The Final Cut

by Robert Jeffreys

  Louise breathed in deeply, then turned back into the house. ‘Come in, if you must.’ She walked down the corridor and sat at the same kitchen table she’d sat at when they’d first talked, just after Hardy’s death. The flowers were gone. As was the strong smell of cleaning liquid. ‘What do you have to say, Cardilini?’

  He faltered and Spencer jumped in. ‘We don’t want to upset you, Louise. We know you’ve had a really tough time.’

  Cardilini sighed. ‘Your hospital visits. You’re a bit accident prone, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Did you want to tell us anything about those accidents?’

  ‘Why are you asking me this, Cardilini?’

  ‘I’m asking because hiding something like that, under the circumstances, could look suspicious.’

  ‘I don’t think I’m hiding anything. But I am in mourning, no matter what you might think. I loved my husband; he was a good man, he was just troubled. You should know how a good man can fall apart when he loses something he loved …’ Her hard eyes were levelled at Cardilini. ‘Hardy loved his work. Yes, he was wrong sometimes, yes, he had his weaknesses. But he didn’t deserve to die. Jennifer Clancy and you, Cardilini, are the reason he’s dead.’ She maintained eye contact with Cardilini for some time. ‘Got what you wanted?’

  ‘You’re not denying the hospital visits, then?’ Spencer asked her.

  Louise smiled wanly in Spencer’s direction. ‘Be no point, would there, love?’ She turned back to Cardilini. ‘You should have looked after him.’ Her voice was barely a whisper. ‘You could have stopped him. You could have helped him. You should have done that for me and the children.’

  ‘I wasn’t able to look after myself at the time,’ Cardilini mumbled.

  Louise shook her head. With a catch in her throat, she said, ‘Only the kids matter now. I’m just waiting for the drop.’

  ***

  As they were driving back to the station Spencer slowed and pulled to the side of the road. ‘You’re going to have to explain all that to me,’ she said as she cut the engine.

  ‘What part?’

  ‘Do you think she intentionally killed her husband?’

  ‘No,’ he replied, then added, ‘Actually, I don’t know.’

  ‘So … she killed him in self-defence?’ Spencer asked.

  Cardilini turned to her. ‘You tell me, Detective.’

  ‘We could have circumstantial evidence in some scenarios. But there’s a lot unexplained, and no evidence.’

  Cardilini put his hands on his face. ‘Should we have forensics go through her house?’

  Spencer sat looking ahead. She reached to turn the ignition on but then withdrew her hand. She repeated the action again. She finally turned the key and asked, ‘What did she mean when she said she was “waiting for the drop"?’

  ‘In a hanging, you know: a hood and a noose are put over the head, then there’s a pause before the trapdoor opens and the person drops to their death. Louise is waiting for someone to open the trapdoor.’

  ‘Oh my God. She’ll drive herself mad.’

  ‘Yep.’

  They drove several blocks. ‘We can’t take the law into our own hands,’ Spencer said. ‘That’s a phrase I seem to remember from somewhere.’

  Cardilini nodded. He felt wretched. He wanted Louise to be free from fear but knew she never really could be. He asked himself if he’d ever pursue charges against her. He looked at Spencer, wanting to ask her the same question, but knew he never could.

  After they’d driven in silence for some time, Cardilini said, ‘If you want you could still apply for a transfer.’

  Spencer didn’t reply and Cardilini patted his pockets. Lost in her own thoughts, she said automatically, ‘Smoke if you want.’ She took a deep breath. ‘This is where I want to be.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

  Friday, 3 December 1965

  4 p.m.

  Spencer came back to their office, put a pot of tea on Cardilini’s desk and grabbed two cups. She’d been stewing over the last couple of days’ proceedings and could no longer hide it. Cardilini had been distant, not really pushing ahead with Melody’s case or Hardy’s murder, and Daniel Abraham was definitely on the back burner. Though Cardilini had assured her that he wanted her as a partner, nothing was moving as she wanted. She was sure there was something brewing and she was being left out. She had to clear the air.

