Saltwater

by Cathy McLennan

  ‘No.’ His irises are empty black discs.

  ‘Okay. Is there anything else you can tell me for the bail application? Um, like, do you have a part-time job, or are you studying or training for something?’

  He continues to look coldly at me. My palms feel sticky and I glance back at the closed door.

  ‘Well, do you agree to abide by whatever conditions the prosecution set? You know, like reporting to police or a curfew or—’

  He stands. It is a fluid, easy movement releasing some inner power. He leans over me menacingly.

  ‘We never did nuffink.’

  ‘Okay …’ I say slowly, making a note of what Malachi said, to try to release the tension as he stands over me.

  ‘I hear Dillon told them police it was me what killed that guy?’

  ‘He gave a record of interview. But—’

  ‘I never touched ’im. Right? Whatever he say, he lyin’.’

  ‘We’ve found some inconsistencies in the police case. The initial report shows the victim was bashed to death with a concrete block, whereas Dillon said the man was kicked to death. I saw a guy at the cemetery with a concrete block, but police haven’t investigated him. They seem to think that because you guys were in the car, and because Dillon made admissions, that’s enough for the charges. But we’ve found some alibi evidence.’

  He leans in, our faces are almost touching. ‘That’s cause we done nuffink.’

  I nod. ‘Kevie’s neighbour is certain he saw Kevie at home on the night of the murder. He doesn’t like Kevie and his grandma, so there’s no reason to think he’d lie. Which is pretty strong evidence. But we’re still looking into it.’

  Malachi turns and waves his hand in the air. He mutters something under his breath.’ It sounds like, ‘He’s dead’, but I can’t be sure.

  Then Malachi abruptly stalks to the door, and once outside he slams it shut.

  Little Kevie comes in a moment later. Penny must have them waiting. My gut churns at the sight of this small child.

  ‘Hello, Miss,’ he says as he sits.

  ‘Kevie, you can call me Cathy.’

  ‘Okay.’ He looks about. Anywhere but at me. His hands fidget in his lap.

  ‘Kevie, I’m trying to get you bail and I need your help.’

  His head jerks towards me, his eyes open, pleading. ‘Oh, please, Miss.’

  I turn over the sheet of paper. ‘Okay. So do you have anywhere to live apart from with your grandma?’

  ‘Why can’t I live with Nan?’

  ‘You can’t, Kevie. Your nanna, Alison, is in trouble. Is there anywhere else you could go?’

  He shakes his head, downcast.

  ‘Can you read? Or write?’

  ‘Nah.’

  ‘You were expelled from school. What did you do all day?’

  ‘Well, I hung round with some boys, right. Went for a drive sometimes.’

  ‘Stealing cars?’

  He nods slowly. ‘Yep. Sometimes.’

  ‘But who taught you to drive … to steal a car?’

  ‘My cousin-bruvver, an some of them bigger kids in the street.’

  He moves slightly in his seat, and winces, holding his side.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask.

  ‘Nuffing. It’s nuffin. Can you get me out of here, eh Miss? Please?’

  I shake my head. ‘I’m sorry Kevie. It might be a while.’

  ‘I didn’t do it. I never hurt that guy. Please, Miss, you have to believe me.’

  His glance happens on a spot behind me. He starts, jumping in his seat. His eyes widen and his dark cheeks flush red.

  I turn, the door is closed, but through a small, square window is a face that ducks out of sight.

  Malachi Butler.

  I turn back to Kevie, who pants and rubs his side. As he does, his t-shirt hitches and I see large, swollen bruises.

  ‘Who did that to you, Kevie?’

  He glances at the doorway, but says nothing.

  ‘Was it Malachi? Did Malachi do that to you?’

  Kevie looks at me, his eyes wide, full of fear.

  Is Malachi threatening the other boys? I wonder. How can I act for Malachi when he is threatening the rest?

  ‘It wasn’t him. Malachi never done nuffin,’ Kevie blurts. ‘It was that man. That man done it. Not him.’

  ‘It’s okay. It’s okay, mate …’ I reach out, but it is too late—

  Kevie bolts to the door. He opens it and shouts: ‘I tole her. I tole her it wasn’t you.’

