‘He left the pub with a woman. A young girl. A redhead—a real stunner, apparently. But she’s disappeared. Nobody knew her from Adam. She was wearing one of those new hats, you know? One with a veil over the face.’
‘Beware the veiled lady, eh Joe? To know her is to court disaster. Don’t ask me who said that, because I don’t know. My old man used to quote it.’ George Everard patted his friend on the shoulder. ‘I was never one for literature. Come on, we’ve got a wake to get on with.’
By seven o’clock that same night it was obvious to Sister Mary Everard which party would last the longest. She sat in the lounge room of her family home and listened to the raucous singing coming from her father’s garage. She smiled at the frown on her sister’s face. Young Gertrude had never really known their father. ‘It’s the way he is, Gertie. That’s how he shows his grief.’
‘I think it’s disgusting,’ said her sister and several of the other women in the room nodded in agreement. ‘Mother’s not cold in the ground yet and he’s drunk.’
‘Gertie, if you went out there now and asked him to stop it, he would you know,’ Mary said soothingly. ‘He’d send them all home and sit there with you in total silence.’
‘Noel’s passed out on the back lawn, drunk!’ Gertie rolled her eyes. ‘What’s going to become of him, now Mum’s gone? You know they’ve wrapped him in a tarpaulin! Dad said it would keep the night air off him.’
‘More tea anyone?’ Vera came in from the kitchen with a tray.
‘Not for me.’ It was Doris, Maudie’s second daughter-in-law. ‘I’ve got to get Fred on the road. We have to drive back to Bowral tonight.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Yes, Fred’s required in court to give evidence tomorrow.’
Their party broke up quickly. The women of the Everard family had done what was required of them. They’d buried Maudie and had the traditional tea and cakes and now it was time to get back on with their lives.
Frederick and Timothy Everard were quickly rounded up and prepared for their respective journeys home.
Gertrude seized upon the moment to get out of the house and return to the safety of her convent. Other women present, friends and neighbours of Maude, agreed it was time to leave too. Mary and Vera decided they’d do the cleaning up and before long they were alone in the house washing cups and plates.
‘Where in Christ’s name are my boys?’ roared George Everard as he came through the back door.
‘Father! I realise you’re drunk, but even so I will not tolerate blasphemy!’ Mary took in the state of her father. He was leaning on the refrigerator growling like an old bear.
‘I’m sorry, Mary, my love. But the boys have disappeared. Young Noel’s asleep and Freddy and Tim have gone home! What sort of a wake can I give your mother if my boys are not to be found?’
‘You seem to be doing just fine without them.’
‘Vera! Come and give me a kiss.’ He held out his arms to her.
Vera walked to her father-in-law and put her arm on his shoulder. She kissed him gently on the cheek. ‘Don’t you think it’s time we all called it a night, Dad?’
George swept her off her feet into his arms. ‘Is she not a beautiful girl, Mary? And she’s been a good friend to your mother as well. Better than her own daughters who, by the way, never saw enough of their mother!’
‘Put me down, Dad, please,’ Vera objected.
‘I might not ever put you down,’ said George and began spinning her around the room, ‘I might keep you in my arms forever! How would you like that?’
‘Dad!’ It was Mary. ‘Put her down now! You’re drunk!’
‘Oh, all right!’ He put Vera back onto her feet.
Vera couldn’t breathe. He’d picked her up like a feather and spun her until she was breathless. She felt disconcerted and shocked by his display of affection. ‘Harold’s still out there, Dad. I promise I won’t take him home until he’s drunk.’
George placed his hands on either side of her face. ‘You’re a lovely woman, Vera. I know you disapprove of drinking and the like and for you to say that your husband should stay and drink with me makes me happy, but I won’t be doing any more drinking with Harold.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because he passed out in the driveway a half-hour ago.’ Everard roared with laughter.
‘Oh, Dad, no!’ Vera went to move past him but he grabbed her. ‘Don’t worry, he’s okay. Knocker and Tom put him in the back seat of your car. He’s sleeping like a baby.’
