A Stranger in my Street

by Deborah Burrows

  What I needed was more information.

  Mr Goodley had received a thick envelope from Detective Munsie a couple of days ago, but I hadn’t had a chance to look at the contents before he put it into his ‘safe’ place. A plan formed in my head. That night I thought about what I could do. It was risky, but I felt fairly confident I could pull it off.

  ‘Are you coming?’

  It was ten minutes past five o’clock, the following afternoon. The cover was on Annie’s typewriter and she was pulling on her gloves. Miss Filmer had already gone. I shook my head.

  ‘I want to finish some typing before I go.’

  It wasn’t unusual for me to stay back to finish urgent work.

  ‘Okey-dokey. But it’s Friday night and that’s the night when all good girls should go dancing. I’m off to the Embassy Ballroom. Don’t become too conscientious, Meg. And don’t forget you promised to meet me at the Silver Dollar tomorrow night.’

  ‘I’ll be there. I’ll see you at eight.’

  She grinned. ‘I’ll get you out and about despite yourself, Meg Eaton. And if you meet an unattached American officer – one who’s single, good-looking, good-natured and rich – keep me in mind, please.’ There was a wink and a smile and she was out the door.

  The room was very quiet with Annie gone. I put a page into my typewriter, rolled it down and started the letter on my dictation pad. I typed for about twenty minutes, then got up and went to the door. I checked the main corridor, then the clerks’ room. Empty. It was now after five-thirty and most people were long gone. I hurried over to the door that led to the offices of the four lawyers, opened it and crept quietly down the short corridor. Mr Goodley’s office was the third door down. He had left work at four-thirty, and I knew he and his wife were attending a concert because I had booked the tickets for him. I checked that each office was empty.

  I went into Mr Goodley’s office and pulled the door shut behind me. The room was strangely bereft without his lively presence. My heart was racing and my palms were moist. I often went into his office when he wasn’t there, but I had never before gone in there to read his confidential documents. His big, old-fashioned desk was in front of me, near the window. I knew he kept important documents in the third drawer down, which was always locked. I also knew that there was a spare key to the third drawer in the unlocked top drawer, in an envelope marked ‘spares’. I was soon rifling through envelopes and folders marked ‘Confidential’. The one relating to Doreen’s murder was close to the top.

  I removed it, put it on the desk and leafed through the documents. They were a goldmine. There was not only the autopsy report, but copies of all the statements that the police had taken, including those of Betty Barwon and the US servicemen. I debated taking the entire thing to my desk and copying it there, but thought it would be easier if I took it all down in shorthand at Mr Goodley’s desk and typed up the information later. There would be less risk of losing or damaging anything that way. My shorthand speed was very fast. I had topped the state in the Junior Shorthand Typists’ Examination when I was fifteen. But there was a lot to copy.

  I did the autopsy report first. It was very technical, but the gist was that a single, oblique stab wound had penetrated the left ventricle of Doreen’s heart and severed a coronary artery. Death was due to cardiac tamponade (whatever that was!). She also had a depressed skull fracture over the right frontal region. It was a thin wound, perhaps caused by a wooden or metal rod.

  Next I turned to the sworn statements.

  Chad stated that he was friendly with Doreen, he had spent the evening in her company and they had left the base together at ten minutes to twelve. He walked down the bush path with her and they parted near Winthrop Avenue. As he was walking back to the base he met up with Don Dudley.

  Aha, I thought, and smiled to myself. So Don could have been the thin officer Frank had seen in the bush that night. There was nothing to link Tom to this crime.

  I carried on reading Chad’s statement. He and Don had chatted for a while, and then walked back to the gate together, arriving at around twelve-thirty. While they were talking, Nobbie Wilder had walked past them carrying a large tub of food scraps. Chad had not seen anyone else in the bush.

  Don Dudley stated that he was out in the bush that night looking for moth specimens. He saw Chad at around ten minutes past twelve. They had conversed together on the path, before returning to the base at twelve-thirty. He saw no one when he was in the bush. Nobbie Wilder walked past when he and Chad were talking.

