‘Harper. Don’t be stupid. Look at me. What’s going on?’
The boy looked up to the side of Mr Abbott’s head.
‘Why were you outside the sixth form common room?’
‘I was told to be there.’
‘Who?’
‘It was a day boy. I don’t know his name,’ the boy lied.
‘A sixth former?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Had you told on Twine?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘So what do the third formers want with you?’ Abbott asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Was Twine threatening you?’
‘No, sir.’
‘You stay away from them. You understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘If they cause you any trouble, you come straight to me. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Abbott stood looking at the boy. The boy hadn’t met his eyes.
‘I want to help you, Harper.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Don’t come back this way again.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Go.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
The boy walked in the opposite direction the third formers had taken.
Forty-four
Day 19
Legget’s
4.25 p.m. Thursday, 12th November
The Swan River snaked its way from the port of Fremantle to the limpid stretch that lay before St Nicholas. Cardilini pulled his car over to the river side of the road. One hundred yards of marshy land lay between his car and the riverbank. Thickets of 10-foot high bamboo penetrated the canopy of castor oil trees. The ground, black mud under the trees, was covered with sprouts of coarse grass that clumped in places suggesting more solid ground. Cardilini remembered when he was a constable he’d chased a criminal across such a riverbank. The mud sucked at his boots, sucked at his ankles, sucked the energy from his legs until he had only curses and threats that could keep up with his prey. Eventually they too failed and Cardilini spent considerable time extracting his legs so he could return to the road, only to find the sergeant he was with had taken the car in pursuit.
On the other side of the road there were blocks of land designated for housing. Three had buildings on them. The one closest to the school was the house Cardilini had observed when preparing his night-time visit a few days ago. In the evening it was shrouded by dark trees and looked deserted but in daylight the trees were alive with colour. Cardilini recognised jacaranda, grey myrtle and waratah trees, which all grew on Reabold Hill too. He wondered if someone like Betty lived there.
He locked his car and needlessly looked along the road before crossing. The conversation with Robinson had unsettled him. It had made him question his desire for a just and civil world as opposed to one based purely on self-interest. He hadn’t quite figured the logic that had him walking towards this house.
The waist-high fence was made of heavy timber framing and cyclone mesh. Along its length, wild oats on the outside and roses inside battled for sunlight. The gate was of white pickets and the latch and hinges seemed outsized compared to the usual domestic variety. The gate had a welcoming creak, and a path of gravel wound around a silver princess mallee leading to the verandah. Everlastings and marigolds covered the spaces between the other trees. A solid timber balustrade, also white like the pickets, surrounded the timber verandah. Some loose and warping verandah boards had been returned to order by a steel barrel strap, now sheened with rust. An ornate green timber flyscreen door hung loosely. Beyond the door Cardilini could see a dark corridor travelling to sunlight at the rear. He tried rapping his knuckles on the timber door frame. The door rattled but little noise penetrated the depth of the corridor and he received no response. He tried again more firmly with the same result. Walking to the right side of the verandah, he saw that it extended to the rear of the house past three pairs of French doors. The rear verandah was populated with chairs of all sorts: from cane lounge chairs to stiff, timber highbacks. He approached the rear entrance where another flyscreen door hung lazily. He knocked and called, ‘Hello.’
‘Over here,’ a male voice answered from behind him.
Cardilini turned and looked out onto two squares of green lawn extending to the dense foliage of trees.
‘In the lean-to.’
Cardilini started down the path. Off to his right was a bush shelter; four tree trunks sunk into the earth with cross-timbers supporting brush packed and tied to about a foot deep on the roof. He saw the rear of a man’s head under the shelter. Cardilini walked towards him.
‘Sit down,’ a voice said, though the man didn’t look up. Cardilini sat opposite and recognised the lean old man who had been talking to Carmody at the cricket match. Cardilini thought it might be the same man he’d seen exiting Braun’s office the first day he went to the school. The man’s long limbs were narrow and sinewy; his face, complementing the lack of flesh on his body, was almost skeletal with tight, raw skin drawn across his cheekbones. His downcast, hooded eyes were locked on a book.
