The Final Cut

by Robert Jeffreys

  ‘It was good, Dad. You should have come,’ Bruno said eagerly.

  ‘Should I?’ Mr Kopecki asked, his voice as flat as his eyes. He scrutinised Helen.

  Melody looked to Con; his features had tightened. She looked back to Mr Kopecki, who stood as if he owned the earth and all upon it. There was no modesty in his eyes or manner. Melody felt herself drawn to his strength.

  ‘Have you had a few drinks, Helen?’ Mr Kopecki asked, lightly brushing his Brylcreemed hair back. Melody thought the slight grey streaks at his temples gave him a distinguished air.

  ‘No,’ Helen lied and looked to Con for support.

  Mr Kopecki laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell your father.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Kopecki.’

  ‘It’s a favour you can pay back some time.’

  Helen lowered her eyes and mumbled something.

  Melody could feel Archie’s arm increasing pressure on her shoulders. She shook him off. ‘Why didn’t you come, Mr Kopecki?’ she said, and felt all eyes looking at her.

  ‘What’s your name again?’ Mr Kopecki asked.

  ‘Melody.’

  ‘Beautiful. An angel’s name. Are you a little angel, Melody?’

  ‘Always,’ Melody said, and Mr Kopecki quickly looked to her undone top button and then back to her eyes and half-smile.

  ‘I’ve got some work for you, Bruno. Jump in the car,’ Mr Kopecki said abruptly. Bruno looked to Con before following his father.

  The group watched the car turn abruptly in the clearing, again sending dust and dirt to the edges. They watched the tail lights departing through the dust cloud. Con put some more wood on the fire and settled down closer to it. Helen joined him and lifted Con’s arm to put around her shoulders. Genya and Dianne moved closer to the fire, as did Archie. Melody held herself back for a moment, then followed. Archie made no attempt to hold her hand.

  After staring into the flames for a while, Genya said, ‘My dad says I’m not to talk to Mr Kopecki.’

  Melody was watching the flames licking through a hollow log wink at her. ‘He seemed all right,’ she said, to prove herself more grown up than these older girls. Con lifted his eyes slowly from the fire to Melody. She cringed a little as if being caught out. Con lowered his eyes without speaking.

  ‘He makes my skin crawl,’ Helen said, nestling even closer to Con.

  ‘It’s your skin,’ Melody said tartly.

  Helen looked at Melody for a moment before laughing. ‘What would you know about anything?’

  Melody flushed and shuddered involuntarily. She was fifteen but almost sixteen, only two months to go. Archie, beside her, appeared nervous. Melody hadn’t been letting him touch her: she was saving herself for Con. Now, feeling exposed, she welcomed Archie’s arm on her shoulder as she nudged up to him, still trembling a little. Please don’t let them push me away, she prayed.

  ‘Melody’s fine,’ Con said easily, dispelling her fear, as he added logs and twigs to the fire. Voices from other groups called to Con and he left to chat. When he came back he decided they’d let the fire burn down. No one disagreed. Their faces glowed innocently, reflecting the flame and shadow of the fire. Genya and Dianne had an arm around each other’s waist. Con’s arm was over Helen’s shoulders. Archie’s arm was back on Melody’s. Melody’s hands were clasped before her. They talked quietly about other railway picnics, when they were younger and were dragged home before the older kids, and that now they were the older kids.

  ‘Bruno should run away,’ Helen said at one point but no one said anything in response.

  ‘Let’s go and get burgers,’ Con said brightly, and the spell was broken. They started laughing. They put out the fire. Con picked up Genya and then Melody and held them above the coals, each girl screaming in turn.

