Crocodile Spirit Dreaming - Possession - Books 1 - 3

by Graham Wilson

  Then Susan told of seeing her own self on TV, her fat bloated belly in telephoto view. She said it felt just like the photos she had seen of Lindy Chamberlain, when everyone was saying it was the Devil’s Child, only now they were saying the “She Devil’s Children”, and making sick jokes that her babies were not human but crocodilian.

  It was such an excruciating description of a visit which Sandy had hoped would be an escape from the dreariness of this place.

  Susan finished the story by saying that at least it would be over soon, her babies would be born and have each other, and her parents, and wouldn’t need her any more, and she would be able to escape all this. There was a chilling finality to this statement; it felt like a suicide note.

  Now today was Sandy’s fourth visit, meaning three weeks had passed since she first came. It was now only a fortnight until the trial date. There was a pre-trial conference next week when the lawyers would meet with Sandy one day to discuss preparations for the case and then with Susan the next day to discuss how it would all run.

  As she walked up to the prison Sandy ran through how the case was unfolding in her mind.

  She had heard that Susan had not employed any defence counsel; she refused all offers saying she was pleading guilty and could speak for herself; she did not need others to say the words on her behalf. Everyone else was deeply uncomfortable about the way events were shaping; even the prosecution did not like it even though it made their work easy. Public opinion was starting to swing behind Susan and suggest the investigation was incompetent as they had not come up with a better reason than what was currently being put forward, a lovers tiff gone wrong.

  All thinking people knew it did not make sense. It was too out of character; it was portrayed as too planned and calculated, and her total unwillingness to make any defence as to why, was incomprehensible.

  But Sandy knew Susan just wanted it over and the prosecution wanted it wrapped up, their case was solid and the public opinion would pass once the trial was out of the news. So the trial would proceed as scheduled.

  Even though Sandy saw a problem with Mark’s dual identity, neither the prosecution nor Susan was overly concerned, there was a real person, his name was Mark, and they had a body, so it was murder. Investigations about the correct name could take their own course.

  The one fly in the ointment was an independent barrister who was advocating for a parliamentary or judicial inquiry, seeking a full and proper investigation into the identity of the victim if the police or prosecution would not do it before the case went to trial.

  Sandy half wondered if this was being done as a delaying tactic by Susan’s friends or family to try and buy some space. She half wished it would succeed as she really wanted more time. She knew that both David, Susan’s former fiancée, and her best friend Anne were flying in to Darwin again this weekend and wondered if either of them had had a hand in this advocacy.

  Now, today, when Sandy visited, Susan was different. She had washed her face, done her hair and put on a pretty dress, one which was loose enough to diminish her pregnant look. And she was smiling brightly and gave Sandy a hug and cheek kiss as she came in.

  Sandy should have been delighted but instead her alarm radar went into the red alert zone, though she tried to give no clue about her concern.

  Once Sandy sat down they talked about who the real Mark could be, and any lines of investigation they could follow to get to the real person. Susan said she had been wracking her brain for any other clues from her time with Mark, and had wondered about two things; could he have been born and lived as a small child in the NT, and could he have been born or perhaps lived for a time as a small child in either London or Italy.

  Sandy agreed these were definitely lines of inquiry worth pursuing. The other suggestion that Susan made was that she was almost sure that Mark’s fathers name was Vincent Bassingham, she said that Mark had told her this, it was part of his unwillingness to take his father’s name at school. So could they try and trace the father and work it out that way instead, try and find a birth or marriage certificate for a man by that name. It was all eminently sensible and Sandy agreed to get on to it.

  But suddenly Sandy saw, with a shocking clarity, that the difference in Susan was all a ruse. Previously she had had a vague unformed suspicion that Susan was steering her. Now she knew it with certainty. She glimpsed a gloating place in Susan’s mind as she took up these ideas. She saw that Susan was directing her to these places and was now secretly gleeful that she had taken the bait.

  She tried to pull her mind back from her desire to look into Susan’s mind, this was danger. If she could see what Susan was thinking then it would probably be the same in reverse. In a split second she saw it in Susan’s eyes, fear of overreach that she had let Sandy see.

  Now Susan was subtly backpedalling, “Perhaps that is a silly idea after all – it is not really so important to know who Mark was.”

  It was such a subtle and skilful seduction, a piece of consummate acting, that anyone who had not had Sandy’s insights into the way Susan’s mind worked would have missed it. But now she knew and Susan knew she knew.

  Sandy decided she had to think on this. Tonight she must talk about this with Alan. She started to pack up to leave. Now Susan wanted to keep her, wanted to keep her talking, break the link of the insight from its importance.

  Sandy sensed a desperation she had not sighted before. Susan was really desperate to hide something, something about Mark. She let these thoughts wash through her mind like an unconscious flow, making no attempt to trap and catch them, hoping that without formed intent Susan could see no more of her own thoughts and plans.

  She forced herself to give Susan her full attention and felt her affection for this girl flooding back. Despite the deception there was such goodness here, a simple and decent person who needed all the help she could get. Spontaneously she came over to her and hugged her. “I am so glad you seem to be a bit better today.”

