There was a pause while Peter’s mother spoke. Capt Conkey went on. “Yes.... No.... Yes. Peter may have seen the men.”
Peter sat half-dazed while he listened to the OC describe how the body was found and to ask permission for Peter to be interviewed by the police, and, if necessary, to view the body. It was only after Capt Conkey had said “Thank you.” and hung up that Peter realized that he had said nothing to his mother about him being in trouble.
‘Was that just an oversight because he is too busy...or...or can I dare to hope things might not be as bad as I thought?’ he wondered.
Capt Conkey did not enlighten him. Instead he phoned an army staff officer in Townsville. A ten minute explanation followed. Then a third phone call, this time to the police in Charters Towers. Peter had been hoping the police would not need him, or not be interested but it became quickly apparent from the trend of the conversation that they were. He was dreading having to view that corpse.
Capt Conkey hung up. “Well, they want us there at eight thirty. That gives us about an hour. Time for a shower and a quick breakfast.”
Peter felt bilious at the mention of food but the shower appealed. He collected his pack and made his way to a shower room at the rear of the guardhouse. Crane used the adjoining shower and Peter was doubly embarrassed as there was little privacy and no conversation. Once they were both out Capt Conkey used the shower.
Outside on the veranda, washed and changed Capt Conkey fingered his freshly shaved chin and said, “Now eat. I suppose you don’t feel much like it Peter but you need energy. You look a wreck.”
Peter could only mumble and nod. He forced himself to heat coffee and then a tin of ‘Steak and Mushrooms’. Capt Conkey hurried him along with frequent glances at his watch. As they ate the truck drove back into the camp with a load of cadets. 2 Platoon Peter noted before looking away. The cadets stared curiously but did not call out. The truck returned empty a few minutes later. It was shuttling the unit over to the army camp so they could have a shower and change into clean uniforms before the coaches arrived to take them home. Capt Conkey spoke briefly to Lt Hamilton then walked back to the veranda.
“Ten past eight. Let’s move.”
They placed their gear in the back of the Land Rover and climbed in. To Peter it seemed as though every part of his body, including his eyelids, was made of lead. He could think of no way to escape the coming ordeal other than passing out, which seemed a distinct possibility. He sat very quiet, shivering from nervous exhaustion, as they drove back out to the highway.
At the highway they stopped while Capt Conkey spoke to the 2ic in the other Rover. He had a load of cadets as well.
“How many more to go?” Capt Conkey called.
“One more trip each and that’s the lot,” Lt Maclaren answered. Capt Conkey looked at his watch and grunted with satisfaction.
“Good. I don’t know how long we will be but I will try to catch you up. I would like to be there when they are dismissed; but if I’m not then don’t wait for me. In that case we will have to decide on these disciplinary matters after camp.”
The 2ic nodded and engaged first gear. The OC did likewise and turned left onto the highway. Peter sat silently mulling over what he had just heard. He had hoped to get a chance to speak to Graham before the end of camp but that now looked unlikely. It deepened his depression.
As the Rover crossed the long concrete bridge over the Bunyip Peter looked out and marvelled at how much had happened along that stretch of river. He had the feeling that the camp had gone on for weeks. Seeing the place where he and Kate had swum caused his stomach to swirl in sour regret. Then the thought of having to see the dead body almost caused him to throw up.
It was a half-hour drive through mostly deserted bush to Charters Towers. Capt Conkey said almost nothing. He had a hard look on his face. Peter felt very uncomfortable and ashamed. He was also frightened. He wondered when and how to apologize but decided it wasn’t the right time.
They drove to the Hospital and were met by two hard-eyed, middle-aged, plain-clothes detectives. One introduced himself as Detective Sergeant Fox. Peter didn’t catch the other man’s name, only the rank of Detective. All he felt was mounting panic. The DS turned to him.
“So you say you saw three men on the east bank of the Bunyip a few days ago. When exactly was that?”
Peter was prepared for this. “Five days age sir. On Thursday, thirteenth of September, at about fifteen hundred hours.”
“What did they look like?”
