‘I got to speak to you, Lloyd,’ a rattled George Makepeace called from the counter before anyone even noticed him there.
Cole came out and stood with him.
‘What’s up?’
The gravedigger told him and Cole sensed everyone in earshot suddenly listening.
‘You want me to go with you?’ Constable Whittaker called out to Cole.
‘You better. And bring the camera in case we need it.’ He said to Makepeace, ‘We’ll meet you back there in a minute, George. Don’t let anyone go near the grave.’
And the grave looked odd to Cole as soon as he saw it. He had Whittaker take photographs from all sides before he enlisted Makepeace’s help in pulling the carpet clear of the soil.
‘Easy does it George,’ he said softly as they each took an end of the carpet. ‘We want whatever’s wrapped up in it to move as little as possible while we get it out.’
Even as they tugged the carpet, rolled up and heavy with the dirt and damp of years, even before it began to open up, they knew they had a body.
Whittaker snapped another photograph as they brought it clear of the grave.
‘And you never put anyone in here like this?’ Cole asked the astonished gravedigger.
‘No fear! Never!’
‘It’s a pretty ingenious place to hide a corpse isn’t it?’ Cole asked, almost of himself. ‘You could dump someone here and never expect that they’d be found.’ He regarded the gravesite and its position relative to the road, and then glanced at Makepeace. ‘Unless you didn’t know Mrs Ranson had a husband. You don’t need to look at this if you don’t want.’
‘I know what dead people look like,’ the gravedigger grumbled, his day’s work messed up good and proper now.
Cole began easing the carpet open as carefully as he could. In places it had perished completely, in others it survived relatively intact. There was still a smell there too, a smell that had been contained a long time.
There wasn’t much left of the victim but blackened mud and bone. The skull lay in shattered pieces.
‘I know who this is,’ Cole said, his eyes over the drift of bones.
Among the bones were threads of once-yellow material on top of folded, mouldering layers of denim. Beside it were floppy, rubber soles, all that remained of a pair of white Dunlops.
Chapter 37
As soon as he’d returned to the station, Cole told Fielder, ‘I think you should go out there and take a look. I’d lay any money it’s Amy Bridges.’
Fielder was lounging in his office, cigarette in hand, with a foot up on his desk. He barely bothered to turn to Cole.
‘You know the regulations as well as I do, senior sergeant,’ he said, as though he’d heard it all before. ‘You have to contact the Homicide boys in Melbourne, let them decide who’s going to take charge. There are formal procedures.’
‘But while you’re here, shouldn’t you make a start on the investigation straight away, even if someone else is going to take over?’
‘I know the rules, Cole, even if you don’t.’
He slung his foot off the desk, tapped the ash off his cigarette into the glass ashtray.
Cole answered, ‘Fair enough. But beside the bones, I found a number of things in the grave. The remains of clothing, denim. Shoes. Amy Bridges’ mother, Coral, had previously described what Amy was wearing the day she disappeared. What she described and what I found match.’
‘The gravedigger might have found her body then, by the sound of it,’ Fielder blithely responded.
Cole pressed on, his anger rising. ‘More than that I’d say. There could be a connection between this murder and our double murder.’
‘Really? How did you arrive at that conclusion? When we don’t even know how the girl was killed? If it is Bridges.’
‘From what I saw of her skull it was beaten in. That would be consistent with how Rosaleen Faraday was attacked, too.’
‘Except that Faraday was also shot.’
‘As this girl might have been. Another thing. The remains of her clothes looked like they’d been stacked on top of each other. Have you forgotten the neat pile of clothes at the double-murder scene?’
‘It sounds like wishful thinking to me,’ Fielder said, exhaling smoke again. ‘The squad will look into all of it and confirm you’re living in Fantasyland, Cole. I don’t remember that Faraday was dug into a grave when we found her.’
‘No. But it doesn’t mean it wasn’t the same person or persons who killed all three of them.’
Fielder leant over his desk and stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray.
‘Too bad for whoever it is buried in that grave,’ he said. ‘I came here to get Furnell and we got him. I did my job. Let someone else sort out this other business. It’s not on my dance card.’
‘Lee Furnell couldn’t have killed Amy Bridges,’ Cole protested. ‘He would’ve been too young to kill her four years ago.’
‘Settle down. How young is too young? If he did, he’s taken that secret to hell with him.’
‘My point is, if it was the same person who killed all three of them it couldn’t have been Lee Furnell.’
‘I know what you’re point is, Cole, and I’m getting sick of hearing it. Furnell has been convicted of his crime, at least so far as everyone in the Homicide Squad is concerned. And believe it or not, I think the Homicide Squad knows what it’s doing. Furnell had the motive, the opportunity, the time, everything. He’s the only person who could have possibly done it. And now he’s dead. Self-inflicted, out of guilt, or fear because he knew I was onto him and wasn’t about to let him go. The case is over.’
‘It wasn’t Lee Furnell.’
‘Good for you, then, and good luck proving that hypothesis now he’s dead. But phone the Homicide boys in town first, hey? Tell them what you found at the cemetery. They’ll get a kick out of that.’
