The Story of Danny Dunn

by Bryce Courtenay

  ‘In precisely one week, after Sammy and Bullnose had moved into the flat. That way Riley wouldn’t have been able to get his standover man to beat them up.’

  Danny sighed, and flopped back into the chair. ‘Helen, you’ll have to explain that piece of exquisitely feminine logic. After all, I’m a mere male.’

  ‘And acting like one, my dear,’ Helen suggested coolly, his sarcasm no match for her own.

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well, if anyone tries to leave one of Riley’s boarding houses, a goon pays them a visit and threatens them with a severe beating. If the intimidation isn’t enough to change their minds, they usually meet with a nasty accident that lands them in hospital.’ Helen paused for emphasis. ‘Or worse, if they threaten to go to the Housing Commission and spill the beans, they’re taken by motor boat a mile beyond the Heads and told to swim home. The following morning the body is washed up at Camp Cove, Bondi, Tamarama or Coogee beaches.’ She shrugged and spread her hands. ‘The suicide of a nameless, homeless person of no fixed address usually rates about two inches on the fourth page of the Herald.’

  ‘Christ, how do you know all this?’

  Helen ignored Danny’s question and went on. ‘The manager pins up the cutting so the other “boarders” see it, together with a sympathy note from the management and staff.’

  ‘And you didn’t trust me enough to tell me this? I ask again, how long have you known? Do . . . I mean, did Sammy and Bullnose know?’

  ‘I’ve known for about a month. It’s taken that long for me to gather all the information I needed. And no, apart from knowing, like every other boarder, not to talk to anyone if they intended leaving, I don’t believe they know – knew – any of the details. But, yes, I did ask them not to say anything about leaving. I told them that arrangements had been made to get them safely out next Saturday morning.’

  ‘And that’s when you planned to tell me about Riley?’

  ‘Yes. After we’d gone to fetch them and brought their stuff back in the car.’

  ‘And may I ask how you found out about Riley?’

  ‘The lawyer, the other bidder on the house. Remember he withdrew early. It only occurred to me about two months ago that he might have been bidding for the people who owned the other houses in Brokendown Street. I guess he expected to pick it up for a song, that he’d probably be the lone bidder. When we turned up he pulled out early. I got his name from the Birchgrove real estate agency; the guy who owns it is a friend of Dad’s.’

  ‘So?’

  Helen hesitated. ‘Danny, you don’t want to know.’

  ‘Oh, but I do!’

  ‘I accidentally on purpose befriended one of his legal secretaries – I was curious, that’s all. I found out her boss was representing a Double Bay syndicate buying up slum houses.’ Helen shrugged. ‘The rest cost me a couple of martinis after work. She got a little drunk – well, a lot, actually – and told me about the standover men and the motorboat out to sea. She claims she wasn’t supposed to know, but the goons came into her boss’s office to get paid and she heard them talking. It didn’t take much to get it out of her; it had obviously been playing on her conscience.’

  Danny shook his head, still much too angry to give Helen credit for her clever detective work. ‘Helen, ferchrissake, I’m a criminal lawyer! I am accustomed to keeping evidence to myself until it’s needed. What is this? Were you frightened I’d blab?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Jesus! You didn’t trust me, did you?’

  ‘Darling, you’re one of the most intelligent men I’ve ever met, but also one of the most emotional. I love you for your good mind but even more for your good heart. You genuinely care about people, little people. Every time some ingrate goes to jail for beating his wife and kids, I can barely contain my pride. But with Glossy Denmeade’s death, it’s different. My heart sinks each time I look down at your shiny boots. “One day he’s going to catch up with Riley,” I think to myself, and I know that’s not going to be a great day in the life of our family.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Danny demanded. ‘You thought I’d be unable to contain myself and go and find Riley and personally harm him?’ Danny suggested, aghast.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Bullshit!’

  Helen’s eyebrow arched. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Well? . . . Oh? . . . Are you incapable of anything other than monosyllabic replies?’ Danny said, frustrated and unable to find a ready response.

