by Robert Gott
‘Could he kill her in a rage and then forget almost immediately that he’d done it?’
‘I suppose that might depend on what sort of retarded he is.’
‘Not very well put, Constable, but I see what you mean.’
‘When I was photographing in the shed, I noticed that there was a slate with writing on it that you might want to look at, sir. I made sure I got close-ups of it.’
There was very little to see in the shed. The only furniture was the bed, and Selwyn’s clothes were piled in a corner. The shovel was there — that would need to be dusted for fingerprints. And the slate that Manton had mentioned was on the end of the bed. It was an ordinary slate, the kind used in every primary school. Halloran cocked his head so that he could read what was on it: ‘Me do bad. Them bad, but.’
‘Who’s “them”? Rose and Matthew, or Rose and Miss Todd? Maybe he wanted to go after Miss Todd, too, but she locked him up first. What do you think, Constable? Is this a confession?’
‘It certainly looks like one.’
‘I can’t get a handle on any of this. It looks like an open-and-shut case, at least as far as Rose Abbot’s death is concerned. Miss Todd says she saw Selwyn attack Rose, and he’s more or less confessed to it on his slate. And yet I don’t believe it. There’s not a single thing that rings true. I feel as if someone’s throwing sand in my eyes, and I don’t like it. This is a small town, and a murder in a small town is like a hand grenade going off. A lot of people can end up getting hurt. This needs to be solved quickly, before it starts to fester. I’ll telephone Melbourne and insist on someone from Homicide coming down here. And so, Constable, the grim and tedious process begins.’
INSPECTOR LAMBERT TOOK Inspector Halloran’s call at 8.00 am.
‘A case that fitted your department’s brief better than this one would be difficult to find, Titus.’
‘We’re pretty stretched here, Greg.’
‘I understand that. Let me outline the case, and you’ll see why my inexperienced men aren’t equipped to deal with it on their own.’
‘You don’t have confidence in your people?’
Greg Halloran ought perhaps to have been offended. He wasn’t. He thought the question a reasonable one.
‘I’ve got one first-class man. You’ve met him — Constable Manton. The local bloke in Port Fairy is excellent, too, but none of them have had detective training, and they’d benefit from being guided through this. When I said I was rusty, Titus, I meant it.’
‘I’m listening.’
Halloran ran through the details, sketchy though they were.
‘Tell me about Port Fairy, Greg. I’ve never been there.’
‘It’s small, about 30 minutes out of Warrnambool along a terrible road. I suppose you’d say it was a picturesque place, although what that really means is that nothing’s been done to it since about 1900. Farming and fishing keep it going. No one’s been murdered here since God knows how long. It’s quiet, orderly, with Western District certainties that will find these murders hard to accommodate. Murder in a small place like this can create all sorts of tensions. I’ve seen it in Warrnambool. Old wounds open up, even when they’ve got nothing to do with the crime. People settle scores with gossip or with malicious accusations. It can take a generation for a community this size to recover from murder, which is why I want this cleared up as quickly as possible.’
‘I can’t come down, Greg. There’s too much going on here.’
‘I wasn’t expecting you to, Titus. I’ll run the investigation. Just send me someone who knows what he’s doing.’
‘Would you be willing to work with Constable Helen Lord? She’ll have someone with her, of course.’
‘I need someone who’s trained.’
‘The person she’ll be with is a trained detective. Helen Lord is better than trained, Greg. She’s good.’
‘My blokes aren’t going to like deferring to her.’
‘They won’t have to. She’ll be under strict instructions to follow your orders, and she’s perfectly aware that her rank means she can’t throw her weight around. Not that she would.’
‘I don’t know, Titus. I know she’s good. I’ve met her.’
‘Under normal circumstances a policewoman wouldn’t be let near a homicide, but these aren’t normal circumstances. Nothing has been normal since Darwin was bombed. It won’t hurt your blokes to work with Helen Lord. I’m happy for you to decide how best to use her.’
