The Final Cut

by Robert Jeffreys

  ‘For some reason I imagined Rubens’ Sleeping Angelica. I wanted to run, I wanted to vomit. But the woman’s presence held me. I stayed, unmoving, no doubt my eyes like dinner plates, just managing to breathe. The sheet wouldn’t stop its downward movement: a dark tangle of pubic hair appeared and I saw blood. More mutilation. As if from another planet I heard the woman saying something in French. I didn’t fully understand but I knew the word “allemand". She said something else and slowly turned on her knees to the next sheet and body. On her right, she reached for the corner of the sheet. I didn’t see any more. I remember colliding into the women in the doorway, the corridor wavering and shaking. I made it out and vomited on the street.’

  For Cardilini, the café had disappeared; he was back in France with McBride; he knew the faces, knew the despair; a hollowness sat in his stomach. The café had become a terror from the past and he wanted to get up and walk away.

  McBride, his voice now a deep gravelled drawl, continued. ‘I’d seen things, we all had, but this girl, woman, so serene, composed …’ McBride’s eyes wandered to the doorway and the passing parade of people out on Forrest Place.

  Other voices filtered through to Cardilini’s ears, voices he hadn’t heard even though the café was bustling. He looked at McBride; McBride’s eyes were far away in another country, in another time. Cardilini sat back in his chair. He caught the waitress’s eye and signalled for two more teas.

  ‘Anyway, I didn’t want to believe that that man could still be alive,’ McBride said. ‘No, I was convinced he would have been killed.’

  ‘That man?’ Cardilini interrupted.

  ‘Yes. The Germans retreated village by village; we ended up following the same line of their retreat. Other bomb disposal teams were in place elsewhere, so we followed the 4th SS Panzer Grenadier Regiment. Twice more we found a single young woman, in two different villages …’ McBride ran his hand across his brow as if trying to remove the images.

  When he hadn’t spoken for a while, Cardilini asked, ‘Are you saying that what you saw is similar to what happened to the women we’ve identified?’ McBride nodded slowly. Cardilini swore under his breath. He wanted to unbelieve what he was hearing. ‘But it might just be a coincidence?’

  ‘I’ve thought about it a lot. I didn’t see the similarity immediately because I’d put the war away … away where I thought it couldn’t get to me. You were there too, you know what I mean.’

  ‘Yeah, there were tens of thousands of us. So, this man?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘As I said, the 4th SS Panzer Grenadier Regiment.’ McBride dragged his hands down his face.

  ‘That sounds familiar.’

  ‘Soldiers from that regiment were the ones at Oradour-sur-Glane who herded one hundred and ninety Frenchmen into barns where the Germans had machine guns waiting. The Frenchmen and boys were shot in the legs then doused with petrol and set alight.’

  Cardilini nodded. ‘I remember.’

  ‘Then two hundred and forty-seven women and two hundred and five children died when they were locked in a church and it was set alight,’ McBride said.

  ‘You went there?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘No. But we went to the next village, Valence-d’Agen. I heard accounts from some of our lads who took a jeep and went to have a look. At the time they didn’t believe it possible – every inhabitant killed like that.’

  ‘Then they did. And your man?’

  ‘Another young woman at Valence-d’Agen. Now some of the French resistance who were linked to the English and Canadians were on his trail.’

  ‘Other names must have been mentioned.’

  ‘Oh, yeah: Stadler, Weidinger, Diekmann were officers, but I believe they were all accounted for after the war. But, no; it must have been someone else, someone the French didn’t know about. An officer.’

  ‘A German officer.’ Cardilini tried to recall cases involving German suspects. ‘Do you really think those women in Europe and the ones here are connected?’

  McBride answered firmly, ‘I do now.’

  ‘What was the approximate time of death of the women here?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘December or January,’ McBride replied but his eyes suggested more. ‘Anyway, it was in the European winter.’

  ‘Could he have disguised himself as a tourist?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘Not likely. Any German escaping capture after the war would have needed assistance from the Allies.’

  A young dark-haired woman brought their tea. McBride stared at her so directly she blushed. When she left, McBride kept staring at the space as if she was still there.

  ‘McBride,’ Cardilini prompted.

  McBride’s haunted eyes came into focus. ‘A flower, Cardilini, a beautiful flower, only more. Human. Thinking, feeling, loving, crying. How could anyone do that? How could anyone hate so much to inflict such pain on such beauty?’ He turned in his chair and all but yelled, pointing to the waitress, ‘That could be her.’

  The waitress gave a confused look back. Cardilini caught her eye and nodded reassuringly as he reached out and pulled McBride’s pointing arm down. McBride dropped his shaking hands to his lap. ‘I’m going back to the pub and I doubt if I’ll be leaving it until they kick me out.’ He got up. ‘You might even find me in the lockup come Monday.’

  ‘One more thing: was there any sign that the deaths of those young women were filmed?’ Cardilini asked, holding McBride back.

