Cardilini sat astonished staring at Carmody then asked.
‘Isn’t that what they want? To be recognised, to be apologised to?’
‘Not the ones I’ve spoken to. That’s why I’m staggered the boy said anything to you,’ Carmody replied.
Cardilini turned his head aside and watched some children playing. Then turned to Carmody and said, ‘Concealing evidence is a crime that receives jail time.’
‘But protecting an abuser of children isn’t a crime?’ Carmody asked.
Cardilini thought about that and realised Carmody was right. Concealment of paedophiles hadn’t been seen as a crime.
‘What’re you going to do?’ Carmody asked.
‘I’m not doing anything. You made sure of that,’ Cardilini answered. Carmody stood and walked away.
‘What are you going to do?’ Cardilini called.
‘I’m going to speak to the boy you spoke to,’ Carmody said, without turning.
Forty
Day 19
St Nicholas College
12.20 a.m. Thursday, 12th November 1965
A boy, Burnside, had told him to report to the sixth form common room after school the next day. He had hoped Carmody would want to see him again and decided he would get the bullet just in case Carmody wanted it.
He’d lain awake in bed for the two hours since lights out. He hadn’t moved for an hour. He knew people were still when asleep. He had often stayed awake while all around him slept. Tonight he didn’t have to wait so long. He heard the third formers getting ready for lights out, they were the noisiest; the fourth formers had deeper voices, there was a lot of volume but it wasn’t noisy. The chooks were noisy, the cows had volume. The fifth formers were the quietest but they were the bossiest. Some of them slept in lower school dorms, one slept in their dorm. The fifth formers in their dorm picked on the weaker boys. The fifth former knew Carmody had spoken to the boy, the boy saw it in his eyes; they looked cagey like their mongrel dog’s when it had done something wrong. He didn’t care about the fifth former anymore, he wasn’t frightened of him. He heard the fifth former come in, he heard him slide his locker door, he heard the coat hangers striking the back of the cupboard, he heard shoes drop to the floor. A sixth form boy would place his shoes, the fifth form boy dropped his. A sixth former didn’t have to impress anyone, he was at the top. The boy wondered if he would ever get that old. He knew he would be a different fifth former to this one, he would help the weaker boys and he would protect them, like Carmody did. He felt the tears tickle as they ran from his eyes. Some plopped onto the pillow. Some stuck to his ears and gathered before more pushed them onto the pillow. It seemed very loud, but he couldn’t move, he couldn’t draw attention to himself. He knew he was good at that. Once he used to be noisy and run around like the other boys but now he could lie perfectly still for hours, like a stone. Stones don’t sleep, they just sit there, eyes open. They don’t blink either, they don’t have eyelashes, they don’t need them, their eyes, too, are stone. Like a stone he lay in his bed. Like a stone he sat at his classroom desk. Like a stone he ate his dinner. He remembered sitting like a stone in his father’s car as he was driven home last holiday and more tears came. Stones must still be able to cry.
He could now move. The fifth former jerked like a busted rabbit when he first fell asleep. His stone eyes had seen the jerks, which were a long time ago now. His feet touched the floor, the boards were quiet beneath him, they liked him. His bed was the tenth from the door. There were four rows of twelve beds. The fifth former’s bed was on the right side of the dorm. On the left side of the dorm was the sixth former’s bed, he wasn’t there, they had exams, and without Captain Edmund they did what they wanted to. Some fifth formers had tried the same, but the sixth formers told them off, he’d seen it. He smiled as he remembered. He wondered if the fifth formers would change into sixth formers, it didn’t seem possible. If he pretended the fifth former wasn’t there as he walked past his bed, he wouldn’t wake up. It worked again. Now he just had to be silent and listen for sixth formers going to bed. He knew if he said ‘toilet’ timidly, the sixth former wouldn’t say anything, not a fifth former though, they would carry on as if you were stealing their chickens.
