Kill the Possum

by James Moloney

  ‘I’ve got some more questions for you,’ says Vlarnic when Dylan stops on the corner to let a car go past. They cross the road together and continue along the footpath opposite the school grounds. This will have to do; if they go any further, they’ll have to shout because a crew of sweaty men in orange t-shirts is feeding branches into a chipping machine.

  ‘That’s the tree you and Tim used to sit under, isn’t it?’

  Dylan stares across the road. Just the trunk is left now and there’s a guy halfway up that already, like a monkey with a chainsaw.

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘No, s’pose not.’

  ‘How is he?’ he asks Vlarnic. ‘I haven’t seen him since they moved him to that new place.’

  ‘His recovery’s hit a snag. Won’t be seeing anyone but family for a while. He’s getting physio on that shoulder, but he’ll never have full use of the arm, apparently. I guess you already know that much. Anyway, look, the reason I’m here, I’ve got some new evidence about the night the gun was stolen from Cartwright’s house.’

  ‘New evidence. You mean things Tim has told you.’

  Vlarnic doesn’t answer directly but he’s no poker player. He’s let Dylan see the confidence in what he’s got to say. ‘That’s just the thing, Dylan. You see, I’ve doubted all along that Tim could have done it on his own.’

  This is definitely it, then. Get on with it, he wants to say, bitterly. But it seems Vlarnic is going to play him like a fish. Across the street, the trunk is down. Already, a man is guiding an odd-looking machine towards the stump, half industrial vacuum cleaner, half trench-digger. Every last bit of the old ghost gum is being erased. He wishes it was so easy to wipe away what they talked about under that tree. Now he’s got to answer for it.

  Turning back to Vlarnic, he says, ‘So you know I was there with him, then.’

  ‘Ah. Good. It’s better that you’ve told me before I had to spell it all out.’

  ‘Did Tim tell you why we had to do it?’

  ‘Oh, I think it’s pretty clear from the things he’s said. You were trying to stop Cartwright before he destroyed the entire family.’

  Yes, they were trying to do that, but this is confession time and the rest of it has to come out as well. ‘I wanted to do it, you know. It wasn’t like he had to talk me into it. It was my own decision. I’d seen the way Cartwright treated them, and I couldn’t stand it. No one would listen to them, not even your lot. It was the only way to stop him.’

  Dylan pauses because he’s starting to justify what he did, or what he almost did, anyway. That’s not how it should be. They’ve caught him. He has to face it now, though how he’ll ever face what happened because of it, he doesn’t know.

  ‘Yes, I know why you did it, Dylan. The pair of you stole that gun to stop something much worse, maybe even a murder.’

  Dylan’s head snaps round so he can look directly into Vlarnic’s face. There’s judgement in those hard features but not the kind he expects. When the policeman speaks again, it’s with an unmistakable sympathy in his voice.

  ‘Do you know much about the law, Dylan? No, of course you don’t. No reason you should, is there, but it tries to be as fair as it can. There’s a law that says if you commit an offence to stop a more serious crime, that’s considered a defence.’

  ‘A defence?’

  ‘Yeah, it means you wouldn’t be found guilty, even though you admitted you’d done something wrong. Like stealing a gun. You wouldn’t even be charged.’

  Stealing a gun! Oh Jesus, he still doesn’t get it.

  Dylan wades back through everything said in the last few minutes. Slowly it comes to him. He’s made a huge mistake. Tim hasn’t told them the full story after all.

  ‘Did Tim tell you I went with him to Cartwright’s place?’

  ‘No, mate. He’s stayed faithful to you the whole way. Or maybe he just doesn’t know what’s real any more. Hard to tell.’

  ‘But you said you had evidence. You knew it was me.’

  ‘Surveillance tapes. Mind you, that injury to your eye was always a bit suspicious. Took me a while to work out the rest, though. Only dawned on me when I looked at a map of the bushland behind Cartwright’s place and checked the bus schedules. There’s a surveillance camera at the interchange, and when I checked out the right date, bingo.’

