The woman stood, gathered her notepad and pencils, and said, "Yes, sir."
Once she was gone, Hargrove sighed. "Thanks to you both for following your guts."
I smiled. "The real thanks go to O'Reilly and Murphy for figuring out why our car was parked up the hill and laying in wait for us. That was good guesswork."
Hargrove nodded solemnly. "No doubt. Inspector Ames should be done with them by now." He leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. "Now, where are you going next?"
Carter, who didn't catch the look I saw on Hargrove's face, said, "If it ever stops raining, we're going to the beach."
Hargrove smiled briefly. "Unofficially, I feel obliged to tell you what will happen once there is a review of your statement." He paused. "And there will be a review. I've heard from Cahill's office about the story that appeared in The Sun this evening. Cahill is the Premier of New South Wales. And my chief received a nervous phone call from Canberra, from the Prime Minister's office. Everyone, including the Crown Prosecutor, is watching you."
I nodded. "What do you suggest?"
"Tahiti, perhaps. Or back to the states. Just don't stay around here too long. I'd leave on Monday at the latest."
"What about testifying at the trial?" I asked.
Hargrove sighed. "You can't. Not really."
"Why?" asked Carter.
"Because you'll be admitting, in open court, to this new law we have in New South Wales about the intention to commit an unnatural act. The Crown will then try to prosecute you for your testimony, the very testimony, that will put Branch and Wilkerson away. Why you were going to the Branch house in the first place will be a subject that his barrister will be able to grill you on. Under oath." He shook his head. "No. You really need to leave Australia as soon as you can."
I leaned back in my chair. "You think the prosecution would queer its own case just to get at us?"
"The judges in this state are up to here"—he put his hand on his forehead—"with the false testimony that some of the men on the force are bringing blokes in with. I think the Crown will be looking for a nice, solid, self-admitted crime that they can bring to trial. And win."
"Why not just deport us?"
He nodded. "That's a matter for Canberra. But only after the trial." He stood. "As I said, I'd advise you to leave no later than Monday. That's when your statement will have made its way to everyone who's looking for it."
"What about Tom?" asked Carter.
"He's free to go. If you could take him home with you, I'd appreciate it."
"What about his father?" I asked.
Hargrove frowned. "That's not a police matter. And I hope it stays that way."
. . .
The five of us finally arrived back at the house at a quarter past 2 in the morning. Once we were up the stairs and in the living room, I said, "This is your house, kid. Where do you wanna sleep tonight?"
He shrugged. "I'll take the sofa in the lounge. That's fine for me."
Murphy looked up at him. "Danny and me could sleep out here. We've slept in worse places," he said with a laugh.
Tom shook his head. "No. You've paid for the lodging. I'll sleep out here."
Carter said, in a quiet voice, "There's the room in the back."
The tears started rolling down the kid's face and didn't stop for a while.
. . .
Once we were all settled, with Tom in the living room, and the rest of us where we'd been all along, I nestled my head on Carter's chest. "Where to next, Chief?"
He began to run his hand along the back of my head and neck, gently massaging in different places. "Maybe we can hire that Henry to fly us to Tahiti. He said that he has a seaplane."
"I'd like to see that island of his."
"Me, too. But that's not the sort of thing you just ask for."
"I agree," I replied sleepily.
"I know I promised—"
"It'll wait," I said as I drifted off to sleep.
. . .
I had forgotten how beautiful she was. She was sitting there, in her bed, my father's bed, with her long hair over her shoulder. Her arms were stretched out and she was smiling.
I ran into the room, like I always did, around the foot of the bed, past the Chesterfield, and over to her side. It was the one by the bathroom. It felt, odd, somehow to see her lying there. But I knew she wasn't feeling well. I'd obviously forgotten that my mother was living with us and sleeping in Father's bed, even though he was married to Lettie and living over on California Street.
"Nicholas, my dear, darling boy. How are you, son?" I'd forgotten that, like Carter, she called me, "son."