  It seemed clear that Nobbie Wilder was ‘the large man with the box’ that Frank had seen. I wondered what Don and Chad were talking about for so long in the darkness. Also, what was Doreen doing in the bush after Chad left her? It wasn’t until twelve-thirty that she was seen crossing Winthrop Avenue. Another question was whether Nobbie could account for his movements after twelve-thirty.

  As I turned to the next statement I heard sounds out in the corridor. Someone had opened the door from the typists’ room. I pushed the drawer closed, turned off the desk light and grabbed the folder, my pad and pencil as I scanned the room for hiding places. I slipped under the desk and pulled the chair in behind me. Then I waited, trying to calm the frantic thud of my heartbeat.

  The office door opened.

  ‘I know they’re somewhere in here.’ It was Mr Goodley’s voice and he was moving towards the desk.

  ‘Maurice, your desk is remarkably neat. That pretty little secretary must really keep you in order.’ It was Mrs Goodley.

  ‘She does. I’m terrified the Americans will snap her up. They’re offering a great deal of money to good stenographers.’

  ‘Didn’t she find the Luca woman’s body?’

  I could hear him fossicking around in the papers on the top of the desk. I was barely breathing. It was very dusty and the scent of oiled wood was almost overpowering. My nose was itchy and I was terrified I would sneeze.

  ‘Mmm-hmm. With the Lagrange boy.’

  I was in a very ‘Wanda the War Girl’ predicament. In the cartoon strip, Wanda was always hiding under desks and getting into scrapes to find out information. Here I was, stuck under a desk with classified information and trying not to sneeze, while my boss was inches away, and talking about me.

  ‘Whatever was she doing finding a body with Tom Lagrange? Phyllis Gregory usually keeps him on a very tight leash.’

  ‘I’m not sure. She seems to see a lot of him. I’m rather concerned about Meg, to tell the truth. There was that unpleasant article in the Mirror, and now I think she knows more about this murder than she’s letting on. She was asking me some peculiar questions yesterday.’

  ‘Pam Lagrange is terribly worried about Tom. He’s been so nervy since he came back.’

  ‘It’s hardly surprising. He’s lost his brother, he was badly wounded and when he was captured by the Japanese he was almost certainly tortured. You should all give the boy some time.’

  His voice trailed off.

  ‘Here they are,’ he said, sounding relieved.

  ‘Thank goodness. Really, Maurice, you’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your neck. It’s not very secure in here. Shouldn’t you lock it up for the weekend?’

  ‘I don’t usually bother.’

  It sounded as if they were at the door now, and I was starting to breathe more easily.

  The door closed and I heard the key turn in the lock. I sneezed. Twice.

  When the sound of their voices receded I pushed the chair away, clambered out from under the desk and ran to the door to try the handle. Locked. Damn Mrs Goodley! The room was getting dark, but I didn’t want to put on a light in case Marty, the nightwatchman, decided to investigate. Mr Goodley never bothered to put up the blackout blinds unless he was going to be staying back and Marty would know he wasn’t working late tonight. I moaned softly, put my back against the door and slid down to sit on the floor with my head in my hands.

  I could always climb out the window. It overlooked the
gardens and it wasn’t very high above the ground. But how would I get the window securely shut again, once I was out? My handbag, hat and gloves were still in the typists’ room, so even if I did get out, I would have to go around to the front of the building, bang on the door and ask Marty to let me in to collect them. Marty was always friendly, but he might ask some difficult questions in those circumstances. I wasn’t sure what crimes I might have just committed, but I would certainly lose my job if anyone found out.

  The window faced north-east and the light in the room was rapidly fading, but I could just see my wristwatch. Seven o’clock. I’d spent more time than I had realised in transcribing the documents. They were still under the desk, so I crawled across the carpet to the desk and patted around underneath for the folder, my pad and my pencil. The really irritating thing was that I couldn’t finish copying the statements.

  I thought about it. I was trapped there anyway. Why shouldn’t I finish what I had started? Standing, I lifted the lamp from the desk and put it on the floor beneath the desk. I climbed into the space, just as I had when Mr Goodley had turned up, and adjusted the lamp so that it shone on my lap. Although I felt like a contortionist, I managed to finish the transcription of all the statements.

