by Peter Watt
‘You need proof before we can act on that,’ Ward countered. ‘I don’t like him but you of all people know we can’t do a thing without proof. Between you and me, though, I reckon you could be right. I’m sorry, Major.’
Sean could see that the dejected police sergeant was not his enemy, but he also knew that when it came to it police officers would always stick together, despite any animosities they might harbour towards each other. It was a bond of blue that was almost impossible to break. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘We will let the coroner sort the mess out.’
‘I will still need you to have a look at him and tell me if you think he was the bloke who stabbed you,’ Ward said, and led Sean to the cells where the unfortunate man was still hanging from the bars. His face was blue and his tongue stuck out of a swollen face. Sean immediately recognised the man as his attacker, and could see the bandaged shoulder where his sword stick had inflicted the deep wound.
‘That’s him,’ Sean said, turning to limp back up the concrete stairs and depart the dingy place of misery.
He stepped into the warm sunshine, aware that his war against the all-powerful Sir George Macintosh would go on until one of them was dead. He spent the afternoon with Harry in their favourite pub around the corner from Harry’s gym, mulling over what had happened and what they would do next.
*
The small craggy hill rose over the expanse of dry scrub. Tom peered up at the bush-covered crest, Patrick beside him.
‘This is a special place, young Patrick,’ he said. ‘It has a sacred cave that only men may enter, and from the top of the hill you can see for miles. How would you like to go up with me?’
Patrick gazed up at the hill and his boyish sense of adventure was in his reply. ‘Yes, Uncle Tom, it would be grand.’
The man and boy set out along the well-worn wallaby track until they reached a point just below the crest where Patrick saw a small opening to a very dark place. The entrance was surrounded by low gnarled trees sprouting from the little soil they could penetrate with their roots.
‘Our friend Wallarie used to live here,’ Tom said, holding Patrick’s hand. ‘Wallarie was once a great warrior and brother to a man called Tom Duffy. Together they roamed the plains and had many adventures.’
‘The same name as you, Uncle Tom,’ Patrick said, mesmerised by the yawning dark opening. It was scary but also exciting. ‘Can we go inside?’
‘If Wallarie wants us to,’ Tom replied, ‘we will be allowed to enter his place of magic.’
Tom retrieved the flashlight he had brought in his pack, flicked it on and led Patrick inside the cave. It smelled musty and the beam of the torch settled on crude ochre paintings stretching along the inner walls of the cave. Patrick gripped Tom’s hand, and Tom could feel his sweat. He was sure the boy was frightened, and who could blame him. The ancient paintings seemed to come alive as the flashlight’s beam danced over them. The beam settled on one picture of a white stick-like figure holding a spear above his head. The picture had obviously been vandalised, as a large scratch had been ripped through it.
‘Wallarie used to call this the cave of the white warrior,’ Tom said, keeping his torch on the picture. ‘He never said why, though.’
‘Is Wallarie here now?’ Patrick asked in a hushed voice, not daring to look into the dark shadows lest he see a monster lurking there.
‘I don’t know,’ Tom answered. ‘Do you think so?’
Patrick vigorously shook his head. He had no real understanding of the sensation he was experiencing, all he knew was that time had no meaning and he was in a place with memories he could not comprehend. He could hear children’s laughter, and for a moment everything faded to a picture of naked, dark people – men, women and children – sitting by a waterhole surrounded by the bush. The picture in his head faded, and then it was replaced by something so terrible that Patrick screamed, startling Tom who immediately gripped the boy to him.
‘I want to go home,’ the boy wailed, and Tom quickly brought him out of the cave into the hot sunshine of the day. Patrick was trembling uncontrollably. He suddenly recollected the bloody scenes in Singapore when he had escaped with Uncle Cyril and his family. What Patrick had seen in the cave were the bloody, mutilated bodies of the men, women and children scattered around the waterhole in the semi-dark of an early morning and they had reminded him of what he had seen on the streets of Singapore.
‘What is wrong?’ Tom asked gently, bending to look Patrick in the face. ‘Did you see something bad in there?’
Patrick nodded his head, too frightened to look back at the cave’s entrance.
‘Did you see black people being killed?’ he asked and Patrick nodded again.
Tom turned to the entrance of the cave. Tom knew that Wallarie had revealed to Patrick the dark secret of the country’s past. He guessed that he had done so to remind the new generations of where the curse had started, and why.
Tom returned to the Glen View homestead with Patrick, and after dinner put him to bed with soothing words that Wallarie would watch over him.
Then Tom walked into the moonlit yard and stood facing the bumbil tree.
‘Wallarie, if you are here, you cunning old bugger, stop frightening kids,’ he said loudly, and his challenge was taken up by a chorus of distant curlews.
Tom turned back to the homestead but had only gone a few steps when he swore a voice in his ear said, ‘You didn’t bring any baccy, Tom Duffy.’
Tom grinned. ‘You won’t get any if you scare Patrick again, you old bugger.’
But as Tom continued to stride towards the welcoming yellow light of the kerosene lantern inside the house, he experienced a wonderful sense of peace. He knew that there was another world beyond this one, and it was a world where Wallarie lived in the shadows and light of their lives.