  ‘There’s something you’re not telling me,’ she said. ‘It makes me think you still don’t trust me.’ Spencer watched for a reaction. He looked at the pattern on his cup as if for the first time. Spencer breathed heavily. ‘Do you trust me?’

  He looked up. Spencer’s hazel eyes glittered with enquiry, disguising hurt, or was that his imagination? He looked away. He did trust Spencer with proper police procedure but not with the knowledge of possible international abduction squads. But he didn’t say that. ‘Of course I trust you. It’s just, what you want to happen and what actually happens is sometimes very far apart.’

  ‘Are we talking about Louise Hardy?’ Spencer asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What then?’

  The phone rang. In relief, Cardilini snatched the receiver from its cradle. ‘Yes?’ He listened for a moment. ‘Okay, I’ll be right down.’ He nodded at Spencer. ‘Jennifer’s kicking up a fuss. The desk sergeant said she’s demanding to see me again.’

  ‘Shall I stop by in ten minutes with a pot of tea?’ Spencer asked archly.

  He shook his head and left.

  Cardilini heard Jennifer Clancy before he entered the cells. The desk sergeant rolled his eyes and grabbed some keys.

  ‘Has the doc been?’ Cardilini asked him.

  The desk sergeant looked at a sheet in a clipboard on his counter. ‘No one’s been.’

  Cardilini scrawled a number on the clipboard sheet and grabbed the keys. ‘It’s been three days. She should have been treated. Bloody hell. Ring that number. Now. Tell the doc to come straightaway, bring something powerful; she’s coming off heroin, damn it. Make sure he knows that. Say Cardilini said it’s urgent.’

  The desk sergeant picked up the phone as Cardilini strode down the narrow corridor. He steeled himself as he unlocked and opened the cell door.

  Jennifer sat on her bunk hugging her knees to her chest. The mattress was in a corner. She looked up; her eyes were shattered like glass, wild splintered shards that searched the area where Cardilini stood but weren’t able to focus on him.

  ‘Someone’s coming,’ he said. He picked up the mattress and stood helpless in the centre of the cell. Jennifer’s hair was wild, there was a red lump on her forehead and her knuckles were skinned. Her eyes finally focused on him, her mouth opened, and an animal scream filled the cell and made Cardilini’s skin crawl. He held the mattress between himself and Jennifer; he knew at any moment she might launch herself at him.

  ‘Saturday,’ she said in a voice he didn’t recognise, barely audible.

  He came closer to be sure he’d heard correctly. ‘What about Saturday?’

  ‘Saturday,’ she repeated with great effort and pulled her sleeve up. The skin was purple and puckered with needle marks. It was as though she were whispering secretly to herself. ‘It’s happening Saturday; they’re in town and he’s busy Saturday night.’ She held the inside of her arm towards Cardilini. ‘Please,’ she moaned.

  ‘Who’s busy Saturday night?’

  ‘He told a girl.’

  ‘Which girl?’

  Jennifer shook her head from side to side then held out her arms. ‘Please, please …’ she pleaded then slumped back on the bunk.

  ‘The doctor’s coming,’ Cardilini said soothingly, then bellowed down the corridor, ‘Where’s the bloody doc?’

  ‘On his way,’ the desk sergeant said from the doorway.

  ‘You m
ust have heard her? Why didn’t you ring someone?’ Cardilini demanded.

  ‘I did. I rang Spry three times. He said he’d get back to me and when he did, I was told not to give her anything. Robinson’s orders.’

  Cardilini shook his head. ‘Hang on, Jennifer.’ He ordered the desk sergeant to wait at his desk.

  ‘Robinson wanted a confession. He won’t be happy with the doc giving her something.’

  ‘Bad luck for Robinson,’ Cardilini said. The desk sergeant still hovered. ‘What?’

  ‘She didn’t actually ask for you. But her howling was driving me crazy.’

  Cardilini turned, aggressively. ‘Bloody hell, okay.’

  ‘I’ll get some blankets.’

  ‘Tell me about Saturday night, Jennifer,’ Cardilini asked again. ‘What did they tell you?’

