyss, Roger Barrington entered the pub. He was twenty years older than Charlie, about to retire, a food critic and journalist for almost forty years. He was informed that working with him would be a privilege. But when Charlie first saw him, he wondered who the privilege was for. Roger looked around and then by deduction figured that Charlie was the man he was looking for. He was the only one not staring down at his glass.

  Roger fell into the booth and signalled at the barman for a drink. Fuck me, you run a tidy ship.

  Excuse me? Charlie asked.

  Roger nodded at him. Look like you’re going somewhere respectable. He laughed. We’re just having a pint.

  Oh, well I’ve been at the paper since eight. Had to do admin and everything.

  Yeah, yeah Carl loves his admin. Checks all the boxes and dots all the dots and shit. Covers his arse for his wants. Righto, Roger snorted and coughed. Swallowed his phlegm and drank his beer greedily when it arrived. You’re my new assistant. Well, taking over after I fuck off.

  It seems, Charlie said. I was just told to meet you here for a meeting. Then tonight would be our first review.

  Tonight’ll be your first review, Roger said. I ain’t going. Eaten at Spaghetti Saloon enough fucking times. Chow gets his review done every fuck’n season so that it can be featured in some magazine. It’s the same menu from when his dad ran it. Ain’t even a fuck’n wog.

  Charlie would’ve said thank you for the opportunity had he not felt such a strong dislike for Roger. Roger was five foot nine and had a gut hung so low it was as if the button on his pants had popped. His hair was slicked back and thin. His face scarred and lined from fierce acne and sun. The stench of smoke emanated from his pores. Charlie figured this probably hadn’t been his first drink of the day.

  So what will you be doing while I go to Spaghetti Saloon?

  What I’m doing now, Roger said. I’ve just checked into work. He winked. Course, I’ll show me face at the paper in the arvo some time. Carl’ll get his tits in a twist if I don’t.

  Fair enough, Charlie said. Unsure of what to make of it all. He figured he’d been hired to shadow Roger until he was ready to write himself, but maybe not. He could barely understand why Roger was there if he was honest.

  So you’re that Gardner fella then? Heard through the grapevine youse was starting with us. Dunno how good a shrink’ll be at writing about food.

  Well writing stories is a hobby of mine. I hope to write a book one day too. Actually—

  Oh yeah? Roger smiled. About your cluster fuck of an accident? Could be a good ad Geltex Shavers, no? At this Roger laughed loudly, slapping the table. Sorry mate, too easy. He coughed and took a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. But yeah, fair enough. What’s it about?

  Charlie thought about answering, instead he didn’t. He took a swig of his drink.

  Jokes a joke mate, Roger said, getting serious. But fair enough. So you like writing, he crossed hands now. Well writing is two things, he brought one thumb up. It’s getting out of your own way and blurting the shit onto the page. The second thumb. Then it’s getting into your own way and making it sound like some intelligent person wrote it. There you go, two thousand bucks thanks. He began laughing again.

  Charlie held his glass up as a salute. Roger wasn’t exactly wrong. He was just thinking how quickly he could leave and it wouldn’t be rude.

  So how’s life for then? Since all that shit? Roger downing his pint and ordering another. Can’t imagine you still practice. But even then, between you and me mate, everyone made such a fuck’n pisser of it they forgot who ya let kill themselves. That bloody Jesse Mullins bitch. I remember her originally. Killed her kids, her man, their bloody dog. Not exactly Mary fuck’n Poppins. Not like ya gave a blade to some fuck’n monk, ya know? Fuck’n too right really. I’m sure those other bitches were just as deserving. Did what the state shoulda done.

  It’s not that simple, Charlie said. Jesse had many problems. There were—

  Yeah I suppose being a psychiatrist you’d have to believe all that mental health crock. Fuck’n bullocks that. Bitch was crazy. Killed in cold blood.

  I thought journalism tried to be impartial? Charlie asked, smiling at Roger.

  Roger waved his hand. They were fuck’n asleep mate. Sleeping! Kids mate. Fuck’n no matter what head you’re in they’re bloody kids mate. Don’t fuck’n care. Roger folded his arms, leaning back.

  Charlie exhaled. True, he said. But the question we have to ask is why she was in that mindset? What had happened for her to be that way? Her childhood, life experiences, it all paints a picture of the way that person is. Why they’re that way.

  Yeah righto, Roger said, finishing his second drink. He signalled for a third. Well, you believe it mate if it helps you feel better about your fuck up. But you know what, for all the good you did her, she still fuck’n offed herself and some other poor bastards. Some people’re just beyond help.

  Charlie nodded, he didn’t have an argument for that one. Charlie himself had thought similar thoughts. Some people were beyond help. The problem was that the ones beyond help didn’t necessarily know it.