Cole called Melbourne when it was clear Fielder had no intention of doing so, and found himself caught on the phone longer than he would have liked. At the end of the conversation, having answered a long string of questions, he was told that he’d be called back and informed as to what was going to happen next. Was Detective Senior Sergeant Fielder there, his interrogator asked?
‘No,’ he lied.
In the meantime, then, he was to make sure that no one interfered with the crime scene.
‘Already done,’ he murmured, after putting the receiver down.
Was there anyone who cared a damn about any of this, he wondered?
For a while he sat at his desk, knowing what he was dreading most. Breaking the news to Coral Bridges. He knew that no one else should do it and that it had to be done before the bush telegraph reached her, if anything could reach her in that house.
When he arrived at her house on North Boundary Road he noticed a rambling summer rose, deep red and heady, blooming by the ruined picket fence. He had half an inclination to make a bouquet of them and present them to the woman, as if anything might soften the blow of what he was about to tell her.
There were days he never wanted to be a copper, and this was one of them. He parked beneath the last elm at the end of the Bridges’ driveway.
He turned off the engine and trudged to the door. He knocked. He noticed he had his notebook and pencil in his hand.
And Coral Bridges’ smile at his arrival was just as quickly tempered when she saw him removing his hat. Then the look on her visitor’s face.
‘What is it?’ she asked nervously.
‘Can I come in please, Coral?’
‘Yes, yes. Here,’ she answered. ‘What is it?’
‘Let’s sit in the lounge,’ Cole suggested.
He barely knew what to say.
‘I think we’ve found Amy,’ is what he did finally manage. ‘In fact I’m pretty certain of it. But I’m sorry, Coral, she�
�s dead.’
Coral Bridges stared in disbelief. Her mouth opened, as if to say something, but at first nothing came out.
She shook her head. ‘How could she be?’
‘We found her at the cemetery.’
‘The cemetery?’
‘We found her buried in a grave. An old grave.’
‘She didn’t die. We didn’t bury her,’ Coral protested.
‘I know.’ Cole tapped his knee with the pencil. ‘I know. Let me explain. We only discovered her when an old grave was being opened, for a man to be interred with his wife who had died years earlier. It’s Horrie Ranson who’s going to be buried there, if you knew him. And while the gravedigger was preparing the grave for Horrie he found another body there, who we think is Amy.’
‘How do you know it’s her?’
She still stared sceptically at him.
‘I’d be pretty certain it’s her,’ Cole said. ‘I found the decomposed remains of the clothes and footwear you described to me earlier.’ He paused. ‘I’ll let you see those things soon, so you can formally identify them as Amy’s.’
Cole felt the woman’s scrutiny of him, as if she was exploring him for any opening she might use.
‘What about that purse I told you? Did you see that?’ she questioned.
‘No, there wasn’t any purse so far as I could see. It might still turn up when the whole site’s properly examined, though.’
‘Then you show me that purse and I’ll believe you,’ she said, growing agitated and rising from her chair. ‘And not a second before!’
‘I’m sorry, Coral. I’m not making this up. Why would I? I know it’s a hard thing to take, and that’s why I wanted to tell you myself.’
The force of Cole’s words then began to weigh on her. Her disbelief gave way to tears. ‘It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be,’ she rocked. She glanced back and forth to Cole, as if he might change his story at any moment.
He only met her eyes sympathetically and she sat down again.
‘When was the last time you were in touch with your husband, Coral?’ he continued gently. ‘If you don’t feel up to speaking with him, perhaps I could do it.’
‘No, no, no. I have to tell him’ she cried. ‘What else can I do?’ She blew her nose into a handkerchief. ‘But you’re sure it’s Amy?’
‘There’s no doubt in my mind,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’
Coral Bridges sat in pained silence, the handkerchief scrunched in her hand. ‘Amy,’ she muttered. ‘Amy, Amy’, as if calling the girl back to life.
‘If you’ve got a phone number for Winston, I’d like to speak with him, too, please,’ Cole said softly. ‘After you’ve broken the news to him, of course.’
‘I’ve got the number here somewhere,’ she answered, but she was flustered, moving unsteadily from her chair.
After minutes of looking she returned empty handed.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Cole said. ‘Someone at the station will be able to track it down for me. Hopefully we might know a bit more about everything by tomorrow, too.’
When there was nothing left for him to say, Cole departed. He got back into his car and drove to the station, Amy Bridges in his head all the way there.
Chapter 38
A team of detectives arrived to investigate Amy Bridges’ death. Cole instantly liked them for the way they listened intently to what he had to say, and for the questions they asked. He knew he’d probably been bad-mouthed by Fielder, but the new team gave no indication of it in their conversations with him. Cole patiently explained Coral Bridges’ situation and the detectives’ senior, a Detective Sergeant Barrow, assured him that he’d speak to her with tact and sensitivity.
And when that business was done, and Cole thought he would do some more searching for Ken Jarvis, he walked into the office of Brown’s Body Works where Jarvis had been known to occasionally work. Finding no one in the office, he invited himself into the workshop behind it.
