‘So how high up does it go?’ Cardilini asked. Ryan turned and looked at him expressionlessly then turned back to the view. ‘How many more doors in Duke Street would tell the same story?’
‘It’s seen as good policy; we have control of it, keeps them from setting up among the “good folk". It’s usually very little trouble, they cooperate.’
‘But who controls them?’ Cardilini insisted.
Ryan shook his head. ‘Digging into this is never going to go anywhere. You concentrate on stopping the abusing bastards, that’s a good copper’s job. The rest is just business, you know that.’
‘What about Archie Cooper?’
‘Someone’s making money out of him, otherwise he would have gone ages ago. Most of us think it’s sick.’
‘So who called East Perth for Spencer and me?’
‘Funny that – there’s no record of it, pissed everyone off big time. Our Super hates your Super, so he sees this as bloody humiliating.’ Ryan smiled. ‘You aren’t going to get any favours from Fremantle.’
‘Is that why we’re meeting here at the library?’
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about. I like it here. My uncle used to work here.’
Cardilini swung his legs off the desk. ‘Yeah. Mine too.’
‘So, what are you going to do?’ Ryan asked.
‘I’m going to get a case together for the prosecutor to put Cooper away. And then cross my fingers.’
‘I wouldn’t rely on Melody Cooper to testify, if I were you. The Coopers had form at Kalgoorlie before coming to Perth. Apparently up there they were calling what she was doing “self-harm".’
‘She was cutting herself?’
‘Yep. The story is, Cooper had to tie her up to stop her doing it. There’s a police record to indicate as much. Or soon will be.’
‘What exactly are you saying?’
‘I’m saying she won’t be allowed to testify against Cooper. There’s too much money involved. And the length Cooper’s minders have gone to to protect his customers would suggest there are some important reputations on the line. Reputations important enough to have Fremantle officers turning a blind eye.’
‘All this for Melody Cooper?’ Cardilini asked, disbelieving.
Ryan shrugged his shoulders.
‘Does your boy, Appleby, know about any of this?’ Cardilini asked.
‘No. I know his old man. He’s as clean as the driven snow. I’m trying to keep him that way.’
‘He told Spencer he’d testify if we needed him to,’ Cardilini said.
‘Sounds about right. He’d throw his career away to do the honourable thing. It’s those bloody American movies. It’s hard bringing up a young copper these days. But you’re going to know all about that soon enough. Right?’
‘Yeah, Paul. First intake at the academy next year.’
‘You didn’t try to talk him out of it?’
‘Betty wanted it. I used to be an “honourable" man, too, Ryan.’
‘Didn’t we all. So, will you let the prosecution go through, knowing it’s going to fail?’
‘I’ll either push ahead or stop it now. I’m not sure.’
‘How will Spencer take it if you drop it?’ Ryan asked.
‘She’ll blow a fuse.’
‘Cooper won’t be getting a court-appointed lawyer; he won’t need one, he’s getting a heavy hitter from interstate,’ Ryan said, standing.
‘Bullshit. And you knew this all the time?’
‘Wasn’t sure I could trust you anymore. Not since Betty …’
‘Yeah, yeah. Fair enough. Thanks, Ryan.’
‘You’re doing me a favour. Cooper’s operation will be shifted from Fremantle now.’ Ryan smiled again. But then he gripped Cardilini’s arm. ‘You can’t tell Spencer or anyone else. I’d have to say you were lying if you did.’
Cardilini felt sick. ‘Yep. I understand.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Friday, 19 November 1965
5.30 p.m.
By the time Cardilini picked Spencer up from the café it was getting late. As he started driving, Spencer flicked the pages of her notebook back and forth, then asked, ‘Where are we going?’
‘East Perth.’ Cardilini steered the car to the right and drove over the Rail Bridge towards North Fremantle.
‘Don’t you want to know how I went?’ Spencer asked.
Cardilini looked about and breathed in heavily. ‘How did you go?’
Spencer slowly turned to a particular page in her notebook. ‘Are you still interested?’
