Big White Lies

by Jay Darby

  Bill clapped the performance then squinted at Porter. “How’s your investigation coming along?”

  Porter expected the question and gave his prepared reply. “We’ve only been here a week, but locals in town and Kooris on missions aren’t saying a word. There’s been no fresh allegations of abuse, and we can’t verify the existing ones. Got nothing...”

  A smugness spread over Bills’ face. “That being the case, guess you’ll soon be moving on?”

  “Dunno, but Crooked River’s our base, and there’s still a heap of witnesses to interview.”

  “Why you wasting time here, Constable?” Barrett said. “They’ve told you nothing, because there’s nothing to tell.”

  Porter looked from one to the other. “If you blokes reckon we won’t find anything, why so keen to see us leave?”

  Bill leaned closer, he reeked of whiskey. “What a stupid fucking question...Why would I want you in my district? Carinya’s all over the national news. You're terrible for our image, and ruining our future.”

  “Don’t you reckon that us leaving after finding sweet f all would be the best outcome for the town?”

  “No, son, I don’t. We’ve already had developers pull out due to the bad publicity you fellas bring, from projects that would’ve created much-needed jobs. There are still some in the pipeline, an Outback resort and theme park, planned for that land,” he pointed south, towards vast paddocks on his left. “But investors have made it clear…If Carinya stays in Crooked River, they go.”

  “It’s Lionel’s decision. We might be here three months…”

  “Three months?” Bill said louder.

  “Can’t you talk some sense into Roberts?” Barrett asked Porter. “Can’t you tell him to move on? Carinya will fail if he stays here.”

  “Lionel’s his own man…”

  Bill snorted. “Listen, son, I like you, you remind me of myself as a young fella...Yes, the local cops have labeled you a dog, bu--.”

  “I did what’s right…Betts murdered those Koori boys.”

  “And I told Jim that when he said you butted heads in the pub last week.”

  “Doubt the big bastard listened?”

  “Ah, Jim can be a stubborn asshole, but he’s harmless. I’m helping you here, son, telling you what’s best.” Bill’s face got redder. “Tell your friend Roberts to leave Crooked River. Take Carinya out, and never come back.”

  Porter grinned, the real Bill Thompson had come to the fore. “Reckon you tell him yourself, face to face. A threat like that…”

  Bill’s head rocked back as he roared in laughter. “Hardly a threat, son. More like friendly advice, from an old head who knows a few things.” He paused to gulp whiskey. “I’m a Mayor trying to protect his district…Consider the assassination of Nick Galios this morning…”

  “What about it?”

  “You don’t get it, do you, son? Men ten times more important and powerful than me, for whatever reasons, don’t want Carinya here in the outback. Galios’ death is a warning, to you, and Roberts.”

  “I would’ve left the cops long before now if warnings spooked me…”

  Bill’s grey eyes chilled him. “You’ve never been warned like this, son. If you care to live much longer, I suggest you take notice.”

  TWENTY SIX

  At 6.30am Thursday, Lionel Roberts pounded on Porters’ bedroom door and demanded he wake up. He strode into the kitchen to make breakfast, determined to make the day a success. He’d achieved nothing on Wednesday, unable to concentrate after learning of Nick Galios’ shocking death, and couldn’t afford to waste any more investigation time.

  He thought about yesterday’s email from Shirley while he waited for the kettle to boil. She’d mentioned a girl named Rosie. The spirits of wise ancestors had visited his dreams, and they too had urged him to find her. He decided he’d go and question the elders. Who was Rosie, where could he find her, and what might her story reveal?

  An hour later he parked the Landcruiser in the shade of river gums at Crooked River mission. He and Porter walked to the riverbank. Old Man Simpson sat on a fallen tree and chatted with two female elders. Lionel sat next to him, kicked his black leather shoes off and pushed his shirt sleeves to the elbows. Porter stood nearby, arms crossed over a tight polo shirt. He wore his favorite New Balance sneakers and faded Levi 501’s.

  “Good to see you again, uncle,” Lionel said.

  Simpson tipped his cowboy hat then pointed to the women. “This’s Aunty Doreen and Aunty Mel. Both been livin’ here as long as me, and nothin’ they don’t know ‘bout this place.”

  “Nice to meet you, aunties. I’m Lionel. My friend is Dan.”

