'But did he not tell you he was going out to look for Mister McKenzie?'
'Well I'm not sure now. It was a few months ago.'
'In the statement you gave to the police the day after Mister Flynn's murder ...'
'Well if that's what I said, then I suppose that's what happened. But I don't remember now.'
Barrington mopped at his face with a handkerchief, angry and flustered that one of his star witnesses had turned on him. 'Mister Niland, were you at the Continental Hotel on the night of the twenty third of December?'
'Yes.'
'And did you hear the accused make a threat against the deceased?'
'If he did, I don't remember it.'
Barrington straightened, the muscles in his jaw rippling. 'One last question, Mister Niland. You have known the accused for some time, I believe?'
'Yes. We were in the Royal Navy together as junior cadets.'
'So you would characterise yourself as a friend?'
He hesitated. 'Yes.'
'Thank you, Mister Niland.'
Cameron stared at George Niland, almost as bewildered as Barrington. It had been an admirable performance from a man with whom he had not spoken for six years and whose last words had been a warning to get out of town. It must have appeared to everyone in the court that George had just done everything in his power to protect him.
Which must mean that even Cameron's old friend from the Navy - who also happened to be the most powerful and knowledgeable man in town - thought he was guilty.
***
Simeon watched Anna leave Lacey's foreshore camp and followed her along Dampier Terrace into the Chinatown. She looked radiant, fair hair cascading down her back from under her bonnet, her creamy arms bare. In one pale hand she clutched a parasol against the sun, in the other she had a wicker basket.
He watched her go into Tanaka's store. When she came out, he was there waiting for her.
'Anna!'
She gasped and took a step back. 'Simeon!'
'I have to talk to you.'
She tried to wriggle past him but he grabbed her wrist. 'What's the matter?'
'My father will kill me if he sees me talking to you!'
'He won't see us here. What did you buy?' He reached into her basket and pulled out one of the bolts of silk. 'Pretty. A dress for you?'
She snatched it away from him. 'Please, Simeon, I can't see you anymore.'
'Why? What have I done?' He stood in front of her blocking the way. 'I have money now. I can buy a lugger and be a pearling master!'
'How can you? You're not ...'
'No, I'm not a white boss. But I was born in Manila and that makes me an American citizen. I can buy a lugger if I want.'
'You're crazy.'
'Maybe. Crazy for you.'
She tried again to push past him.
'We don't have to stay here,' he said, desperately. 'We can go to Singapore or Malaya.'
'Where did you get the money from?'
'I had some luck with the dice,' he said. She knew he was lying.
'I can't.'
'Why not?'
She took a deep breath. 'Because I'm marrying Herbert Gibson.'
She twisted away from him and walked quickly in the opposite direction. He took off after her. 'Please, Anna! Stop!'
'Go away!'
'But I thought you liked me!'
She turned around, squaring her shoulders. 'I do but ... you're not ... you're not white. So don't be so stupid. I could never marry you.'
Then she turned and ran, holding her skirts, her hair bouncing under her bonnet, pretty pale, unattainable white Anna. This time he let her go.
A fathomless rage bubbled up inside him. His Madonna was just another white boss in a skirt. It had all been for nothing; the pearl, Flynn, Cameron. All for nothing.
He turned and walked across the road to the Bosun's Regret. He needed to get very, very drunk. He had murdered a man, and condemned another to whom he surely owed his life. And for what?
For what?
***
George Niland entered the bedroom dressed only in his nightshirt. He sometimes worked until nine or ten o'clock in his office, and Kate tried to make sure she was asleep by the time he got home. Tonight he got home early. A day in court seemed to have revived him immeasurably.
'Still awake?' he said needlessly. He lifted the mosquito netting and slipped into the bed beside her.
'I wanted to talk to you,' she said.
'Just talk?'
'Yes. Just talk.'
'What about?'
'About why you lied in court today.'
'Lied? I didn't lie. I was under oath.'
'Then you told less than the truth.'