‘You’re a terrible man, Father!’ said Mary.
‘Oh please, don’t start on me now, girl. I know you think that of me, but I’m grieving child!’ He hit his chest with his huge fist. ‘In here, deep down.’ He sat at the kitchen table and heaved a sigh. ‘I shared life with your mother for thirty years. I never once understood her, but I’m going to miss her. Truly.’
Mary put her hands on her father’s shoulders. She’d never before seen him display the least sign of emotional weakness. It touched her deeply. ‘I know, Dad. Why don’t you go back out in the garage with your friends? Go on, now.’
George got up and looked at his daughter. He smiled fondly and held her hand for a moment. ‘A nun. No, two nuns. Who would ever have thought it?’ Then he turned and went out the back door.
Sister Mary sat at the table and took her sister-in-law’s hand. ‘Don’t worry about Harold, Vera. He’ll be all right. I want to talk to you about Dad.’
‘I’ll keep an eye on him, Mary. We only live five minutes away.’
‘I know you will, but I want to say something else.’
Vera looked at her sister-in-law. In her nun’s habit Mary represented the church and try as she might, Vera always felt as if she were in the presence of authority.
‘My father is a heathen, Vera.’
‘Oh, no—’
‘Let me finish. Our family is one with God …’
‘So am I, Mary!’
‘I know you are, but let me finish. My father is a godless man. He severed all ties with the Holy Church. Something happened to him. Probably when he was a child. What it was, I don’t know, but in all the years I’ve been his daughter, he never once gave me anything but love and understanding. When I entered the church, he never said a word. He just smiled and hugged me. Mother insisted we all follow the path of righteousness and while we did, and thanks be to God we did, my father never tried to interfere. Now that says something about him. Something good.’
‘He’s a good man deep down, I think.’
‘Yes he is. What I’m trying to say is, all of us in the family were told time and again by Mother that Dad was bad, that there was something wrong with him because he wouldn’t attend church. I’ve never held that against him, Vera. He loves me and he loves the others, but they’ll desert him now Mum’s gone. Even Harold.’
‘Oh no …’
Mary got up and walked to the back door. She listened to the singing emanating from the garage. ‘None of the boys has the strength my father has. I often think what Dad would have been like if he were a priest. He would have torn down the temple of the moneylenders. He would have bled for mankind.’ She turned to Vera with tears in her eyes. ‘He would have, Vera. He would have singlehandedly made this world a better place.’
Vera got up and put her arms around her sister-in-law.
‘Isn’t it strange?’ Mary continued. ‘It takes death or something equally devastating for people to talk honestly with one another. Look after my father for me, will you? The family will desert him. Even I’ll desert him.’
‘Not you, Mary,’ said Vera, shaking her head.
‘Yes! He’ll seal himself off from us and we’ll all use it as an excuse to forget him. He’ll live out his life and die in this house all on his own. Please don’t desert him, Vera. Make sure he sees young Shayne and Penelope regularly and check on him occasionally yourself. Have a cup of tea with him. That sort of thing.’
The two women stood in the kitchen
and hugged each other in silence.
‘I’ll look after him, Mary,’ Vera promised. ‘Don’t you worry.’
George Everard stood against the wall of the garage and drank heavily from a tumbler full of whisky. He looked at the men gathered there with him. Policemen, every one of them. They were good men and good friends. It was a funny world, the world of policemen. George couldn’t remember when he wasn’t a cop. He smiled at the antics of Knocker Reid as he tried to convince the others present that he could pour twenty ounces of water into a ten-ounce glass.
‘It’s bullshit, Knocker,’ said Jim Fadden. ‘Impossible.’
‘Put your money where your mouth is, Jimmy,’ Knocker laughed, ‘I’m saying I can do it.’
Everard smiled. He’d seen Knocker do this before. The boys were in for a big shock. Knocker had a twenty-ounce glass full of water standing next to an empty ten-ounce glass. He’d declared that he could pour all the water into the ten-ounce glass and the boys were trying to figure out the trick, before they put their money up.
