He called finally, ‘Salt. Come here.’
Salt and McBride entered. Salt stopped inside the door, his eyes widening as he stared at the gaping skull.
‘Salt, examine the body. See if you can determine cause of death. McBride, come with me.’ Cardilini left through the swinging doors, lighting a cigarette. McBride followed.
‘Okay, smart arse. What do you think happened?’ Cardilini asked.
‘From the entry wound, a .303; from the exit, a hollow-point bullet. I’d say from a distance of two hundred yards max.’
‘Who’ve you told?’
‘You’re the first one that’s asked.’
‘Get the body off that table, get it in an icebox. If anyone asks, say you haven’t seen it. You got that?’ Cardilini instructed.
‘What’s your conspiracy theory?’
‘If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.’
‘Okay. I can tuck it away somewhere.’
‘I’ll get the photo boys down. I want the skull from every angle. Right. And no one touches the body. No one. I’m holding you responsible.’
***
‘Are you okay to drive?’ Cardilini asked Salt as they reached the car.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Looked like he was teaching a class,’ Cardilini said.
‘Without a shirt?’ Salt forced a smile.
Cardilini turned in his seat to take in Salt who was staring straight ahead.
‘What about the top of his skull, notice anything?’
‘Apart from it being missing?’ Salt asked with a nervous laugh.
‘Apart from that?’ Cardilini questioned after a pause.
‘No, sir.’
Cardilini watched Salt for a while then turned his attention back to the road. ‘First corpse?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Cardilini nodded. ‘Now we’re going to that school. You ever see a bull ant nest when you poke a stick at it?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Let’s go. And make it quick, this car’s cooking me alive.’
The city buildings slipped away quickly and now single-storey buildings lined the four-lane Great Eastern Highway. Cardilini had his window down, flanks of hot air pushing at his face.
‘Wind your window down, Salt.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Are you going to say that every time I speak?’
Salt looked perplexed, ‘Yes. Sir?’
Cardilini shook his head. Soft.
Suburban houses lined the street. Low buildings hunkered down against the heat like turtles. Gum trees gathered occasionally in parks trapped by low cyclone wire fences. Cardilini caught a glimpse of a swing, and an emptiness jumped to his throat.
‘When did you finish training, Salt?’ he barked.
‘April.’
‘So you’re not a real copper, yet?’
Salt looked uncomfortable. Cardilini was satisfied with that answer. Soft.
‘Forget everything they taught you if you want to become a real copper.’
‘Sir?’
‘That’s right. They only give you the window-dressing there because you couldn’t manage the real thing.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘A teacher gets shot, no loss you might say, but we’ve got a job to do. You understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘No, you don’t. You’ve got no idea. Best to get that into your head from the start.’
Salt nodded slowly and focused on his driving.
Five
Day 2
St Nicholas College
12.03 a.m. Monday, 26th October 1965
The boy sat on the limestone steps descending to the hockey field. Darkness surrounded him. He began to feel invisible again; his body shivered, his shoulders and knees began bouncing uncontrollably and his jaw trembled, then he cried. He cried, staring at the lone streetlight at the bottom of the field. He held his eyes wide open, staring at the light as it blurred and ran. He held the scattering, staring vision as if to lose it would mean falling into a darkness from which he couldn’t return. Eventually his eyes began to dry and his shoulders only occasionally shuddered. He was taking great gulps of air as if he’d forgotten how to breathe. This is how it had been every time he left Captain Edmund. Then his penis would stiffen, something that had never happened with Captain Edmund even though Captain Edmund had tried ‘all his tricks’. But then that’s not why the boy went; he knew that, he knew what was going to happen to him. Captain Edmund called him ‘my little girl’, ‘my sweetie little girl’. A weight dropped through his body, leaving him wretched.
With the sharp object from Captain Edmund’s room still in his palm, he walked to the corner of the administration building that contained the captain’s room, to where a strip of light from the quadrangle came between the dormitory block and the administration block. Slowly, standing in shadow with only his forearm in the light, he opened his hand, palm up. He stared at the object. It reminded him of raindrops on a car window.
He’d sat in the car while waiting for his father when big fat raindrops started to fall. ‘It’s a good sign, son,’ his father had said. When the rain struck the window it instantly spread, thin tendrils with droplets on the end. They held that shape for some time, or he imagined they held that shape. He couldn’t decide if they were frightened or happy as they spread and hesitated before joining the other water streaming down the windscreen. And they kept coming, falling, hundreds of them, drumming like an army. His father had run to the car and burst in slamming the door behind him with a big grin on his face. ‘That’s a good sign, son.’ They’d both been happy.
The object reminded him of that day, of his father. The boy’s body convulsed and gusts of grief burst from his throat. He tried to hold them back but they sprung his mouth open and dropped him to his knees. He retched out the grief then slumped to his side on the path, still holding his palm and the object in the light. He opened his eyes on it and suddenly knew what it was. It was a bullet. He’d collected them from the rifle range, not spread like a droplet but flattened and misshapen.