‘Well, you were right; it’s got nothing to do with charging Cooper.’
‘No, actually it has. It’s identified a pattern of abuse.’
‘The hospital records do that. Who took her there is insignificant.’ Cardilini jerked the car from lane to lane alongside the flour mill, pushing to get ahead of the traffic.
‘You seem to have lost some enthusiasm,’ Spencer said.
‘Enthusiasm?’ Cardilini paused. ‘Is that what they teach you at detective training nowadays?’
Spencer dropped her notebook on her lap. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing.’ Cardilini was struggling to keep the frustration from his voice. ‘We are chasing facts, not enthusiasm.’
‘Okay. These are the facts: the same two policemen take her to the hospital. Whether they’re on duty or not.’
‘Community-minded. Good for them.’
‘No, I don’t think so. And when on duty, according to your friend, Christie, they didn’t log it at Fremantle.’
‘So, what does your enthusiasm tell you?’ Cardilini asked, reaching for a cigarette.
‘That I don’t know what the hell is going on!’ Spencer yelled, throwing the notebook on the seat.
Cardilini slowed for the lights at Claremont and came to a stop. He turned to Spencer. She could see pain in his eyes. ‘I don’t think I can do this anymore. I’m no good for you. When we get back, I’m going to speak to Bishop.’
‘Are you still cranky because we went to that pub?’
‘No, it’s not that. I’m sorry about that.’ The lights changed and he pulled out with the traffic.
‘You’re sorry about that?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you’re not sorry about throwing what we’re doing out the window?’
‘We aren’t doing anything. It’s the same as it’s always been, the same as it will always be.’
‘No. No. Don’t, Cardilini. Not you, too.’
‘What does that mean? You’ve done this before?’
‘No. No one would listen to me. Sally and I used to talk about the sort of work you and I are doing. Now, I can’t believe what’s happened to her.’
Cardilini kept his eyes on the road.
Spencer was silent for a minute. ‘I get it. What happened? Who got to you?’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh, don’t I? Well, there’ll be a bloody race to Robinson’s office. I refused to work with a compromised detective. I thought you were different. If your wife …’ Spencer didn’t get to finish the sentence; the lurching of the car threw her towards Cardilini as it bumped up onto the curb outside Nedlands’ council buildings. Cardilini flung his door open, jumped out and started walking along the footpath. Spencer watched in shock. When he was five hundred yards away, she slid across to the driver’s side and bumped the car off the curb, hearing scraping underneath. She drove down to the intersection of Stirling Highway and Thomas Street and pulled onto the verge. Cardilini was several hundred yards behind, walking towards her. She opened the passenger door and watched Cardilini in the rear-view mirror. He walked straight past the car. Spencer grabbed her bag and car keys and jumped out to follow him. She caught up with him quickly and they walked side by
side for a few minutes. He crossed the road to the Swan River side and walked until he reached the riverbank. Spencer stayed with him for every step. He finally sat on a bench facing the river.
‘I want to be able to trust you,’ Cardilini said, looking out to the river.
‘If you’re going to tell me you have taken money not to charge Cooper, you can’t trust me,’ Spencer replied.
‘Right. That’s clear, then. Thank you.’ Cardilini stood and started back to the car.
‘Nothing’s clear! I don’t think you took any money. I just said that.’
‘Yes, you did. You didn’t say, “You can trust me, we’re partners." What you said is the way it is. That’s okay. You need a younger partner.’
‘Younger? I’m only seven years younger than you. I’ve seen and heard things. I know who you are, Cardilini; you’re the only one I trust. It’s a list of one.’ She stood defiantly in front of him.
Cardilini stepped aside. ‘There are plenty of other good coppers.’
‘Name one who is compelled to do the right thing.’
‘My name is not on that list anymore. I’ll talk to Robinson first thing Monday.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Monday, 22 November 1965
6.10 a.m.