‘That’s ginger beer there, help yourself,’ the man said without looking up.
‘No thanks,’ Cardilini said.
‘I make it myself.’
‘Okay.’ Cardilini grabbed a glass and filled it. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Cardilini.’
The man put his book down. Sharp, luminous blue eyes scrutinised Cardilini.
‘I saw you at a St Nicholas cricket match,’ Cardilini said.
‘Oh, yes. I wander up sometimes. I make suggestions to the players who politely listen then walk away. What can I do for you?’ The elderly man asked.
‘We’re trying to locate a car that was seen in this area.’ Cardilini thought he would take a general approach rather than immediately discussing the shooting.
‘Stolen?’ The man asked. Cardilini nodded, uncommitted.
‘Where?’
‘Along the riverbank.’
‘Go on,’ The man said with a brief glance to his book.
‘Parked under the paperbarks,’ Cardilini said.
‘Today?’ The man looked up to confirm.
‘No. October twenty-fifth around ten p.m.,’ Cardilini said but doubted the old fellow would be aware of today’s date let alone a date a few weeks back.
‘At night?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who can see at night?’ the old man asked.
‘Someone saw it, it was reported,’ Cardilini lied.
‘A lot of trouble for a stolen car. Is it there now?’
‘No. Did you see a car that evening?’ Cardilini asked with the sinking feeling that he was wasting his time.
‘Why are you asking where it was weeks ago?’ The old man asked.
‘You didn’t say your name,’ Cardilini said.
‘Leggett.’
‘Mr Leggett,’ Cardilini said, the name sounded familiar.
‘You got that right.’
‘How long have you lived here?’
‘Long before the twenthy-fifth.’
‘How long?’
Leggett took his time observing Cardilini. ‘Is that what you came to ask?’
‘No. On the twenthy-fifth of October the car was parked there for an hour, maybe less, and left before eleven.’
‘Not stolen this time?’ Leggett asked.
Cardilini shifted on his seat and assumed the voice of law and order. ‘Listen, this is a police investigation, I suggest you answer the questions from now on with full disclosure of anything you saw.’
Leggett straightened his back and sharpened his glare. ‘Listen, I’m eighty-six, so I’ll do whatever I damn well please.’
Older people usually fall over th
emselves to assist the police. And I get this old crock, thought Cardilini.
‘Arthur, what are you doing to that man?’ a female voice called from the house.
‘It’s not me, he’s making up stories,’ Leggett called.
The speaker was a woman in her fifties, blonde hair streaking to grey, fair skin. A delicate face like Betty’s, Cardilini thought. She wore an artist’s smock coloured by paint.
‘How do you do, I’m Detective Sergeant Cardilini,’ Cardilini said, standing.
‘Detective Sergeant,’ Leggett said mockingly.
‘Jean Leggett.’ She held out her hand. ‘I won’t break,’ Jean Leggett said as Cardilini gently took it in his. ‘Why are you here?’
‘This will be interesting,’ Leggett said to no one in particular.
‘We’re interested to know if a car was seen in this vicinity on the night of October the twenty-fifth.’
‘Is that the stolen one or the other one?’ Leggett queried.
‘Two cars?’ Jean asked.
Trying to ignore Leggett, Cardilini answered, ‘No. A very distinctive car, an American car. Cream and plum.’
‘Cream and plum sounds like a pudding,’ Jean said, walking past Cardilini and sitting next to Leggett. ‘What did Arthur say?’
‘Miss Leggett, it would be better if you could encourage your father to just answer my questions honestly and frankly.’
‘It’s Mrs Leggett and Frank is my husband.’
Cardilini tried to conceal his surprise but knew his eyes flicked between the two several times. Leggett laughed, Jean Leggett reached for the ginger beer and a glass.