'I have no idea what you're talking about.'
'I heard you two talking on the veranda the night it happened. I heard papa call Cameron a bastard.'
'Language, please.'
'Don't be such a prig. That was the word he used.'
He folded his arms across his chest. 'And?'
'You didn't say that in court.'
'No, I didn't.'
'Why not?'
George sighed. 'I know you still love him,' he said. He waited for her to protest, but she didn't even have the shame to pretend any more. 'I would do anything to get him out of your mind, except ... except put a rope around his neck.'
Kate stared at her hands. 'You really think he killed papa?'
'I don't know. Perhaps. I can't think why anyone else would. He had his fair share of fights, I suppose, but Cameron was the only man who ... well, he's not the kind to forgive and forget, is he?'
'You have a duty to the law.'
'Really? You want to see him hang?'
For a long time the only sound in the room was the gentle hissing of the kerosene lamp beside the bed. Kate's fingers twisted the edge of the sheet into a knot. 'I don't know what I want.'
'There's no proof, as such.'
'You do think he did it.'
George reached across to the bedside table and turned off the lamp. 'Go to sleep now.'
Kate sat there in the darkness, worrying the sheet. 'Why did you lie in court?'
'I told you. I have good cause to hate him, my sweet, but I will not have his blood on my hands and give you another reason to despise me.' He plumped his pillow and rolled over onto his side, away from her.
But he could not sleep. A short while later he heard Kate weeping softly into her pillow. George felt a cold satisfaction. Your turn to suffer. I wish you well of your secret and unholy desires. See where they have got you, my girl.
Chapter 32
Wingham threw his battered brown leather briefcase on the table and sat down. 'Mister McKenzie,' he said. 'I must know one thing. Did you do it?'
'You've asked me that question before, Mister Wingham. The truth does nae change with the season.'
Wingham was a short, brusque man in his middle years, his hair thinning to reveal a pale and freckled skull. He wore brown wire-rimmed glasses and an expression of Protestant severity. He still retained a faint Welsh accent though he had been in Australia for most of his life.
He drummed on the table with his fingertips. 'Mister George Niland is no friend of yours,' he said. 'He did you more damage with his testimony yesterday than half a dozen Bernard Laceys put together. Right now that jury is wondering why your old Navy friend was trying to protect you.'
'Every man on that jury knows my past. They know he has cause enough to hate me.'
'Which is why they were expecting him to gild the lily. Instead he does just the opposite. George Niland came across as a decent man who doesn't like you but doesn't want to see you hang. If anyone in that courtroom had their doubts, he just about convinced them you had something to hide.' Wingham reached into his briefcase and pulled out three handwritten foolscap sheets. 'I have here a deposition from a Miss Rose Thompson. The question is, what shall I do about it?'
'Rosie?'
'She is willing to swear under oath
that she was with you the night of the murder. She says she was on the Roebuck and heard Flynn's screams.' He pushed the papers across the table to Cameron. 'If the jury believes her, you're off the hook.'
'And if they dinnae believe her?'
'A good question.' He rapped the deposition with his forefinger. 'This is a fabrication, isn't it?'
Cameron stared at the papers on the table in front of him. He looked up. Sergeant Clarke stood at the door of the remand cell, his hands folded behind his back. He was staring at the papers too. Had he overheard Rosie's whispered conversation when she had visited him here in the gaol?
Wingham leaned closer. 'Do you swear on your mother's life that you didn't do this, Mister McKenzie?'
'As God is my witness, Mister Wingham, I'm innocent of this.'
Wingham picked up the deposition and put it back in his briefcase. 'In that case, we'll give Miss Thompson a try.' He stood up.
'Mister Wingham, will you do me one favour?'
'Well, that all depends.'
'Will you go and see Kate Niland for me?'
'You want me to go and see Flynn's daughter?'
'I want you to tell her I dinnae do it. Will you do that for me? Tell her I swear on my mother's life, I dinnae do it.'