"I'm fine, Mother." I felt shy in her presence, as if she were the Queen of England and I was just some stupid hick from nowhere.
She smiled. "And how is Carter? Are you two having a good time in Australia?"
I sat back, startled. "How'd you know that?"
"Do you think I ever really left you?" She reached over and pulled me in close. "No, my dear boy, I've been with you all the time. Whispering in your ear."
I looked around. We were somewhere flat. It wasn't the desert, or at least no desert I'd ever seen. It was just flat. I looked up at the copper-colored sky, feeling Carter's hand in mine. "Where are we?" I asked.
"I'm not sure," he replied. He pulled me in close and began to kiss me deeply. After a moment, I could hear the seagulls.
"Why are they here?" I asked.
"Why are what here?" I looked up and it was Mack, my once lover and best friend. The one who'd died in Korea.
"Those seagulls." I pointed up at the white birds who were flying overhead in the big blue sky.
"We must be coming into port," he replied, standing up. We'd been stretched out on the deck, wearing just our BVDs. He walked back to the rudder of the sailboat and moved it a little. Walking back over, with a grin that meant business, he said, "Are you ready for it?"
"Ready for what?" I asked with a smile.
He knelt down, looked me deep in the eyes, and said, "This."
I closed my eyes for a long moment.
When I opened them the pale light of the sun trying to shine through the thick veil of rain was making its presence known. I looked at my watch. It was a quarter before 8. I sat up in bed. Carter was asleep, snoring softly like he always did.
I slipped out, pulled on my trousers and a t-shirt, and padded my way into the kitchen.
At the counter, with his back to the sink, stood a man with shaggy black hair, dark green eyes, and a friendly smile. He was painfully thin in oversized clothes and quietly sipping a cup of something. He stood about 6'3" and was slightly stooped. His face was wrinkled and weather-beaten. He looked about 60 but I figured he was more likely right around 50, or so.
He said, "G'day, Mr. Williams."
"Good morning, Mr. Jenkins."
He grinned and took a sip from his cup. His hand surround the rim of the delicate piece of china. He sounded like the majority of the Australian sailors and soldiers I'd seen at the Navy hospital in New Guinea where I'd been a corpsman during the war.
He asked, "Sleep well after all your adventures yesterday?"
I nodded. "Can I make you some scrambled eggs?" I asked. I had an overwhelming desire to feed the man.
He shook his head. "Can't eat. That's why I'm here."
"Cancer?"
He shook his head. "Last doc I saw couldn't rightly say. Could just be that what the Japs didn't beat out of me has lasted as long as it can. How's my son?"
"Sad that he lost his mother and didn't get a chance to see her before she died."
The man took another sip from his cup and nodded. He turned back to the sink and slowly filled his cup with water. Turning around, he winked at me. "Water's about the only thing I can hold onto these days."
I looked at the kitchen table. "Have a seat?"
He laughed slightly. "Right now my legs will let me stand, so I'll take that." With another wink, he said, "I appreciate you being so hospi
table to me in my own house."
I smiled. "Let's just say that my instinct is to bundle you up and take you to the nearest hospital. I'm doing the best I can."
He nodded. "And I appreciate that, mate." He smiled. "Fair dinkum." He took a ragged breath. " Just like I'm grateful to you and that copper for taking care of my boy."
"You've been here all along?"
"Yeah. I set myself up downstairs about a week ago. I'm pretty sure Peg saw me but just ignored me, like she was good at doing. She tried to bring me some food, but I just left it there. As long as I could fill my canteen once or twice a day, I was fine."
That made sense. It also explained why Mrs. Tutwiler didn't use the back stairs to go down to the car. She'd even stood in the rain to open the garage door from the outside when she didn't have to. "How did you move around without us hearing you?"
"Amazin' the things you learn in a prison camp, mate."
I nodded but didn't reply.
"So, you saw Jimmy Branch coming in and out down there?"
"Is that the bloke's name? Tall, effete, too many clothes?"
I smiled. "That's him."
"What was he lookin' for, exactly?"