The place was a hive of activity. Half a dozen cars in various states of damage and repair occupied most of the floor space, with another car propped up in the spray tent at the rear of the large shed. Two young apprentices, sixteen years of age at most, keenly watched him entering until the lanky Trevor Boland appeared in ungainly fashion from beneath one of the vehicles.
‘Looking for a new car, Mr Cole?’ he grinned.
‘I might be,’ he answered jovially. ‘Is Clive Brown still running the show here?’
‘Yeah. But he’s out today. He’s over in Shepp returning a car to its owner. He said he won’t be back in here till tomorrow.’
‘Looks like you’re the boss then, Trev. You keep these young fellers in line?’
‘I do my best, Mr Cole. And if they don’t do what I say they get a smack around the ears,’ he said, laughing at the boys.
‘It looks like business is good, too. Are you always this busy?’
Boland nodded at the cars. ‘Yeah, at the moment.’
‘Are you still on for the cricket season next year?’
‘I guess so. I hadn’t thought about it.’
‘Then don’t. Just make sure you turn up for training when we start again.’
‘Come on, Mr Cole. We just finished this year.’
Cole grinned. ‘It’s good to get in early. But how about we go into the yard? I want to ask you a few questions.’
‘Sure.’
But Cole saw him wondering. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t be long. It’s not a big deal.’
They stood outside in the yard, several vehicles beyond redemption slowly mouldering away near the back gate.
‘Is it about Mr Brown?’ Boland ventured nervously.
It was well known around town that Brown took in the occasional stolen car, changing number plates and spraying the cars before selling them on.
‘It might be at another time,’ Cole said. ‘But not today. Tell me, has Phillip Jarvis’s dad been in any time the last couple of months? He works here sometimes, doesn’t he?’
‘He does, but not lately. Mr Brown feels sorry for him, gets him to do a bit of work here and there.’
‘Then he’s not all bad then, is he?’ Cole said, enjoying the ambiguity of his question expressing itself on the boy’s face. ‘Never mind. When was the last time you saw Mr Jarvis?’
The boy thought. ‘I don’t know exactly. Probably a long time ago. A year? Or a couple of years? I don’t really remember. ‘What’s he done?’
‘No, he hasn’t done anything. I just wondered if he’s been around, that’s all. So you haven’t seen him recently, in the last month or two?’
‘No.’
Cole heard one of the apprentices busy in the workshop with a rubber hammer. ‘I just wanted to ask, too, how you’re going with Lee’s passing, Trev. Pretty sad funeral, wasn’t it? I know you two were good mates.’
Boland’s face dropped.
He answered, ‘Best mates. And he was a good bloke. I tried to talk to him but it was useless. He said those detectives were going to kill him.’ He looked away and Cole could see the hurt. ‘I guess they did in the end, didn’t they?’
‘I know Lee didn’t kill Rosaleen and Max, Trev. And I’m going to find out who did. I know you’ve been interviewed a few times, but that time we were driving to the cricket, I remember you saying you thought someone at the dance might be responsible for those two murders. When you said that, were you thinking of anyone in particular, or did you think it could have been one of any number of people?’
Boland shook his head. He said, ‘Max didn’t care who he asked out, if they were already going out with someone or not. He’d back door anyone. He was a bit of a smartarse, Mr Cole. He thought because he had that Holden he could do whatever he liked. And he thought girls would jump into it the first chance they got.’
‘And did they?’
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‘Some did. Rosy should never have got into that car with him. She shouldn’t have gone back to the lake. And I bet she only did because Max poured some grog into her. He’d do that all the time. He always had a bottle of something in the boot of his car, ready to give a girl so he could try to have her.’
‘Who else did he try that with?’
Boland laughed sarcastically. ‘Who didn’t he try it with? That’s the better question.’
‘I can see you’re upset, Trev. Who else did he upset?’
‘Max had tried it on with Rosy before. It wasn’t the first time. Lee was his mate once, but Lee never really trusted him. He got really cut about it, Mr Cole.’
‘So why do you think it wasn’t Lee that killed them?’
‘It wasn’t. Lee could get mad alright. And I saw him have a big barney with his old man one night. They were both swinging and shouting and carrying on. But after a fight he’d always calm down and call it quits. He didn’t have it in him that it would grow into a big grudge.’
‘Why did Rosy put herself in that position, do you think, of going back to the lake with Max?’
‘That was just Rosy, she wanted to have a drink and have a good time,’ he said. ‘She was great. She’d laugh at the daggiest stuff, so everyone’d be laughing in a second as well, at her more than the joke. That was what everyone liked about her, Lee too.’
‘Did she love Lee?’
‘I suppose she did. She might have flirted with someone else, but that was as far as it went. If anything else happened, that was just the grog in her. Other people would be the same.’
‘She was obviously very popular with boys then. Who else besides Max might have had their eye on her then?’
‘Yeah, Max did, that’s for sure. But I reckon his brother liked her even more.’
The Summertime Dead Page 21