Tell Me Why

by Sandi Wallace

  Soon, they approached Cricket Willow in Shepherds Flat. The birthplace of the Australian cricket bat, its oval was an oasis nourished by purified sewage water. They pulled over moments later. Lunny was reluctant to drive his Monaro off-road, even across the privately owned paddock adjacent to their favourite fishing spot on the Jim Crow. So they took their gear and secured the car before hoofing the last 500 metres.

  Lunny adjusted his grip on the esky and asked, 'Have you ever regretted joining the cops?'

  Surprised, Franklin glanced at his boss. 'Nope. You?'

  'Mmm. If I'd been a boilermaker, as my dad wanted, I wouldn't have baggage from cases like yesterday's crash. Hard to switch off, isn't it?'

  Franklin nodded and they trudged a few metres, inspecting the creek for a deep pool and the bank for a suitable clearing. They found the perfect place and grunted together.

  'You wouldn't have enjoyed being a boilermaker.'

  'Probably true. What would you have done instead?'

  'I can't imagine doing anything else.'

  'No regrets, then?'

  After a hesitation, Franklin admitted, 'A few. Donna for one. I don't think we should've got married so young. She hadn't tasted life enough and was never going to be happy being a copper's wife in a small town for long. And Kat tied her down. She wasn't ready for the whole deal.'

  Lunny cast and settled onto the bank, with his back against a knotted gumtree. 'What else?'

  'Nuh. Your turn.'

  Lunny was quiet for several minutes, then sighed. 'I wish I'd travelled when I was young.'

  'You still can. You're not that old.' Franklin grinned to take off the sting, especially on top of his earlier crack about the Monaro.

  'Maeve and I are considering a cruise next year. Fiji, Noumea…' Lunny flicked his line and reeled it in. His bait had vanished, so he replenished the hook and recast.

  He said, 'You must be sick of Daylesford. Few of us can work in the same station as long as you have. Six or seven years and we generally get twitchy. Although, I must say, I'm in no hurry to leave and I'm coming up for eight years. More to the point, Maeve'd have my guts for garters if I put in for a transfer.' He chuckled, then glanced at Franklin. 'Sixteen years, though.' He shook his head. 'Why don't you go for your sarge's stripes, mate?'

  Franklin's line jolted. He pulled up. The rod arched away from the rigid line. He jerked. The line cleared the water.

  'Catch of the day.' Lunny chuckled again.

  Franklin jiggled his brows and removed a snagged stick.

  'How about it?' the older cop persisted. 'I'll put your name forward.'

  'If I was going for a promotion, it'd be for the suits,' Franklin replied, then wished he'd kept his mouth shut. He'd never verbalised his ambition.

  'A detective, huh? Well, why not? I'll put your name up.'

  Franklin looked away. He watched the water trickle over pebbles and submerged branches.

  'I think I've got a bite,' Lunny said excitedly. He gave the rod a few twitches, checked his bait. 'Nuh, false alarm.'

  He reached into the esky and threw a beer to Franklin before popping one. 'What do you reckon? Will I have a chat with the Inspector and get it rolling?'

  'I can't leave Kat to do the course. And afterwards, I'd be posted who-knows-where to start with and then have to wait for a vacancy in Ballarat or Bacchus Marsh to get back to the area. And even they're too far away. It's ideal living and working here - I'm on the spot if Kat needs me.'

  'I get that it's hard being a single parent, John,' Lunny interrupted. 'But you need a life too.'

  'I can't leave Kat and it wouldn't be fair to uproot her. All her buddies are here and it'd be a big mistake to move her in her senior years of school. It could stuff up her whole life.'

  Lunny sighed. 'Can't talk you into it?'

  Franklin shook his head, miserable.

  The sarge switched subjects. 'Yesterday the worst you've been to?'

  'Accident?' On Lunny's nod, Franklin replied decisively, 'No. The worst was a mate from the footy club who decided to take himself out; it would've been a couple of years before you transferred in. Smitty strapped him and his three kids into his station wagon, then didn't steer or brake at the first bend with a decent drop. They crashed through the guard rail and shot over the edge. They reckon he flipped twice before smashing into a massive gum. That was bad. Those little kiddies didn't fucking deserve to die like that.'

