The Final Cut

by Robert Jeffreys

  He stopped, turned, saw her, and came running back to stop in front of her, panting and smiling sweetly. ‘Hi, Melody.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Tuesday, 23 November 1965

  10 a.m.

  Cardilini decided to check cases of abuse involving young women and girls, hoping he might discover similar patterns of cutting. He thought it possible such cuts might have been ignored or dismissed among other injuries. Most of all, he was hoping a perpetrator’s name might be among the files, something to identify individuals who could pay enough for that sort of entertainment. Surely, clients would have been satisfying those sorts of desires before Melody and Archie came to Perth. He had a vague memory of something similar associated with a murder, but he couldn’t remember when.

  The files were boxed by date and year. Should he be looking at murders or assaults? He knew very few assaults were reported and had heard first-hand that the scrutiny the women received from the police was often as humiliating as the original attack. Firstly, they weren’t believed; secondly, they were made to feel guilty for even reporting the incident; and thirdly, they were left with no doubt in their mind that they had somehow invited it upon themselves. Cardilini had pulled out several boxes, looking for nothing in particular, and had found nothing.

  In frustration, he headed up to the ground floor. There, behind double swinging timber and glass doors, were the secretarial staff. Mrs Andreoli – blonde, efficient and in her forties – sat at the front counter corralling any intruders. ‘What, Cardilini?’ she asked without looking up.

  ‘The files …’ Cardilini started.

  ‘In the basement.’

  ‘I know where they are; I want some help.’

  Mrs Andreoli looked up with a crooked smile on her face. ‘With your drinking problem?’

  ‘No. With the filing. Who does all that?’

  ‘You know the procedure: get it yourself or fill out a form and wait a week.’

  ‘A week? You’ve sped up since I used you last.’

  ‘Very funny. Quick, what do you want?’

  ‘Murdered young women during the last seven years,’ Cardilini said.

  Mrs Andreoli shook her head in disbelief. ‘Is this because we have a female detective now?’

  ‘No,’ Cardilini replied, thrown by the question.

  ‘I bet. Are you wasting our time, Cardilini?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ve heard you and Lorraine are a team.’

  ‘Yep. I heard that too.’

  ‘We have a lot of questions for her. You make sure she comes down here. Will you do that?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll ask her.’

  ‘Rosie,’ Mrs Andreoli called, ‘what are you doing?’

  In her early twenties, Rosie O’Connor had straight auburn hair to her shoulders and a round, happy face. Cardilini knew her, knew her Irish parents. Her father was a uniformed sergeant at Melville. ‘The Bulletin,’ Rosie answered.

  ‘Come here, no one reads that anyway,’ Mrs Andreoli said. Then, to Cardilini, ‘She’s been filing for four years. You look after her – proper breaks and a proper desk in a cool room with plenty of light. Can you do that?’

  ‘She can have my desk,’ Cardilini said.

  ‘Rosie, you’re going to help Detective Sergeant Cardilini.’ Rosie smiled at Cardilini; he hoped he managed a smile back. ‘And Detective Constable Spencer,’ Mrs Andreoli added.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said to Mrs Andreoli and started to the door. Rosie followed.

  ‘Gifts to the tradesman’s entrance,’ Mrs Andreoli called after him.

  ***

  ‘How’s your dad?’ Cardilini asked as they walked down the stairs to the basement.

  ‘He’s good.’

  ‘Still at Melville?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And your mum?’

  ‘She’s good.’

  ‘What’s she up to?’

  ‘Secretary at Wembley.’

  ‘Good for her. How long has she been doing that?’

  ‘Just after I started. She hated sitting at home.’

  ‘How’s Dad handling that?’

  ‘Not good. Likes his dinner on time.’

  ‘Don’t we all.’

  ‘Yes,’ Rosie said with a chirpy laugh.

  At the bottom of the stairs they saw Spencer standing ten yards down the corridor with an impatient expression on her face.

  ‘Mr Cardilini,’ Rosie said and stopped on the last step. Cardilini turned to her. ‘Mum and Dad told me ages ago to say something to you. But I couldn’t.’ Tears welled in her eyes.