  ‘For goodness sake, darling!’ Helen cried. ‘You’ve been trying to get to the bottom of these slum boarding houses for how long? And we’re still nowhere. The council doesn’t want to know. Tommy O’Hearn is protecting them, or, as you say, riding shotgun for them. The Labor Party, the state government and the police are taking brown envelopes. You’ve become pretty obsessed with the whole thing and you’ve been obsessed with finding Riley since the end of the war. Now both obsessions merge into one and you’re going to treat it as due process? Now that, my dear friend, is total bullshit!’ Helen shouted. ‘You couldn’t get to Riley in a court of law if you tried. You have absolutely no proof of any wrongdoing. You’re not going to get any of those poor devils into the witness box; they’re all terrified of Riley’s goons, and the tragedy is that they have nowhere else to go. Other than directly assaulting him, your hands are tied.’

  ‘Sammy and Bullnose, they would have testified,’ Danny said, taken aback by her vehemence.

  ‘Perhaps. Once they were away from there. My original point, I believe,’ Helen, calm again, sighed and shrugged. ‘I was afraid you’d take the law into your own hands. Half Dunn is right. You have to wait for an opportunity. I was scared you wouldn’t take his advice. If you’d attempted anything while Sammy and Bullnose were still in the boarding house, it wouldn’t have taken long for Riley to see the connection and send in his standover men to take revenge on the two of them and on you. A boat trip beyond the Heads was not out of the question.’ Helen paused. ‘Danny, you’d never have forgiven yourself . . . I’d never forgive myself.’

  Despite his anger, Danny was beginning to understand, if not agree with, Helen’s concern. ‘I don’t think you’re right. I’ve waited too long to blow the chance to get to the bastard.’

  Helen smiled. ‘Okay, here’s a hypothetical situation: you’re in Tokyo at a legal convention. You go to the toilets, a door opens and you’re confronted by Colonel Mori. There’s nobody around. What would you do?’

  Danny thought for a moment. ‘I don’t know,’ he sighed, shaking his head.

  ‘Well, I think I do,’ Helen said quietly. ‘You once told me you were taught how to kill a man in ten seconds, silently.’

  ‘You think I’d kill him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You really think so?’

  Helen didn’t answer for a moment. ‘Okay, so Mori is your nemesis. He’s also Japanese and the enemy. How much worse is Riley? Riley is one of us, he isn’t the enemy, yet he still acted as he did over Glossy Denmeade’s boots.’ Helen tossed her pretty head.

  ‘So, when Sammy and Bullnose were safely in the flat, when you eventually decided to tell me about Riley, you thought I’d what? Kill him?’ Danny asked, most of the fight gone out of him.

  Helen, playing for time, stooped to pick up a piece of broken saucer. Looking down at her feet she said softly, ‘Darling, you know the war did things to your head. You’re not always in total command of your emotions, or of your temper. Craig Woon believes that prisoners who went through what you endured are potentially loose cannons. I know you think about Riley every day of your life, every morning when you pull on your boots.’ Helen looked directly at Danny. ‘I don’t know, I just don’t know!’ Her voice started to quaver. ‘I didn’t know what to do!’ she wailed.

  Danny rose from his chair. ‘Helen, Helen, come here.’ He took her in his arms, holding her tight against his chest. ‘Not ev
en Riley would make me do anything to harm you and the twins.’ Holding his sobbing wife, Danny watched the sun rise over the harbour, wondering what the day would bring. Half Dunn was right: with Sammy’s death and the deaths of the others in the fire, an opportunity had come at last.

  ‘Daddy, when are we going rowing?’ Sam asked, her voice coming from the doorway behind them.

  ‘Why are you crying, Mummy?’ Gabby said. ‘Is it because you broke a cup?’ she asked, seeing the mess on the verandah tiles.

  Oh gawd, how are we going to tell them about Sammy? Danny thought suddenly.

  Helen removed herself from his embrace and, calling the twins to her, gathered them into her arms. ‘There’s been a terrible fire, darlings,’ she said, pointing at the burned-out house. ‘Bullnose has been hurt and they’ve taken him to the hospital.’

  ‘And Sammy, is he hurt too?’ Sam asked, as they both ran to the edge of the verandah to look at the site of the blaze. They were in their pyjamas without dressing-gowns or slippers.

  ‘No, darling.’

  ‘Is he dead?’ Gabby asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Helen said quietly, in her final monosyllabic answer for the night – or was it the day? So much had happened.