He reached the end of the corridor. The bursar’s office was on the right and to the left, double doors led to the bitumen paths. Outside those doors he could make it to the edge of the building and look into the quadrangle and then he could run across the gap to the administration building that held Captain Edmund’s old room. No one was allowed to go up the stairs in that building anymore. Everyone was talking about what could have happened to Captain Edmund: some said they knew, and they knew who did it; some said they knew who had the bullet but it was a secret and they couldn’t tell; and some said there wasn’t a bullet because really Captain Edmund hung himself. The best was that Captain Edmund dropped dead trying to beat the record of holding the rifle above his head while his pants were down. Some said he had put his baton up his own bum, that was the fifth former that had told the second formers that and the second formers knew that to be a lie because no one would put anything up their own bum.
The boy had buried the bullet beside the last step going onto the hockey oval. Pieces of bitumen and blue-metal flakes clinging to his feet bit when his foot hit the stone of the step. He sat and scraped the blue metal from the soles of his feet. The stone was cold. He looked out across the hockey oval. The streetlight wasn’t running, wasn’t streaking. He decided he wouldn’t cry again. He knew he could do that now. His older brother cried when the house lamb was slaughtered last holiday, his older brother cried and couldn’t watch Dad cutting it up. The boy hadn’t cried, he had learnt not to cry because of pain. His father had looked at him and asked if he was okay. He had said, ‘I don’t have to cry anymore.’ His father said, ‘It’s okay to cry son,’ and he had answered, ‘Not if it’s pain.’ His father looked shy at that, like a weak second form boy. The boy had hated that and walked away, he didn’t turn even when his father called. Old men all smell the same.
The soil was loose where he’d buried the bullet, it was deep but he found it easily. He would hand it to Carmody who would have a big smile on his face as he did it. He made a note to look down when he handed it over. He squeezed on the bullet; it burnt his palm as if he had caught a star. He looked up, stars smaller than his bullet winked at him, they were happy for him too. He wanted to sleep there, beside the steps, where the stars could see him and wink all through his sleep; he felt that way he might sleep without becoming frightened. He tried to sleep, but he couldn’t close his eyes, he didn’t want to miss the stars winking. More were doing it now, at first there were only a few but now they were all doing it. He inhaled and the joy caught in his throat. He knew he couldn’t sleep here no matter how tired he became. He would be like his aunt’s new baby who wouldn’t sleep at their house. He was tired, his aunt kept saying, but he kept forcing his eyes open. Maybe the family were stars winking at him. The boy wasn’t one, he knew that much, he could never be a star. He knew he couldn’t smile at the baby because Captain Edmund had pushed his dick into his mouth and maybe the baby would see that. He stayed away, even though everyone wanted him to hold the baby, which made him angry. His father became shy at that too, he had asked the boy, ‘What’s the matter son? You’re upsetting your aunt.’ The boy didn’t have an answer. At home he held that door shut tight. It was silly of his father to ask questions that couldn’t be answered.
At home he would go outside the house, but the questions lined up like soldiers chasing him. He would call the dogs, the dogs didn’t care what had happened to him, they were worse, they licked each other’s bums. He wouldn’t do that no matter what Captain Edmund said, he didn’t think he could live if he did that. He had to stay alive for his parents but now he wondered if they even wanted him alive. He dreamt that one day, if he could keep the door shut tight and his parents didn’t hat
e him, he would be able to take a dog, maybe Tina or Paddy, and wave goodbye. He knew what would be in his father’s eyes, but he could go, and go, and go, and never, ever have to hurt them. That’s what he prayed for even though he knew prayers didn’t work. He’d prayed himself dry many times and it didn’t change anything. Captain Edmund was more powerful than God. He’d told the boy that. But the boy was willing to try prayer again, maybe God was the next most powerful.
After midnight he had the school to himself. If he wanted to, he could go to the principal’s office window and pull a face. He didn’t because he imagined the face would still be there in the morning, even if the boy had gone to bed hours before. The principal would say to him, ‘What’s your face doing in my window?’ And the boy knew he had to stay invisible long enough to get away with it. He wasn’t sure exactly what he had done, but he knew it to be the worst of the worst. But Carmody had told him not to worry and that he was a good boy. He wished other people, his father, could see that too. He thought his mother was frightened of him; she pretended she wasn’t but she was. His older brother didn’t say anything to him now. He’d been proud of the boy when he first arrived and even boasted about him, but that had all changed.