He sat on his haunches and turned the bullet over, the base was intact, but the rest open, spread, searching. There was blood in his hand but his hand wasn’t cut. He examined his heel, he saw puckered white skin but it wasn’t broken. In his instep he saw dried blood, spider thin in the wrinkles of his feet and toes, he looked at his other foot, it also held the whispers of Captain Edmund’s room. He wet his finger and rubbed at the threads. Gradually, begrudgingly, they disappeared. Then he remembered the shot. That shot. The one that brought all the boys to the windows, the one the teachers, who had rooms on the other side of the building to the quad, said was just an echo from across the river. Captain Edmund had never lain on his back on the floor like that. He would lie on his back on the bed when he wanted things done to him, but not on the floor. And Captain Edmund hadn’t answered. Had he answered? The boy became confused. Did he tell me to go? He’d never sent him away without first doing something to him. He opened his palm in the light and stared at the bullet again. Now it was a mallee eucalyptus flower, bright red, flung open to the sun.
He again imagined the car that was needed to kill him. He saw its light approaching, speeding at him. He would stand and step into its path, he felt the motion go through him. He imagined the headlight strike slowly buckling him. That’s when it kills you, if it’s fast enough. The kangaroos his father had hit had bounced and rolled and tried to stand. That was no good. They had to say his death was instantaneous. He swore to himself, it would be a speeding car. Busted would be worse, questions would shower on him. Dead he could smile, because no questions would get to him.
Six
Day 2
St Nicholas College
11.30 a.m. Monday, 26th October 1965
On Cardilin
i’s instructions Salt didn’t park in the car park but on the lawn under some shade.
‘Get your notebook out and look like you’re taking notes.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And stay behind me,’ Cardilini said as they walked towards the administration block. A tall, thin, elderly man exited the building and shuffled away from them in the shade of the cloisters. The lawns were immaculate, obviously. Obviously well-watered and growing like mad. A nightmare for the gardener, Cardilini thought.
The buildings on the raised riverbank stood marshalled like soldiers on parade, bastions against the ignorance of their urban setting.
The principal’s offices were spacious and emanated scholarly endeavour. Paintings of past principals looked down disapprovingly at Cardilini. He bristled at the seeming opulence. Sham, he thought. Even the secretary’s desk was twice the size of his own, and it was a solid dark wood, without the grey-steel drawers that screeched like a cat every time they opened.
‘I’m Detective Sergeant Cardilini. Principal Braun’s expecting me.’
The principal’s secretary, Miss Reynolds, looked up, surprised for a moment, then gave herself a little nod as if just remembering. She viewed Cardilini from over the top of her spectacles, a sharp little bird.
‘Dr Braun’s busy, but I will let him know you’re here.’
‘That’s very efficient of you,’ Cardilini said with a wink to Salt that Cardilini was keen for her to see.
Miss Reynolds eyed Cardilini again, Cardilini bestowed a smile. Miss Reynolds departed.
‘You’d think she was the bloody Queen of Sheba and Braun was the king. We’ll see how long that stands up.’ Cardilini craned over Miss Reynolds’s desk, ‘Thought she might be sitting on a nest of thistles.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘They think they’re better than the rest of us.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘If you’ve got nothing useful to say, Salt, shut up.’
On her return Miss Reynolds said primly, ‘Dr Braun is busy but understands you’ve a duty to perform and will see you straight away.’
‘That’s big of him. Take notes, Salt, “Miss Reynolds, secretary.” You got that?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘He’s keen to get his first prosecution,’ Cardilini told Miss Reynolds as he walked into the principal’s office.
The principal sat at his desk, a pile of documents to his right. Braun took the top document, skimmed through it, and then placed it to his left. He completed several more while Cardilini and Salt stood watching. Cardilini turned to Salt and mouthed ‘wanker’. The principal raised his head midway through a document.
‘You must be Cardilini?’
‘Detective Sergeant Cardilini. This is Constable Salt. And you must be Joe Braun.’
‘Dr Joseph Braun.’
‘Okay, we all seem to be present. Shall we stop calling each other names and get to business?’ Cardilini said as he sat in the chair opposite the principal.
The principal, taken aback, gestured Salt to the other chair.
‘He likes standing,’ Cardilini said. ‘Now about this murdered teacher.’
‘Murdered?’ The principal reacted as if slapped.
‘Take notes here, Salt,’ Cardilini directed.
‘No, no, no. It was a stray shot from across the river,’ the principal stammered.
‘No, no, no. It was a marksman’s shot from less than two hundred yards,’ Cardilini replied emphatically.
The principal’s phone rang. He hurriedly picked it up and said he was busy.
‘Detective Sergeant Cardilini, I am not sure where you’re getting your information from, but this matter’s been cleared away and I was told you were simply coming here to finalise the report.’
‘Let me see the notes on the case, Salt.’ Cardilini put out his hand while he stared fixedly at the principal. Salt placed his notebook in Cardilini’s hand. Cardilini flipped pages of the notebook back and forth. The principal’s phone rang again.
‘No,’ the principal shouted into the mouthpiece immediately on picking up the phone, ‘Miss Reynolds, no.’
‘Bull ants,’ Cardilini mouthed to Salt.
‘Now …’ the principal started.