  In the light of the full moon they walked, skipped and marched to the car, Con between Genya and Dianne with his arms around their shoulders; their arms were around his waist; Melody was between Helen and Archie, who were squeezing her waist. Melody could still feel where Con had held her, could still smell his hair and his skin. She felt a tear on her cheek.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered to Helen. She felt Helen’s arms embrace her with real warmth; she felt Helen’s full confident lips press easily against her cheek and then whisper, ‘You’re all right, baby.’ Then Helen pulled back and began poking her in the ribs. Melody giggled and squirmed away, jumping into the back seat beside Archie. By the glow of the dim interior globe she caught a glimpse of Archie’s lost puppy dog eyes. She smiled at him and put his arm over her shoulders. Genya jumped in beside her, hips and shoulders pressing as Dianne pushed her way in, too, and closed the door. Con started the car. The four-on-the-floor gearshift was between Helen’s legs. Con called for first gear and the car kangaroo-hopped so they were thrown forwards and back, all giggling uncontrollably.

  ‘You’re doing that on purpose, Con,’ Helen yelled amid the laughter. Con released the clutch fully and drove to the main road, everyone settling, smiling.

  That night before going to bed Melody hugged her mother, who was in the lounge with her new friend. ‘Whatever you’re after, you’re not going to get it,’ her mother slurred with a wink to her friend. Melody walked away as if not hearing. She went to bed, conscious she hadn’t held the scalpel to her skin.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Sunday, 28 November 1965

  6.30 p.m.

  That afternoon, Paul and Cardilini opened the double doors from the lounge to the dining room.

  ‘What do you think?’ Cardilini asked.

  Paul shrugged. ‘Do you really want to?’

  ‘I suppose I’d be happier in the kitchen,’ Cardilini replied.

  ‘Me too. Maybe wait until I bring my girlfriend for Sunday roast,’ Paul said, giving his father a nudge. They closed the doors.

  ***

  Later on, Spencer and Paul sat awkwardly in the lounge room listening to music while Cardilini set the table in the kitchen. Paul asked if she liked classical music and she nodded.

  ‘These are Mum’s records. If I hear them late at night when I come home I know Dad’s been drinking.’

  ‘I’m sorry about your mother, Paul.’

  ‘Thanks …’ He pointed to the record player. ‘Debussy. Mum played the piano.’

  ‘I met her. I was with a group of constables from East Perth; you wouldn’t remember.’

  ‘I remember. I just didn’t remember your face.’

  After a pause, Spencer asked, ‘Are you excited about starting at the academy next year?’

  ‘Yeah. Mum had a lot of respect for Dad and she always thought I’d go into the force, too. And now I really want to make a good job of it.’

  ‘I’m sure you will. Your dad tells me you’re going to do your leaving certificate through tech. I studied at uni for nine years part-time, you know.’

  ‘Wow. Dad’s thinking about his cases even when he’s at home. Half the time he walks around looking a million miles away. But it’s better than him being at the pub.’ Spencer nodded. ‘Now at least I’m not dragging him off the lawn in the middle of the night. Some nights after being dropped off, he’d crawl around on all fours like a mad dog.’

  ‘That’s no good,’ Spencer said, trying to suppress a smile.

  ‘And the neighbours called the police on him one night when he was drunk and digging in the backyard. It was really embarrassing.’

  ‘I’m sure it was.’

  ‘So, you’re a detective now?’ Paul asked after a pause.

  ‘Yep, a woman detective. What do you think about that?’

  ‘I think it’s good. Actually, I think Mum would have made a great detective. She saw things different to Dad and told him so. Then Dad would go, “By gee, you’re right." A mind always on work. He was late home last night because he went into the office.’
/>   ‘He went into the office? And he’s trying to tell me to take a break. I’ll tell him off.’

  ‘Good. When Mum would have a go at him, she’d say, “Your father and I aren’t arguing, son; it’s just sometimes he requires a good telling off."’

  They were both still laughing when Cardilini called them for dinner.

  ***

  After the roast Paul did the dishes while Cardilini and Spencer sat on the front verandah, enjoying the cool night air.

  ‘We need to check out Geraldton,’ Cardilini said. ‘Archie Cooper had a record for theft. I called the sergeant there and he didn’t remember Melody, but he did remember there was a boy run down and they were never able to figure out who did it – or find the car. That happened just before Archie and Melody left town. Also, a nice young woman told her family she was going to Perth and has never been heard of since … It was around the same time, but her name wasn’t Melody, it was “Theresa Ruben". The sergeant said we could go up and show them the picture or fax it to check it wasn’t the same girl.’