‘Has she ever seen a mutilated body, or smelt it?’
This question shook Titus’s confidence in his decision to send Helen Lord to Port Fairy. He realised that she hadn’t, in fact, been exposed to the brutal reality of a violated corpse. She’d examined photographs of particularly unpleasant murders in the case involving George Starling, and she hadn’t flinched. On the contrary, she’d done what many seasoned officers still found difficult to do — she’d stared and stared at those photographs, extracting from them as much as she could. She hadn’t looked away for the same reason that Maude hadn’t ever looked away. She was on the side of the victim, and sometimes the victim spoke through an overlooked detail in a photograph.
‘I don’t expect you to expose Helen Lord to the bodies, but you don’t need to protect her from the photographs. She’ll be a tremendous help to you.’
‘All right, Titus. Who’ll be coming with her?’
‘I haven’t decided that yet.’
‘It’ll be faster if they come by train.’
‘And how long will you need them?’
‘With two extra people we can get through interviews quickly. This might turn out to be much simpler than it looks.’
‘I want them back in three days, Greg.’
‘Fair enough. By the time they get here I’ll have a much clearer idea of what we’re dealing with.’
Titus needed to make a decision on the spot. He ran his eye down the list of continuing investigations. There was no one he wanted to take off a case. Alternatively, he could borrow someone from the CIB, but he didn’t like doing that. The Homicide department was still finding its feet, and it seemed important to Titus that it be seen to manage whatever case load it found itself carrying. Sergeant Reilly was an obvious choice, but Titus knew that there was tension between Reilly and Lord, and Greg Halloran wouldn’t appreciate having to sort out any arguments that might erupt between them.
With mild trepidation, he decided that it might be time for Sergeant Sable to return properly to work. This would mean delaying a meeting with Tom Mackenzie, but that couldn’t be helped. There were several advantages to sending Joe to Port Fairy with Constable Lord. He’d be well away from George Starling, who was still in Melbourne; Titus had no doubt about that. And work would offer Joe a distraction that he sorely needed.
Hoping that Helen and Joe wouldn’t have yet left for work, he telephoned the house in Kew. Ros Lord answered and said that they were almost out the door. She called them back and handed the telephone to Joe. Joe listened as Inspector Lambert issued his instructions. When he hung up, he gave the gist of it to Helen.
‘Port Fairy,’ she said. ‘I’ve never been there. I know where it is. It’s the other side of Warrnambool.’
‘I’ve never been there either. The other side of Warrnambool — it might as well be Timbuktu.’
Ros Lord, who’d discreetly withdrawn after she’d handed Joe the phone, reappeared and asked if anything was wrong.
‘Nothing’s wrong, Mum. We have to pack a few things. We’ll be away for a couple of days.’
‘But where are you going, darling?’
‘We’re being sent to Port Fairy, Mrs Lord. There’s been a murder.’
Helen would never have been so explicit with her mother, and she expected her to object to her daughter being involved in something as sordid as murder.
>
‘I do work in Homicide, Mum.’ She was defensive, even though Mrs Lord hadn’t said a word.
‘I know you do.’ She paused, and then, to Helen’s mortification, she said firmly, in front of Joe, ‘I am proud of you, Helen, and I know that your father would have been proud, too.’
Helen blushed and was unable to appreciate the compliment calmly. She mumbled about needing to pack, and hurried upstairs. Joe found himself similarly mortified when Ros Lord put her hand on his arm and said, ‘Don’t worry, Joe, Helen will look after you.’
He had no idea how to respond, so he said, ‘Thank you,’ and wondered immediately why he should be grateful that Ros Lord saw him as some sort of damaged child. He went upstairs to pack.