A frown of concentration creased Peter’s brow. “There was a big solid bloke. He was the boss I think. He was called Morris or Morry. When the men came walking along the river bank he stopped just near... just near me, and said…”
“Never mind what he said,” the DS interrupted. “Just give a quick description. You can tell us the details later.”
“Yes Sir.” Peter paused to gather his thoughts. “Morry: big, solid build, pot belly, black hair, tattoos on his arms. He was wearing one of those denim jackets with the sleeves torn off, and jeans. Then there was the bloke with the gun, a twenty two. He is mid-twenties to thirty years old, black hair in a pony tail, hard face, very sun-tanned or olive complexion and very fit. The third guy was a weedy little bloke they called ‘Prawn’. Thin build, pale skin, straggly fair hair with a wispy little beard on his chin. He wore a black T-shirt and jeans and had a cobra tattooed on his left forearm, here,”
Peter pointed to his own arm to indicate the location. The policeman nodded. “That sounds like our man. Are you willing to look at the body?”
Peter swallowed. “Yes sir.” He was terrified but also fascinated. ‘It can’t be worse than what I saw up behind Mt Baldy,’ he thought, remembering the horrific sights of dead Kosarian soldiers that he, Graham, Stephen and Roger had seen a few months earlier.
“Fine, follow me.” The detectives led the way around the side of the hospital, along a driveway to a building at the rear. Capt Conkey told Crane to wait at the Land Rover and followed. At the morgue a white-coated attendant unlocked a door and opened it for them. They went in.
Peter had never been in a morgue before and he looked around with ghoulish interest. His first reaction was disappointment. Apart from a stainless steel table in the middle of the room, a bench and sink along one wall, and some sort of trolley the place was empty. A bank of large cupboards, like filing cabinets, took up the far wall. In the harsh glare of a fluorescent light the place looked (and smelt) sterile. And it was cold!
He had expected that but he still broke out in goose bumps and began to shiver. Wishing that he had never said anything, or that he could somehow back out, he was led across to one of the ‘Filing cabinets’. The attendant pushed the trolley into position and adjusted its height, then opened the door. He hauled out a steel tray on rollers so that it rested on the trolley. On the tray was the corpse, shrouded by a sheet.
Cold air flowed down from the open compartment. Peter trembled and felt the urge to run. He could only stare in sickly fascination as the sheet was turned back to expose the face and torso.
It was grisly. The horribly mutilated face looked shrunken and wax-like, so pale that freckles seemed to float above the surface.
“Is that him?” the DS asked.
Peter looked at the body. He nodded, unable to speak, and began to shiver uncontrollably. The policeman folded the sheet further back to expose the left arm. “You are definite it is the same man?” he asked, pointing to the tattoo.
Again Peter nodded. His eyes flickered back to the face. ‘He is dead!’ his mind cried in terror at the awful mystery. ‘One day I will die too! What will it be like? How will I cope? How can I?’
He felt a strong hand seize his arm and he was propelled outside. It was only when he was in the sunlight he realized Capt Conkey was holding him.
“Sit down Peter.”
Peter did so. He clasped his knees to his chest and shook.
After a minute the trembling eased. Peter
looked up. The two policeman stood there beside Capt Conkey.
“Do you feel better now?” Capt Conkey asked.
“Yes sir,” Peter replied weakly. He broke into a shivering sweat and nausea churned his insides.
“I thought you were going to bring your breakfast up then.”
Peter made an attempt to grin. “So did I Sir.”
The DS grunted. “If you feel up to it let’s go back to the station and we will get a few more details.”
Fifteen minutes later Peter was seated in an interview room facing the two policemen. Capt Conkey sat beside him. The DS leaned forward and asked, “OK son, tell us the story.”
Peter licked his lips. He had been mulling over what to say. He took a deep breath and began. “The unit was doing field training on Bare Ridge and a girl and I snuck away to be together,” he said. Then he paused, burning with shame and acutely conscious of Capt Conkey’s presence. He turned to face him, tears blurring his eyes. “I’m sorry Sir, truly I am.”