Knocker winked at Everard, and continued, ‘I’ve got the experience, boys, and you’ve got the money. Now put up or shut up.’
Several of the boys put money on the bench and Knocker matched it with his own. Then he looked around the room. ‘Boys, you’re about to witness a miracle.’ He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a handful of sawdust. He put the sawdust into the ten-ounce glass and slowly poured all of the water into it. The twenty ounces of water disappeared, absorbed by the sawdust and Knocker put down the glass and raised his arms to the heavens. ‘There you go, lads,’ he said and picked up the money, ‘now I’ve got the money and you’ve got the experience.’ Knocker roared with laughter while the men who’d bet stared open-mouthed at the glasses.
‘Well, I’ll be fucked,’ said Jimmy Fadden, ‘I would never have believed it.’
Everard laughed out loud and slapped Knocker on the back.
Knocker wiped tears from his eyes and said, ‘Listen, boys, did I ever tell you about the time I was in South America hunting elephants?’
Tom Bromley was the one who fell for it. ‘There aren’t any elephants in South America.’
‘I didn’t say I got any, I just said I was hunting them,’ replied Knocker and roared with laughter again.
‘You’re fucked in the head, Reid.’ Stan Ames grinned. ‘Here, have another drink,’ and splashed whisky into Knocker’s glass.
‘Does anyone know “The Rose of Tralee”?’ yelled Everard and began singing it before he received an answer. Several of the others joined him as Joe Hartford tapped him on the shoulder.
‘I’m off, George. I’ve got a big weekend ahead of me, what with the murder of Brookes and all.’
‘I’ll not comment on that, but thanks for coming, Joe. Maudie would have liked it.’
Joe Hartford stared into the eyes of his longtime friend before speaking. ‘What do you know about Brookes that I don’t, George?’
‘I don’t know who killed him, if that’s what you mean.’
Hartford grabbed his arm. ‘Don’t fuck me around, George.’
‘He was bent. He was in Joey Bellarino’s pocket.’
‘Oh, hell!’
‘Exactly.’ George Everard lowered his voice. ‘And I’ll tell you something else. Bellarino’s only a yes-man for a much bigger fish.’ He placed his hand on Hartford’s shoulder. ‘You be careful, mate. I mean it.’
‘You too, George,’ said Hartford and offered his hand.
The two men shook hands and Hartford left.
Everard looked around his garage at the remaining men. They were all boys from his Thirty-Three Division.
Stan Ames came up to him. ‘Excuse me, boss. I’m gonna make tracks. Jimmy’s as pissed as a fart. I’ll take him with me and make sure he gets home all right.’
‘Good man, Stan. And thanks for coming, I appreciate it. Oh and Stan, will you take young Noel back to his place and get him into bed? He’s asleep on the back lawn, wrapped in a tarpaulin.’
‘It’s as good as done, sir. Goodnight.’
Before long only Bromley and Knocker Reid remained. They were talking quietly in the corner of the garage. Everard walked over to them and pulled up a chair. ‘I’m glad you two are the last ones here. I’ve got something I want you to do for me.’
‘You name it, boss,’ said Knocker.
The two inspectors sobered instantly, realising their boss had something more important than drinking on his mind.
‘The Brookes killing. We might have a problem.’ Everard wiped a hand wearily across his eyes.
Bromley looked at his senior officer. ‘It’s the girl, isn’t it? She was with Brookes outside the Lord Roberts Hotel?’
‘Yes.’
‘Holy shit!’ It was Knocker, ‘Did you put her onto Brookes? Did she see anything? Christ, boss …’
‘I put her onto him to see if she could find out anything useful. I didn’t know the bastard was going to be murdered!’
‘Well, did she?’ Knocker asked.
‘I haven’t spoken to her.’
‘What? All week?’
‘I’ve been burying my wife, Knocker!’
‘Sorry, sir, but …’
‘I know!’ snapped Everard. ‘It was a bad mistake.’ He wiped his hand across his eyes again and sighed. ‘I’m tired, boys, really tired. It’s been a shit of a week all round.’