  ‘Can I use the Victa lawnmower on my own now?’ Sam asked at once.

  Gabby was quiet for a time, thinking. Then she said earnestly, ‘Can I play my violin at Uncle Sammy’s funeral? I know he’d like that.’ Then she said, ‘And I’ll pick a nice bunch of roses – pink ones and some yellow – for Uncle Bullnose to smell in the hospital. He always says, “Everything’s coming up roses.”’

  ‘And I’ll sing the Tigers’ song for Uncle Sammy,’ Sam announced, not to be outdone.

  ‘That’s very nice,’ Helen said, struggling for control. ‘I’m sure they’d like that. Now run along and play in your room until Grandma comes to take you to school. Daddy needs to go to sleep for a couple of hours, so no noise, you two, please,’ she instructed.

  ‘Is dead forever and ever?’ Gabby asked seriously.

  ‘Until heaven,’ Sam replied.

  ‘It is forever and ever, sweetheart,’ Danny said, kneeling down and giving her a hug. ‘We’re all very sad.’

  Danny grabbed a couple of hours’ sleep, while Helen called St Vincent’s to see if they could visit Bullnose. She had a lecture to give in the afternoon but would be free in the evening. It seemed that apart from the burns to his face and one hand, and a very sore chest, Bullnose was recovering. Still under heavy sedation for pain and shock, he was nevertheless able to see visitors for a short time between six and eight.

  Still weary and heavy-hearted, Danny went into the office to review a court case he had the following morning. Franz came in to him mid-afternoon and slapped the Daily Mirror down on his desk. ‘Your fire made the front page.’

  Danny stared at the newspaper.

  Eight Die in Boarding-house Inferno

  He read the report quickly while Franz waited – it was the usual stuff, the what, when and where of the tragedy. Only two of the eight dead had been identified because the files containing their details had been severely damaged by water and smoke. Police, with the cooperation of the building’s management, hoped to release details later in the day.

  The report went on to say:

  The bodies of six of the deceased are thought to be too badly burned to be identified. One victim found by firemen in the front section of the building is believed to have succumbed to smoke inhalation. Police identified the man as Samuel Herman Laidlaw, a World War I veteran and retired masseur at the Balmain Leagues Club, where he was a popular member. An elderly woman, identified as Sarah Jane Bassett, is believed to have died of a heart attack on the footpath after being rescued from the burning building. All attempts to resuscitate her failed.

  The bodies of the deceased were transported to the city morgue, where it is hoped relatives may be able to identify personal possessions such as rings and other items worn by the fire victims.

  Firemen rescued one boarding-house guest who had managed to reach the front hallway of the house before smoke overcame him. He was transported by ambulance to St Vincent’s Emergency and is believed to be suffering from smoke inhalation and second-degree burns to his face. His name has not been released as police have yet to interview him.

  Police are investigating the fact that the rear windows and rear door of the boarding house, possible escape routes, were permanently barred and locked. The manager of the boarding house, Mr Lenny Green, was not available for interview.

  At this stage police inquiries indicate that there are no suspicious circumstances. The cause of the fire is believed to be a boarding-house guest smoking in bed, a common cause of fires in such establishments.

  Danny looked up at Franz. ‘Not a lot there to work with, except the barred windows and back door. I have a three o’clock appointment at the morgue to identify Sammy.’

  ‘Take a camera.’

  ‘What? Why? The morgue does that – it’s part of the coroner’s inquiry – 10 x 8 black-and-whites.’

  Franz ignored his objection. ‘Better still, I’ll come with you. I don’t trust you with my Leica,’ he said.

  ‘Sure,’ Danny said, puzzled, ‘but I still don’t understand.’

  ‘My old man phoned.’ Franz pointed to the newspaper. ‘He’s read about the fire – I’ve talked to him about your neighbourhood troubles.’ He smiled. ‘When I told him about Bullnose and Sammy, he said it’s essential to have pictures of the body that you’ve taken yourself, and also of the site of the fire.’

  ‘Hey, c’mon, mate! This isn’t Nazi Germany,’ Danny protested.