‘You don’t know who my husband is?’ Jean asked Cardilini.
‘Frank Leggett? No,’ Cardilini replied, looking to the old man.
‘Francis?’
Oh my God, thought Cardilini. Of course he knew who the man was.
And Jean Leggett confirmed. ‘He was the crown prosecutor and then a justice of the High Court. He knows exactly what is required of him.’
Cardilini sat back down. He couldn’t believe that this was possible.
‘Was he an old boy of St Nicholas College?’ Cardilini asked dumbly.
Leggett laughed out loud, Jean joined in. Cardilini was feeling sick.
‘The school was built on what once was Leggett land. All this side of the river up to the town.’ Jean smiled back. ‘I should’ve answered the front door but I knew Frank was getting bored with his book.’
‘I’m hoping you’ve never heard of me,’ Cardilini said.
‘Oh, yes we have. Mark Carmody is a frequent visitor,’ Leggett replied.
‘The boy Carmody at St Nicholas?’ Cardilini asked, appalled.
‘That’s the one. Not a fan of yours,’ Leggett said.
‘The feeling’s mutual,’ Cardilini said, standing.
‘What’s your rush?’
‘Knowing your lot, I’ll get my marching orders in the morning. I better start looking for a job.’
‘Please yourself, but given how long it took you to get down here, it seems a shame to rush off,’ Leggett said.
Jean stood and said, ‘I might leave you two. Drinks in half an hour.’ She walked off. Cardilini watched her walking away while thinking that’s what he should be doing. The light, loose fabric of her smock swished from side to side like a horse’s tail.
‘You find her attractive?’
‘Sorry. No. Just thinking, I should go too.’
‘You don’t find her attractive?’
‘No. Yes. Do you know what Carmody has been up to?’
‘Maybe not. You tell me.’
‘So you can tell him? I don’t think so,’ Cardilini replied.
‘I don’t need to tell tales to anyone,’ Leggett said, laying aside his book.
Cardilini sat. There was nothing about this guy that was eighty-six.
‘Put your policeman’s head on for a moment,’ Leggett said.
My policeman’s head? What does this old geezer think this is? ‘Okay.’
‘Think of this from Carmody’s point of view.’
‘Are you kidding? He’s an arrogant little brat.’
‘For an arrogant little brat he seems to be managing you successfully.’
Cardilini poured himself a ginger beer and hoped the tremors of anger in his hand weren’t too obvious.
‘So you’ve never thought of things from his point of view?’ Leggett asked.
‘Never. He doesn’t interest me.’
Leggett smiled at that. ‘Then I can’t help you,’ he said and picked up his book. Cardilini had a rush of words but caught them all. He needed to calm down, leave the emotion out of it, and ‘put his policeman’s head on’. He was failing Paul, he was failing who he should be. He watched Leggett reading. He knew he had to sit this out, maybe he could book the ex-high court justice for withholding information. If he was still a policeman, he corrected himself.
‘Okay. My policeman’s head’s on,’ he finally said.
Leggett gave an expression of, ‘It’s about time,’ and put the book down.
‘What do you think Carmody is doing?’ Leggett asked.
Cardilini sighed deeply. ‘He’s interfering with a police investigation.’
‘The police investigation is completed and Edmund’s death was found to be an accidental shooting by parties or party unknown and impossible to determine.’
‘So what’s Carmody doing?’ Cardilini asked.
‘He thinks other boys’ lives could be at risk if the abuse they suffered was to become known.’
‘I’d heard that,’ Cardilini said.
Leggett nodded his head sagely before asking, ‘Then why are you risking so much by continuing to poke around?’
‘Did you see a car here on the evening of the twenty-fifth of October?’ Cardilini heard himself demanding.
‘You can’t expect an old man to remember such details.’
‘I’ll speak to your wife then,’ Cardilini said.
‘No, you won’t. You’ll go straight out the way you came,’ Leggett threatened.
‘Or?’
