by D. L. Hicks
Shaking my head, I squished my eyelids together, praying for the tears to stop. I could tell my face must’ve been so red; it was burning up, felt like it was going to melt right off my head any second, like those bad guys in that scene at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.
Mr Carthage shuffled alongside me and leant back against the wire fence, the extra weight causing the tension to sag. I peered through my wet eyelashes at him. He had his hands clasped in front of him and he was looking up at the sky, which was a perfect blue, with a single really thin cloud stretching from one side to the other.
I could hear the other kids still on the oval, playing and laughing like normal. For everyone else, it was just another day.
‘Want to tell me what happened?’ Mr Carthage said, breathing out a sigh after he spoke, like he was disappointed in me. I don’t know why, I hadn’t done anything wrong – well, not really.
I shook my head, feeling my bottom lip quiver.
‘Jacinta says you hit her, and some of the other students told me that’s true, but I can’t believe you would do that. I know you’re a ripper kid – that’s not like you at all. It makes me think there’s more to it. Can you tell me what happened so I can figure out what really went on? Is everything all right at home?’
I sucked in air, a big breath that straight away calmed me down. After a few more I was ready to talk. ‘She …’ My words were quiet. ‘Jacinta. She dacked me and it …’ I started crying again, embarrassed at the way my body was making me feel. Hot, sweaty, breathless, nervous.
‘She pulled your pants down?’ Mr Carthage said, surprised. ‘In front of other students?’
‘Yes,’ I replied, barely a whisper. ‘There were a few other kids there. I think she was only joking around, but she shouldn’t do that to me. Nobody should do that to me. That’s why I hit her.’
A single tear ran down my warm cheek, and I hoped it would be the last one. Mr Carthage patted me on the thigh, and I felt my skin crawl again.
‘You’re right,’ he said, looking right into my eyes as he spoke. ‘Jacinta shouldn’t do that to you – or anyone else for that matter – and I will speak to her about what is and isn’t appropriate behaviour in the playground. But are you sure there isn’t anything else going on you need to tell me about?’
I reckon he could hear my heart thumping in my chest it was beating so hard. Of course there was other stuff going on, but how could I tell him when I couldn’t even tell Mum?
Instead I sat there, cradling my knees, and shook my head – short, sharp flicks from side to side, hoping he would drop it.
He didn’t.
‘Come with me, mate; we’ll go to the principal’s office and sort everything out – and don’t worry, I’ll be there to keep you out of too much strife.’
He helped me to my feet, and we wandered back to the office, Mr Carthage’s hand resting on my shoulder. It wasn’t so bad – he was nice, and I could tell he was trying to help me so it felt different. Lots of kids were staring at me, but I kept my head down, scuffing my clunky school shoes as we walked. Some classmates came up to see if I was okay, but Mr Carthage waved them away before they got too close.
I could feel my face burning – more from them all seeing what Jacinta did to me than from me hitting her, or getting in trouble for it. Everyone got in trouble sometimes.
When we got to the principal’s office, Jacinta was already there, and it looked like she’d been crying too. Her cheek was still pretty red, and I couldn’t believe I was responsible for doing that to her – even though she probably deserved it. They made us both apologise to each other and then called our parents in.
Mum was angry – really angry. I hadn’t seen her that mad in a long time, not since I was fiddling with the car radio knob and it snapped right off in my hand. Boy, she went crazy when that happened, and that was an accident.
But somehow it seemed she was angrier at the school than at me, which didn’t really make sense.
‘Denial?’ I heard her yell at the principal, pointing in his face. ‘Denial? There’s no denial here, I can promise you that. You do your job teaching my son and I’ll do my job being his mother, okay?’
She stormed out of the office and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me out of the orange plastic chair I’d been slumped in and half-dragging me after her, my bag bouncing along the ground behind us.
‘We’re going home,’ she muttered, frowning at me as we walked outside and across the basketball courts. ‘I’m done with this bloody school, once and for all.’