  ‘But it’s nevertheless sensible advice. You didn’t know my dad was a journalist in Austria, did you? One of the reasons we left was because the Nazis outlawed Jewish journalists. He was also part of the left-wing intelligentsia, not a good combination at the time. He’s seen sufficient exploitation of the poor to last him a lifetime. What’s happening in those boarding houses isn’t unique or new. By the way, his area was crime investigation and, as he put it to me, “Already when you got a picture of the crime scene, it doesn’t tell lies in the court like the advocate.”’

  Danny laughed. ‘I don’t think they go in for body tampering much at the Sydney City Morgue. But I agree about the site of the fire. Good point.’

  ‘Leave it to me, but we’ll have to hurry. If the police didn’t cordon off the site last night, we’ll be able to get a good look at the building before anyone gets in and removes any suspicious evidence.’

  ‘We’ve got a qualified insurance assessor on the books, haven’t we?’

  ‘Not an assessor – no such animal – an insurance loss adjustor,’ Franz corrected. ‘Bob James. He’s so naturally suspicious it wouldn’t surprise me if he made his wife taste his dinner before he ate it. Works for all the big insurance companies. We used him on that big warehouse fire last year when we were representing the NSW Insurance Company.’

  ‘Can you get this James bloke out in a hurry?’

  ‘If he’s not interstate. He gets his bratwurst from my mum. She always makes him a special batch – more caraway seeds, or something. It might be as well to accompany him.’

  Danny gave him a sceptical look but said nothing.

  ‘My dad’s advice again, mate. But didn’t you say Bullnose yelled out “meter board” when he was lying on the pavement? If the meter board hasn’t been totally destroyed, we need a picture of it, the barred windows, the back door, the bedroom partitions, wiring details . . .’

  Danny sighed then rubbed his eyes. ‘And I’m supposed to be the criminal lawyer! I guess I’m not thinking straight; long night. You’re dead right about the fire scene, and the pictures in the morgue can’t hurt. Please thank your dad. Tell him we’re grateful his instinctive distrust as a journo is still in fine working order.’

 
Franz laughed. ‘He’s given me the same advice – “take before-and-after pictures of a property; you’d be amazed at what goes missing between the auction and settlement”. By the way, do you know anyone at the Balmain Police Station, in case we have any problems getting onto the site?’

  ‘Sure do. I was a foundation member of the Balmain Police Boys Club as a nipper and I’m on the board of governors. Larry Miller is the sergeant in charge of the cop station as well as the club.’ Danny picked up the phone. ‘I’ll give him a call. You call your insurance bloke, find out when we can go out. Have you got your camera here?’

  ‘Not we, I’ll go with Bob! If you’re going to be representing Sammy at the inquest, it’s not such a bad idea to keep schtum for the time being. Anyway, you were probably recognised last night, but that’s easily explained, since you live up the street. On the other hand, you don’t want to be seen snooping around, digging among the ashes with a camera.’

  ‘What are you doing as a conveyancing solicitor? You’d have been a damn good criminal lawyer,’ Danny grinned.

  ‘If that’s a compliment, thank you. I hope to justify my parents’ faith in me and end up a rich man instead.’

  Franz went to his office to contact the insurance bloke, and Danny dialled the morgue and then the Balmain police. He got through to Sergeant Miller, who assured him that the insurance loss adjustor and his assistant would be allowed to inspect the site of the fire. ‘Oh, Larry, mate, do me a favour. Just log that a fire insurance adjustor called Bob James phoned and asked if he and his photographer could visit the site.’

  ‘Sure, Danny, no problem. Glad you’re onto it. Can o’ worms, that whole street.’

  Franz popped his head around the door. ‘Okay, Bob James is free, so I’m off.’

  ‘Mortuary, three o’clock. Will you be back in time?’ Danny asked.

  ‘I’ll meet you there!’ Franz replied.

  Helen and Danny arrived at St Vincent’s at precisely six that evening, after Danny had performed his last duty for poor Sammy Laidlaw – sadly identifying his old friend. They found Bullnose sufficiently recovered to be moved out of Emergency into a men’s ward in the general part of the hospital. Had the duty nurse not led them to his bed they would have had no way of recognising him; his head was swathed in bandages with only a slit for his mouth and another for his eyes. ‘I’ve seen Egyptian mummies with fewer bandages on their heads,’ Helen laughed softly, bending down and gently kissing his swaddled forehead.