  It hit him afresh. The stench of petrol and blood overlaid by eucalyptus.

  'They didn't deserve to die at all.' Lunny violently swatted a fly.

  A few minutes passed before the sarge spoke again. 'My worst was out at Box Hill. My first posting out of the academy and I was downright green. In my second month, I had three horrific weeks. In the first week, a man stepped in front of a train. It wasn't a suicide but it was pretty gruesome. Then my partner and I copped a shotgun suicide. A young Turkish girl. The parents didn't have much English, which made the whole thing worse. The mother was distraught and I couldn't find a way to make it any better. So I patted her back and left fast. The next bloomin' weekend, a little old lady got bumped crossing Maroondah Highway. Jesus, that was messy. The driver had a nervous breakdown, even though it wasn't his fault.'

  'The little old lady's time was up.'

  'He couldn't see it that way.'

  'Imagine how hard he'd have taken it if he'd been drunk or speeding.'

  'I tell you what,' Lunny said loudly. 'It's lucky I had Maeve to talk to. I very nearly left the force, thinking, "If this is what it's going to be like, I won't be able to cope." Ah, but you find your ways, don't you?'

  'Sure. You have to deal with it or get out. You're no good to anyone, least of all yourself, if you drag yourself in every day stressing over what's going to happen or carrying a chip on your shoulder.'

  'That goes for life generally, doesn't it?'

  'Yeah, we can't be Smittys and take the coward's way out. Put it this way, it was pretty rough when Donna left but I had to get over it because of Kat. And 'cause life's too short.'

  They fished quietly. Franklin sensed that Lunny was more upset than he was willing to admit by yesterday's accident and in reliving the Box Hill horror too.

  'Keep an eye on my line, John,' the sarge said.

  Franklin watched him retreat to the car.

  He returned composed and buoyant. 'Righto, my place for a barbie and drinks later. Harty will be back from Melissa's by change of shift, when Sprague and Kong will be coming off. Irvine and Wellsey are on arvo shift, so we'll divert the phones to the portables and then everyone except Bert will be there.'

  'Sounds like a plan,' Franklin approved, clunking his upraised can against his friend's.

  As he took a sip, his mobile rang. He moved out of earshot.

  It was Cathy Jones. Distraught, she babbled, 'I really think someone's watching my place. It's freaking me out.'

  Franklin demanded details. It boiled down to Cathy's suspicions. He told her he'd come right away and listened to a long silence.

  She hiccupped and heaved a breath. 'No, don't worry. I'll go to my sister's place in Gordon. She runs an artists' commune and it's always crowded.' In a steely voice, she added, 'Solomon won't follow us there.'

  Franklin wondered if her restored confidence was real or feigned. She was adamant. They debated. She won, the compromise being that she'd contact him the next day. He returned to his rod as its tip bowed and the line stretched.

  Shortly before her meeting, Georgie ran out to the Spider to retrieve Susan's album, her notepad and the paraphernalia she'd dumped on the passenger seat in her haste to get to the hospital.

  She sorted and set up priorities for later, momentarily confused by an unfamiliar sheet of paper. Then she recalled pulling the junk mail off her windscreen yesterday.

  However, when she unfolded the page and read the text, she realised it was definitely unwanted but not random or innocuous.

  At that instant, the full complement of t
he health and safety committee arrived at the door. Still rattled, Georgie went into auto-mode to meet, greet and settle them at her dining table. She forced herself to focus on the director's catalogue of faults in the script. After a lengthy spiel, David halted. Georgie heaved an internal sigh, re-affixed her 'professional face' and retaliated with her own list. Top issue: the vagueness of the brief.

  Her spine straightened so quickly it cracked. She'd recognised a parallel to the Hepburn quandary. All questions, no answers. No idea where to go from here. She pushed her mind to the present and under David's pedantic command, they workshopped.

  Despite itching to dial the Pentecoste women throughout the exhaustive meeting, the script began to crawl. By mid-afternoon, the OH&S threesome departed, confident Georgie could add the spit and polish.

