Maralinga

by Judy Nunn

  ‘Harry Lampton it is.’ He walked her to the door. ‘Now go home, Elizabeth. I’ll ring you, I promise. Given the time difference, I probably won’t have anything for you until tomorrow, so go home and get some sleep.’

  ‘Thanks, Reg. I appreciate your help.’

  He opened the door for her, but she hesitated in leaving. ‘I didn’t mean to put you on the spot just now. I shouldn’t have said what I did; I should have kept my thoughts to myself.’ Elizabeth realised she’d been most unfair. Indeed, what did she expect of him? His career could well be ruined if he alienated his valuable contacts. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘it was really thoughtless of me. I don’t expect you to become embroiled in this business. I won’t compromise you in any way, I promise.’

  She kissed him on the cheek, and Reginald melted, as he always did. His had been a hopeless case of unrequited love from the outset, a situation which he totally accepted, knowing that Elizabeth saw him as a father figure.

  ‘But just between you and me,’ she added, ‘I meant what I said. I don’t intend to give up until I find out the truth.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ That was the worry, Reginald thought. ‘Now go home, you need sleep. Go home and go to bed, there’s a good girl.’

  Elizabeth went home, but she didn’t go to bed. She read the letter again. She read it over and over, despite the fact that she already knew it by heart.

  Reginald, as always, was true to his word. He rang her exactly twenty-four hours later. Once again, the innocuous salad lunch sat on his desk, but this time he was not distracted by the thought of roast pork and crackling. Far more disturbing matters were on his mind.

  ‘I have some news for you.’

  ‘Yes?’ Elizabeth felt herself tense.

  ‘Harry Lampton was apprehended in Kalgoorlie four days ago. He’s been flown to Adelaide where he’ll stand trial for the murder of Pete Mitchell, and, according to my source, it’s a cut-and-dried case. Lampton’s wife has turned evidence against him – she witnessed the shooting – and I believe other witnesses amongst the fettlers have also come forward.’

  So Pete Mitchell’s death had been the coincidence Danny had hoped for, Elizabeth thought. She was relieved to hear it.

  ‘Thank you, Reg,’ she said. ‘Danny would have liked to have known that. I’m very grateful to you.’

  ‘Yes, well, there you are then.’ Reginald’s voice was just a little over-hearty. ‘Nothing suspicious at all, the fettler did it, a crime of passion. Explains everything I’d say, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘It explains Pete Mitchell’s death, yes,’ Elizabeth agreed. ‘It doesn’t explain Danny’s.’

  ‘Yes, it does, Elizabeth.’ Reginald dropped the heartiness. Her reaction was just as he’d feared it might be. ‘It explains the fact that there was no conspiracy afoot at Maralinga. Pete Mitchell was killed by a jealous husband, and Danny’s death was an accident – a terrible, shocking accident certainly, but an accident nonetheless.’

  ‘I don’t believe that, Reg.’

  ‘You must, my dear, it’s the truth.’

  ‘But you haven’t read the letter –’

  ‘I don’t need to.’ Reginald’s voice was firm and authoritative. ‘I have had direct confirmation from an impeccable source high in the military chain of command at Maralinga. Daniel’s death was accidental, I can promise you.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. No, I don’t believe that at all. And you won’t either when you read the letter. I’ll bring it in and show you. Honestly, Reg –’

  ‘Don’t pursue this.’

  ‘What?’ Elizabeth was taken aback.

  ‘Don’t follow this path. Leave the matter alone.’

  ‘You know something,’ she said. ‘What is it? What have you found out?’

  ‘I have found out no more than the truth, Elizabeth. And the truth is, Daniel’s death was an accident! You must stop torturing yourself and accept that! I insist that you do so!’

  There was silence on the end of the line. Reginald regretted having had to speak with such force, particularly under the circumstances, but he was thankful that he appeared to have finally convinced her. ‘This is a very difficult time for you, my dear,’ he said gently. ‘You have my deepest sympathy, you know that.’

  ‘Yes, I do. Thank you.’

  ‘Now you will try and rest, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll try.’