  McBride exhaled slowly. ‘I know one of the guys pinched a camera that was meant to have been left for the boffins. At one point we thought it was being filmed, but I can’t remember why.’ He pulled his arm from Cardilini and walked out into the sunlight.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Sunday, 28 November 1965

  1 p.m.

  ‘I’ve been home for hours, Dad!’ Paul called from his room when he heard Cardilini come in.

  ‘Public transport,’ Cardilini muttered, taking a minute to gather himself before facing his son.

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Paul came out to the hall.

  ‘Will you put the kettle on?’ Cardilini asked as he made a deal out of checking his shoes for dirt.

  ‘Car’s had a wash.’

  ‘I saw. How did it go?’

  ‘Great. Would have been good if I could’ve stayed, but,’ he said and laughed softly. ‘Senior Constable Ryan from Fremantle rang, wants you to ring him.’

  ‘Thanks. Can you put the kettle on?’

  ‘Sure. So, what did you need the car for this arvo?’ Paul asked, going to the kitchen.

  ‘It doesn’t matter now.’

  ‘Come on, what was it?’

  ‘I was going to sit in a park in the city.’

  ‘You could have done that without the car.’

  Cardilini stuck his head in the kitchen door. ‘Ryan, was it?’

  Paul took in his father’s appearance, the dark bags under his eyes and drooping jowls. ‘God, Dad, you look like you could do with a drink.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ah, don’t know why I said that, sorry. Yeah, it was Ryan.’

  ***

  Ryan got straight to the point, demanding to know what Spencer was up to – hanging around outside Daniel Abraham’s building in Fremantle in the mornings; being seen by half a dozen coppers. He wanted Cardilini to stop her, as she was making them all look bad.

  Cardilini rolled his eyes. ‘Will do.’ Trying to calm Ryan, he asked, ‘Found anything on Abraham?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Well, keep at it. You’ll get something if there’s anything there.’

  ‘There’s an old codger who’s been working for him since the ’30s. Do you want to meet him?’

  ‘Would he talk to me?’

  ‘He reckons they cheated him. He might talk but he won’t be getting on any witness stand.’


  ‘Okay, yeah, I’d like to talk to him.’

  Like a terrier with a bone, Ryan returned to the real reason for his call. ‘What about Spencer? Don’t you have any control over her?’

  ‘I’ll speak to her,’ Cardilini said. He hung up quickly and walked back into the kitchen.

  ‘I’ve decided I’m going to buy a car,’ Paul said.

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Or you could buy a new one.’

  ‘I don’t need a new one. And sorry, gotta go.’ Cardilini grabbed the keys and headed out the door.

  ‘I’ll sort the vegies tonight but you need to do the meat!’ Paul yelled after him.

  The front door had already closed.

  ***

  Spencer lived in a block of salmon-brick flats in Claremont. The front verge and lawn was lush and long, and tropical-style plants bordered the concrete pathways. Cardilini knocked on a ground floor apartment door and turned to look at the quiet suburban houses nearby. Claremont was an older suburb and the homes reflected this with their wide timber verandahs and tall gabled roofs.

  ‘Cardilini?’ Spencer stood barefoot in the doorway wearing a pair of shorts and a long-sleeved shirt. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you wanted a day off?’

  ‘I just had a call from Ryan at Fremantle.’

  ‘What has he got?’ she asked in eager anticipation.

  ‘You. So have half a dozen other coppers.’ Spencer sighed and stepped outside. ‘If this is not a good time, I’ll go,’ Cardilini added.

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’d be easier to talk inside, then.’

  ‘No, you can’t come in. It’s a mess,’ Spencer said. ‘We’ll walk. Wait a moment.’ She went back inside. Cardilini wandered into the shade of a tree on the verge. Spencer reappeared wearing thongs and they started walking towards the city along Stirling Highway.

  ‘I can’t believe anyone saw me … I didn’t even get out of the car,’ she said.

  ‘Do you understand the danger?’

  ‘I was parked well away. What, I can’t go to Fremantle now?’

  Cardilini ran his fingers through his hair. ‘All right, Detective, what did you detect?’

  Spencer led them to Claremont Park and across the lawn to a bench. She sat. ‘Abraham regularly leaves the office by himself and goes to have a coffee with a group of Italians.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘Market gardeners.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I checked with a friend – I do have them – two of the families have been associated with the importation of narcotics.’

  ‘Were they charged?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So your friend has nothing.’

  Spencer paused. ‘He thinks there’s a resistance to charging the families.’

  ‘From whom?’

  Spencer shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t say and I doubt he’d repeat it to anyone.’

  ‘Your friend a copper?’

  ‘Look, Cardilini, I told you that in confidence. It was told to me in confidence. I’m only sharing it with you because we’re partners.’

  ‘Well, thanks.’

  Spencer continued, unable to conceal the frustration in her voice, ‘You were making it difficult for me, trying to control me.’

  Cardilini stared at her, bewildered. ‘I’m trying to direct you, not control you. I’m trying to teach you.’