*
Captain James Duffy sat on an empty ammunition crate under the wing of his Corsair fighter bomber, chatting with his ground crew. The wing provided shade against the blazing tropical sun and his armourer was draped in heavy belts of .50 calibre ammunition, ready to reload the wing-mounted guns. Behind him, another of his ground crew went over the fuselage searching for any tears caused by bullets or anti-aircraft shrapnel after the mission he’d completed only an hour earlier against Japanese log bunkers in the hills.
Although the ground support missions were not as thrilling as being in a life or death dogfight with enemy Zeros, James knew they were essential to the marines on the ground slogging through the jungle, mopping up any resistance from a fanatical enemy who asked no quarter and gave none in return.
James had been back with his squadron for a month now and felt at home once again. He missed the comforts of his life in Hollywood, but there was a real sense of purpose in what he was doing now. He still felt fear, but he had long adopted the fatalistic attitude that if his death was predestined fighting in this war, then so be it. This attitude helped keep his aircraft on course through a cloud of red hot shrapnel and bullets each time he dived on one of the concealed enemy positions in the jungle. He had earned a reputation for a steady nerve and was respected by his colleagues, and also liked by his ground crew for his easy manner with them.
Every day James thought about the death of his beloved twin sister. He swore to himself that he would live out the war to return home and wreak revenge on her killer. His grandfather was a constant correspondent and informed him that Sheriff Mueller had lost the election and that Deputy Ike Hausmann had won the office. James felt his rage rising at the news. He was sure that the deputy was complicit in covering up Olivia’s murder.
James looked up to see the squadron clerk walking towards them. ‘Got mail for you boys,’ the clerk said, holding up the bundle, and when he was near he commenced calling out names. A couple of James’s ground crew whooped and stepped forward to be passed the precious letters or small packages from home.
> ‘Captain Duffy, mail for you,’ the clerk said, holding up a letter and then sniffing it. ‘You know some dame from Hollywood?’
James stood up quickly from his ammunition crate and took the letter from the grinning clerk. He quickly flipped it over to see that the letter had come from Julianna and had a Hollywood return address.
‘Like her perfume,’ the clerk said and James glared at him. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said and retreated back to the shimmering heat of the airstrip, in search of other aircraft crews working on the returning fighter bombers.
James pulled his improvised seat further under the wing to keep pace with the sun high overhead. He carefully slipped open the letter and unfolded it. He realised that his hands were shaking, but fixed his eyes on the opening sentence.
My dear James,
I am writing to tell you how grieved I was to hear of your sister’s terrible accident. I know this is not the best time to tell you, but I have met another . . .
James hardly read the rest of the letter. Julianna had said she would not wait for him, but deep down he had lived on the hope that she might. He had lost his sister, and now he had lost the only woman he felt he could have shared the rest of his life with.
Twenty-seven
The Melbourne Cup had been run and the soldiers of David Macintosh’s company stretched away from the radios they had been huddled around. David rarely betted, but a tip from his radio man, Corporal Andrew Paull, had seen him put his money on the winner, Dark Felt, ridden by jockey, Vic Hartney. David donated his small windfall back to the company funds to assist buying a few creature comforts for the campaign ahead. They knew that they were finally being sent back into the Pacific war, but exactly where was still a closely guarded secret known only to the commanding officer and his closest staff.
The last big battalion parade was held in the tablelands of North Queensland. David marched onto the parade ground to take his place at the head of his company, while the company sergeant major took up the rear. A high-ranking guest officer took the salute at a dais erected for the occasion. As the battalion marched past and David gave the ‘eyes right’ command he realised that the men following him, from his platoon commanders down to the riflemen, would depend on his skills to keep them alive in the forthcoming weeks and months. He felt that he had been born to be responsible for the men who followed him. The tramping of feet, and orders bawled to the respective companies of the battalion, was the only sound to echo in the surrounding bush. There were no families to see off their men as they were a long way from home.
The parade over, and the men dismissed to their duties, David attended a meeting with his fellow company commanders ordered by the commanding officer. The usual matters were given in a brief, and when it was over the CO announced that drinks would be on his chit for his officers that evening in their mess. The CO cautioned that he would be making any of the platoon commanders who took more than one drink on his chit the permanent duty officer for the duration of their stay in Australia. This raised a few chuckles amongst the more senior officers who knew none of the lieutenants would now dare take advantage of the CO’s generous offer.
That afternoon, David received a letter delivered to his quarters. He could see it was from Sean and he sat down on his camp stretcher to read it. Sean’s first main item was the fact that the annual general meeting for the Macintosh companies was to be held in a few days’ time and that David, as a de facto member of the board, was entitled to cast a vote as to who should be the next general manager and second-in-charge, as only Sir George was authorised to appoint his successor. The second point Sean raised was that of the offer Tom Duffy had resubmitted for the purchase of Glen View. With Sir George resigning that would leave David, Sarah and Donald in a position to decide if Tom could purchase the property. The last time such an offer had been made David and Sarah, along with Sir George, had declined the purchase, and only Donald had supported the offer. For David, the land held strong emotional ties as his mother was buried on Glen View. Sean stated that he hoped David would reconsider his position and agree to the sale. David had thought at length about the whole issue after he had met Tom Duffy on the Kokoda Track a year earlier. Tom had said that Wallarie was responsible for their unlikely meeting in the jungles of New Guinea.