  She immediately rang the Ballarat and Hepburn numbers burnt into her brain. No joy.

  On her desk, the folded sheet seemed to glow, beckoning her to pick it up. She slammed her hand down on the letter and stuffed it into her top drawer.

  No one would make Georgie Harvey a victim or scare her off.

  She took Susan's second album to the sunny courtyard, along with her pack of Benson & Hedges and a brimming glass of cabernet sauvignon.

  Soon neither cigarettes nor alcohol could compete.

  THE ICEMAN INTERVIEWED IN FARMER'S DISAPPEARANCE

  Sources revealed to the Herald Sun yesterday that John Schlicht, 57, purportedly masterminded the disappearance of Hepburn farmer, Roland Pentecoste, 58.

  Schlicht, aka the Iceman, has been a person of interest to police for numerous years, with suspected connections to Melbourne's organised crime ring.

  As this paper recently reported, Schlicht has been implicated in the transportation and distribution of illicit drugs and strong-arm tactics at the fruit markets for four decades.

  On more than one occasion, the question has been asked: 'Why have charges never been proven against this alleged Mr Big?'

  Asked but not answered.

  While accusations of police protection flourish, Schlicht's activities may finally come under long-overdue scrutiny.

  An informant has apparently disclosed to police a connection between Schlicht and Mr Pentecoste's vanishing.

  Mr Pentecoste has not been seen since the early hours of Monday 19 March, after he and his wife, Susan, 54, were separated during their attempts to contain a mysterious blaze at their grazing property.

  Mrs Pentecoste suffered severe head trauma, second-degree burns to much of her body and smoke inhalation.

  Fortunately, CFA volunteers discovered the unconscious woman and emergency aid was administered until she was airlifted to the Alfred Hospital.

  In the following days, it was revealed that Mrs Pentecoste had been attacked with a blunt instrument by an unknown assailant.

  She was lucky to survive her ordeal and began the slow road to recovery, emerging from a coma five days subsequent to the assault.

  Meanwhile, there was no trace of her husband and contention regarding his involvement in the events of 19 March abounded.

  The local community in Victoria's mineral springs region became divided over this debate and in the six months since the arson attack police have had few leads until an associate of Schlicht turned informer yesterday.

  ICEMAN INFORMER SUICIDES IN BIZARRE 'MISSING BODY MYSTERY' TWIST

  In a shocking twist, the informer who two days ago made allegations to police that career criminal John Schlicht murdered missing Victorian farmer, Roland Pentecoste, has apparently suicided in a Fitzroy flat overnight.

  Police were called to the Johnston Street apartment at 12.20am, following the report of a disturbance at the address.

  They discovered the body of Angelo Sartori, aged 36, who is understood to have taken his own life by hanging.

  Sartori had previous convictions for the production and distribution of amphetamines, sexual assault and numerous driving offences, including reckless driving causing serious injury.

  It is believed that he claimed to have witnessed the payback murder of an associate of Schlicht, in addition to the attempted murder and murder of Susan Pentecoste and her husband, Roland, respectively.

  PRESS ACCUSED OF KANGAROO COURT

  Prominent criminal lawyer, Benjamin Footman, acting for John Schlicht, 57, yesterday lashed out at police and the media with claims of bias and defamation.

  At a press conference outside his Camberwell office yesterday morning, Mr Footman said, 'It's trial by media.

  'My client has not been charged with anything whatsoever connected to the distressing disappearance of Mr Roland Pentecoste, and yet the press has him convicted and quartered by its kangaroo court.'

  Mr Pentecoste went missing contemporaneous with an attack upon his wife and arson at his farming property in Hepburn seven months ago.

  This paper revealed an associate of Schlicht, Angelo Sartori, had claimed involvement in these events by his then employer, Schlicht; however, Sartori committed suicide several days after approaching police with these claims.

  According to Inspector Rick Uris of the Homicide Squad, 'We haven't a witness or sufficient evidence to charge Mr Schlicht with involvement in the attempted murder of Mrs Pentecoste.

  'Nor are we in a position to lay charges in relation to Mr Pentecoste's disappearance, although we are exploring several leads.'