‘Now, Dr Braun,’ Cardilini handed the notebook back to Salt and gave the principal an exaggerated wink. ‘I am sure you understand that if an ironclad report is to be made, correct procedure must be followed?’
The principal’s brow furrowed and he turned his questioning gaze to Salt, who studied his notebook.
‘Shall we?’ Cardilini stood and gestured towards the door. ‘I thought we should start in the room where the body was found.’
The principal after some hesitation stood, ‘Are you sure this is the right thing to do?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘If …’ the principal hesitated ‘… if you would wait in Miss Reynolds’ office, my deputy, Dr Robson, shall attend to you. He discovered poor Captain Edmund. There are some important calls I must make, you understand.’ Then he added with renewed confidence, ‘Please see yourself out.’
Cardilini raised his eyebrows at Salt and they left the principal’s office.
Miss Reynolds’ cheeks were flushed as she sat rigidly at her desk. Cardilini leant against it, lit a cigarette and offered the packet to Salt who declined. Finally, the telephone on Miss Reynolds’ desk rang. Picking it up, she listened a moment then uttered a sharp, ‘Yes,’ and hung up.
‘Dr Robson, the deputy principal, will see you outside,’ she said briskly and gestured towards the door.
‘Charming,’ Cardilini said with another wink as they left. ‘You’re taking real notes,’ Cardilini stated to Salt while they stood outside.
‘Yes, sir,’ Salt replied as Cardilini shrugged his shoulders.
A middle-aged man wearing a threadbare grey suit hanging from bony, stooped shoulders approached reluctantly. His ashen face hung like his suit.
‘Cardilini?’
‘Yes. Robson?’
‘Yes. I’m to show you Captain Edmund’s room.’
‘Show away,’ Cardilini gestured. Robson stood for a moment darting his eyes between Cardilini and Salt, then turned resignedly and shambled back the way he had come. Cardilini and Salt followed.
‘Why did you call him captain?’ Cardilini asked.
‘He was captain of the cadet corps.’
‘You have a cadet corps?’ Cardilini asked with a disdainful grimace to Salt.
‘Of course.’
‘Of course,’ Cardilini mouthed to Salt.
Looking from the doorway, the Captain’s second-level room was furnished with a single bed against the wall on the left, and on the right a roll-top desk and chair, two timber filing cabinets and a wardrobe. Cardilini tried the desk drawers, they held fast.
‘Where are the keys for this?’ He asked Robson. Robson pointed to a filing cabinet drawer.
Cardilini opened the top drawer and pulled out a bunch of keys, he tried several before one opened the roll-top. Cardilini examined the desk and drawers.
‘A tidy gentleman.’
‘He was,’ Robson affirmed.
Cardilini turned to the filing cabinets and went through each one carefully before ordering Salt to take notes of the contents. ‘Did you see the body?’ he asked Robson.
‘Yes.’
‘Show me where it was.’
Robson hesitated before pointing to the floor.
‘You lie down exactly where you saw Edmund lying,’ Cardilini ordered.
Robson reluctantly sat on the floor. He shuffled for a moment and lay back with his arms and legs akimbo.
‘Draw a picture, Salt,’ Cardilini directed, as he walked to the sash window directly in front of where Robson lay. He pushed the window up and looked down into the
quadrangle for some time.
‘Finished, Salt?’ Cardilini asked.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Go back to your notes on the filing cabinets. Please stand, Dr Robson.’
Robson stood. He made no attempt to dust his suit. Instead, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small tin, from which he selected a partially smoked cigarette. Cardilini watched this and offered Robson a light before lighting a cigarette himself. He went back to the window and then turned to face the room. He looked towards the ceiling above the rear wall then shifted his gaze to above the doorframe.
Cardilini strolled forward and said over his shoulder. ‘There would have been a lot of blood.’
‘There was,’ Robson said with a quick glance to Salt.
‘You saw?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not a pretty sight,’ Cardilini said unconcerned as he examined the floorboards. He then ran the point of a pencil along the gaps between the boards.
‘You could say that,’ Robson replied heatedly.
‘When was the place cleaned?’ Cardilini asked, examining his pencil.
‘Once the body was removed, I understand.’
‘Who did the cleaning?’
‘Our cleaning staff. They have been given the rest of the day off. They found it quite traumatic.’
‘Yep. There are specialist companies that do that sort of thing.’
‘The staff felt they could be more respectful of Captain Edmund’s passing.’
‘Very loyal of them,’ Cardilini conceded.
‘A bullet wasn’t found. If that’s what you’re seeking,’ Robson said as he tipped the ash from his cigarette into the tin. Cardilini observed the action with distaste.
‘That’s right,’ Cardilini replied.
‘A very thorough search has been made already.’
‘Oh yes, very thorough,’ Cardilini said exaggeratedly. ‘Friendly, were you, with Edmund?’
‘Captain Edmund was a colleague. A man very loyal to the school.’
‘A bit of a catch-cry, loyalty, is it?’ Cardilini examined the wall above the doorway.
‘It’s very important to any institution. Just like the police, I suspect,’ Robson replied archly.
Man at the Window Page 2