  US naval pilot Earl Morrison had seen Chad and Doreen leave the base together before midnight. He said they had been very affectionate all evening, and Doreen seemed quite intoxicated when she left the base with Chad. He saw them kissing for a while before they wandered off together down the path through the scrub. At about twelve-thirty Morrison was sitting in the rec hall with some other men, when Chad returned and joined them. They all stayed up drinking until the early hours, at which time Morrison and another man assisted Chad to bed.

  Bud Hollis (Ensign Robert Hollis Jnr), the young pilot I’d met at the Red Cross dance, had the room next to Chad, and two up from Don. He saw Don in the corridor, heading for his room at around twelve forty-five. He also heard Chad come to bed at around three o’clock and had heard him snoring loudly after that. There was a suggestion of pique in the statement and I assumed that poor Bud had not got much sleep that night.

  Nobbie (Aviation Storekeeper Second Class Norbert Francis Wilder) had been ordered to clean up after the party because he was on ‘KP duty’, which was apparently punishment duty. There was no mention of what he was being punished for. He had dug a big hole just off the bush path earlier that day, intending to throw the rubbish and food scraps into the hole and bury them. It was a big hole because a couple of lambs were to be roasted on a spit and there would be the carcasses to bury. At midnight he carried a large tub filled with food scraps and other rubbish to the hole and emptied it, before returning to the base. He refilled the tub, picked up a shovel and left the base at twelve-thirty for his second trip to the hole. He tipped in the second load of rubbish, filled in the hole and returned to the base about fifteen minutes later to return the shovel and empty tub, after which he headed across the highway to his bunk in one of the Quonset huts. He saw Chad and Don talking together on his first trip, but not on the second.

  Betty confirmed that Frank had arrived at her house on the afternoon of Doreen’s death and she had given him a cup of tea. She told him that Doreen would be going to a party at the Catalina base that night. That was the only time she saw him. She had attended the party at the officers’ quarters and confirmed that when Doreen left she was quite intoxicated. Doreen and she had spoken about Frank, and Doreen had said that she would ‘sort things out with him the next day’. Betty left the party at around midnight and walked home along the highway. Doreen was not at the house when Betty arrived home and there was nothing to indicate that she had been there. Betty wasn’t worried when Doreen still hadn’t returned the next morning, because that was not uncommon. Betty spent all of Sunday with Nobbie, which explained why she was not at the house when Tom went there looking for Doreen.

  The sentry at the gate to the officers’ quarters, Lyle Lane Sawatzke, confirmed that all the men living in the quarters were there by twelve-thirty and confirmed Nobbie’s movements. Louis Samuel, the sentry on the gate at the university, confirmed that Nobbie had been signed into the university grounds at a quarter to one.

  I turned off the lamp, untwisted my body from its cramped position and put the lamp back on the desk. I was stiff and sore, but I knew a lot more now. There was nothing to indicate that Tom had been anywhere near the area. Even if the police did arrest poor Frank, his evidence could not put any suspicion on Tom because the thin officer he had seen was most likely Don Dudley.

  As far as I could tell, things were looking bleak for Frank. I was inclined to think that Frank had actually seen two ‘big’ men. One with a box (Nobbie) and one ‘all over Doreen’ (Chad). That didn’t help Frank, however, because they both had been with Doreen before she crossed Winthrop Avenue at twelve-thirty. Chad could prove that he was at the base the rest of the night. Possibly Don could have snuck out after twelve forty-five, but it seemed crazy to think that Don would commit a cold-blooded murder because Doreen was a flirt. Or that Nobbie could tip the rubbish in the hole, fill it in, sneak across Winthrop Avenue to stab Doreen in the shelter and get back to base to be signed in fifteen minutes later.

  It was now pitch black in the office. I patted my hand down the side of the desk to find the third drawer and replace the folder. There was a moment’s panic when I couldn’t remember where I had put the envelope with the drawer key. I went back onto my hands and knees and felt around on the floor under the desk until I found it. As I reached inside for the key, I could feel another four or five keys in the envelope. Realisation dawned and, with it, hope. These were spare keys.