  ‘Fax it,’ Spencer said. ‘Geraldton’s a long way away.’

  ‘I’d let you drive some of it.’

  ‘Oh, you’d let me? Thank you, Daddy.’

  ‘Okay. We could share the driving.’

  ‘Do you really need me? I want to look into where Melody bought her stuff. And I want to go through the files of common associates.’

  Cardilini got up and went inside the house. A minute later he returned with the files Spencer had referred to.

  ‘What if I’d gone into the office looking for them?’ Spencer asked.

  He didn’t make excuses, just told her he’d be gone for a few days and to see what she came up with. ‘But don’t go interviewing anyone in those files by yourself.’

  Spencer asked archly, ‘Who do I go with, then?’

  ‘Take Constable Salt. He’s much smarter and tougher than you’d think from the look of him. And he’s just your type. The department’s going to put him through university. I left a note on Bishop’s desk about it, saying I’d be in later.’

  Spencer felt guilty. ‘Did you want me to come with you?’

  ‘I think it’s best you don’t. Keep the fort safe. Robinson won’t like me going, so don’t say anything. I’ll ring him and Bishop when I get there.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be going, then?’ Cardilini shook his head. Spencer smiled and followed his gaze out to the garden where she spotted the bare rose bushes looking skeletal in the harsh streetlight. ‘You never prune rose bushes in summer, Cardilini.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Monday, 29 November 1965

  9 a.m.

  Spencer spent the remainder of Sunday night going through the files. She arrived early at East Perth on Monday morning to see if any of the individuals she’d identified were on record. She was sitting in her office when Bishop rang.

  ‘Give me Cardilini.’

  ‘Not in yet, sir.’

  ‘Call him, tell him Robinson wanted to see him fifteen minutes ago.’ He hung up with a thud.

  Spencer waited as long as she felt she could then went to Robinson’s office. He was on the phone but nodded at her to take a seat. ‘Yes, sir. Yes. I’ll tell him. Yep, and her, she’s here now.’

  Spencer looked at her watch: it was 9.25 a.m. The minutes were dragging. She knew she couldn’t wait until Cardilini got to Geraldton. Why couldn’t he get the proper clearance? The youngest cadet knew you couldn’t just run around the place without proper authority. It was typical; he’d left her in the lurch again. I’d better tell Robinson as soon as he gets off the phone, she thought. She watched Robinson finish his call.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she blurted.

  ‘What?’ Robinson asked as he finished his notes.

  ‘Cardilini.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘He’s not in yet.’

  ‘Was he the one who mucked up Clancy’s pick-up? Where the bloody hell is he?’

  ‘Couldn’t find him, sir.’

  ‘He’s your bloody partner.’

  Spencer tried to look apologetic. She decided to divert his attention. ‘Um, sir, how’s the Jennifer Clancy questioning going?’

  ‘Spry let her go. No doubt Cardilini influenced him. Something about insufficient evidence. Can’t anybody get things right?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I think Cardilini would be on the road.’ She winced, not really understanding why she was doing this, but relieved that Jennifer Clancy was out of the cells.

  Robinson looked at his watch. ‘In that case we’ll have to do without him. We’re having a press conference.’ Spencer blanched. ‘Don’t get all funny on me, Spencer.’ She managed a tiny, apologetic grin. ‘We’ve got to give them something. Probably a good thing Cardilini isn’t here, come to think of it. I’ll tell the deputy commissioner that Cardilini isn’t contactable. Right?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And we’ll just hope he doesn’t turn up. The man opens his mouth at all the wrong times.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. The deputy commissioner wants you to stand behind him, have a notebook in your hand. Now go and do whatever you need to do to tidy up. Be at the deputy commissioner’s office at 9.45 on the dot, looking your sharpest. Off you go.’ Robinson gestured to the door.