I struggled to keep up, desperately trying to hold myself together. Tears welled in my eyes again, but I forced them back as best I could.
That was when I saw Ben. He was standing next to the school gate, like he’d known ahead of time we’d be leaving that way. He watched us come towards him, Mum in the lead, flustered and fast, me dragging my feet behind her. He stepped back from the exit to let us through, his face kind, like he wanted to talk to me but was too worried to even open his mouth.
As I reached him, he raised his right hand and high-fived me. The clap of our palms striking each other rang out and I couldn’t help but think it sounded just like when I hit Jacinta.
‘Later, dude.’ I paused for a second next to him, a strange feeling in my head like this was a moment I needed to remember. Our eyes met and we both smiled. Ben winked at me; that cheeky smile on his face always made me feel like everything was going to be all right, no matter how bad it seemed.
‘Catch ya,’ he said quietly.
I walked away, waving back to him as Mum fed my school bag into the open mouth of the car boot, before slamming the boot shut.
We got in and Mum accelerated away down the driveway, Ben getting smaller and smaller out the rear windscreen until we veered left and he disappeared. I never saw him again.
CHAPTER 33
Benjamin Willett sat in front of his television, dumbstruck. A news story about a priest was just coming to an end. He was glued to his lounge chair, and felt as if his whole world had come crashing down around him in one colossal moment, as if his flesh had turned to cement, gravity increasing tenfold.
Heart thumping, Ben’s whole body started to shake as wave after wave of memories resurfaced, each more horrific than the last.
Tossing his dinner off his lap and onto the small coffee table beside him, Ben scrambled for the bathroom. He launched at the toilet as his stomach churned and his body expelled all it could.
Afterwards, he lay still on the bathroom floor, his head spinning, mind racing, a sheen of sweat covering every inch of his skin. He knew something momentous had occurred. Life questions, dark swirling masses inside him that had remained unsolved for so many years, had at last been given foundation. He sobbed like a child, his body twisted, the cold tiles providing little relief. He was at once revolted, surprised, relieved, horrified and angered.
Most importantly though, he felt compelled, duty bound to do the right thing. This was a life-changing moment, and he knew he had to act while the urge was at its strongest, despite the repercussions. He forced himself not to think about the impact this would have on his wife, his daughter, his family; those he had made a life with.
He crawled back out into the lounge room and reached for the phone, dialled the number for information and obtained the contact number for the local police in the area where the story had originated. Then, steeling himself, he dialled again, and eventually got through to the department handling the investigation.
‘Criminal Investigation Unit, Detective John Darken speaking.’
Ben paused for a moment, his voice catching in his throat. His brain shot into overdrive, images flashing before his eyes at a million miles an hour.
‘Hello? Anyone there?’
Ben slowed down his breathing and composed himself, his heart returning to his chest instead of trying to burst through it. ‘Yeah,’ he said, his voice croaky. ‘I’m here.’
‘How can I help?’ the detective said.
‘I
… I need to make a report.’ Ben’s words tripped out unevenly.
‘Okay, you’ve been put through to the wrong department,’ the detective said in a hurry. ‘If you hold on a second I’ll—’
‘No, wait!’ Ben yelled. He had to seize this moment, or he might never embrace it again. ‘It’s about that priest – the one who was on the news tonight, who got assaulted. I’ve got some information.’
As if he’d just announced the winning numbers for the upcoming week’s lotto, Ben felt the level of interest the detective had in this call spike. ‘Okay – give me a second.’ There were distinctive noises on the other end of the line – paper being shuffled about and the clicking of a ballpoint pen. ‘All right, sorry about that,’ the detective said, returning to the phone. ‘Can I get your name?’
Ben provided all his details, knowing that in doing so he had passed the point of no return.
‘Okay, what have you got for us, Ben? Do you know who assaulted Father Callaghan?’
He could almost see the detective, phone wedged between his chin and his shoulder, pen poised over the page. It was now or never.