  ‘I know. I know. Thank you, Rosie. And thank your mum and dad.’ Cardilini walked down the corridor. Rosie took a handkerchief from her sleeve and dried her eyes. Spencer caught Cardilini’s eye with an inquisitive look. He nodded and walked past her into the file room.

  ‘Rosie, you okay?’ Spencer asked.

  ‘Yes, thanks, Detective Constable Spencer,’ Rosie said with a smile. ‘Mrs Andreoli wants you to come and see us. And you have to now because she told Mr Cardilini.’

  ‘I don’t listen to him,’ Spencer whispered.

  ‘Spencer,’ Cardilini called.

  ‘Spencer? Why not Lorraine?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘A detective thing. I like it,’ Spencer said, smiling. She walked into the room with Rosie following.

  ‘Where did you get to?’ Cardilini said.

  ‘I had a few things to do. So, what’s going on?’

  ‘Women and girls who have been murdered, cut – you can explain the details to Rosie. I remember seeing the patterns of those cuts on Melody Cooper elsewhere. A murder investigation, not mine, unsolved. You’re looking for that, and cases where photos might reveal similar. Last seven years.’

  ‘Why seven years?’ Spencer asked.

  ‘I can’t place when that murder investigation was but that should cover it. See how long that takes you.’

  ‘That’ll take all day at least,’ Rosie said.

  ‘Fine. Make lists of similar injuries categorised by dates, severity, age of victims, assault or murder, solved or unsolved, convicted or unconvicted, site of assault, background of victim, relation to perpetrator, perpetrator, background of perpetrator. All separate lists.’

  ‘A lot of lists,’ Spencer said.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘What are you going to be doing?’ Spencer asked.

  ‘I’m going to hospitals,’ Cardilini replied.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Most assaults on women aren’t reported,’ Rosie said.

  ‘I’ll be back around lunchtime to see how you’re going.’

  ‘Is this the way of winding our partnership down?’ Spencer asked.

  ‘It’s my way of finding evidence to convict Cooper.’

  ‘You want to charge him now? You said you weren’t going to. That’s what I was jumping up and down about.’

  ‘We need evidence,’ Cardilini said flatly.

  ‘Surely we have enough to convict him.’

  ‘I believe records exist in Kalgoorlie showing that Melody was cutting herself and Cooper tied her up to stop her,’ Cardilini said.

  Spencer’s jaw opened and hung momentarily. ‘No.’

  ‘Yep. I’ve asked for copies but it might be better if one of us went to Kalgoorlie to work out exactly what went on.’

  ‘One of us? You mean, you? Why not both of us?’

  ‘I just thought if it’s overnight you mightn’t—’

  ‘If I was male would we both be going?’ Spencer asked.

  Cardilini looked to Rosie as an excuse not to answer.

  ‘I’d like to know too, Mr Cardilini,’ Rosie said frankly.

  ‘Probably, yes,’ Cardilini conceded.

  ‘Are you looking out for my reputation?
’ Spencer asked. She and Rosie laughed.

  ‘I don’t know what I was doing,’ he said, looking to the door to escape.

  ‘Fine, we both go, then.’

  Cardilini nodded. ‘I’ll ring around lunchtime. I told Mrs Andreoli Rosie would be working in our office—’

  ‘Don’t you worry about us, Lorraine and I will be fine,’ Rosie said. ‘I’ll get a uniformed constable to carry the boxes. You just go.’

  Spencer stopped him as he was leaving. ‘Robinson thinks we might be better off not working together.’

  ‘I still want to get Cooper,’ Cardilini replied.

  ‘So, after that, are you thinking we should split?’

  ‘I’m not thinking that far ahead.’

  ‘That’s not an answer, Mr Cardilini,’ Rosie said.

  ‘Mr Cardilini?’ Spencer said.

  ‘I’ve known him since I was a little girl. That’s what Dad told me to call him.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll catch you later,’ Cardilini said and started up the corridor. Christ, I’ve just given her filing to do, he thought to himself. He turned around and went back to the file room. At the doorway, he said, ‘If you were a young male detective constable we’d be doing this exactly the same way.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Tuesday, 23 November 1965

  12.30 p.m.