  I found the small key to the third drawer and locked it. Gingerly, hands outstretched, I stumbled my way back to the office door and tried each key in turn. The third one fitted. With a satisfying click, the lock turned. Smiling, I walked slowly back to the desk in the darkness and replaced the envelope with the keys in the top drawer. The key to the door I kept. I would replace it on Monday.

  In the typists’ room I tucked away the shorthand pad in my handbag and picked up my hat and gloves. My hands were dirty, so it was after I had made a detour to the ladies’ room that I surprised Marty. He was sitting on his chair at the desk in the lobby, reading a book under the light of a lamp that lit up his white hair. It also lit up his startled face when he saw me.

  ‘Crikey. It’s nine o’clock. Whatever are you doing here at this hour, Meg?’

  ‘Urgent work,’ I said, waving cheerily at him.

  ‘They work you too hard. I hope they know what a jewel you are.’

  I smiled at him. ‘Let me out, please, Marty. I’m starving.’

  Twenty

  I was on my way home with Ma’s groceries the following morning when I heard someone calling me. I swung around to see Cec McLean.

  ‘Hullo. I thought you were back at sea,’ I said.

  ‘Got in again yesterday. We ran into a Japanese sub and needed to put into port for repairs. Fremantle was the nearest, lucky for me. We’ll be here for a week.’

  He fell into step with me. ‘Here, Meg, let me carry that shopping bag.’

  It was always a worry when Cec McLean was solicitous. ‘I’m fine, really.’

  ‘Come on, hand it over.’

  I handed the net bag to him and we walked together along the tree-lined footpaths, past the rows of terracotta-roofed bungalows in their neat gardens, towards Megalong Street.

  ‘So, you’re mates with the Americans at the Catalina base, and with that rich Aussie captain. Lagrange, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Apparently Cec read the Mirror. I had picked up today’s copy for Joan and it was tucked safely in my shopping bag. The front-page headline read: POW’S WIFE TOOK LESSONS FROM YANK COOK: ENDED UP IN THE SOUP.

  As we were approaching my house he said, ‘Betty told me about Doreen’s crush on that Captain Lagrange. And about their barney the night before she died.’


  I said nothing.

  ‘You don’t think it was him that killed her, do you? And not Luca?’

  ‘Apparently Captain Lagrange has an alibi. I understand Detective Munsie doesn’t suspect him.’

  ‘Yeah. So Betty said. Still . . .’

  I looked at him, blank-faced. He wanted to tell me something and clearly I wasn’t going to get away until he did.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Maybe someone heard Doreen talking to someone that night, in the bush by the officers’ quarters. Maybe she was asking somebody for something. Maybe your Captain Lagrange would like to hear about it.’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘You tell him I’d be happy to talk about it.’ For a fee, was the unspoken premise. ‘He’d better see me soon, or I’ll tell what I know to other interested parties.’

  We had reached the gate outside my house. Cec handed the bag to me, gave me a wink and walked away.

  I was confused. What was he trying to say? Was he referring to Don or Chad as the other interested parties? What did it have to do with Tom? Just when I felt sure that Tom could not be suspected, Cec had to turn up with his mysterious message.

  I debated telephoning Tom. He had given me a number to use for emergencies, but it was now five days since I had seen him and I decided that hearing his voice would just make me more confused and unhappy. In the end I wrote him a letter, setting out what Cec had said and where Cec lived and I sent it that afternoon. He’d get it first post on Monday.

  The Silver Dollar was crowded, smoky and full of alcohol-fuelled energy. A six-piece band was on a stage in the corner. They were finishing ‘In the Mood’ as I came in, but went straight into ‘Ain’t Nobody Here But Us Chickens’, which really increased the pace. The dance floor was full of people stomping and shaking in time to the music and having a great time. I couldn’t see Annie anywhere. I felt the usual sick feeling that overcame me when I entered a crowded room alone. I always seemed to have dancing partners, but who would I talk to between dances? I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t put Annie in that position if she turned up later.