  Then he sobs. Deep, despairing sobs. Sadness and desolation from somewhere deeper than I’ve ever heard. I hurry out. Kevie stands in the corridor, his body shaking. Malachi has one arm around Kevie’s neck. Penny is down the hall on the phone. Malachi stares at the far wall, his eyes cold, face blank. His arm tightens, the sobs break off. Kevie coughs, gasps. Malachi is strangling him. Penny turns and starts to run. I step forward, and then I see Kevie’s head cocooned against Malachi’s chest. It is a hug, an awkward hug. And out of Malachi’s mouth, soft words: ‘Ya gonna be okay, ya fucken dick.’

  Suddenly Malachi sees me. A flash of fury creases his face. I’ve seen him in a moment of weakness. Malachi drops his arm and strides away. Penny arrives, breathless.

  As the children are locked away, Penny and I walk back to the entrance. The screaming has subsided to harsh, hacking coughs.

  ‘Who is that?’

  Penny looks at me. ‘We got a little girl in yesterday. She’s—’

  I stop. My stomach turns over.

  ‘—only eleven. But we’re not equipped for girls. Yesterday she was in the break room with some of the younger boys. She made sexual advances towards them. We had to isolate her. She’s …’

  Penny turns, realising I’ve stopped.

  ‘Olivia Farrell,’ I say.

  20

  Penny unlocks the door.

  ‘Five minutes.’

  It clicks shut behind me.

  Olivia is on her knees in the corner, facing the wall. She’s bowed over, her head bent. A tiny figure. Her shoulders heave. She still screams, but it is mostly soundless, a croaking emerges from her open mouth every few moments. I remember she has only one lung, and wonder how she could scream so loudly for so long.

  I sit in an armchair in the small, bare windowless room.

  ‘Last week I saw a rock wallaby,’ I say, calm and slow, in my mother’s best school-teacher story voice. ‘A beautiful little thing with grey fur and big, hoppy feet. It looked just like a kangaroo, only smaller. It hopped down from the hills and right into my garden on Magnetic Island.’

  Olivia hasn’t moved from her place in the corner, but the croaking noises fade and her shoulders still.

  ‘I sat and watched the wallaby for a while. It was scared of me at first, but then it crept nearer. I had an apple, so I cut off a piece and held it out. The little wallaby hopped forward and snatch! Grabbed the apple with its tiny paws.’

  Olivia’s head turns, just an inch.

  ‘Nibble, nibble, it went with its big front teeth. Apple is a rock wallaby’s favourite food, you know. Not chocolate or lollies. When it finished the apple, it came closer. It put out its paw for more. So I cut off another slice and held it out.’

  Little Olivia turns slowly toward me. I can see her dark face, eyes downcast.

  ‘The wallaby reached out with her front paw, and just as she was about to take it, do you know what happened?’

  There’s a minute shake of her head.

  ‘Her pouch opened, and a tiny baby wallaby poked its head out. It was so cute, with big, round, brown eyes – almost as beautiful as yours, Livi. Well, it saw the apple, and its eyes got even bigger. Quick as lightning, it climbed out of the pouch, grabbed the apple in one teeny-tiny paw and dived back into Mummy’s pouch, head first.’
r />   She giggles. Hoarse and croaky, but it’s there, cracking the shell of misery that had her trapped.

  ‘Well, the mummy wallaby looked at my empty hand, then down at the pouch, then back at my empty hand, her mouth wide open with surprise. She didn’t know what was going on! Luckily, I had one last piece.’

  I stop and look at her. Olivia lifts bloodshot eyes.

  Penny has told me that Olivia was remanded for half-a-dozen charges of entering houses and stealing small items.

  She lowers her head. ‘They goin’ send me ta Brisbane,’ she mumbles in a low, rasping voice. ‘And you din even help me.’

  ‘Did you go to court today?’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘Yesterday?’

  She nods.

  ‘Olivia. I didn’t know you were going to court. If I’d known, I would have come. But we have some new lawyers now, and they’re very experienced. They’re older than me and they know more stuff.’

  She turns back to the corner.

  ‘Olivia, I’m going to see whether I can get bail for you. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try.’

  Olivia turns around, a weak hopeful smile on her face.