  As soon as possible Charlie had excused himself and made his way back to the office. Leaving Roger alone to drink. As he left Roger had given Charlie a sealed envelope to give to Carl. Charlie walked along feeling the package in his pocket. Now he understood why Roger stayed on at the paper. Obviously some sort of lead for Carl. Roger probably knew a story before it was about to break. Had the connections for it. The Adelaide Courier had certainly been one of the first, if not the first, to break his story. By the time he reached the building he was certain on it.

  He came into the offices, found his way to Roger’s desk. There was a gathering of people at Carl’s office again. Ralph and a few other journalists at their desks, trying to ignore the chatter.

  What’s going on now? Charlie asked.

  Ralph marked something on his page and leaned back. Looked up at Charlie. They found a face.

  What?

  He nodded. Probably just after you left. Well that’s when we caught wind of it. Kids this morning, skipping school and playing around. They were gonna set a bin on fire, instead they found a face in it.

  Bloody hell. And it’s the one of the murdered girls?

  It’s not hard to assume. Although whether it’s the face of the body that’s already been found, no one knows. One of the news stations got there quick though. Spoke with the kids and everything. Gonna be on TV tonight. It’s about to hit. I tell you. All the papers have already spoken with the c
hannels now. Gonna be big.

  Jesus.

  Ralph nodded. Just gonna breed hysteria. All the phones will start ringing like crazy. You probably noticed how nuts it was for Stacey this morning. Gonna get worse. Ralph didn’t look happy at the knowledge of this future.

  Has there been anything more from the police though? Charlie asked, leaning back against a desk.

  No, Ralph shook his head. He looked at something on his report and made a mark. But it’s just gonna create a storm. There’ll be a witch hunt. You’ll be able to see it from the inside this time. He changed pens and made another mark. So how’s Roger?

  Charlie didn’t answer straight away. Remembering the envelope that had been given to him.

  That’s exactly how he is, Ralph said, smiling.

  Yeah, he gave me an envelope to give Carl. I didn’t realise we could work at home. Playing dumb.

  Not everyone can. Or even does. But Carl and Roger have a deal. Roger dishes dirt, writes an okay food piece, and shows up when he has to. Carl in return receives heads up on many things before the public, or other paper’s. Roger has connections where most people wouldn’t. The Directors keep Carl in charge just for him to keep tabs on Roger. That man you heard defend the paper this morning, older than the rest. He was Calvin Slade. His father started this paper, and when neither of his boys showed interest in news, despite his daughter being a journalist, he enlisted Carl. His boys however are gladly on the board to receive a paycheck.

  He picked Carl over his own daughter?

  I heard she said no, Ralph said. But I don’t even think she was asked. The Slade’s aren’t exactly an egalitarian outfit. Plus, I don’t even think she’s been in Australia for maybe fifteen years?

  Charlie watched Ralph watching Carl and his meeting. He sensed there was more going on than he knew. Well I’m gonna give this to Carl, he said. Another excuse to leave. Ten years in the wilderness and he already felt like it was too much social interaction for a week.

  The crowd cleared out of Carl’s space, the Directors were at each of their own desks making phone calls. Carl was in his office by himself as Charlie entered.

  Charlie, how ya doing? Met Roger then?

  I did, Charlie said, bringing the envelope from his pocket. He wanted me to give you this.

  Ah beautiful, Carl took the package and threw it onto his table carelessly. How’s the morning been? I imagine this wasn’t how you thought it would begin? But then that’s the news.

  No, Charlie replied. No not at all.

  Carl nodded, sat down at his desk. You’re getting the experience of what it’s like when something big breaks though. It’s why newspapers exist. We need to be here for the people. I feel better knowing that people are gonna know the truth. Tonight, every channel will be truth. None of the police agree of course, they’re always after themselves, but we fight on.

  He was telling the same lines he said to the Directors to Charlie. Getting him ready for what life was like here. It was one of those speeches that said, are you on my side? Or against it?

  So are you excited to work with Roger?

  I think the experience will be helpful to understand writing for a paper.

  Carl laughed. Another good answer. I’m sure you’ve already figured out why I have him around. He’s not exactly a charming man. Most are always surprised when he rocks up to review their restaurant. But you’ll help with that. Change of face.

  So he’s never had another assistant?

  No, Carl said. Opening his drawer and taking out an interesting looking sandwich, putting it back in. He’s wanted one. But he’s always done both before. Course he drinks too much now, but what can you do? He became silent, smiling with his hands behind his back. Charlie realised the conversation was over when Carl said nothing more. He excused himself and left the office. Carl called about reading some of Roger’s old columns, to head down to the archives. Charlie nodded that he would.

  He brought a stack of pieces up from archives. Sat himself down at Roger’s desk and tried to begin. But try as he might, his mind continued to wander. Heading back to the name that had surfaced today. His sister’s name. He couldn’t understand why the killer had done it. It probably alluded to something else, some meaning for the killer. The woman that had made him or her that way. Or maybe it was to strike uncertainty in anyone that knew a person with that name. At that moment though all he could think of was his sister.