  So Vlarnic doesn’t realise what Dylan has just confessed to. More than that, he’s telling him that he’s going to get away with it. Then he sees the policeman’s face and finally he understands.

  ‘You think I’m a freaking hero, don’t you?’

  ‘You tried to stop it, Dylan.’

  Oh shit! He’s going to heave. He bends forward ready for the eruption but it never comes. A defence! You don’t understand, he wants to moan. We went there to kill the bastard, not to steal his gun. I’m a murderer not a thief.

  ‘The truth, Dylan. That’s what I’m after,’ says Vlarnic, sounding pleased with himself. ‘There are still a lot of inconsistencies in Tim’s statements and it’s my job to straighten them out before the evidence is put before the Coroner. I’ll need you to come down to the station again with your mother and make a new statement. Before the end of the week will do. She should probably bring a lawyer to sort out the legal stuff. There’s a woman named McCon-ville who’s familiar with the case. I’ll get her to call.’

  Vlarnic is ready to walk away, but he turns back to ask a final question. ‘Oh, look, do you know anything about a possum? Tim said he killed one. Then later he said that you killed it. See what I mean. Inconsistencies. He goes on about it like it was important to the whole Cartwright thing. Don’t know what to make of it.’

  Tell him. Tell him now.

  ‘A possum? He probably means the one that was getting into the roof above my bed. It was still in the trap when he came round one time. I couldn’t find out where it was getting in. We were going to drown it in the creek.’

  ‘And did you?’

  Tell him. Tell him, Dylan!

  ‘No, my grandfather found the hole… so… I let it go.’

  26

  Dylan gets some news from Emily McConville

  He should have told Vlarnic about the possum. Then one thing would have led to another and the story could have come out there, with no one else around to hear. Now he’ll have to do it in front of his mother and that’s going to be much harder. He has to do it, though. He can’t live with himself otherwise - not after what happened.

  It’s the next day when Mrs Kane drives Dylan to the police station. The lawyer is there when they arrive. A tall slim woman named Emily, much younger than they’re expecting, but she seems to know what she’s talking about. Should he speak to her about what he’s about to tell Vlarnic?

  No, whatever comes, he’s ready.

  ‘Is it true what Sergeant Vlarnic told Dylan?’ Mrs Kane asks anxiously. ‘He said Dylan wouldn’t be charged.’

  ‘Highly unlikely that he would be.’ Emily turns to Dylan. ‘You had reasonable cause to believe that Cartwright would harm the Beals. That’s right, isn’t it? Reasonable cause is a legal term, but you know what I mean, don’t you?’

  ‘Like we were worried he was going to use the gun or something.’

  ‘Exactly. And what happened at the Beals’ house shows you were right to be worried.’

  ‘That’s a relief, then,’ says Mrs Kane, leaning back in her chair. The moulded plastic of the seat creaks noisily against the metal legs. She’s a big woman, after all.

  ‘You wouldn’t have to worry anyway. Dylan will be compelled to give evidence about the theft of the rifle at the inquest that’s coming up and that means he’d get immunity from prosecution anyway.’

  So he hasn’t got one get-out-of-gaol card, he’s got two. What a joke. He can’t hold in a snort of bitter laughter.

  ‘Don’t you dare laugh, Dylan,’ says his mother. ‘I didn’t sleep at all last night thinking about this. You could have ended up with a criminal record. The story’s been in the p
apers, too.’

  ‘They can’t name Dylan in the media, Mrs Kane,’ Emily cuts in smoothly. ‘His name will be suppressed ’cause of his immunity.’

  ‘Yes, but rumours can be just as bad. People are angry about what happened.’

  ‘Yes, they are,’ says Emily who frowns to herself. ‘Dylan, your evidence at the inquest is going to be very important to the Beals, especially now.’

  He doesn’t like the sound of that. ‘What do you mean? What’s happened?’

  ‘You don’t read the papers, obviously,’ she answers. ‘The Cartwright family are making certain claims.’

  ‘I don’t understand. What kind of claims?’