  Carrying the photos of Melody Cooper in a brown envelope, Cardilini paused at the glass doors of Royal Perth Hospital to finish his cigarette. He watched an elderly couple in their sixties arrive – the man supporting the woman. Their expressions were grave. She had lines of pain on her face; the man kept looking anxiously to her, but she managed a smile when they reached the top of the stairs. The man looked at Cardilini standing there and gave a nod. Cardilini nodded back.

  ‘Can I help?’ Cardilini asked. The man looked to the woman, who turned a pained expression to Cardilini. ‘Stay there, I’ll get a wheelchair,’ Cardilini said and ground his cigarette out. He pushed through the double doors into the hospital and returned with a wheelchair and a nurse. The man thanked him. There were tears forming in the corners of his eyes. The woman’s eyes were shut tightly.

  Cardilini felt hollow inside. He told himself to walk away, go to the pub, it wasn’t his fault if he started drinking again. He struggled for breath; his hand went to his cigarette packet but it was shaking so much the cigarettes flew from the packet onto the ground. He knelt down on one knee, but it was hopeless. The elderly man squatted down beside him and helped him collect the fallen cigarettes.

  ‘My wife died,’ Cardilini mumbled. His could feel tears in his eyes and on his cheeks. He felt the man’s arm across his shoulders as he tried to steady his breathing. The man’s hand rose and fell on Cardilini’s back, the rhythm slowing his heart rate. Cardilini couldn’t remember embracing his son Paul at the funeral; couldn’t remember the feeling, since his wife’s death, of other people on the planet. Finally, he managed to stand.

  ‘How’s your wife?’ Cardilini asked the man.

  ‘It’s my sister; she’s good.’ He smiled. ‘She tripped over the sprinkler and fell into one of her rose bushes.’ They both laughed but couldn’t stop more tears filling their eyes. The man looked through the glass toward reception; his sister was glaring at him. ‘I’m in trouble,’ he said and patted Cardilini’s arm. They caught each other’s eye; Cardilini nodded a thank you. He wiped his face vigorously and walked through the hospital doors.

  ‘Are you all right, Cardilini?’ a nurse asked.

  ‘Getting better.’

  ‘About time,’ she said without shifting her gaze. Cardilini nodded, vaguely aware he’d seen her before, possibly when he was drunk. ‘But you have been a nuisance, haven’t you?’ Cardilini nodded again and shrugged. ‘Have you forgotten my name?’ she asked. Cardilini kept nodding. ‘Nurse Pilger,’ she said. ‘I’m acting matron today. What do you want?’

  Cardilini pulled the photos from the envelope and handed them to her. She looked at them, then held them away. ‘Thanks for the warning.’ She walked to the chairs at the side of the reception area and sat. Cardilini followed her and did likewise.

  ‘Sorry. She’s fine. It just looks gruesome.’

  ‘Couldn’t she have some clothes on?’

  ‘There are some fine scars – you need to look closer.’ Cardilini tried to point over her shoulder.

  The nurse brushed his arm away. ‘Right, thanks, I’ll manage.’ She flicked through them. ‘Okay. Why am I looking at these?’

  ‘A lot of assault victims don’t press charges. I’m trying to find any similar cases that might have presented here but that we didn’t hear about.’

  ‘And what would you do if we had had similar cases?’

  ‘Um, I’m working with Detective Constable Lorraine Spencer …’

  ‘Detective? I remember her as a constable. How did she manage to slip past that male bastion?’

  ‘She worked very hard,’ Cardilini said.

  ‘I bet she bloody did. So, what if we do have someone coming in and presenting like that?’

  ‘We just want to talk to her. She can use a false name if she wants.’

  ‘And if the person doesn’t want to talk to you?’

  ‘She can talk to Detective Spencer.’

  ‘What if it’s a man?’ Nurse Pilger asked. Cardilini thought she was making a joke and smiled. She didn’t smile back.

  ‘Um. Well …’ Cardilini began.

  ‘And you wonder why no one goes to the police.’ Nurse Pilger shook her head.

  ‘Look, I want to bring charges against the perpetrators,’ Cardilini said.