"The cash your wife and her solicitor were stashing down there."
Mr. Jenkins shook his head. "There's neither a pound nor a farthing down there to be found. Believe me, I looked for some. Had to steal a few shillings outta my own wife's purse, I did."
"You've searched everywhere?"
He nodded. "Sure did. Went through every nook and cranny. I built this house. I know where everything is."
"You built this house?" I asked.
"Sure. Peg and I developed this bit of Dover Heights. Was the last part along the cliffs and the last part of her inheritance. This is the only house in the neighborhood with a sunroom. Drew up the plans, showed the lads how it was done, the whole thing." He paused and took a sip of water. "Peg didn't have any money left, not in her name. We transferred every penny we could to a trust we set up for Tommy. That was set up by Kenworthy." A very dark expression crossed his face. I had a feeling that, once upon a time, he'd been a man never to cross. He took another sip of water. "If that bastard was stealing, he was doing so from Tommy's trust."
I asked, "You sure you don't wanna have a seat?"
He looked at me for a long moment. "That man o' yours, you treat him this way?"
I was surprised at how direct he was.
He nodded with a grin. "Sure I know. Hard not to with four blokes going at it in my own house." His eyes twinkled when he said that. "Whatever I thought about that got beaten out of me long ago." He coughed. Very quietly.
I said, "I need to call the police station."
He sighed. "Gonna report a dead man?"
I shook my head. "Chief Inspector Hargrove knows you're here. And I don't think he has any reason to tell anyone else about it."
"Fair enough, mate."
I grinned at his reply. His eyes twinkled again.
I picked up the phone and called the station.
"Bondi police station. Constable Thomas speaking."
"Good morning, Constable. Is Chief Inspector Hargrove available?"
"Who's speaking?"
"Nick Williams."
"Well, Mr. Williams," the man sneered, "it might interest you to know that the Chief Inspector has been placed on suspension, no thanks to you."
"How so?"
There was a bitter laugh at the other end of the phone. The constable whispered into the phone, "As if you don't know, you buggery poofter." With that, he slammed the phone down.
I looked at the receiver for a moment before putting it back on the hook. Looking up at Mr. Jenkins, I asked, "Where did Mr. Kenworthy live?"
. . .
The four of us were huddled in our bedroom. I'd awakened Carter, the captain, and Murphy and told them to get dressed, and fast. I briefly brought them up to speed about Mr. Jenkins, the money, and Hargrove.
"I wanna go over there now and see if we can find the money before anyone else, including the cops, puts two and two together."
I looked up at Carter. He nodded.
"But we can't leave the lad here alone to face his father. He thinks the man is dead." That was O'Reilly.
I said, "I agree. And I think you should stay."
Murphy put his arm on the captain's shoulder. "You know more about the dead coming back to life than any of us."
O'Reilly nodded. "I'll do it." He turned and kissed Murphy on the lips. "But you better come back to me, John Murphy."
Murphy laughed. "I'll do better than that." He then described the nature of their reunion. Carter and I both blushed.
. . .
O'Reilly was bent over Tom, asleep on the sofa. "Tom Jenkins. Wake up, boyo."
Tom opened his eyes and looked around at all of us. "What time is it?"
"Just before 9," answered the captain.
Tom sat up. "What's going on? Is it still raining?"
I nodded. "Sure the hell is. The three of us are going out to get something. Captain O'Reilly is going to stay with you."
"Stay with me? I'm not a child."
I looked up at Carter who smiled. Tom sounded just like our gardener and chauffeur, Ferdinand.
O'Reilly nodded. "There's someone here I want you to meet."
Tom jumped up. "Is it Bobby?" He looked around the room as if we had him hidden somewhere.
"No, my lad. It's someone else. Sit down. I need to tell you a few things, first." He waved his hand at us and we made a hasty retreat down the stairs and out into the rain.
. . .