  Her face twitched with the strain of concentration. She held the insides of her arms up again; tears leaked from her eyes and then she collapsed back onto the bunk, shaking. Cardilini dropped the mattress on part of the bed, picked her up like a child, kicked the mattress into place and laid her on it. The desk sergeant appeared with some blankets. Cardilini arranged them around her and sat on the bed, trying to soothe her.

  When the doctor eventually arrived, he flicked open his bag and drew a syringe and a glass capsule from it. ‘Morphine, who’s authorising it?’

  ‘Who do you bloody think?’ Cardilini barked. The doctor smiled and prepared the syringe. Within seconds the pain had fallen from Jennifer’s face and Cardilini felt her body relax under the blankets.

  ‘I should’ve been called earlier. I could have sorted something out for her,’ the doctor said, packing his bag.

  ‘Well, you can start now.’

  ‘The super really needs to authorise it.’

  ‘He will. What now?’ Cardilini asked, nodding at Jennifer.

  ‘I’ve got it now. I’ll be back,’ the doctor said with a smile to Cardilini and a nod to the desk sergeant.

  When Cardilini left the cell Spencer was standing in the corridor, her face full of concern. Cardilini was sure there was no way she could have heard the conversation. She fell in beside him as they walked back to their office.

  ‘Christ almighty,’ Cardilini said as he sat down, the possible scenarios playing out in his head.

  Spencer pulled him back to the present. ‘What will Robinson do when he finds out what you did?’ Cardilini looked at her blankly. She leant back in her chair. ‘I get it. You don’t care.’

  ‘I’ll get a pot of tea.’ Cardilini shook himself to action but just stood still.

  ‘It’s cruel doing that for a confession.’

  ‘Cruel and stupid. Any decent lawyer would use it against us. Getting a confession like that reeks of no evidence. She’d agree to anything we suggested when she’s in that state.’

  ‘Did you do it to save the case against her?’ Spencer asked, surprised.

  ‘Would you have got the doc in?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘Against Robinson’s orders?’

  Cardilini looked back, waiting, challenging her.

  ‘What? Spry and Archer didn’t do anything either,’ Spencer said.

  ‘No. Fair enough. I have done the wrong thing. In going against Robinson’s instructions. Jennifer wouldn’t have died. I shouldn’t have called the doc.’ Cardilini tried to look contrite.

  Spencer grabbed her bag. ‘I can’t drink any more tea. I’m going.’

  ‘Are you in tomorrow?’ Cardilini asked, not looking up.

  ‘Are we in tomorrow?’

  ‘Why don’t you take the weekend off, have a decent break.’

  ‘No, thank you. What about Melody?’

  ‘It seems she’s finally decided to get rid of Archie. That’s what you suggested to her, wasn’t it?’

  Spencer paused. ‘Is that what you think has happened?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll show my face in here and cover for you if needed.’ He tried to sound upbeat. ‘I’ll ring if something comes up.’

  Spencer nodded as if her worst fears were realised. ‘Maybe,’ she said. She stood and and walked out the door, determined to do some digging herself, even if it was only staking out Abraham’s place of work again. She just needed to be more careful from now on.

  Cardilini swore at himself. He kept repeating, This is not working. He felt guilty, but at the same time knew what he was doing could ruin Spencer’s career if she were caught up in it. He drew a file from his locked drawer. He hadn’t dared look at it while Spencer was around. He’d told Rosie, if she found something, to lock it in his drawer. Rosie had replied that she didn’t think that fair but Cardilini had insisted and said it was to protect Spencer if things didn’t work out. He now carefully went through the list of properties Rosie had identified. The only country property, neatly circled, belonged to Daniel Abraham. It was located on Gnangara Road, about sixty minutes from the city. Cardilini looked at his watch, grabbed the file and quickly left the office.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY

  Friday, 3 December 1965

  7 p.m.

  Cardilini drove five hundred yards past the property on Gnangara Road. He pulled to the side of the road and nosed the car in between some slender gum trees. In the still evening air the sound of branches cracking beneath the tyres seemed unusually loud. Once he was sure the car couldn’t be seen he stopped. An unnecessary precaution, he thought, as he hadn’t seen another car for at least ten minutes. He switched the ignition off and listened to the ticking of the engine. Satisfied he hadn’t been seen he opened the car door and got out. He pushed the door slowly until there was a click.