Before entering the corridor that led to his dormitory he sat on the bursar’s doorstep and cleaned his feet. The doormat was like doublegee. The corridor was linoleum, it was always cool, like under the house. He could live under his house at home, while everyone was looking for him. He could watch them from under the house. No one would ever go under the house because of redback spiders, but he didn’t care if they bit him. If they did, and he blew up like a pumpkin, they could have a funeral.
As he walked past the fifth former’s bed, he wondered why he hated him so much. He never used to. He heard a hiss and turned. It was the sixth former calling to him. The sixth former was angry. The boy felt awful. He liked the sixth former, he’d told the fifth former to pull his head in once when the fifth former was picking on him.
‘Where the bloody hell have you been?’
‘Sorry. Toilet.’
‘A long time at the toilet, Harper,’ the sixth former whispered at him.
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t do that again. I do prep in twelve PG. If you can’t sleep, you come there. Don’t wander off. You frightened the life out of me. Promise,’ the sixth former said.
The boy couldn’t make out the sixth former’s face, it was just a dark form sitting up in bed whispering at him. It made him fearful but he promised.
‘Now, go to bed.’ His feet started then his head followed. ‘Good boy, Harper,’ whispered past his ears.
Forty-one
Day 19
East Perth Police Department
11.50 a.m. Thursday, 12th November 1965
Port Augusta to Perth was 1500 miles. Adelaide to Perth was 1800 miles. Between Ceduna and Eucla was 320 miles of dirt. Cardilini considered the possibility of driving it. Then he checked the time the train left Adelaide and arrived in Perth. It would have arrived in Perth the morning of the 26th, nearly 36 hours after leaving Adelaide. By car, either from Adelaide or Port Augusta, averaging 60 miles per hour, it was possible to arrive to Perth and make it to St Nicholas College with a few hours to spare.
Cardilini knew that Sheppard’s Chevrolet Impala would have the big block 409 cubic inch motor. A car that no vehicle in the traffic branch could chase down. Sheppard and Doney could have attended the Elders sale, greeted old friends, then late at night been on the road to Port Augusta or Adelaide, arriving hours before the train. Williamson could have easily joined them and then they’d have taken turns driving non-stop to Perth.
***
‘Why aren’t you out playing golf?’ Detective Spry asked Cardilini as he walked into the East Perth detective offices.
‘I don’t play golf.’
‘You’re suspended. You’ve got to have something to do.’
‘Nup.’ Cardilini proceeded to his desk.
‘When you were meant to be working you were always at the pub. Now you’ve got an excuse to be at the pub, you come in? You need your head read, Cardilini.’
Cardilini had compiled a list of service stations from Eucla to Perth. Balladonia, Norseman, Kalgoorlie, Yellowdine, Southern Cross, Merredin and Northam were towns they would have passed through. The Impala would have needed at least four petrol stops and Doney, Sheppard and Williamson would have needed to eat.
On his first call to the Border Village station near Eucla, an attendant remembered a Chevrolet Impala. Two-tone, plum and cream. It came in on the evening of the 24th. Cardilini sat dumbfounded; this could be his first actual evidence.
They were running late, Cardilini thought. With 1200 miles to Perth still to go, taking roughly 24 hours. But they must have made it. The attendant’s description of the driver: ‘An old guy. I think.’ He didn’t note the number plate. ‘Why would I?’
If they stopped in Norseman no one remembered them. At Kalgoorlie an attendant remembered the car, he didn’t know what time it was or who was in it, ‘But it was late.’
‘Hi, I’m Detective Cardilini from East Perth station. I’m making enquiries about a two-tone Chevrolet Impala that might have got petrol mid-afternoon on the 25th.’
‘Midday.’
‘You remember it?’