  ‘But you have to stop stealing, Livi. I mean it. You can’t sneak into people’s houses anymore. If you keep doing it, you’ll end up in prison. For sure.’

  The Legal Service car has baked in the car park all afternoon. Sweat streams down my face, my arms, through the centre of my chest. Grabbing my mobile from the glove box, I dial four numbers and have half-a-dozen hurried conversations. As a result, Olivia’s bail application will be heard in the Children’s Court in one hour.

  The magistrate, Family Services, field officers, the prosecutor, Olivia and Olivia’s mother will be there. I hope. As the charges against Olivia are minor, they’ll be dealt with today.

  First, I’ll stop at the office and grab Olivia’s file.

  The car keys drop from my sweaty fingers. I fumble on the floor amongst empty beer bottles, piles of dirt and an old sock. Wally Greengrass takes the car home every evening, I wonder what he does with it. Finally, my hand closes on the hard keys, and I’m off.

  Back at the Legal Service, I dash past reception with a ‘Hey, Joice’, dump the files onto my desk, turn, and come face to face with Charlie Kent – recently acquitted of going armed in public.

  He slams the door.

  Locks it.

  Charlie turns to face me, feet apart, solid, muscled arms. Chest heaving. His eyes are still crazy, the whites yellowed, the pupils dilated. They’re fixed on me.

  ‘Hi, Charlie,’ I say as if he hasn’t just locked me in my office. ‘Great to see you.’

  ‘Caffey,’ he rasps, his breath stale and unpleasantly sweet.

  ‘Charlie, I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to get to court. Someone’s in trouble. Do you mind waiting out in reception for a little while? Or you could come back in an hour?’

  ‘Caffey.’ He takes a step forward.

  I move back. I’m moving further away from the door, but it’s too dangerous to be within arm’s reach of Charlie.

  ‘Caffey, they wanna charge me wif freatening again. They say I put a knife to this girl’s throat. But I just wann – wann – wanned her to see what I was sayin’.’

  He takes a deep breath, raises his fist and punches the wall. The cheap laminate bounces back.

  ‘Charlie. Cut that out.’

  He takes another step. I edge away, my back brushes the wall.

  ‘Now, look, Charlie. Take a seat and I’ll get your file.’

  ‘Please, Caffey.’ He sways on his feet.

  I try to stay calm, breathe.

  ‘Sit down, Charlie. If you want my help, do what I tell you.’

  He sits.

  ‘Now, I’ll just get your file.’

  I move towards the door. He grips the armrests of the chair and tenses, ready to spring. I freeze.

  ‘Okay, why don’t you tell me about it?’

  Charlie tells me how he went to the Aboriginal medical centre and held a knife to a nurse’s throat, to ‘make her listen’.

  ‘What did you want to tell the nurse, Charlie?’ I slide over a legal pad.

  ‘I got these noises in me head. They won’t stop talkin’. They make me so mad. I got psycho-frenia.’

  ‘Schizophrenia.’

  ‘Yeah. That’s the one.’

  ‘My cousin has that condition, so I know a bit about it. You shouldn’t be drinking.’

  He shrugs.

  ‘Charlie, you still need to go down to Aboriginal mental health.’ I fold my shaking hands.

  ‘Nah … but …’

  ‘No buts, Charlie. A medical report might help with your charges. And you need treatment. Got it?’

  He nods.

  ‘Right. I’ll see if I can get a field officer to walk you over. In the meantime, you have to stop carrying knives around. Otherwise, you’ll end up in prison.’

  He shivers, clearly afraid of the prospect of jail. ‘Yes, Caffey.’

  After he’s gone, I feel an urge to sink to the floor.

  But I don’t have time.

  Soon after, all eyes turn as Roslyn and I enter the Children’s Court. I glance at the clock. We’re ten minutes late.

  The coordinating magistrate sits motionless on the bench. His brown hair is sprayed in a sixties-style comb-over and he wears thick, dark-rimmed glasses. I glance at him apprehensively. I insisted the court bring the matter on this afternoon and now I’m late. He smiles at me and shrugs.

  ‘Sorry we’re late, Your Honour.’ Any further explanation would sound like lame excuses of the dog ate my homework variety. Oh, I was locked in my office by a wall-punching maniac. Best just to push on.