  The aunties’ smiled, shy and toothless. Thin grey hair fell to their swollen waists. Both wore floral dresses that revealed too much wrinkled bosom and too much vein-riddled thigh. Their bare feet and arms were darker than a moonless night, the same as their eyes.

  “Not bein’ nasty, but was hopin’ you fellas stayed away,” Simpson said. “Tommy says he’ll belt whoever talks ta ya.”

  “Where is he?” Porter said.

  “Went into town,” Simpson told Lionel. “Said he had ta get away from ‘ere, says spirits told ‘im you fellas will bring bad luck.”

  Lionel studied Simpson’s wrinkled face. Kind, with intelligent eyes. “The same spirits talk to me, and say you’re a wise man who wants to help…” He paused to let Simpson think on it. “You’ve been silent for too long, and don’t need to fear Tommy. Okay?” He pleaded with his eyes. Did they know he fought for them, and could trust him?

  “Okay, Lionel,” Aunty Mel said.

  Simpson and Doreen nodded.

  “Last week you wanted to tell us who molested Tilly Johnson,” Porter said to Simpson. “But Tommy Davis stopped you…Who was it?”

  Simpson straightened and turned his head towards the river. He turned back to Doreen, his eyes wide, then faced Mel. Both women shook their heads.

  “Dunno…” Simpson blurted. “And I aint afraid of Tommy…Was gunna give ya my guess, but truth is, don’t know who touched Tilly…”

  Porter made googly eyes at Lionel.

  Lionel agreed, Simpson was the worst liar he’d met. But he sensed the Tilly incident saddened him and was too recent to speak of. Koori elders preferred to speak of the distant past, and with Shirley’s email in mind, he tried to take them there.

  “I’ve heard a story,” he said, “about a girl who lived on this mission almost fifty years ago. Her name was Rosie.” He watched their faces. “Do you remember her?” Aunty Mel flinched first. “Aunty Mel? You remember, don’t you?”

  Aunty Mel glanced over her shoulder to a clump of bush, a nervous twitch in her eye. “That’s a name shouldn’t be said ‘round here,” she whispered. “Tommy don’t like it.”

  Simpson and Doreen shook their heads.

  Lionel smiled and tried to ease their fears. “Why? What’s Tommy hiding from us?”

  “Rosie Davis were Tommy’s niece,” Simpson said. “Came ta live with his family when her parents died. Was supposed ta care for her, but made her life miserable.”

  Lionel detected disgust in his voice and pressed him further. “Isn’t that more reason to tell us the whole story? If Koori children were harmed, past and present, we want to know.”

  “He’s right,” Mel said. “Us saying nothin’ has only caused more sufferin’...”

  Simpson dipped his head then turned to Lionel. “They’d come and rape all the girls, didn’t matter how young. Rosie were the prettiest, and that sweet girl were only eleven when White Devil started on her.”

  Lionel swallowed. “White Devil? Who?”

  “Them whitey coppers, a heap of ‘em over the years…” Aunty Doreen whispered. “Never knew their names and hardly seen their faces, so we gave ‘em nicknames. White Devil was worst of all. He’d bring the others late at night, all drunk, and send Tommy and other fellas down ta the river with gin and smokes.” She cringed. “Then the coppers would ‘av
e their way with the girls.”

  “I remember one time when Malcolm, Tommy’s nephew, tried ta stop the Devil from rapin’ Rosie. He was only thirteen or so…” Aunty Mel’s voice trembled. “Devil whacked him that hard he nearly went deaf in one ear. After that, Malcolm hid under the house when the Devil came, coverin’ his ears and bawlin’ his eyes out.”

  Aunty Doreen scowled. “And that weak mongrel Tommy never raised a hand ta stop it.”

  “Malcolm still around?” Porter said.

  Simpson ignored him and spoke to Lionel. “Poor kid went crazy when they kept comin’ for Rosie, and just disappeared one day. Fellas say they seen him in the city once, then he went ta jail for robbin’ fellas. Who knows where he ended up?”

  Aunty Doreen shook her head. “Weren’t ever seen ‘round ‘ere again...”

  Lionel frowned. Was Malcolm yet another witness he’d never find? “And Rosie, what happened to her?”

  “She disappeared too…” Aunty Doreen wiped a tear from her spotted cheek. “Fellas say whitey’s from the gov’ment stole her. Was a lovely girl...”