A LARGE SIGN at the entrance to Spencer Street Station read, ‘Is your journey really necessary?’ The fact that a priority permit had been organised quickly for Joe and Helen was proof enough that this journey was really necessary. The train to Warrnambool, and on to Port Fairy, was scheduled to leave at 9.30 am, and they made it in plenty of time. In any event, it didn’t actually leave until 10.00 am and was unexpectedly crowded. Apparently, large numbers of people were making necessary journeys. Joe was glad that he’d escaped having to walk into Russell Street wearing a suit that was not his own, and the quality of which reinforced this fact. Neither Helen nor Joe had had time to assimilate the situation. A solid five hours on the train would rectify that. They’d gone straight from Kew to Spencer Street, so the only information they had was what Titus had told Joe. There’d been two murders, of a brother and sister, and a suspect was being held for questioning. The suspect, who was the deceaseds’ uncle, was problematic, as he was severely mentally deficient. They were to be under the direction of Detective Inspector Halloran, and they were to be accommodated at Douglas House in Gipps Street. This was close to the courthouse and the police station.
‘Is this an expression of Inspector Lambert’s confidence in us,’ Joe asked, ‘or are we all that’s available?’
‘I expect it’s an expression of confidence in me, at any rate.’
Helen smiled to reassure Joe that she was kidding. She’d noticed that his sense of humour had been blunted recently, that he was apt to put the worst possible construction on things.
‘Actually, Joe, we’re not all that was available. Inspector Lambert could easily have sent someone else — someone from the CIB even, if Homicide was too over-stretched. And there’s Sergeant Reilly, of course. I could be sitting opposite him right now and wondering if there was going to be a third corpse before we’d finished investigating the first two.’
‘He really isn’t that bad.’
‘Let’s not go down that rabbit hole again. All I’m saying is, I’m glad you’re sitting where Reilly might have been sitting.’
‘Why do I feel like we’re a couple of lame ducks?’
Helen’s mood began to darken.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I’m not being rude, Helen, but look at me. Do you think they’re not going to wonder why someone who looks like he’s been hit by a car has been sent to investigate a crime they probably think they’re perfectly capable of investigating on their own?’
‘You said, “We’re a couple of lame ducks.” I presume you mean that the fact that I’m a woman is my handicap.’
‘You know you’re going to be treated as an oddity by those country coppers. They’re not going to make this easy for you.’
‘You have a low opinion of other men, Joe. At least that’s something we have in common.’
‘I’m just being realistic.’
‘I’m in a constant state of readiness to meet my opposition. I have no illusions, Joe. I’m not going to win their respect, no matter what I do. I’m a novelty, a sideshow freak. Maybe I’ll be pleasantly surprised, although having met a couple of them already, I doubt it. Halloran is a good man, though. I like him. The thing is, I’m not interested in winning their respect. Wouldn’t it be amazing if they were interested in winning mine? When you say that out loud, you can hear how ridiculous it sounds, how very outlandish.’
‘I think, well, I know, that Inspector Lambert respects you.’
‘Yes, I’m starting to believe that he does.’
‘That’s why he asked you to do this.’
‘And that’s why I’m doing it.’ Helen was tempted to admit that Inspector Lambert’s respect was of great importance to her. Her desire for it was new and strange, and a small, angry part of her still thought it might be a weakness.
‘I shouldn’t have included you in the lame-duck remark. I’m sorry.’ Ros Lord’s parting words came back to Joe as he said this.
‘Pardon, what did you say?’ Helen hadn’t heard what he’d said. His words had been lost in the clatter of the train.
‘Nothing. It was nothing,’ he said.