‘I was an altar boy,’ Ben said, his voice surprisingly steady. ‘Back in the mid-to-late eighties. That priest who was on the TV tonight was one of two who served at my parish at that time. Until tonight, I had forgotten all about him – or maybe I erased him from my memory on purpose, I don’t know. But when I saw him – when I heard his voice – I remembered everything.’
‘Go on,’ the detective said.
‘I think he … did things to me. Things that no one should ever do to a child, especially a priest. That bastard took my innocence and smashed it to pieces.’
There was silence between the two men. The detective broke first. ‘That is a grave allegation, Ben, and one that we take very seriously. You say you think … Exactly what do you mean by that? A long time has passed since these alleged events – are you positive it was Father Callaghan?’
Ben hesitated, feeling like he was being given the brush off – something he was not prepared for.
Typical copper.
He tossed the phone down onto the cushion beside him and watched as it bounced onto the floor with a crack. Then he leant forward and buried his face in his hands, elbows locked on his knees. His resolve was taking a battering. It had taken all his courage to make this phone call, and now he had to find even more, to scrape that barrel one last time. After everything that had happened, he couldn’t stumble at this last hurdle.
But a copper who didn’t believe him – or worse, one who didn’t care – would destroy him.
‘Hello … Are you still there? … Hello?’
He could just make out the voice, its tinny tone reminding him of the old-time radio shows he had been forced to listen to in history class. With no alternative but to push on and rely on hope, Ben reached down for the phone, and brought it back to his ear. ‘It’s him, I’m positive. Do you think I would forget someone like that? Not a bloody chance. I said I think because I can’t be sure exactly what he did, but I’m certain he was there, in the room. It was him and another priest, they were in it together. Yes, it was a long time ago, but I will never forget those two faces. Ever.’
‘I’m not saying I don’t believe you, Ben. I just need you to be absolutely sure before we even think about acting on something as sensitive and damaging as this. These types of allegations can ruin people’s lives. So we have to be sure, or at least have enough evidence that we can get it to court and have a reasonable chance of winning. If not, we’re shooting at targets in the dark. And if we can prove it was him, I’m your man – I’ll be all over him like a rash.’
Ben nodded to himself, reassured by the detective’s fighting words.
‘Do you have any idea who the other priest was?’ the detective said.
‘No, I’ve forgotten – he was older though; probably dead by now. I hope he’s carked it anyway – he would be no loss to society, believe me,’ Ben said, his nerves finally calming a little.
Detective Darken cleared his throat. ‘Could his name have been Father Alan Watson?’
A shiver flitted down Ben’s spine. ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice shaky, ‘I think … I mean, yes, he was definitely a Father Alan. I can’t believe I had forgotten that; that name haunted me for years … But how do you know him?’
There was a pause and the sound of more shuffling papers. ‘I can’t tell you too much at this stage,’ the detective said, piquing Ben’s curiosity. ‘Let’s just say, your wish has already been granted when it comes to Father Alan.’
‘What? He’s dead?’ Ben asked, trying to keep his words from oozing the hope he felt.
‘Unfortunately, yes,’ the detective replied. ‘He was murdered.’
‘Maybe there is a God after all,’ Ben muttered. ‘So, what happens now?’
‘There’s a process we have to follow – gotta dot all the I’s and cross all the T’s to ensure that down the track we can get a conviction in court. We’ll need to get a detailed statement from you – times, dates, the exact nature of the incidents, anyone who might have witnessed anything. Other than the two priests, is there anyone who might have seen something? Cleaners? Church staff?’
‘Yeah, of course there was: the other kid who went through it all with me.’
‘There was another kid? In the room with you?’
‘Yep.’ Ben spat the word out with disgust. ‘They preyed on us both.’
‘Do you remember the other boy’s name?’ Detective Darken asked. ‘And can you be sure he was assaulted too?’