  ‘Ms McLennan, I’m a little bemused as to the reason you’ve brought us all here today—’ the magistrate gestures to the line-up along the bar table, which includes Family Services, police, Olivia, her mother and the prosecutor. ‘I heard this matter yesterday and your colleague did not apply for bail.’

  ‘Yes, Your Honour. I do apologise for bringing this matter on at such late notice. Thank you for agreeing to my request. I would like to ask for bail for Miss Farrell.’

  The magistrate shakes his head. ‘I don’t know, Ms McLennan. I had a look at Miss Farrell’s criminal history, on file here from yesterday. She’s already accumulated several convictions for entering and stealing.’

  ‘I understand that Your Honour, but—’

  Olivia’s mother, Wendy, stands. My instinct is to grab her shoulder and sit her down. Instead, I hold my breath.

  ‘Mr Magistrate,’ says Wendy.

  She takes a deep breath and looks at me. I shake my head.

  ‘Please give my Olivia bail,’ Wendy says clearly.

  She sounds sober.

  ‘Please, Mr Magistrate,’ Wendy continues. ‘I’m givin’ up drinkin’ for my girl. I love ’er very much. I promise I’m gonna be a good mum. Please let ’er come ’ome.’

  The Family Services officer nods. ‘She’s been trying to give up alcohol. As far as I’m aware, she hasn’t had a drink for twelve days. We can offer her support in caring for Olivia.’

  The magistrate looks at me.

  ‘Your Honour, I saw Olivia Farrell out at the Cleveland Youth Detention Centre today. They have no facilities for girls there. They intend to send her to Brisbane, where she would be over a thousand kilometres from her home.’

  ‘And her mother and case-worker,’ says the magistrate.

  I bow my head. Olivia’s mother has damaged her since conception, and Family Services support – well, I’ll believe it when I see it.

  The magistrate looks at the prosecutor. ‘What do you say about this application?’

  ‘We object, Your Honour. The community needs to be prote
cted. Miss Farrell is already a recidivist offender.’

  ‘She is only eleven,’ the magistrate sighs. ‘But she has accumulated such a quantity of offences in a short time. I’m not sure I could be satisfied that she won’t re-offend.’

  ‘Your Honour, in that case, I seek a brief adjournment.’

  The magistrate nods and exits in a flurry of black robes.

  I turn to the prosecutor. ‘We might think about pleading guilty. Are you ready to proceed?’

  He nods and stands. ‘I will be.’

  Olivia won’t be sentenced to imprisonment. Children’s Court punishments are like stepping-stones. For any charges short of really serious ones like rape or murder there’s an ascending set of penalties. At first it’s a caution, then a good behaviour bond or two, as Olivia has already had. Now they’ll give her more probation.

  ‘I love ’er, Caffey,’ says Wendy, as soon as the courtroom door closes behind the prosecutor. ‘I’ll do anyfing for ’er.’

  ‘Stay off the grog. That’d be a start.’

  ‘I’m going to, Caffey. I mean it.’ She grips my arm.

  I don’t even glance her way. Shaking her free, I turn to Olivia and read out the charges, one by one, asking: ‘Is that right? Did you do that?’

  She nods.

  Each nod is punctuated by her mother’s groan: ‘Oh, Ollllliiiiiviahhh.’

  I scowl at Wendy. Looking up, Roslyn catches my eye. She shakes her head in disapproval. Does Roslyn really expect me to be polite to this woman?

  ‘Olivia, if you enter a plea of guilty to the charges,’ I say. ‘I don’t think you’ll go to jail. That means you’ll get out today. Do you want to plead guilty?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice is low, croaky.

  ‘Is there any more you want to tell me?’

  ‘Nah. I done ’em.’

  I turn to Wendy, still not looking her in the eye: ‘Do you want to add anything?’

  ‘I love ’er. I’m gonna look afta her.’

  ‘Okay.’

  As I thought, Olivia is given probation. She is surrounded by her mother and Family Services officers as the magistrate leaves.

  ‘See you later, Olivia,’ I call, as Roslyn and I exit the courtroom.

  Olivia smiles. ‘Bye Caffey.’