  Spencer left, happy she hadn’t actually lied. She went to the ladies’ and stood in front of the mirror. She looked the same as she did when she’d left home. She poked at a bit of hair above her left ear that immediately fell back to where it had been, so she poked it back again, then poked a similar hanging strand on the right, then gave up. She looked at her blouse. She tried to imagine Cardilini doing this. She tried to look sharp but the effort was making her nauseous. ‘Oh, God,’ she muttered. She left the ladies’ room.

  ***

  By 11.30 a.m., Spencer was back at her desk, files and notebook spread out before her. Cardilini still hadn’t rung. The press conference had passed by in a blur. She’d felt completely out of place. Twice the deputy commissioner had grabbed her hand and pumped it up and down. She couldn’t remember why she was being congratulated. Bishop and Robinson had been there and she’d half expected one of them to pump her hand at any moment, too. Spry and Archer were also present, reinforcing the numbers. Archer had nodded to her but Spry avoided her eye. Finally, she’d been released with Robinson whispering, ‘Well done,’ in her ear.

  With the press conference over, she could get on with finalising her list of common associates. But the phone interrupted her resolve.

  ‘Office,’ Bishop grunted, then hung up.

  ***

  ‘Did you know he was going to Geraldton?’ Bishop thundered.

  ‘Um, what did he say?’

  ‘He said you didn’t.’

  She shook her head firmly.

  ‘Good. Do you have somewhere to be? Some police business to attend to?’ Bishop asked doubtfully.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Good. Robinson’s annoyed as hell. Without Clancy there’s no one to pin Hardy’s murder on. He had to lie to the deputy commissioner so it wouldn’t look like Cardilini was out of control again. You’d better get out of here, too. Constable Salt will be waiting for you downstairs. Take a car. Just a warning: Salt is Robinson’s golden-haired boy, so a bit of a square peg in a round hole. You got that?’ Bishop gave her a meaningful glare.

  ‘Yes, sir, thank you.’ She had absolutely no idea what he meant. To add to her discomfort, she had worn high heels and as she tottered down the stairs to the ground floor she became self-conscious. Her skirt felt tighter than usual and she wondered if it was creasing across her crotch area. She resisted the urge to look, but at the bottom of the stairs she smoothed it with her hands and tucked the strand of hair above her left ear. It immediately fell back. You’re a detective, she told h
erself, this is a novice fifteen years your junior. What are you doing?

  She turned towards the uniformed division and saw a constable walking towards her. He was tall and dark-haired, a serious young man.

  ‘Constable Salt,’ Spencer said too loudly.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Ma’am?’ she asked, shocked. She was expecting some resistance but that seemed insulting.

  ‘Isn’t that right?’ the young constable said and blushed. ‘It’s in the English tradition.’

  Spencer relaxed. It was clear he was more nervous than she was. ‘I suppose that’ll do. How were you told to address me?’ When he blushed again, Spencer realised, My God, they’ve given me a schoolboy. He appeared able-bodied without being beefy; the beer clearly hadn’t got to him yet. Strong enough face, even features, maybe a little too handsome. His eyes had steadied and now his gaze was calm.

  ‘Okay, Constable, we can walk to the car depot and I’ll tell you—’

  ‘I can pick you up out front,’ Salt said quickly.

  Spencer paused. ‘Is that’s how it’s done?’

  Salt nodded.

  ‘Pick me up out the front, then, Constable.’ Spencer turned and left, smiling to herself. Square peg, all right. But then, what am I?

  ***

  After poring over the files the night before, Spencer had found only two people who had been willing to assist police in the original enquiries of the missing girls. The first was a local café owner, the second had given a false name and address. The files themselves were sparse compared to other murder enquiries. There was a list of names – presumably people identified who could help – but only notes on two interviews. The files weren’t officially closed but no one had touched them since the investigating officers set them aside in 1961, ’62 and ’63. Different officers had been involved in each case but the pattern was the same. Spencer wanted to blame them in some way. After three glasses of wine – and too much time reading the girls’ files – Spencer had cried. Today, she wondered if it showed. She also wondered why her skirt felt tighter and her heels higher. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this job, after all.