Cardilini had hardly slept. The weekend had been a disaster. He’d tried to take his mind off Spencer and the whole shambolic situation he’d got himself into by gardening, but all he’d managed to do was destroy a rosemary hedge that had grown over the path at the side of the house. He’d pruned it back so severely that it was now just brown stick-like webbing. The other bushes had been so thick that he’d needed to use a spade to get them into some sort of control. The slug-nibbled label hidden among the growth identified them as lemongrass. He found out, too late, that the long strands of its leaves had sharp prickle-like edges which had given him a rash. He’d spent most of Sunday in pain. I’m no good at this, he’d once told Betty.
That night, he’d sat in the lounge room listening to Bach. He didn’t know much about Betty’s music. He’d just choose a record, place it on the turntable and reminisce. He’d once said, ‘A bit Churchie,’ and Betty had replied, ‘Well done.’ He smiled at the memory and poured his fifth cup of tea for the evening. This had become his ritual, a substitute for the beer he would have preferred to be drinking. When Paul arrived home from the drive-in around 11 p.m. he sat begrudgingly with Cardilini for his compulsory cuppa, but soon went to bed. Cardilini went outside, wandering around the backyard. Betty had planted an almond, olive and an apple tree to complement an old orange tree that was there when they moved in. The trees seemed bigger in the darkness, more alive, and he’d felt he could talk to them. Don’t be daft, he thought then, and reached for a cigarette. He imagined Betty, garden gloves to her elbows, in one of his old shirts and a floppy-brimmed black hat that still hung in the laundry, digging in the garden. He wished he’d been there when she was planting the trees. He lay on his bed in the sleep-out. Neither he nor Paul had been able to spend any time in Cardilini and Betty’s bedroom. ‘One day,’ they’d said to each other. The last time he had looked at the clock, it was 4.18 a.m.
Now at 6.10 he sat on the verandah smoking again with his first mug of tea for the day. Lack of colour robbed the trees of volume. He pushed his cigarette butt into the full ashtray. Must empty that, he thought, then walked into the kitchen for more tea. He wanted to get into the office early. He needed to catch Robinson before Spencer got to him. He wrote a note for Paul: ‘Hi Paul, hope it’s a good day, sorry if I’m a bit cranky. Dad.’
It was just on 7.30 a.m. when he arrived at East Perth. I should do this more often, he thought as he pulled into the mostly vacant car park. He made himself some tea and took the pot to the office. He wasn’t the first one in. Spencer was sitting at her cleared desk. A box containing her bits and pieces was on the floor.
‘Do you want to see Robinson first or shall I?’ she asked.
‘Go for your life; it’ll save me having to talk to him.’ Spencer walked ahead quickly. Cardilini watched her with an uneasy ache. He went down to the detectives’ office and noticed his old desk was still empty. Spry and Archer sat at theirs, surrounded by files. As Cardilini approached them he felt envious. The Hardy case should have been his.
Spry and Archer were big men in their forties. Archer was balding, cantankerous; he had a temper and knew it, so usually took the back seat in most encounters. Spry was thinner, quick-witted and smart with a big mouth, but smart enough not to let it get him into trouble. Cardilini wondered why Hardy and Spry had been separated. The official word was that Spry was in for a promotion, the promotion never came, and Hardy went to Cardilini, whose previous partner had retired. You never asked too many questions about a new partner – it was felt it could jinx things.
‘Lost?’ Spry asked Cardilini.
‘Nearly. What have you found?’
‘You mean have we found any suspects?’ Archer asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘What do you reckon, Spry, two dozen?’ Archer asked.
‘About that. How’s your new girlfriend?’ Spry said.
‘Faber asked that very same question,’ Cardilini said as he started picking up files. ‘He was on his knees unable to breathe when I left him.’
Spry and Archer laughed loudly.
‘We heard,’ Archer said. ‘He won’t forget that.’
‘That’s the idea,’ Cardilini said then continued flicking through the files. ‘These can’t be suspects.’
‘Oh yeah? Haven’t you got some place to be?’ Spry said.
‘Nope. Spencer’s with Robinson, wanting to dump me. Maybe I could help you guys.’ Spry and Archer raised their eyebrows at each other but didn’t comment. ‘You know this should be my case.’ Cardilini continued to look at the files.