‘His name was Johnny, and yeah, I’m sure – we didn’t speak about it much, but we shared that look. He knew I was going through exactly what he was. I can’t remember his surname – if you went back through the parish books you’d probably be able to find it, if they bothered to keep a record of those things. Or if they didn’t destroy them all – any shred of proof that we even existed.’
‘Right,’ the detective said. ‘I’ll look into it. One other thing, though – have you been in the Gull Bay area recently?’
Ben sensed a change in the tone of the conversation, as if the air temperature had dropped a degree or two. ‘No …’ he said carefully. ‘I’m a good hour or so away. I don’t really have any need to come down there. Why do you ask? Is this for the statement?’
‘Yes and no,’ Detective Darken replied. ‘Look, I’ve been playing this game for a long time. I appreciate you calling in, and I’m genuinely empathetic of your situation, but your story also gives you the motive to try to bring Father Joseph down. Revenge is one of the most powerful motivators there is. To do my job properly, I need to rule you out as a possible suspect in the recent murders of these three women.’
‘You’re fucking kidding me!’ Ben almost hung up on the spot. Collapsing back onto the couch, he drew the phone away from his ear. His knuckles were white and his forearms strained, his vice-like fingers squeezing the phone like a wet sponge. How could he possibly be seen as anything but a victim here? What the fuck? But he knew that anger would achieve nothing. He lifted the phone. ‘I’m reporting a monster – a vile creature who defiled not only me but probably a string of other kids as well – and all you can do is try to pin some unrelated murder cases on me? I’ve heard of desperation, Detective, but that’s fucking ridiculous.’
Darken sighed. ‘Listen, Ben, I do my job as best I can, all of the time. As a detective, I have to look at three things: motive, means and opportunity. Until at least one of those things can be crossed off your list, I can’t rule you out. And at the moment, you have one big tick next to the motive box. So, you can either help me out here or take your complaint elsewhere. Now, tell me about this other kid – Johnny. Any idea what’s happened to him or where he’s living these days?’
‘No,’ Ben replied, short and sharp, before he wilted with a sigh and elaborated. ‘His family moved away not long after all this happened – I never knew if his parents found out and got him the hell
out of there, or whether it was just coincidence. Although, come to think of it, I’m pretty sure they moved down your way. But it was a long time ago. Lord knows where he is now.’
‘Okay, I’ll make some enquiries and see what I can come up with. In the meantime, you need to lie low and keep quiet about all this – the last thing we want is a media circus. Do you understand?’
‘Yeah, I understand,’ Ben said. ‘Just try to get things moving as soon as you can – I couldn’t handle it if any other kids got hurt.’
Appointments were made and enquiries set. For Ben though, the nightmare had only just begun. He had ripped the band-aid off a sore that had been festering away for years. The sad part was, he knew recovery – if it ever occurred – would take many more.
CHAPTER 34
Charlotte’s radio crackled to life; another menial job doled out for the van to attend. This time it was a neighbourhood dispute over the placement of rubbish bins for collection that had somehow got out of hand and resulted in a punch being thrown.
‘Can’t you just be adults and sort it out yourselves?’ Charlotte said to herself.
Midnight Oil played softly in the background and she drummed her hands on the steering wheel as she drove, not quite to Rob Hirst’s standards, but she still managed to maintain the beat of the final stanza of the ‘Power and the Passion’ drum solo.
As the guitars crunched back in, she trawled the main street for the fourth time that shift, her eyes darting from alcove to recess, searching through a prism of polarised sunglasses and tinted windows.
They had a Keep a Lookout For out on Norman Bachmeier. Since the revelation that he had been homeless in the Westvale area at the time of Father Watson’s murder, every police officer on duty had been searching for him – so far without success. His usual sleeping spaces had been vacated, the shopkeepers and locals all coming up with similar versions of the same useless information:
‘Yeah, I think I saw him a few days ago.’
‘Norman? Not seen him for a while now.’