  ‘Good. That’s good. Ring me if you need anything, and I’ll see you when you’re ready to return to work.’

  He hung up, took one look at his plate of salad and headed off to his club for lunch, deeply relieved that the episode was over. When he returned an hour and a half later, however, he found her waiting in his office.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she said, ‘but I couldn’t wait outside in the newsroom. Too many people wanting to offer their condolences and I’m not up to that yet.’ She took the letter from the top pocket of her blazer.

  ‘Elizabeth –’

  ‘Read that.’ She unfolded it and placed it on his desk. ‘Read that and then tell me you still believe Danny’s death was an accident.’

  Reginald heaved a sigh and sat, taking his reading glasses from his top pocket where they’d lived throughout lunch. He hated this. He dreaded the prospect of having to tell her the truth.

  After reading the letter with great care, he positioned his glasses on his head and leaned back, surveying her thoughtfully.

  ‘You see?’ Elizabeth’s challenge was triumphant. ‘It changes everything, doesn’t it?’

  He was silent. To his mind the letter changed nothing at all. If anything, it confirmed the truth. But how was he to tell her?

  Sensing he was troubled, Elizabeth was quick to reassure him. ‘Oh, don’t worry, Reg, I don’t expect you to do anything with the letter. That part’s up to me. I just wanted you to read it so that –’

  ‘What do you intend to do?’

  ‘I don’t know really.’ She hadn’t thought that far ahead. ‘Take it to some top military authority here in London, I suppose. I was hoping you might tell me who I should –’

  ‘It wouldn’t accomplish anything, Elizabeth.’ There was no alternative, he realised. She had to be told.

  ‘You did find out something, didn’t you?’ She searched his face for a clue; there was something he wasn’t telling her. ‘Come on, Reg. What is it the army’s keeping a secret?’

  ‘You won’t give up until you find out, will you?’

  ‘Nope. You know I won’t.’

  ‘Indeed I do. In which case, you’d best hear it from me.’ Reginald wished with all his heart that he didn’t have to say the words. ‘Daniel took his own life, Elizabeth.’

  She stared at him, dumbfounded.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to have to tell you. The army is keeping the truth quiet, for the family’s sake, and naturally that means for your sake too.’ The army was probably keeping the truth quiet in order to avoid any focus upon Maralinga, Reginald thought with a touch of cynicism, and also because such incidents were not good publicity for the armed forces in general. This would certainly not be the first suicide the military had covered up ‘for the sake of the family’, but Elizabeth did not need to know that.

  ‘It’s most regrettable you had to find out, my dear.’

  ‘Why on earth should the army think he’d killed himself?’ Elizabeth was more amazed than upset.

  ‘Apparently he was very much affected by the death of his friend.’ Reginald tentatively offered the answer to a question he wished he hadn’t been asked. He’d heard from his military contact at Maralinga that Daniel Gardiner had been so distressed by Pete Mitchell’s gruesome murder he’d become quite unbalanced. ‘According to the report, Gardiner was a deeply disturbed young man,’ his contact had said. ‘Went to pieces after his best friend was murdered and half-eaten by dogs, very grisly affair. Anyway, he was determined to do a good job on himself. Poor chap drove out to the forward area in the dead of night and park
ed right where he knew both he and the vehicle would be incinerated. Shocking business all round. We’re keeping mum about it, Reg – for the sake of the family, you understand – so not a word, there’s a good chap.’

  ‘I was told that, following Pete Mitchell’s murder, he became deeply disturbed,’ Reginald said, praying that Elizabeth would not ask for more detail.

  Far from seeking more detail, however, Elizabeth was outraged. She picked up the letter and waved it in his face. ‘But you’ve read this, for God’s sake,’ she said. ‘This isn’t the letter of a man on the verge of suicide.’

  Reginald begged to differ. ‘It is the letter of a troubled man, Elizabeth,’ he said with care.

  ‘Troubled, yes, but hardly about to kill himself.’

  Elizabeth riffled through the letter and, pointing out a line, she thrust the pages at him. ‘Look at that, just look at that: … even as I write this, I am starting to feel self-consciously melodramatic … That’s what he says.’ She was becoming agitated. ‘How sane is that, I ask you? It’s certainly not the comment of a man bordering on suicide.’