  Susan hugged her back, feeding on her warmth, opening her mind to Sandy unconsciously.

  In a split second, within that warmth Sandy saw the outline of a dark and terrible secret which she knew with certainty was the real reason for all this. She tried to let it wash through her mind as if unnoticed.

  Susan had a future planned which ended almost as soon as her children were born. She would give her children to her parents to care for, safe in the knowledge that they would have each other and be well cared for. And then, once they were safely home in England, Susan would end her life and go to join her crocodile spirit partner. There was a joy in this inside Susan that she was incapable of hiding and it chilled Sandy to the bone, though she must not let it be seen.

  That night she and Alan talked it through. Alan was finished his surveillance operation and now had a couple days in the office to clean up paperwork before starting on a significant new case next week. However this work was not urgent and he thought it could be deferred for at least a couple weeks. He also knew his time would be in demand next week as the trial approached, going through evidence, lawyers meetings, polishing all the statements that he and others would put before he court. He thought it was a complete waste of time, certain that Susan would make a guilty plea.

  But the crown prosecutor had pointed out that plenty of people had changed their plea, even five minutes before they stood in the court and that was a right available to all. So they must assume that it would be a full jury trial and prepare accordingly, expect to have all the evidence contested. If it did not end that way well, that was a bonus.

  So Alan knew he would have some time, but not a lot, to help Sandy pursue the identity question. Sandy also wanted him not to be fully drawn into this path, she knew that this was what Susan intended; enough attention to get the true identity of Mark at the eleventh hour just before they stood up in court, closing off that issue but leaving no time to pursue anything else.

  They decided they would both put maximum effort into this next week
and then Alan would try and find a couple days to pursue leads relating to Mark’s life since he had come to the NT, because they suspected this was what they were being steered away from.

  He would try and focus on the part of Mark and Susan’s trip life between Barkly Homestead and Timber Creek, particularly after the day flying in the helicopter with Vic. That seemed to be the part where something had arisen in their relationship or Susan had gained knowledge that had led to the murder.

  He knew that was a wishful guess, but he must try and find a door to open. He knew he could not revisit the whole of Mark and Susan’s two week trip looking for a new clue, and therefore he must start in the closest part, the last 3 or 4 days. From his initial meeting with Vic he knew the date of their helicopter flight in the Gulf, there had been no shadows that Vic had seen in the sky then and he was pretty sharp.

  Vic had said they were heading on for Seven Emus and Borroloola the next day, and then the day after they had come across to VRD. Buck had given him that date and also the details that the previous night they had stayed in Heartbreak Hotel along with brief stop overs in Daly Waters and Top Springs.

  So he would try to get to all those places, just in case there was something important at one of them. If that trawled nothing then, after the trial and before sentencing, which he knew would be deferred; he would try and close out the other loose ends. Particularly he would try for Katherine connections, after all the Mark Butler identity seemed to be centred there.

  But this next week both he and Sandy would put maximum effort into working out who Vincent Mark Bassingham was, or whatever the hell his name was.

  So Alan used his two days to get all his other affairs in order and start making discreet inquiries about what contacts Mark might have had in the Gulf or VRD. First he rang Buck to update him, seeking any insights he had about people worth talking to out his way.

  Buck had a several suggestions but no strong leads and his ideas of who else might know more about Mark were spread all over the Northen Territory and the Kimberley region. Mark had done a lot of work in over in north Western Australia, on Argyle Diamond Mine as well as at stations and some dude lodge up around the Mitchell Plateau. He had also worked on the aboriginal communities out towards the Tanami, Hooker Creek was one. And yes he was good mates with one Michael Riley, publican at the Top Springs Hotel, a mad Irishman if ever there was one and a bit fey; even his guesses would be worth listening to, that’s what Buck’s sixth sense said.

  So in the end Alan and Buck both concluded that the rest were too scattered and these places had not been on Mark and Susan’s trip, but that the man from Top Springs was worth talking to.

  When Alan mentioned the name to Sandy she said, “That is funny, I am sure I saw that name in the log of visitors that Susan had. We each write our name in a book each time we visit and there have not been many visitors, so the name sort of stuck out when I looked at it as someone I did not know.”

  Alan had already talked to the publicans at Daly Waters and at Heartbreak Hotel, he doubted he would get more there, though now his focus was different so who knew. But he had never worked on the trip from Redbank Mine to Heartbreak in the Gulf, with likely stopovers at Borroloola and Seven Emus. So he would follow up these; a visit in person would be best.

  If he could crack a whip he reckoned he could cover the ground in three days. He tried to think how he could slot it in. Trouble was the pre-trial conference was next Wednesday, he had a lot of work to do getting ready for that and on running down the identity angle before then. The trial proper started the following Tuesday, meaning he had to be back in town for the Monday in time for final barrister meetings and all the last minute pre-trial work. That left a four day window, but then he ruled out the Thursday knowing that he would have follow up work to do after the first pre-trial meeting. So that left the Friday and the weekend.