The two inspectors didn’t know where to look. They shuffled nervously. Neither had ever seen Everard at such a loss. To them he was the ultimate authority. Always in command, tossing orders left and right, seemingly infallible.
‘What do we do, sir?’ It was Bromley, almost whispering.
Everard lowered his head and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’ He was silent for a moment then his head snapped upright. ‘Yes I bloody well do!’ His eyes were cold and his expression took on its old familiar scowl.
Bromley and Reid straightened perceptibly.
‘Tommy!’
‘Yes sir?’ said Bromley.
‘You take my car and get over to Jane’s place immediately. Tell her to pack some clothes and get her back here as soon as you can.’
‘Yes, sir!’
‘Knocker.’
‘Boss?’
‘We need a safe house for her. If she knows anything we’ll have to keep her hidden.’
‘Good as done, boss. My brother owns a holiday shack in Hardy’s Bay, up on the mouth of the Hawkesbury River.’
‘Perfect,’ grunted Everard. ‘Tommy, you get her as far as here and we’ll find out what she knows. Then tomorrow, Knocker’ll take her to this shack and hide her. Well? What are you waiting for?’
‘I’m going right now, sir,’ said Bromley and disappeared out of the garage door.
‘Knocker, get into the house and brew up some tea or coffee. We’ll talk to her and then you can find a bed in the house and get some sleep.’
‘Gotcha, boss.’ Knocker Reid headed for the house.
Everard moved to the doorway and looked up at the night sky. His gaze moved to the whisky tumbler in his hand and then he poured its contents onto the lawn.
Damn it! he thought. If that girl gets hurt it’ll be my fault. It was not concern for the girl’s welfare that angered him particularly. He was angry at himself. He’d allowed his judgement to waver for one moment, because of Maude dying and his family being back around him. He wouldn’t let it happen again.
His thoughts then turned to Jane Smart. In the four years he’d known her, he’d used her mercilessly. She’d spied for him, lied for him and God knows what else. She’d even made love to a politician at his request and never complained.
He remembered that night. Waiting for her at her flat. She’d walked in bold as brass and told him the information he’d been after and laughed at how easy it had been to get. Then later when he’d had her himself and she thought he was asleep, she’d cuddled up to his back and cried like a baby.
George knew he had her where he wanted her. She loved the high life and he’d given it to her on a platter. Dresses, jewellery, money, a flat of her own—she’d never give that up and go back to being a whore. But George was aware of something else as well. She loved him. He didn’t doubt it. But he couldn’t figure out why? He could treat her like a mongrel dog and she’d roll over and wait to be patted. He had to admit he enjoyed it. He could ride her like a brood mare and she’d buck and scream. Then other times he’d be deliberately gentle with her and her orgasms would be so strong she’d pass out, faint dead away. He shook his head. Maybe that was all there was to it. He’d never understand women until the day he died.
Jane Smart sat in her darkened flat. She was emotionally exhausted. The funeral of Maude Everard had beckoned her like a moth to a flame. She knew from the outset it would be foolish to go to the cemetery. But she’d gone.
She’d stood some distance off, dressed in black with a veil over her face, and watched the casket being carried to the grave by George’s sons. She recognised most of the coppers attending. Bromley and Reid and the others. Joe Hartford stood out like a sore thumb. He was like George, a cop of the old school. Imposing, dangerous. A man of action.
George had stood silent throughout the whole ceremony, like an old gum tree, proud and erect, watching another of life’s dramas unfold around him. Her heart went out to him. At that moment she wanted to be a daughter to him. She wanted to stand by his side and ease his pain.
She knew what he was going through. She’d experienced it herself at her father’s funeral when she was fourteen years old. Her mother had left town not long after, not even bothering to say goodbye, and Jane was forced to fend for herself. She’d done so as a prostitute until George had grabbed her that night in the alley.
As horrifying and brutal as George Everard had initially been to her, he had aroused a sexual passion in her she had not known existed. In a strange way, she felt that he had taken her virginity. None of the men she had known had ever released her sexually. George Everard did. Just as he had in her young sexual fantasies.
A Necessary Evil Page 10