‘Do you really want to play games with me?’
‘What can you do?’ Cardilini asked.
‘I’m the legal advisor to the St Nicholas board,’ Leggett said with a challenge in his voice. Cardilini looked back stunned. Was this decrepit bag of bones behind the pressure on Robinson and Warren?
‘Do we understand each other?’ Leggett asked.
Cardilini stood staring at Leggett, he felt blood rush to his neck and head, he bit his mouth closed. Leggett looked back like a surgeon, cold and implacable. Cardilini turned and walked away.
Forty-five
Day 19
St Nicholas College
6.10 p.m. Thursday, 12th November 1965
After dinner the boy was told to report to the sixth form common room again. He stood in the corridor. Darnley, a fourth form student, wandered in and stood opposite the boy.
‘What are you doing here, creep?’ Darnley asked. Everyone knew Darnley would be expelled. He was the size of a sixth former and had wisps of dark hair on his upper lip like a moustache. He stole things. He had stolen money from boys’ lockers. It was rumoured he had stolen gym equipment and stashed it down by the river.
The boy shrugged. Students were not allowed to speak while standing outside the common room.
‘Creep,’ Darnley said in a normal conversational voice and smiled.
The boy shrugged.
‘You got any smokes?’
The boy shook his head.
‘Creep.’
The boy shrugged.
‘Is Carmody in there?’
The boy looked up, lifted his shoulders and let them drop.
‘You glad Ed
mund got shot?’
The boy looked up. Darnley seemed to have no interest in his questions. Some of the second formers were proud that Darnley had stolen their property. They didn’t dob on him. One time when money was stolen from a second former’s locker twice in a week, the second former was boasting to all the boys gathered around his locker. He showed the open padlock, he showed where the money was, he told them how much was stolen the first time and how much was stolen the second time. The second formers were laughing with him, punching his arms and ruffling his hair. Darnley’s name was whispered again and again. How did Darnley manage to get out of prep? That’s when he must have done it. How did he manage to pick the lock? What locks had Darnley not managed to pick? One boy had a Lockwood lock and the group went to look at it. The boy had looked at his own lock when the group wandered away and wondered if he could buy one that Darnley could pick.
The boy shrugged at Darnley’s question. But inwardly he seeped blood, he knew it to be blood because he felt it run from his face and neck. All the teachers hated Darnley. The sixth formers constantly punished him. The fifth formers were scared of him. The ‘good kids’ of every year avoided him, but the ‘tough kids’ looked up to him. More blood seeped. If Darnley knew about what Edmund had done to him, he felt it appropriate he seep to death while standing waiting for Carmody.
‘Did you shoot him?’ Darnley asked again with a smile but no real interest in his question.
The boy smiled, despite the seeping, and shook his head.
‘Did you want to?’
The boy still looking at Darnley, nodded. Darnley casually nodded back and began picking his teeth with a match.
‘Do you know who has smokes?’ Darnley asked.
The boy nodded he did.
‘Who?’
The boy whispered a name.
‘Does he keep them in his locker?’
The boy shrugged.
‘You find out his locker number and come back and tell me.’
‘Now?’ the boy whispered.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Darnley laughed.
The boy nodded back, smiling.
‘You a bit nuts?’ Darnley asked, spitting something from his tongue.
The boy shrugged.
‘Why’re you here?’ Darnley asked.
The police brought Darnley from the city once when he had been caught stealing from David Jones men’s department. Darnley had taken three pairs of black jeans into a booth to try them on and only returned two; he had a pair on under his suit trousers. Another student dobbed on him to the cashier. One cashier didn’t care and smiled at Darnley, but the other made a fuss and called the police. Everyone knew the story, Darnley made sure they did. He wanted to find out who dobbed on him. Some boys who hated Darnley said he was damaging the school by his behaviour and should have been dobbed on, others said Darnley shouldn’t have been dobbed on because it hurt the school’s reputation.
Man at the Window Page 24