  He hated giving up his weekends with Sandy, and he and she had both been busy lately leaving little time for play, and he really wanted to play some more – with her!

  Then it came to him, why should she not come with him, they were both working on this case together. Plus, so often their shared insights were much better than what just one or the other would see.

  He picked up the phone and rang through. “Fancy a trip to the VRD and Gulf next weekend, leave Friday early and back Sunday, probably late. I am trying to backtrack and trace the trip Susan and Mark made; there must be a clue somewhere. I have yet to clear it with my boss but think I can swing it.

  “He is starting to feel the political heat from Susan, he called her “Saint Susan” this morning and said he was scared they would canonise her next week before they burnt her at the stake for murder the week after, “a sort of Joan of Arc trick” was how he described it. So he is getting a bit desperate for something better than what we have now as an explanation, the “why did a nice girl suddenly go crazy” question”.

  Sandy said, “Shut up and stop talking. I know you just want a weekend away with me, and a real dirty weekend in the bush beckons, what could be better. Count me in.” With that she clicked the phone off with a lascivious smile on her face. Her colleague, across the bench, looked at her with surprise and she flushed bright red.

  Sandy set to work following up the suggestions that Susan had given her yesterday about trying to locate the real Mark. She could have kicked herself for having ignored the NT as a birth place and the English and Italian connections were definitely worth following.

  In half an hour she rang Alan back, her hands were shaking. “I can’t believe I missed it. He was born in Darwin, his birthday is November 3rd so he is a Scorpio, and he would have been 34 years old this November gone if he was alive.

  “I have a birth certificate for a Vincent Marco Bassingham. His parents are listed as migrants, English migrants, though the mother’s nationality is listed as Italian. They are mother, Rosalie Adriana Moretti, father Vincent Bassingham, no middle name.

  “So it suggests we have our man, though I suspect they did not live here in Darwin long. Now we have to try and work out where they lived after that.

  “I need to visit Susan to see if she can give me anything Mark told her about the mother. I am almost sure he told Susan that she committed suicide. There was also a suggestion that the police wanted to lay charges against her husband for beating her up, and there may have been other violent incidents where he was charged. So there may be some police records in this name.

  “How about you try and pursue these and I will try and find out where the mother died. It should not be too hard if I can get an approximate date of death, even if we don’t know where. Death certificates are pretty reliable and ones from that era are computerised across Australia now.

  “So once I can pin it down to a year or two it should only take half an hour.

  “Bye and love, and don’t forget about our weekend away. I can’t wait to get you down and dirty in the real bush. I want to find out whether there is a real bushie lurking in there or just an Akubra wearing city slicker.” Sandy felt herself flush red again as she clicked off the phone and looked up, her work mate was looking curious again.

  By the Friday afternoon Sandy had all the pieces together; she had found a real Vincent Marco Bassingham who had vanished from remand school when thirteen only to turn up a couple times over the next five years in slightly suspicious circumstances by being linked to deaths of other unsavoury people he had worked with but with no real evidence of his involvement, just a couple notes on files of a suspicion. Then he had faded from view fifteen years ago.

  She had also tracked down the family, she had a death certificate for Mark’s mother in Melbourne when he was seven, there was a charge of assault for the father from ten years ago in the same city which was dropped when the victim refused to testify. They had located Rosalie’s own parents in Naples, Italy, both still alive though elderly. They had confirmed that she had a dead brother Marco, who had died in a tragic accident about a year before thei
r Mark was born. They had also located another brother, Antonio who lived in Brisbane and had agreed to provide a DNA sample. They should have the results through next Monday in time for the pre-trial conference. Then they would know for definite whether they had their man, though it was 99 per cent certain in Sandy’s mind already.

  She felt almost pumped as she walked out the office door on the Friday, at least until she thought of Susan. She was scheduled to meet Susan on Monday, usually it was on a Wednesday but it was early next week with the legal proceedings scheduled.

  When she thought of Susan sitting alone in her cell, lost and defeated, resigned to a life in jail, probably already planning her suicide in just a couple months, it all seemed suddenly so pointless. Yes Sandy knew who the real Mark was.

  He was Vincent Marco Bassingham, but so what.

  It was what Susan had wanted, to waste a month of their time and divert attention.

  But it was not what she, Sandy, wanted. She must keep fighting to save this silly girl, even if she did not want to be saved.

  Sandy was assuaged by a terrible feeling of guilt. She saw herself listening to the radio in two or three months’ time, in that first month post natal. It was an announcement that Susan was dead and there were no suspicious circumstances, in other words suicide.

  That was a post mortem she could never bring herself to do, never would she cut up this beautiful girl’s body.

  Instead she would sit alone as someone else did. And she would know that irreconcilable guilt; that if she, in her cleverness, had not spotted the clues by the waterhole, then the case would have died right there and then. If this case died then a good person would still be alive and only a bad person would have died.

  She took a deep breath. She could not go there. She understood now, suddenly and so clearly, Susan’s dilemma; bad choices could never be undone, and in the trying madness lay.