‘Have you got a suspect? Someone we don’t know?’ Archer asked.
‘Yeah, go for something more recent. You found the weapon?’ Cardilini asked.
‘No,’ Spry said.
‘You know Hardy was probably standing over his killer?’ Cardilini said.
‘We’re waiting on the police surgeon to tell us all about that,’ Archer replied.
‘It’s not that hard to figure out.’
‘We’ll wait for the experts, Cardilini,’ Archer replied.
‘Still, Hardy standing over someone, maybe belting them. Ring any bells, Spry?’
Spry took a quick look at Archer.
Archer frowned. ‘What?’
‘Get Hardy within a couple of yards of a female suspect and he slaps them, doesn’t he, Spry?’ Cardilini threw the files down.
‘I’m not going there, Cardilini.’
‘That’s why he came to me, isn’t it? He belted someone. A woman?’ Cardilini asked. Archer was looking at them, trying to piece together the insinuations.
‘The man is dead, Cardilini,’ Spry said.
Other detectives had arrived and were now looking their way.
‘Don’t you want to find his killer?’ Cardilini asked.
‘Is this because I wouldn’t stand by you at the inquest?’ Spry said. ‘Pay him no attention, Archer.’
‘Hardy kept belting women because he was getting away with it. I bet he got away with it when he was with you.’ Cardilini squared himself to Spry, who jumped to his feet.
‘You bloody drunk, you better take that back,’ Spry said, poised, ready to take a swing. Archer stood too.
‘You’re more to blame than me for Hardy getting the boot, and you were sucking up to him to the last,’ Cardilini said and ducked Spry’s swinging right. Archer stepped between them as Cardilini backed away. Archer held Spry, who glared at Cardilini over Archer’s shoulder.
‘When I pulled Hardy off that prostitute, he cried like a baby. He was sick, Spry,’ Cardilini said. ‘And you knew it. Did you tell
Archer that?’ Spry shook himself free of Archer and sat breathing heavily. Archer and Cardilini looked at each other, then back to Spry.
‘Spry?’ Archer asked. Spry shook his head from side to side.
Archer turned to Cardilini. ‘You think Hardy was at it again? Belting someone?’
‘A bit bloody obvious. You should have told Archer, Spry. Otherwise you’re wasting your time.’ Cardilini turned and walked away. Archer looked at Spry and then kicked at a chair, sending it skidding across the floor. The other detectives looked away and got on with their cases.
Cardilini opened the door to his and Spencer’s office. The phone was ringing. Cardilini watched it until it stopped, then sat heavily in his chair. The phone started ringing again. Cardilini picked it up.
‘Get your fat carcass up here!’ Robinson yelled.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Monday, 22 November 1965
8.30 a.m.
Robinson’s door was closed. Breaking with tradition, Cardilini knocked and waited.
‘Come in,’ Robinson called.
Cardilini entered. Spencer sat in a chair facing Robinson. She didn’t turn around.
‘Sit down.’ Cardilini did as he was told. ‘Detective Constable Spencer has noted some irreconcilable differences and asked for a change of partner.’
‘Cardilini made it very clear he didn’t want to work with me anymore,’ Spencer said. ‘He said he didn’t trust me.’ Cardilini closed his eyes and shook his head. Having a dust-up with Spry was preferable to this any day.
‘Is that true, Cardilini?’ Robinson asked slowly.
‘I said I want to be able to trust her,’ Cardilini replied, knowing more than anything he still wanted to.
‘Did you trust Hardy?’ Robinson asked.
Cardilini looked back perplexed. ‘What?’
‘Maybe until we put our trust in a partner, we just don’t know,’ Robinson said. Cardilini had had enough of this. Normally he’d head straight for the pub, blaming everyone else for his confusion. This time he stayed put, gripping the chair tightly, trying to compose himself.
‘Spencer, do you mind?’ Robinson said and indicated the door.
The Final Cut Page 8