  Meanwhile, Footman yesterday continued his attack upon the media, saying, 'This is an obscene breach of Mr Schlicht's civil liberties.

  'If there is insufficient evidence to charge my client with any crime - as there obviously is, because he is innocent of every claim - then the police, press and public have a duty to respect the presumption of innocence.'

  He concluded the press conference with a warning that, 'Any defamation of my client's character will be vigorously condemned and civil proceedings immediately brought to recompense Mr Schlicht.

  'He is entitled to fair and reasonable compensation for the pain, suffering and financial impact on his business affairs caused by such outrageous and unjust behaviour.'

  LET ME HAVE HIS BODY: WIFE BEGS

  The wife of central Victorian farmer, Roland Pentecoste, has sent an open letter to The Age pleading for information relating to her husband, who has been missing since 19 March last year.

  In a letter addressed 'To whom it may concern', Mrs Susan Pentecoste states:

  Over the past year, I've had too much time to think about where my husband is.

  In my heart I realise there is no other explanation but that he is dead and has been all along.

  We had thirty-five years of good marriage. I would like to know what happened and why but giving Roly a proper Christian burial is by far the most important thing.

  If it was you who saw my husband last, Mr Schlicht, as some people have said, please tell me where to find Roly, so I can give him the send-off he deserves. I promise to never tell a soul whatever else you say to me, if that's what you want.

  If you had a wife and the tables were turned, wouldn't she do the same?

  Yours truly,

  Susan Pentecoste

  'Hello, I think you've got yourself a live one!' Lunny's eyes shone.

  He helped Franklin land a fat carp that would have been terrific on the barbecue if it weren't for the river grubber's muddy flavour. However, they'd had a good fishing day and bagged a brown trout and redfin between them, both legal size, and headed for the station house.

  They reached Howlong Road.

  'Pull off here. Let's check the Pentecoste place,' Franklin directed.

  Although he grumbled about stone chips and dust, Lunny did as instructed. Franklin could've walked faster. At Abergeldie, there was no sign of Mick and Roger and the off-duty policemen entered the homestead as Hart and Franklin had a day earlier.

  After prowling through, Franklin dropped onto a kitchen chair. He drummed his fingertips, while the sarge observed.

  'In theory, I can blow apart Georgie Harvey's worr
ies but what if there's some substance to them?' Franklin remarked. 'This doesn't feel right at all.'

  'How's that, mate?'

  'It's out of character for Susan. Her number one priority' - he unconsciously echoed the phrase Cathy Jones used yesterday concerning Tyson - 'is always this place. Even though Mick and Roger run the farm, she never leaves it for more than a few days. Besides that, she's transparent. She says it as it is, no matter what. You always know where you stand.'

  'Ah, but do you really? How well do you really know Susan?'

  'Well enough. Remember, while you were on that secondment down in Melbourne, Bill Noonan and I were heavily involved with the arson investigation and whatnot when her hubby disappeared.'

  'But how well do you really know anyone?' Lunny pressed.

  'Only as far as they want you to, right? Everyone has secrets - little ones or otherwise. Things they keep private.'

  'Yeah but -'

  'C'mon. As you said earlier, Susan's gone on an impromptu holiday, that's all. Let's go; we've got beer getting warm and a barbie to crank up. Tomorrow's soon enough for you to put on your shining armour and hunt up Susan Pentecoste.'

  Franklin's guts twisted as he wondered if Lunny was right.

  'Hello?' Pam Stewart answered. Laughter echoed in the background.

  Georgie gave mental thanks for at least one old duck having a mobile phone. 'Where are you? Can you speak?'

  'Well, I just got out of the pool. Aqua aerobics is such fun, dear. You must try it.'

  'Aerobics isn't my thing,' Georgie said dryly. 'I'm uncoordinated.'

  'That's the beauty of doing it in the water! No one can see exactly what your feet are doing and it's impossible to trip up.'

  Georgie chuckled at the image of herself in some ridiculous water aerobics pose.

  A sudden commotion of laughter and splashes snapped her out of the daydream.

  'Pam, can you please ring me when you get home?'

  'Of course. I won't be too long.'