Wingham tucked the briefcase under his arm. 'I'll have to think about this,' he said and marched out. Sergeant Clarke took Cameron back to his cell.
***
Simeon was propped on a stool in a corner of Hagen's Billiard Room, drunk. His head lay on the counter in a pool of beer. There was dried vomit on the front of his shirt.
Huey Fong shook him awake. 'Come on, Simeon. Time to go home.'
Simeon groaned and shoved him away. He lost his balance, fell off the stool and onto the floor. Some Manilamen at one of the billiard tables started to laugh.
Huey tried to get him back on his feet. 'Come on, Simeon, get up.'
'Wasn't worth ... cheated me ...'
'What are you talking about?' Huey laughed. 'Who cheated you?' He put one of Simeon's arms around his neck and lifted him to his feet.
'Flynn.'
Mother of God, Huey thought. Keep your voice down!
'Cheated ... Anna ... cheated ...'
'Shut up,' Huey said.
'Cheated ... didn't mean ... kill him ...'
'Shut up!' He dragged Simeon towards the door.
'Pearl ... not ... worth ...'
Huey staggered under the weight of him and crashed into one of the jarrah posts. The Manilamen cheered and shouted encouragement. Finally he managed to drag him outside. But he couldn't hold him upright on his own and Simeon toppled over. Huey landed on top of him in the gutter.
'Cameron ... die ... mustn't ... my fault.'
Huey put his hand over the other man's mouthy. 'Shut up! Idiot!' He hauled back on his feet and half carried, half dragged him back down Bitter Moon Lane.
The Canton's owner, Billy Ng. helped Huey carry him up the narrow wooden steps to his room. They threw him face down on the bed and Billy retreated. 'Smell like bluddy pisshole!' Billy said. 'He too much sick in room, clean it up, bluddy quick time!'
'It's all right,' Huey said. 'I look after him, no worries.'
'Smell like bluddy pisshole!' Billy shouted and went out, slamming the door after him.
'Cameron ... save my life ...'
Huey sat down on the bed and rolled Simeon over onto his back. 'What's this about Flynn?' he said.
'Cameron ... mustn't die .. save life ...'
'What about Flynn?'
'Not worth ... cheat me.'
Huey shook him by the shoulders. 'Did you try and sell Flynn your pearl?'
'No mean ... kill him.'
Holy Mary, Mother of God. Simeon had killed Flynn! Huey wiped his hands on his trousers as if he was afraid that Flynn's blood had somehow smeared on his own hands now. What should he do about this?
'Anna ... love you, Anna ... Anna ...'
So it was Simeon who murdered the white boss. He wondered what he might do with this interesting piece of information. There had to be some profit in it for a clever man. He would sleep on it tonight. Tonight he was too drunk and too tired.
He staggered down the hallway and a few minutes later he was snoring on his bed.
***
Wingham climbed out of the sulky outside the Niland house, took a deep breath and went up the white shell-grit path. Liddy opened the door.
'My name's Wingham,' he said. 'I'd like to talk to Mrs Niland.'
Liddy looked him and down. 'I'll go find the missus,' she said and left him standing at the door.
A few minutes later she came back, unlatched the screen door and ushered Wingham inside. From the look she gave him it was clear she wasn't happy about this.
Kate sat alone on the back veranda, in a cane peacock chair, which was delicately patterned with strips of coloured cane and bamboo. It was like being received at court by some oriental queen.
'Please, sit down,' she said, indicating a wicker chair. 'Would you like a drink?'
What he wanted was a stiff whiskey but he said: 'Just a lemonade, if you don't mind.' Kate nodded to Liddy who moved away, still glowering.
'I think I've offended her,' Wingham said.
'You're representing Mister McKenzie, aren't you?'
'Is that a crime?'
'Liddy thinks so.'
'I see.'
It was peaceful here overlooking the garden. The Wet was nearly over but the flowers and plants were still a deep tropic green and heavy with scent. A honey eater fluttered around the fragrant lips of a frangipani.