The final part of Sean’s letter questioned why David had not responded to Allison’s letters. David squirmed. How could he tell Sean what he had seen in the photos he had destroyed?
‘You heading for the mess, old chap?’ Captain Brian Williams asked, popping his head around the door to David’s room.
‘Yeah,’ David answered. ‘Just finishing up here. I won’t be long.’
Captain Williams disappeared to join the other officers of the battalion to celebrate the fact they were finally being posted off to rejoin the war. This would be the battalion’s fifth campaign, and they had been annoyed to have to wait so long to be called on. Now the waiting was over.
David was late to attend the mess as he had sat down and written a letter answering each of Sean’s three main points. That included why he had not answered Allison’s letters and his decision on the sale of Glen View to Tom Duffy.
*
A week later Sean received David’s letter. On the first point David said his proxy vote went to Donald. On the point of selling Glen View to Tom Duffy, that depended on Donald concurring. Sean was fairly sure that Donald would agree to the sale, although he assumed Sarah would oppose it because of her father’s dogged resistance to the Duffy family ever owning Glen View. It was David’s answer to his third question that stunned Sean. He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. Could David be correct when he said he had seen explicit photos of Allison having sexual intercourse with a man?
‘David, you stupid, stupid man,’ Sean said to the empty room. ‘You’ve been conned.’ He knew Allison loved only one man, and he was a good enough observer of human nature to know that she would never be unfaithful to the man she loved. If photographs existed of the alleged incident, Sean needed to see them for himself.
‘Allison, could you please come here?’ Sean called. ‘Take a seat,’ he said when she walked into his office.
‘What is it, Major?’ she asked with a look of concern. ‘Has David been hurt?’
‘No, no,’ Sean answered, shaking his head. ‘I have a letter from David on my desk. I promised you that I would ask him why he has not answered your letters, and he has finally given me an answer.’
Allison leaned forward anxiously and Sean took a deep breath.
‘Have you ever been unfaithful to David?’ he asked.
Allison was shocked. ‘Of course not,’ she answered. ‘Why, has someone told him I have?’
‘Not exactly,’ Sean replied. ‘David was sent a set of photographs showing you semi-naked and having intimate relations with a stranger.’
Stunned, Allison could only sit transfixed by the statement. ‘That’s impossible,’ she said eventually. ‘I have never been unfaithful to David, and if such photos exist, they must be fakes.’
Sean was watching Allison’s reaction carefully. After many years in the court system he figured he could tell when people were lying; what he saw in Allison was a woman genuinely shocked by the allegation and he believed she was telling the truth.
‘If you are the woman in the photos, how do you think they could have been taken?’ he asked.
For a moment Allison searched her memory and then suddenly it all became clear.
‘Sarah!’ she gasped. ‘I was stupid enough to believe that she was attempting to patch our friendship, and I accepted an invitation to a party at her place just after David left. I only had a few drinks and then I blacked out. The next thing I remembered was the following morning being in bed and suffering a splitting headache. Sarah told me that I had had too much to drink and had passed out. I thought it was strange at the time as I had only had a couple of drinks.’
‘It would be easy to have someone pose you for photos while you were unconscious, perhaps from a Mickey Finn,’ Sean said, using the popular American expression for a knock-out drug used in alcoholic drinks. ‘I know that Sarah Macintosh has in her employ a private investigator, Chatsworth, who has a reputation for shady dealings. Do you remember who she had at her party?’
Allison went on to describe the few people she knew at the party, and suddenly it came to her. ‘There was a man with a camera. Sarah said she had hired him to take pictures for the social pages,’ Allison said. ‘He had another man with him who was a kind of assistant. I thought that they looked like undesirable types, and wondered why Sarah had invited them.’
‘Can you describe him?’ Sean asked and Allison racked her mind. She gave a description and Sean leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head.
‘You have described Chatsworth to a tee,’ he said. ‘I think we are getting to the bottom of this matter.’
‘I was set up!’ Allison exploded, and leapt to her feet, pacing the office in her fury. ‘I am going to kill Sarah for what she has done.’
‘That is not a good idea,’ Sean said calmly. ‘I will write to David and explain that the photos were staged, and that you are completely innocent. I am sure he knows how devious his cousin Sarah is, and to what lengths she will go to get her own way in life.’
Allison turned to Sean. ‘Oh, poor David, thinking all this time that I had been unfaithful to him. I have to write and explain.’
‘I think he will trust my words, so it might be wise if I explain first,’ Sean cautioned. ‘I am sure he will see sense. I have been told through my contacts at Victoria Barracks that David’s battalion is currently being shipped back into the Pacific theatre.’
‘Oh, God no,’ Allison groaned. ‘I would never forgive myself if anything happened to David whilst he still believed I had betrayed him.’