‘Yes. Don’t see many. A cockie. Bloody farmers always complaining about how tough it is while they drive around in a Chevy Impala. I’d like things to be that tough.’
‘Do you remember who was in it?’
‘Three blokes. Two older and another, maybe a son of one of the farmers.’
I’ve got them, Cardilini thought. ‘How do you know they were farmers?’
‘Country plates. ‘
‘Did you remember the numbers?’
‘I’m not Sherlock bloody Holmes.’
Cardilini considered. They needed to average 70 miles per hour to arrive at Merredin at midday, so plenty of time to get to Perth. Now he needed a witness to say they saw the Impala parked near the school. He wanted to tell Williamson, Doney and Sheppard he knew how they managed to shoot Edmund.
‘Cardilini, Robinson wants to see you,’ Bishop called from the door to the detective’s section.
‘How did he know I was here?’
‘He must be psychic. Get going.’
***
‘Come in,’ Robinson said when Cardilini reached his door. Cardilini sat. ‘There’s been a shift in the complaint against you.’
‘Really?’ Cardilini said and thought, finally. The claw that had hold of the back of his neck released.
‘The Deputy Commissioner has had a call from Dr Braun.’
‘Okay.’
‘Yes. It seems a sixth form boy spoke to Mossop.’
‘Good to hear.’
‘I don’t know about that. He returned to Braun with the story that Mossop had convinced him that he wasn’t lying.’
‘What?’ Cardilini was forwards and squeezing the life out of the armrests of his chair. ‘That can’t be possible.’
‘I’m afraid it is.’
‘I warned the arrogant …’
‘Warned who?’
‘Carmody.’
‘When you were with Braun? And Braun saw you do it?’ A look of disbelief spread across Robinson’s face.
‘Yeah. No.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I told Carmody I knew his role in disposing of evidence to Edmund’s murder.’
Robinson shouted, ‘What?’
‘I said he removed the rifle, boots and bullet.’
‘What rifle and boots?’
‘The ones that, I think now, were placed at the tree opposite Edmund’s window.’
‘Are you mad?’ Robinson looked genuinely concerned.
‘No.’
�
��Okay. And you know this because …?’ Robinson asked.
‘I was told.’
‘Who told you?’
‘I can’t disclose that.’
‘Don’t talk rubbish, I’m your commanding officer, you tell me right now.’
Cardilini straightened his back. ‘Mr Masters.’
‘Masters, whose son hung himself?’
Robinson turned away from Cardilini and stood facing the window.
‘What will happen now?’ Cardilini asked.
‘Shut up. Let me think.’
‘Maybe if I go back to the school.’
Robinson turned. ‘Great plan. And who will you threaten this time? Did you threaten that boy in the toilet?’
‘No.’
‘But you threatened Carmody in front of witnesses?’
‘I warned him.’
‘Oh, wonderful. That makes a world of difference. What did the others think you were doing?’
Cardilini shook his head.
‘Were you alone with him?’ Robinson asked in disbelief.
‘Yep. I suppose.’
‘Oh boy. What happened, Cardilini?’ Robinson looked incredulous. ‘You were such a smart cop.’
Cardilini wondered also. ‘What should I do now?’
Robinson walked to his chair and sat. Cardilini watched his movements.
‘What?’ Cardilini asked as Robinson fingered a typed sheet of paper on his blotter. ‘Nothing has really changed, has it?’ Cardilini asked when Robinson failed to answer.
Robinson sat back and squarely addressed Cardilini. ‘St Nicholas decided it was time to examine the claims about Edmund. Some Melbourne coppers are going to interview the principal of his previous school.’
‘As if he’ll say anything. He’ll be covering his own arse. And his job.’
‘You don’t know that.’
Cardilini looked away and wiped his brow.
‘That’s happening right now. But …’ Robinson was pushing the sheet of paper away with one finger and drawing it towards him with the other. ‘… this is not the deputy commissioner’s idea, nor mine … but, the feeling is we can’t ask Braun to pursue one line of accusations while we’re ignoring another.’
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