  Twisted gum trees rose all around. Their fallen leaves, dropped bark and branches carpeted the ground. Possibly original woodlands, Cardilini thought to himself. Through the trees he spotted buildings and a caravan. Moving as quickly as he could, careful to avoid snapping twigs or crackling leaves, he made his way closer. He found a spot behind the caravan that gave him clear vision to what appeared to be a house, a barn and the access road. He checked his watch, it was just after seven. Soon, with the sinking of the sun, he’d have the cover of darkness.

  Nothing suggested any type of farming activity occurred at the property. The barn’s roofline was an apex, the ridge running from front to back. At one end facing the house were tall double timber doors, maybe four yards in height, and beside them a single, normal-sized door. Cardilini wondered why a single door was necessary beside the double doors. He couldn’t remember seeing such a configuration on other barns.

  He settled his back against a tree trunk. He heard rustling to his right. He turned his head, saw nothing, but the rustling persisted. He turned back to the buildings as he heard the roar of an approaching car. He stood perfectly still. Headlights flashed as a two-tone cream and green EK Holden turned into the dirt access road from Gnangara Road, drove up to the house and stopped, dust billowing around it. The engine was cut. A woman, thin and stooped, in her forties or fifties maybe, climbed from the car. She opened the back door, pulled out a tray covered in cloth, then made her way to the house. Cardilini heard the squeak of a fly-screen door greet her as she mounted the two steps to the verandah. At the door she disappeared from Cardilini’s sight, then emerged shortly after, empty-handed. She returned to the car, collected another tray, then repeated the delivery.

  Cardilini started to edge his way towards the car to check its numberplate but the squeaking of the fly-screen door caused him to pause mid-step. The woman walked back to the car, closed its back door, then went around to the driver’s side. The engine started, she reversed and then drove out the access road.

  The fly-screen squeaked again. A man in his thirties, broad shouldered with closely cropped hair, walked towards the caravan. Cardilini couldn’t make out his features.

  ‘Melody,’ the man called out at the caravan door.

 
Cardilini felt a knot of tension in his stomach relax. The fact Melody might have already been killed had haunted his thoughts for days. He heard her voice, not the voice of a captive, but of an assertive person, someone in control. She was complaining about something. The man seemed happy to accept Melody’s reprimands. He couldn’t hear the rest of their conversation but it seemed friendly enough. The caravan door closed and the man returned to the house.

  Cardilini stood very still for some moments, weighing his options. He could go to Melody, but if she kicked up a fuss, he’d have a fight on his hands. She’d obviously tired of Archie cutting her and making a mess of it, just as Archie had suggested. This was her new working location, where she called the shots. Perhaps a dramatic rescue was not what she wanted. But the property linked her to Abraham, coincidentally or directly. Might it be rented to someone Abraham had no knowledge of? Or was Abraham supporting Melody’s performance tomorrow night? A performance where the main guest wasn’t interested in fake screams and shallow cuts but intended to see his victim screaming to her death?

  Cardilini hesitated: anything he did now would alert his main target. I can’t lock Melody up when no crime has been committed. He hovered in the gloom. They’re on a property owned by Abraham. Melody would probably just disappear and start up somewhere else and be in the same danger. Several times he decided to leave, only to pause. Finally, nodding to himself that he was doing the right thing, he made his decision.

  ***

  An hour or so later, he pulled into the East Perth car park and went straight to the cells. A sergeant he knew was reading a newspaper. ‘How’s your guest?’ he asked him.

  ‘She didn’t eat her dinner.’

  ‘Naughty girl. Can I see her?’

  The sergeant handed Cardilini some keys. He walked to Jennifer’s cell and found her on her bunk, arms wrapped around her knees, rocking gently back and forth. She looked at Cardilini with little interest, shaking her head. ‘This is madness, Cardilini.’

  ‘Tell me what’s happening on Saturday.’