  ‘Well, you always go on about how the academy instructors are out of touch, but what if you’re out of touch?’

  Cardilini shook his head in amazement; it had never occurred to him. He was struggling for a while, but not anymore. He looked at Spencer’s flushed cheeks and intense eyes. Maybe I haven’t been all that … good, he considered. ‘Spencer, I believe I’ve always had your best interests at heart.’

  ‘It hasn’t always felt like that.’

  ‘Is this about me being cranky?’

  ‘That’s a good place to start.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Well, you could apologise,’ Spencer said, turning and facing him directly.

  Cardilini shook his head. ‘I … but … I’d … always be apologising.’ Spencer looked out into the park as Cardilini expelled a breath. ‘Look, it’s fair to say I don’t always mean to upset you.’

  Spencer turned sharply. ‘But you do sometimes?’

  ‘Well, yeah.’

  ‘Sometimes you want to upset me?’

  ‘No … just … I want to make a point.’

  ‘Great!’

  ‘What branch is your friend at?’

  ‘I never said he was a copper.’

  Cardilini watched her for a moment. ‘Prosecutor’s office, he or she has just started and went through university with you and your friend, Sally Abraham. Am I right?’

  Spencer looked away. ‘I could be lying when I said he isn’t a copper.’

  ‘You weren’t lying. Do you know the names of the Italian families?’

  Spencer nodded. ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘We, you, do not go down there again. That’s me controlling you, as your senior officer. You okay with that?’ Spencer reluctantly nodded. ‘We’ll pass on what you’ve noticed to the right coppers without mentioning your name.’

  Cardilini breathed in heavily; the warm air had a sharp scent that caught in his throat and nose. ‘Chinese pepper.’ He told Spencer about McBride’s wartime experiences, including his belief that the very same person could somehow be committing the crimes here in Australia to avoid the European winter.

  ‘Really? Surely that’s not possible, is it?’ Spencer shook her head. ‘I don’t believe it. And the movie star connection – did he say anything about that?’ Cardilini shrugged. ‘It’s all a bit far-fetched.’

  ‘Well, McBride believes it and I trust him. I haven’t known him to be wrong often.’

  Spencer shook her head again. ‘Had he been drinking? I’ve heard he’s a bit of a soak.’

  ‘Maybe he has reason to be,’ Cardilini replied, distracted.

  ‘Oh yeah, everyone has a reason. So, what are we going to do now?’

  Cardilini got up. ‘Right now, I’ve got to get the car home. I’m cooking dinner. Paul needs the car for work.’

  ‘What about Jennifer Clancy?’

  ‘I’m not sure how to tackle it. She’ll be pretty bad today, twenty-four hours – she’ll be suffering.’

  ‘And Melody Cooper? I could check the shops she may have bought stuff at,’ Spencer suggested.

  ‘If she bought it, but yeah, it’s worth a try,’ Cardilini said.

  Spencer stood, too. ‘Why didn’t I come with you to see McBride?’

  ‘You need a day off every now and then.’

  Spencer watched him for moment. ‘I don’t know what to do with time off. I know I should be out enjoying myself but, honestly, I’m restless when not at work and I’m a hopeless housekeeper. I keep thinking about Sally and Melody. What happened to them doesn’t get weekends, as Dr Bligh would say.’ They both smiled at that.

  ‘You should get a hobby.’

  ‘Like drinking?’

  Cardilini turned. ‘Something more active.’

  They watched a mother, father and young daughter, maybe two years old. The little girl released her mother’s hand and tottered towards a slide. Her mother followed. With her hands on the bottom of the slide, the little girl turned and said something. The mother spoke and indicated she was uncertain about her child going down the slide. The father strolled up and whisked the little girl to the high end of the slide, held her above his head height and placed her on it. The little girl became upset and held her hands out to the mother, but when the father released her, she fell backwards and hit her head. The mother whisked the little girl up and consoled her while glaring at the father.

&nbs
p; ‘That went well,’ Spencer said as the little girl screamed.

  ‘Do you want to come over for dinner, with Paul and me?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yep. I’m doing a roast. No fun with just Paul and me.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Sunday, 26 October 1958

  9 p.m.

  The car pulled up sharply in the clearing, billowing dust into the air. A tall, slim man got out, the closing of the door creating a pulse through the dust cloud.

  ‘Bruno’s father,’ Archie whispered and put his arm possessively around Melody’s shoulders. Bruno stood and looked around, checking for evidence of any wrongdoing. Con’s smile faded as he looked towards Bruno’s father; the girls checked the modesty of their clothing and averted their eyes.

  ‘How was the picnic?’ Mr Kopecki asked, his voice friendly but full of authority. His lean figure imposed itself at the edge of the group; his flat eyes travelled across their forms and lingered at Melody’s undone top button, then searched her figure, travelling over her thighs. She pulled at her shorts to cover her knees from the burning sensation of his gaze. Mr Kopecki’s eyes moved to the girls on the other side.