  ‘No. It’s more the comment of a man covering his turmoil in order not to worry his fiancée.’

  Reginald found the fact that Daniel had written such a letter at all highly suspect. To him, it displayed the classic signs of a troubled young soldier, lonely, far from home and with no-one to turn to. Having served as a foreign war correspondent in many regions of conflict, Reginald Dempster had often seen such young soldiers fall into a state of despair. The only difference on this occasion was the fact that there had been no actual battle.

  Elizabeth came to a sudden halt. She’d been about to rant and rage. How could Reg possibly give credence to such a ridiculous notion, she’d thought. Now she realised that Reg gave far more than credence to the notion; he implicitly believed it to be the truth.

  ‘You really do think Danny killed himself, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m afraid I do, Elizabeth, yes. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I see.’ She stood. ‘I won’t accept it, you know.’

  Reginald also stood. ‘That is your prerogative, of course.’

  ‘I’ll fight it. I’ll demand the army conducts an investigation.’

  ‘You won’t get anywhere, my dear. The report is confirmed. The army will take no action. They won’t even listen to you.’

  ‘Then I’ll elicit the help of Daniel’s parents. The army will have to listen to them.’

  ‘They will probably pretend to, yes, but it still won’t lead anywhere. Even if the parents support your enquiries, the report will remain the same, and you’ll cause the family untold grief. You must say nothing.’

  ‘So what do you suggest I do?’

  ‘I suggest you acknowledge the truth. Daniel took his own life.’

  ‘No. No, he didn’t.’ She carefully folded the letter and replaced it in her blazer pocket. ‘But I can promise you, I’ll find out who did.’

  Elizabeth sailed from his office, and Reginald watched through the glass doors as, head held high, she weaved her way amongst the desks of the crowded newsroom, ignoring the sympathetic looks coming from every direction. A woman with a mission, he thought; a mission that might well undermine his career. She would not divulge his name as her informant, he knew, but word would undoubtedly get back that it was him. He’d never be trusted again.

  He watched as, with a nod to the reporter who had opened the door for her, she disappeared from the newsroom. Despite the personal threat she posed, Reginald had to admire her. Elizabeth Hoffmann was on a crusade, and that too was her prerogative.

  As it eventuated, Elizabeth did not undermine Reginald Dempster’s career, but not through any conscious decision on her part to avoid doing so. Grateful though she was for his help and his friendship, Reginald’s career did not once enter her mind as she sat through the interminable memorial service pondering her course of action. Reginald’s words of advice, however, did. And it was his advice that ultimately swung the balance.

  ‘My son served his country honourably.’ Kenneth Gardiner was addressing the congregation from the pulpit. ‘And he died in that service. Be it in peacetime or be it in war, no man can do more than lay down his life for his fellow countrymen …’

  Elizabeth found the man offensive. His pomposity angered her. How could he honestly believe that the waste of his son’s life was heroic? She wondered how he’d react if he knew the army had written Daniel’s death off as a suicide. She wanted to stand up and scream it out at him. The army doesn’t think your son’s a hero, you stupid man! The army thinks your son killed himself! She resisted the urge.

  Beside her in the pew sat young Billy. He was in uniform, twenty years old and fresh out of Sandhurst, a lieutenant just as his brother had been. He was looking up at the pulpit and trying to stem his tears, but Elizabeth knew that, although he lacked his father’s pomposity, he was no less deluded. In Billy’s eyes, his brother had died a noble death.

  And seated beside Billy, there was Prudence. Straight-backed, dry-eyed Prudence, who didn’t believe her son’s death was heroic at all and who bitterly resented his meaningless loss. Elizabeth had seen it in her eyes just the previous night when, over the family dinner table, Prudence had allowed the veil to lift – only slightly, and only for one brief moment, but it had been enough.