  The day came back in vivid recollection and colour. Suddenly as if sound were roaring in his ears. He’d been twelve, she fifteen. It had been two years since the incident. The bright bubbly child she’d been had long since evaporated. Hope non-existent. Even with their efforts, nothing would save her. It had been the experience that turned Charlie to psychology and psychiatry. It had been an experience that changed the whole direction and meaning of his life. But it also set the frame in which he began to view the world. That some people can be helped, and some can’t. And some people are just as driven to avoid help as others are to seek it. This helped Charlie because there were patients he’d had, people he’d met, that he knew went wanting for help but were determined to go against it. They were determined to die. And Sarah had become one of those people.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Charlie could’ve swore his toes were moving. If for the fact that he was staring at them not move. Such was the feeling as he listened to the voice on the phone.

  I have to say Charlie, you’re doing well. I’ve thought about you a lot recently. This year especially. Maybe it’s good energies for you?

  Charlie wanted to scream for help. His thumb still hovering over the red button. But he couldn’t do it. Something kept him still. Listening. Because as he listened, the doorway was back. The memories, the ideas and his life. The fuzziness lifting.

  And yet, as the voice spoke to him. The cool, calm, voice floating down the line and into the palm of his hand. All he could think of was his sister. Sarah. Twenty-eighth of August, that date over and over. The men that had as good as killed her. The voice repeating over and over, you and I are the same.

  On the twenty-seventh of August, at approximately nine in the evening. Tom Burke had attacked the police constable Michael Stephens. Initially the attack was believed to be about the racket that Constable Stephens ran. He’d taken a liking especially, to visiting the Burke’s. Most couldn’t understand why, Elaine Burke and her son Ethan were lovely. Tom was good for raising a son that wasn’t his, even with his rough edges. But they didn’t think they deserved the attention that they received.

  So most at the time, in some small belief in their minds, were on the side of Tom Burke glassing the constable. Most of the people at the pub were citizens of Silversgrove, were people that were experiencing the unlawful policing of Constable Stephens. Most, probably hoped that he would move on sooner or later. That the law, or anything else, would catch up with him. In a way they were right. Eventually karma caught up with him, but it was years later, when he was an old man. But at the time of the incident, when Tom Burke smashed a glass into his face and near sliced off his ear and peeled the flesh from his jaw, his powers were at their height.

  The story of Tom’s fight and arrest spread quickly. The shock that he was let out the next day spread quicker. This in itself put the neighbourhood on guard. As much as people hoped it would be a win for the people and immigrants of the suburb, it was also an unsure warning. The next evening the curtains were drawn early and the televisions and radios were loud.

  It was understandable why the Gardner’s that evening hadn’t particularly wanted their daughter Sarah going around to babysit. But Sarah was brave, and her want to leave this place even greater. Her larger goal in life still remained, despite men and their stupidity. Terse words were exchanged between her mother and Elaine. But Elaine assured her everything was fine. She only wanted Sarah there until she came home, Tom she assumed would be out. Six at the latest, was what she promised.

  So Sarah went. At five thirty, when the
sun had set and neither Tom nor Elaine had returned, she didn’t worry. She’d said six at the latest anyway. At six, she felt a slight apprehension. But still, they were probably both working double hard. By the time six thirty came into being, an undeniable feeling in her gut had her turning somersaults. It was screaming for her to get out, to get gone and disappear. Take the damn kid if you need to. But she didn’t listen. She chose not to. She was just being a kid and getting scared.

  By the time seven o’clock struck, this feeling had risen another few notches. She wanted to call home to her mother. A calming voice to tell her everything was okay. She’d know what to do, what to say. She’d probably say, to try calling Elaine’s workplace. Or even the pub that Tom drank at. That would be it. So she did. But when she hung up the phone after two calls, she only felt worse. Both had told her that each of her desired adults had left over an hour ago. Where were they? Had they decided to dump their kid on her and run? She would have to be strong. Demand to be paid overtime.

  At eight o’clock, just as Sarah decided she’d had enough and was going to wake up Ethan and take her home, a car pulled into the driveway. From behind the curtain Sarah spotted the colourings of a police car. Immediately she became cold, thought the worst. What if after all this time something had happened to the Burke’s? She’d been here thinking dark of them for their tardiness, and in truth much worse had happened.

  Then Constable Michael Stephens got out, followed by his partner. They opened the rear doors of the car and dragged the Burke’s from it. From the lights in the car, Sarah saw immediately that something was wrong. She turned and found Ethan quickly, waking him gently but quickly. She guided him to the pantry cupboard and told him to be quiet. That under no circumstances, that he must leave. That he needed to remain quiet. As quiet as possible, like when they played hide and seek. Then she ran off herself and began looking for somewhere to hide in the house.