DOCTOR MARRIOTT, A sturdy-looking man well into his sixties, found the task of examining the bodies of Matthew Todd and Rose Abbot very difficult. He knew both of them, and although he’d never much liked Matthew, to see him in extremis like that was disturbing, and Rose’s wounds made him feel physically ill. He’d attended innumerable dead people, but the circumstances of these two deaths got to him. He didn’t betray this to Inspector Halloran; instead, he hoped he gave the impression of dispassionate professionalism, which was the quality that Halloran displayed. Dr Marriott declared each of the victims dead, and said that although he couldn’t give an exact time of death before an autopsy, he believed that Matthew Todd had been dead for several hours — perhaps as many as six or seven. This would put his time of death at before midnight. Rose Abbot, on the other hand, had been dead for fewer than two hours. He would perform an autopsy on each of the bodies as soon as they were released to him. It had been Halloran’s intention to leave the bodies in situ until the Homicide people arrived. Now, knowing that one of these was Helen Lord, he decided to have the bodies removed to the small mortuary. He’d done a thorough examination of the scene, and photographs had been taken, as well as fingerprints. He’d take Titus’s advice and allow Constable Lord full access to the photographs.
By 10.00 am the neighbours had discovered what had happened. They’d watched, fascinated, as the bodies, outlined under sheets, had been carried out to a waiting van. By 11.00 am each of the immediate neighbours had been interviewed. No one had seen or heard anything unusual, either the previous night or that morning. Selwyn had made a bit of noise, but he generally did, and it had been no different from the noises he usually made.
Aggie consented eventually to go into Mrs Cuthbert’s house, next door to hers. Mrs Cuthbert was deaf, so Aggie wasn’t subjected to a stream of questions. She accepted a cup of tea and sat quietly, waiting for the inspector to turn his attention to her. She was nervous about this. He didn’t look like the kind of person who would be fooled easily. She’d stick to her story, and if she did that, she couldn’t see how it could be proved that she was lying. Selwyn had Rose’s blood all over him, and there was his confession on the slate. That had been clever. What was it she’d written, exactly? She pictured it in her mind’s eye, and when she did, something about it leapt out at her, and her stomach lurched. It was such a small thing. Surely they wouldn’t notice.
At 11.30 am, having been briefed by his men on what the neighbours had said, Inspector Halloran sat down to interview Aggie Todd. Constable Manton took notes, and Mrs Cuthbert went next door to the Hendersons so as not to intrude.
Aggie told Halloran the same story she’d told Paddy Filan, with no refinements, no additions, no suddenly remembered details.
‘You say you heard, rather than saw, the disturbance between Selwyn and your nephew in the front room?’
‘Yes.’
‘So it sounded to you as if they were fighting, knocking things over, making a racket.’
‘I don’t know abo
ut knocking things over, but they were certainly fighting. Matthew wouldn’t have given up without a struggle, Inspector.’
‘How do you account for the state of the room?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The room was remarkably tidy for a place where a fight had taken place.’
This hadn’t occurred to Aggie. It was too late to spin the police a tale that it was Rose who’d killed Matthew, and that she must have taken him by surprise from behind.
‘I imagine the room was a bit of a mess, but Selwyn’s been well trained to tidy up after himself. He would automatically have put things back where they belonged. It’s one of his few redeeming features.’
‘So he strangled your nephew and then thought he might be reprimanded for making a mess.’
‘Selwyn doesn’t think anything, Inspector. He acts according to a routine he’s become used to.’
‘You mentioned to Constable Filan yesterday that you think Selwyn must have overheard you discussing putting him away somewhere.’
‘That sounds dreadful, “Putting him away somewhere”, but I suppose that’s what it amounts to. We have to be practical. I can’t look after Selwyn forever, and I don’t think it matters to him where he is, so long as he has a routine.’
‘It would seem, though, that it matters to him very much — enough to kill two people, in fact.’
Aggie began to feel that her story was unravelling. She wasn’t going to panic. She could outwit this policeman.
‘Yes. I sometimes underestimate Selwyn’s understanding of things. You would, too, if you lived with him day in and day out.’
‘Does he speak?’
‘He speaks when he’s at home — when he feels safe, I suppose. I wouldn’t call what he says a conversation. He says single words. That would surprise people who only see him sitting there, giggling, in Sackville Street.’
‘Did he say anything this morning?’
Aggie considered the minor embellishment of having remembered Selwyn saying something incriminating, but decided against it. It would strike a false note. If he’d said anything, she’d have told Constable Filan already.