Kenworthy's house was only a few blocks away. As Carter drove south on Military Road, I explained, "His house is part of the same development. Jenkins described the layout and said there are two likely places where the money could be stashed. The first place would be down in the storage room. It's behind the garage, just like in their house. The second place would be in the attic. He said most of the houses have crawl spaces above the top floor that are for ventilation in the summer. But Kenworthy's house has room for a built-out attic. Jenkins said he remembered that Kenworthy's house was completely built-out with flooring that could be pulled up in order to get to the overheard wiring."
"Any idea how much money we're looking for?" asked Murphy from the back seat.
"Jenkins said that they put a little over twenty-five thousand in the trust before he volunteered. He's pretty sure it should have doubled by now."
Carter asked, "Ten is the biggest bill right?"
"Yeah."
"Won't that be a lot to carry out? And in broad daylight?"
I nodded. "Might be. Won't know until we find it." I peered through the car's windshield into the rain. "Of course, I wouldn't call this broad daylight."
. . .
Kenworthy's house was on the north side of Lyons Street at the end of the block. Carter drove us down Lyons and then turned around. From the outside, it looked like no one was at home. Unlike the other houses on that wet Saturday morning, there were no lights on in his. Carter went back up to Military Road, made a right, and then made the next right on Dover Road. He parked the car, set the brake, and we all piled out as nonchalantly as possible. There was a little park right in front of where we'd parked. One other car, a model I didn't recognize, was nearby. I saw a couple walking away from the car, both covered in rain slickers, and holding hands.
Carter and I were both wearing our windbreakers with the hoods pulled over our heads. Murphy was wearing a trench coat. He also sported the kind of hat that fishermen wear in the rain. It was round, beige, and fit his head perfectly. Carter walked towards the cliff, playing the tourist and keeping an eye out, while Murphy and I moved quickly to our right and around the back of the house on Dover that was facing north. It had the same design as the Jenkins's house, minus the sunroom. There was one light on, in the kitchen, but it was otherwise quiet.
As we walked around the back, we found a small alley that separated t
he house on Dover and Kenworthy's on Lyons. With all the rain, the alley was a small river that we carefully forded. It was running fast and powerful. The flattened grass underneath was slick.
The back gate to the garden was easy to open since it was only latched in place. We walked across the green lawn that needed to be mowed, thanks to all the rain. Walking up the back steps, I quickly picked the lock. I stepped back to let Murphy walk in first. In the thickest brogue he could muster, he called out, "Gas Company! Anyone home?"
We listened for a long moment. There was no movement in the house that I could hear. We quickly walked to the other side of the kitchen and up the stairs that led to the attic above.
I opened the door at the top and was surprised to see that the room was mostly empty. There was an old dollhouse in the corner and a broken mirror resting on its side near the dollhouse, but that was it other than two canvas bags sitting open. The money was actually sitting there, for all to see, almost as if Kenworthy had been planning to make a fast getaway or, at least, move it somewhere more secure, like a safety deposit box.
I quickly counted the bundles of ten-pound notes and guessed that there was probably around twenty-five thousand pounds. The other bag appeared slightly bulkier. The bags were hefty but not hard to carry. They both had zippers. I closed up the one in front of me while Murphy did the same with his.
He made a sound of frustration. I turned and saw that he was struggling with the zipper. "This one won't close all the way," he whispered.
I stood and looked at it. The zipper was caught in the thick canvas fabric. "This is why I don't like zippers on trousers," I replied.
Murphy chuckled. He said, "We can grab a towel downstairs and put it over the exposed area. A little rain shouldn't hurt much."
I nodded and grabbed my bag. He lifted his up and said, "Hold on a sec. This is too damn heavy for just paper money." He put it back down on the floor. There was the sound of metal clanging as he did. After a moment of digging around, he smiled and said, "There be treasure here," as if he were Long John Silver. He lifted out a gold ingot and showed it to me. It was about two and a half inches long, a little over an inch wide, and a half of an inch thick. There was an odd badge on it, and words in some language I couldn't read, along with "500 grams" stamped at the bottom.
The Excluded Exile (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 12) Page 13