The DS grunted. Capt Conkey nodded and replied. “Thank you, but we will talk about it later. Tell the story.”
Peter sniffed and fought back the tears. He breathed deeply several times before continuing. “We went down a gully, the one behind the old rifle range, to the river bank. We...we had a.. a swim and then we.. er..lay on the grass under the trees.”
A flicker of amusement showed on the DS’s face and the other detective tried to hide a grin. Peter did not dare glance at Capt Conkey. ‘He won’t be amused!’ he thought bitterly. He went on, “Three men came walking along an animal pad on the river bank. They came from the highway bridge and went on towards Canning Junction.”
Capt Conkey placed a photocopied map on the table and murmured, “Show us where.”
“Here Sir,” Peter said, pointing at the map. Capt Conkey marked the spot with a pencil. The detectives leaned forward to study it. The DS nodded
“What then?”
As well as he could Peter described the incident, what the three men had said and done. He felt very nervous and wiped sweaty palms on his trousers. The memories were very painful. When he was finished he lowered his eyes and sat back. The other detective, who had been taking notes, leaned forward.
“The girl you were with, did she see the men?”
Peter felt panic and shame rise. Before he realized what he was saying he replied. “Yes, but not very well. She was lying on her back...” He dried up and bit his lip. Beads of sweat broke out on Peter’s forehead. His mouth went dry. Was Kate 16? She was only in Year 10 so he doubted it. He visualized the prison doors clanging shut.
This time both policemen grinned openly. The detective composed his face and asked. “What is her name?”
Peter shook his head. “I promised not to say.”
“Don’t be silly boy! We need to know,” the man grated.
Peter felt a wave of fear but again shook his head.
“No.”
The DS interrupted. “That’ll do Frank. If he’s promised then he’s promised.”
Capt Conkey grunted with what Peter thought might be approval but that only made Peter writhe with guilt. ‘I promised the OC too!’ He did not know that misery had such depths.
The DS met his eye. “Can you take us to where this was?” he asked.
“Yes sir.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
Forty minutes later the Land Rover pulled up beside the butts of the old rifle range. A police car joined them and the detectives climbed out. Peter led the way down the dry creek. He was in a lather of perspiration. The OC had not spoken a word to him other than curt instructions the whole time.
As they approached the scene of his tryst (‘crime’ Peter now called it) he felt dizzy and began to tremble again. He led the way down under the trees.
“This is the place.”
“Nice spot,” said the detective approvingly. “I must keep it in mind.”
Peter blushed. He pointed at the grass in the shade.
“We were lying there, facing....facing that way. The men came along that cattle pad and stopped just there. Then they went on that way.”
The two policemen asked several more questions to clarify Peter’s story, then began to search around the area. Peter stood engulfed by erotic memories, misery and shame. He looked up and met Capt Conkey’s eyes.
“Sorry sir,” he croaked, emotion constricting his throat. Tears misted his vision.
Capt Conkey compressed his lips. “Yes- well. Thank you for that.” He turned and called to the DS, who was studying a boot print in the sand. “Do you need us anymore? We’ve got to drive to Cairns and I want to be there before the company is dismissed.”
“No Captain, you can go,” the DS replied. “And thank you. Particularly you son. If you hadn’t come forward with this information I don’t think we would have had a hope of solving this one. As it is I reckon we can count on a quick arrest.”
Peter shrugged and mumbled: “I thought I should.”
Capt Conkey led the way back to the vehicle. Peter followed with a heavy heart. He had survived that but knew there was worse to come: his fate as a sergeant to be decided and his parents to face over his misbehaviour.
CHAPTER 37
THE DRIVE
It was just after 1000hrs when Capt Conkey started the Rover. Peter sat beside him in dejected silence. Crane sat in the back. They drove first to the army camp where Capt Conkey checked what time the coaches had arrived to take the unit home. The caretaker informed him that they had only departed about half an hour earlier.
“Thank you,” Capt Conkey replied. “That means they are on time.” He turned the Rover around and drove back out to the highway. This time they turned right, towards Townsville.