Wingham took a deep breath. 'I imagine you want to know why I've come. I'd like you to know that I ...'
Wingham was interrupted as Liddy placed the lemonade, glistening with shaved ice, on the table beside him. He waited until she had gone back inside.
'You were saying?'
'I am here at my client's request.' He mopped his forehead with a handkerchief and sipped gratefully at the lemonade. 'I'm sorry, I am not very comfortable with this.'
'Please go on.'
'Mister McKenzie has asked me to give you a message. He asked me to tell you that he is innocent.'
Wingham sat back in his chair and waited for some response. Kate continued to stare at him in silence.
'That was all,' he added.
'I see.'
Wingham fidgeted under the young woman's gaze. He sipped some more lemonade and noticed for the first time how drawn Mrs Niland she looked. It had not been evident to him at first, partly because of the bright sunlight, and partly through her clever use of cosmetics.
'Well, that's all. Perhaps I had better go.'
'No, wait. I'm sorry. I'm being very rude. It's just that I don't know what to say.' She bit her lip and he realised with horror that she was close to tears. Please don't break down in front of me, he thought. I'm not equipped.
'I'm very sorry about your father,' Wingham said, to cover the long silence. 'I had known him for many years. He was a fine man.'
'He was a rogue and a drunk, Mister Wingham. We all know that. But he was my father and I loved him ...' Her voice cracked and she broke off. Wingham sipped more lemonade. Ghastly stuff. Too sweet.
'So. What am I to do, Mister Wingham? What am I to believe?'
'As his lawyer, I am bound to say only one thing.'
'And when you are not being his lawyer?'
'I am always a lawyer,' Wingham said.
Kate got up. 'No doubt you have heard the talk about me.'
Wingham felt himself blush. Really, this wasn't proper. 'This is a small town. One hears all sorts of things over the years,' he said. 'One pays no attention.'
Kate gave a tight, bitter smile. 'Well, let me tell you this. I may be George Niland's wife but I believe I know Cameron McKenzie better than anyone in this town. I know his capacity for spite and revenge. I want to believe he is innocent, but ...'
'In my mind, there is reasonable doubt.'
'Don't misun
derstand me, Mister Wingham. I don't for a moment believe that he killed my father in cold blood. What I think ... is that my father went looking for him on the Roebuck and Cameron defended himself a little more robustly than he might have done. At the same time I have no wish ... to ... to see him hang. It will not bring my father back. I just hope I never have to see him again. He has turned my life into ... a nightmare.'
Wingham got to his feet and put his hat back on his head. It had been a mistake to come here. The poor woman had been through enough. 'I do apologise for troubling you. I'll go out this way if you don't mind,' he added and went down the back steps.
He paused in the garden and looked up at her. She looked so fragile, like a china doll. Not at all like the spirited young girl he remembered before she married.
'Shall I convey any message at all?'
Kate shook her head. 'No,' she said, 'no message.'
Chapter 33
Sergeant Clarke rapped on the cell door. 'Cameron, it's Mister Wingham.'
Cameron jumped to his feet. He peered through the barred window. 'Have you been tae see her?'
'I did as you asked.'
'Will you nae come in and tell me what she said?'
'There's nothing to tell.'
'What did she say?'
'Nothing, Mister McKenzie. Nothing at all.'
Cameron slumped down on the edge of his bunk. He put his head in his hands.
'Jesus Christ,' he muttered. He was damned.
***
The window of George Niland's office looked out over the sullen mangroves of Dampier Creek. George always kept the back of his chair against the window so visitors had to squint against the glare of the sunlight to look at him. It immediately put him at an advantage.
Huey Fong sat there squinting. He looked like he'd had a heavy night. He wiped the sweat off his face with the palm of his hand and rubbed it on his khaki trousers.
George toyed with his fountain pen. 'You wanted to see me?'
'It's about that white boss. Flynn.'
'Really. What about him?'
'I know who do for him.'
George got up and locked the door. Huey Fong swallowed hard.
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