  Elizabeth had arrived in Crewe the day before the service, bent on eliciting the family’s support in approaching the army with a request that Daniel’s death be investigated. She had no intention of bringing up the matter until after the memorial service, and had thought long and hard about how she might make her approach. She would show them the letter first, she’d decided. Hopefully the letter would convince them, as it had her, that Daniel’s death had not been accidental and that he’d met with foul play. There was only one problem, however. She could no longer be sure of the letter’s impact.

  In the week since her meeting with Reg, Elizabeth had tried to be objective about Daniel’s letter. She had originally considered it hard evidence – indeed, the principal weapon in her fight to be heard – but Reg Dempster had interpreted its meaning quite differently, and she was now aware that others would too. Although her personal opinion remained unchanged, in studying the letter with the investigative eye of a journalist, she recognised its ambiguity. Pete Mitchell’s murder having proved the simple crime of passion it had been purported to be, Daniel’s obsession with the case could be seen as unbalanced, even paranoid.

  Elizabeth could only hope that upon reading their son’s letter, the Gardiners’ initial reaction would be the same as her own. In any event, she had decided it was the preferable approach, rather than telling them outright the army was covering up their son’s death as a suicide, which was her own very firm belief. Imparting that particular piece of information would be the next step, and one she did not at all relish.

  They’d been four at the dinner table the night of her arrival, Billy having been granted a week’s leave on compassionate grounds. Elizabeth had not met young Billy before, but, like Daniel, he’d been posted to Aldershot fresh out of Sandhurst and that had made for easy conversation. While Prudence served up the steak and kidney pudding and Kenneth fetched a bottle of beer, Elizabeth and Billy talked about the Hippodrome and the military parades in Princes Gardens, and even the teashop near the post office in Victoria Road.

  ‘The best cheesecake in town,’ Billy said, his boyishness reminding Elizabeth achingly of Daniel. ‘And about ten different sorts,’ he added. ‘It’s impossible to choose.’

  ‘Yes, that’s the only trouble,’ she agreed. ‘Danny and I could never make up our minds.’

  There was the slightest pause and Elizabeth wondered if she’d said the wrong thing. Prudence seemed to hesitate over the final serve of pudding, and Kenneth remained poised by his chair with the bottle of beer.

  ‘We used to go there a lot,’ Elizabeth said with an apologetic query to Billy. Were they not supposed to mention Daniel?

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bsp; ‘Yes, I know you did.’ Billy gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Dan told me. He said it’s where you finally agreed to marry him.’

  ‘That’s right,’ she said, ‘over cheesecake.’

  The awkward moment had passed and the two of them embarked upon reminiscences about Daniel. Prudence doled out the plates of pudding and passed around the bowl of Brussels sprouts; she appeared to have relaxed and was enjoying hearing her son spoken of with such love. Kenneth, however, did not seem to share his wife’s enjoyment.

  ‘Beer, Billy?’ The tone held a slight reprimand.

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  ‘Elizabeth?’

  ‘No, thank you, Mr Gardiner, I’m happy with the water.’

  ‘Right.’

  Kenneth poured the beers, and Billy, his father’s reprimand having fallen on deaf ears, embarked upon another childhood story.

  ‘I remember the time when Dan got caught raiding old Mr McClusky’s apple orchard. He was twelve and I was ten, and I was scared to death of the McClusky place because the old boy had three Rottweilers. Anyway, the dogs bailed Dan up in a tree and he had to stay there for over an hour until old Mr McClusky arrived with the local copper.’

  ‘Why did he risk the Rottweilers in the first place?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘It was a dare.’

  ‘Who dared him?’

  ‘I did. I was always getting Dan into trouble. He’d accept every dare I came up with. I remember one time he rode his bike –’

  ‘There’s something I’d like to show you, Elizabeth,’ Kenneth interrupted, and this time Billy registered a reprimand, although he couldn’t think what it was he’d done wrong.

  Kenneth Gardiner left the dining room briefly and silence reigned until he reappeared twenty seconds later with a piece of paper.

  ‘Have a read of that,’ he said proudly, and he handed her the letter from the prime minister.

  Elizabeth did as she was told, and when she looked up from the letter, she wondered what on earth she was expected to say. There was no need to say anything, she discovered.

  ‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Kenneth pointed to the signature. ‘Personally signed too.’