  ‘Well, you’re wasting your time here.’

  Cardilini looked at her in astonishment. ‘Let me to talk to someone else, then.’

  The nurse shook her head at the childishness of it. ‘Talk to McBride. He’s seen more corpses than you and I put together.’ She stood and walked off.

  Cardilini didn’t think there was much point talking to the hospital mortuary attendant, but if the nurses weren’t going to help him, he had no other choice. He went down to the morgue.

  McBride had been sitting like a gnome in his tiny office at Royal Perth Hospital for as long as Cardilini could remember. He’d been in medicine in some way before the war but was vague about the details.

  ‘Cardilini, I heard your dead teacher case had to be handed over to Spry and Archer,’ McBride said with a smile. He was referring to an accidental shooting at a prestigious private school that Cardilini had been investigating just before he was suspended.

  ‘I gave it to them, remember?’ Cardilini said. ‘Would you mind looking at some photos? They’re of a woman, naked.’

  ‘And alive, I hope.’

  ‘Yep, alive.’

  ‘Oh, goodie.’ McBride rubbed his hands together in mock glee. Cardilini handed over the photos and McBride spread them out on his desk. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Have you seen that sort of scarring before?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Really?’ Cardilini asked in surprise.

  ‘Yes,’ McBride repeated, reaching for a magnifying glass.

  ‘Where? When?’

  ‘Where, is obvious. You mean, who and when,’ McBride said without looking up.

  ‘That’s what I mean.’

  ‘I’ve seen it three times.’

  ‘Recently?’

  ‘Recently enough. Who and when will take a little time; I have to find the records, if I’ve still got them. And I couldn’t guarantee that.’ He began making a sketch of the scarring.

  ‘What about autopsy reports?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘That’s where I’d have to look. As I say, it’ll take time and I don’t have the authority, really.’

  ‘So who do I speak to?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘Quic
kest way? Get your super to make a call to the coroner’s office – he’s got the records. Then I’d need time off from here. Or you could ask him to ring the current forensic pathologist, Wade. But he’s about a month behind at the moment.’

  ‘When can you do it?’ Cardilini asked, insistent.

  ‘Listen,’ McBride said. ‘Do you hear anyone calling?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Me neither. Beautiful, aren’t they? I can start Monday morning. The files are at the coroner’s office, Adelaide Terrace.’ McBride began neatly stacking the photos. ‘Tell me there’s a happy ending for that young woman and I’ll sleep peacefully tonight.’

  ‘That’s what I’m working on.’

  ‘Then you’ve got me,’ McBride said solemnly.

  Cardilini nodded his appreciation. ‘How long will it take?’

  ‘I remember faces. I never bother with names. A morning, probably.’

  ‘Thanks, McBride. I’ll ring the super this morning.’

  ‘The land of the living is more disappointing but I should dabble occasionally,’ McBride said.

  Cardilini found Nurse Pilger in the public ward. ‘I spoke to McBride,’ he said. The nurse nodded while looking at a patient’s chart. ‘You will remember what I’m looking for?’ he asked. She nodded non-committally.

  He was ten steps away when she called out, ‘Graylands.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Tuesday, 23 November 1965

  2 p.m.

  Back at East Perth, Robinson agreed to make the necessary calls to get the files Cardilini wanted. He wished them good luck with building a case against Cooper. Cardilini grabbed two egg sandwiches from the hospital canteen and picked Spencer up.

  ‘I was starting to feel I was in the way with Rosie,’ Spencer said between mouthfuls as they drove along Railway Road in Subiaco.

  ‘Yeah, Mrs Andreoli and her staff have their way of doing things. How’s it going?’

  ‘Rosie started the minute you left. She had four boxes from the shelves while I was still trying to find the dates. She ended up with fifteen boxes in the office along with a pot of tea. She likes to do things in style. Then she had paper and duplicating paper in and out of your typewriter and keys tapping so fast I thought your typewriter would retire itself.’ Cardilini smiled; his one-finger tapping was all his typewriter had experienced for years. ‘She had your headings typed up with a number of additions of her own including file and box number. How did you go?’