  Lionel gave Doreen a moment to compose herself. Government fellas? Shirley had mentioned Alec Ferguson from the Aboriginal Welfare Board. “Aunty, you say government men took Rosie away…Who were they?”

  Doreen glanced at Mel. Mel nodded, as though willing her to continue. “Fellas from the city,” Doreen whispered, then peered towards the river. “Don’t remember exactly, but they’s from that lot, you know, was supposed ta help us Kooris...”

  “Could it have been, the Welfare Board?” Lionel said.

  “Somethin’ like that…” Simpson said. “Same one always came. A tall, skinny fella in a fancy suit, drivin’ a fancy car. Always took the youngest and prettiest girls away. Told us they bein’ sent ta work and study, and good whiteys would take care of ‘em.”

  Aunty Mel sighed. “If the families kicked up a stink, that skinny fella would just hand out chocolates, gin and smokes ta shut ‘em up. Sometimes money...”

  “Do you remember his name?” Lionel said.

  Simpson shook his head. “Was long, long ago…And gov’ment fellas like ‘im, we’ve tried to forget.”

  Lionel paused to consider Simpson’s words, aware of the painful memories evoked by his search for the truth. “I’m sorry, but it’s important we find him. Was he the same man who kept records for the mission?

  “What?” Simpson said.

  “For example, did you report births and deaths to him?

  “Yep, was the same fella for all of it…But after a while, he stopped askin’. No-one cared who lived ‘ere, so we never told ‘em.”

  “Can you remember during what years no records were kept?” Lionel asked them, but expected a negative response. As natives of the Outback, the elders had a different perception of time than he did.

  They gawked at him and shook their heads.

  “Anyone complain when the girls were taken against their will?” Porter said.

  Aunty Mel scoffed. “Complain ta who? No-one from the gov’ment listened, and you coppers were in on it…”

  “They took my Yvonne when she’s eleven,” Aunty Doreen’s eyes glistened as she told Lionel. “Fought ‘em and fought ‘em, but coppers beat me ta the ground and dragged her away…Told me she’d gone ta live with whiteys in Western Australia. Few months after, got this letter from America, from a girl sayin’ she’s Yvonne and needed help…Skinny gov’ment fella laughed in me face when I told him.” She glared at Porter. “Hah, complain…”

  Lionel gulped. “Aunty Doreen, this removal of girls…How long did it continue?”

  “Hmm…First started ‘bout five or six years before they took Yvonne, and she were one of the last. Whitey’s only stopped comin’ when their boss ended that protection thingy…”

  “The Aboriginal Protection Act ended in 1969,” Lionel said. “So, we’re looking at a period from, say, 1963 until then…” Timeframe matches those of the Welfare Board files missing from State Archives. “Uncle, try to remember…The years that the government man stopped keeping records of this mission…Could they be the same years during which the girls were taken away?”

  Simpson tugged his white beard. “Maybe…”

  “You’re certain you can’t remember the names of the police who raped these girls? Or the name of this, white devil?”

  Simpson looked at the ground and said nothing.

  Lionel had no doubt Simpson knew the men’s names but didn’t push further, he’d gathered more information than expected. He thanked the elders for their bravery and asked they keep the conversation to themselves. They all agreed it was dangerous to speak of it.

  Five minutes later, Lionel drove the Landcruiser from the mission. He glanced to Porter in the passenger seat, who grinned while he studied his phone.

  “What is it?” Lionel said.

  “Good ol’ Claire’s come through again…She found this Ferguson bloke you wanna talk to.”

  “Fantastic. Where?”

  “Broken Hill...She’s sent an address and a photo. She says there’re reports linking him to child pornography and sexual abuse of minors, but he’s never been charged.”

  “Ewh, sounds like he could be the one…My informant’s making her statement in Edinburgh today, and I should have it by late tonight. We’ll fly to Broken Hill tomorrow morning and pay Mr Ferguson a visit.”

  “Fair chance he’s the skinny government bloke the elders mentioned…But he’s an old man who’s kept whatever he knows to himself for decades. Why would he talk now? And if he does, what’s he gunna tell you?”