The drive was an unpleasant one. Capt Conkey pushed the Rover along at 100kph, at which speed the various vehicle noises made conversation difficult. Not that Peter felt like talking. Capt Conkey said nothing and his face was stony. Peter could guess at his thoughts. His own were black. He sat in silent despair, regretting bitterly his impulsive foolishness and imagining the humiliations and hurts to come. Nor did he attempt to make conversation with Crane. The journey became monotonous and boring. The Flinders Highway runs through vast tracts of savannah with only an occasional bend or hill.
They reached Townsville at 1145. Capt Conkey turned into Lavarack Barracks to refuel the Rover. Ordinarily Peter would have been extremely interested at this opportunity to see the largest army base in tropical Australia but as it was he hardly noticed. By 1215 they were on the road again.
Their route went through Townsville, then north along the main coast road: the Bruce Highway. They passed scattered houses, went through more savannah woodland, a few pine plantations, the settlement of Rollingstone, then some sugar cane fields, a few hills, more sugar country. Capt Conkey just drove in silence. Peter sat and stared out the window, writhing in emotional agony.
They passed through Ingham at 1330 without stopping. There were more cane fields. The road went up over the seaward end of the Cardwell Range, giving a magnificent vista of Hinchinbrook Island and the numerous mangrove channels between it and the mainland. The view registered in Peter’s mind only as a landmark. They travelled through more dry, open bush and pine plantations.
At 1415 they reached the small coastal town of Cardwell. As they drove along the main street, with shops on the left and the sea on their right Capt Conkey gave a grunt of satisfaction. Peter looked and saw cadets in uniform outside the shops.
“Good. We’ve caught them up,” Capt Conkey said. “We will stop and grab some lunch.”
At an intersection he turned left. Two army coaches, the truck, Rover and staff car were parked there in the centre of the wide side street. The first people Peter recognized as they pulled up were the other suspended cadets. They were sitting or standing in two groups at the Rover and truck. Lt Maclaren was with them.
Capt Conkey parked the Rover and switched off the engine then said, “OK Sgt
Bronsky, Sgt Crane, you can buy yourself some lunch at that cafe. Then come back here.”
“Yes sir,” Peter replied. His heart sank further. It really burned to be placed in the same category as White and Crane. He hopped out of the vehicle and walked across the road to the cafe, very conscious of all the curious stares from the cadets who were clustered there eating or talking.
Graham stood on the footpath, CSM’s cane under his left arm, boots polished, talking to Lt Standish. He met Peter’s eye and raised one eyebrow. Peter shrugged and looked away. He didn’t feel like talking at that moment. Nor did he want to stand in a queue of cadets at the counter of a shop, the object of their curiosity.
Peter spied a toilet just at the side of the cafe so he detoured over to it. For the last hour so he had been busting to go but had not been willing to tell the OC. He walked inside and found with relief that he was the only person there. It was a typical ‘Gents’ with a row of three cubicles along one side and a trough type urinal along the other wall. He stepped up on the low concrete step of the urinal and unbuttoned his fly. Because he had been holding back so long it took a few moments to get started, but once it did it seemed to go on and on.
Someone else came in and stood beside him and unzipped his fly. Ordinarily Peter was self-conscious in public toilets and he made a point of not looking at what others were doing, but this fellow made such a fuss he glanced at him. After pulling out his penis the man began to urinate, making loud grunts and sighs.
Peter glanced sideways and noted that the man had a winged dragon tattooed on his left bicep.
A winged dragon!
Peter turned to look- and froze with shock.
‘It’s him!’ his mind shrieked. ‘It’s Morry, the murderer!’
The man sensed he was being observed and turned his head. Peter found himself staring into hard, black eyes which seemed to glitter.
“What ya starin’ at kid? Are you a pervert?” Morry snarled.
Peter felt icy fear wash over him: from his face, down his neck, out over his shoulders and down his back. He was still urinating and couldn’t stop. For a second he felt dizzy and thought he was going to collapse. He mumbled a stunned reply and looked down.
The Cadet Sergeant Major Page 42