  Lionel appreciated the trust Porter had placed in him when joining Carinya and decided to make the trust mutual, but wouldn’t divulge everything he knew. “When they abolished the Protection Act all records were meant to go to the State Archives. There’s none on file for Crooked River mission between 1963 and 1969.”

  “The same years that Simpson said no-one kept records…Bloody hell, mate, why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

  “The importance of the missing files wasn’t clear until now. But with the elders confirming my informant’s info, I’m certain that if we can find them, they’ll provide answers to some very dark questions.”

  “Reckon you’re right…Ferguson never filed ‘em, to protect himself, and whoever gave him authority to remove those girls.”

  “Exactly.” Lionel beamed. “I’m hoping, with your persuasion, Ferguson tells whose orders he followed, and has the records showing which girls were taken…We may be able to track them down. Aunty Doreen said her daughter ended up in America…Why?”

  “And we’ve gotta interview all the cops who were stationed here back then, to work out which one’s helped the crooked AWB blokes.”

  Lionel remembered what Porter had told him about his Wednesday lunch meeting. “Indeed… Starting with Senior Sergeant Bill Thompson, and Constable George Barrett…”

  “Fuck me, won’t that throw a dingo amongst the chooks…” Porter laughed. “Carinya interviewing the Mayor and top cop of Crooked River…”

  Lionel didn’t laugh, just swallowed the vile tasting phlegm in his throat. Who was this White Devil, the policeman who’d raped girls and aided their illegal removal from the mission? He vowed to find him, to expose the monster and his evil deeds to the world.

  TWENTY SEVEN

  At 1.17am Friday, John Rhodes ended a phone conversation and rolled out of bed. He flicked on the light, ambled down the hallway to Lionel’s bedroom and tapped on the door until it opened.

  Lionel stood bare-chested and rubbed swollen eyelids. “John…What?”

  “Sorry to wake you,” Rhodes whispered.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I just spoke with McHendry, my Interpol contact in Edinburgh.”

  Lionel face crumpled in a look of concern. “And?”

  “Bad news I’m sorry…” Rhodes yawned. “Your informant and her husband were killed in a car accident as they drove into Edinburgh
this afternoon. A farmer saw them lose control in heavy rain, crash, and roll into a river. A messy scene, according to McHendry…”

  Lionel’s head rocked back, a hand covered his gaping mouth. “Oh, no, no…” He tugged at his goatee. “Nooo,” he said louder. “Are they certain it’s her?”

  “Relatives living nearby supplied the cops with names. Shirley and Colin McMahon from Randwick, New South Wales.”

  “They’ve identified the bodies?”

  “His. Hers hasn’t been recovered yet.”

  “Then how can they know she’s dead?”

  Rhodes paused. “Only passing on what he told me… Apparently, the farmer tried to rescue a female who floated face down, but the current carried her away before he could reach the car. She most likely survived the crash then drowned. Colin was already dead.”

  “Are they still searching?”

  “They’ll resume in the morning. McHendry thinks they’ll find her body down river, if wild animals don’t take her first. Sorry mate…”

  Lionel stared. “She’d resisted giving a statement, afraid, but I convinced her to do it…I promised to protect her, and failed.”

  “It’s not your fault, Lio. An accident…”

  Lionel scoffed. “This was no accident…Nick Galios, and now Shirley. She’s been murdered for what she knows, and I’m the pathetic turd who put her at risk.” He dropped his trembling chin to chest and broke eye contact. “I should stop this now, before more innocent lives are lost…”

  “Look, McHendry’s solid, and we’re the only others who knew Shirley was driving into Edinburgh. She wasn’t murdered, it’s just a freak accident. And if you give up, she and Galios have died for nothing.”

  Lionel nodded after a long silence, wide-eyed. “You’re right, I need to keep going, and make Carinya’s success their vengeance...And it starts today, with Alec Ferguson.”

  Rhodes frowned. “Not smart to interview him without a signed informant statement…”

  “I really don’t care for rules anymore. Our enemies don’t play by them, so why should we?”

  Later that day as the sun neared its’ zenith, Rhodes drove alone to Crooked River mission. At the briefing earlier, Lionel had tasked him with questioning Uncle Simpson. He was certain the elder knew more than he’d divulged. Rhodes had said he doubted Simpson would talk. Why would he trust a white policeman? Lionel had agreed, but suggested persistence was their closest ally, and Rhodes was the only Carinya member available for the job.