  ‘About Tim. They’re saying he’s the real culprit in all of this and Ian’s just a victim.’

  ‘You’re not serious?’

  Emily nods sadly. There’s no doubt whose side she’s on. ‘Ian’s brother is claiming that Tim stole the rifle as part of a plan to murder him and that he lured Cartwright to the house with the intention of killing him and claiming it was self-defence. He’s even saying that Kirsty tried to video the whole thing as some kind of macabre bit of fun. It’s a fact that Tim fired the first shot, and so the press are listening to him. They’ve dredged up all the earlier court records and police reports that paint the Beals as disturbed and habitual liars, and of course this seems to support the Cartwrights’ case.’

  Dylan wants to throw up onto the table between them - the second time in two days. Like yesterday, nothing comes of it, but his emotions are churned up even more than his stomach. He lets rip with his tongue instead, startling his mother.

  ‘Language, Dylan!’ she scolds, glancing, embarrassed, towards Emily McConville.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve heard a lot worse. I felt like using the same words myself when I found out. The Cartwrights’ lawyer is putting a submission to the Coroner that Tim deliberately left clues to make Ian suspicious, like the back door being open and when this didn’t bring him around to the house, that he used his own sister, that he deliberately let Melanie see him with the gun so she would tell her father. Did you know they’re claiming custody?’

  This is too much. Dylan stands up and when his chair catches in the worn carpet tiles, he kicks at it viciously. ‘The bastards. Why won’t they leave the Beals alone?’

  He turns round to find his mother staring at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed. But it’s Emily who speaks. ‘You see what I mean, then Dylan. Your evidence is going to be vital. Now that you’ve come forward about the theft, you can tell the inquest why you and Tim wanted to get hold of the gun.’

  The door opens and a woman constable pokes her head into the room. ‘Detective Sergeant Vlarnic is ready for you now.’

  27

  Dylan murders Ian Cartwright

  Dylan waits with Emily outside the heavy wooden doors of Courtroom No. 2

  ‘Excuse me.’ A body squeezes past them and shortly after, another, until they step back to make it easier for the rest. There’s quite a crowd, so his mother and Eric have already gone inside to make sure of their seats.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Pretty tired.’

  ‘Doesn’t surprise me. Four hours in the stand already. You must be exhausted. At least it’s nearly over,’ the young lawyer is telling him. ‘You were fabulous this morning, Dylan. I mean that. I wish the Beals had been here to see you.’

  She checks her watch – not for the first time, Dylan notices. She’s edgy and that’s not helping his own nerves much. ‘How bad is it going to be this afternoon?’

  ‘It’ll be ugly, but you’ve got to defend your evidence against Cartwright’s lawyer or this morning was all for nothing.’

  ‘Is his name Murphy?’

  ‘How’d you know?’

  ‘Kirsty told me what he did to her mother at the Committal.’

  ‘Look, when things get tough, don’t be afraid to look for a friendly face in the crowd. You’re not up against this alone, no matter how it feels. And keep your answers simple, yes or no is best. Don’t try to explain. That’s how Murphy will get the ammunition to discredit you. Stick to the truth. Don’t tell little lies to smooth over what you don’t know or can’t remember. You’ll end up contradicting yourself and that’s all he needs. Then he can make all your evidence seem like lies.’

  Lies! Oh, Emily, if you only knew, Dylan thinks to himself.

  ‘Mrs Beal really needs you to come through on this or she could lose Melanie.’

  ‘Oh shit, don’t tell me that. My legs already feel like jelly.’

  ‘Sorry. Oh, and one more thing. Murphy will try to make you angry, ’cause when you’re angry you’re vulnerable, you don’t think straight. Once he sees you’re mad as hell, he’ll keep at you, drawing out more and more that he can use against you. Even if it looks like he’s winning, stick to what I told you and trust the Coroner to do her job. She’ll sift the truth out from all the posturing and the tactics.’

  Time’s up. Dylan is called back to the witness stand where he can see the same secretaries ready to record everything he says. Near them is a line up of legal types and further away still, rows of seats, every one taken like this morning, many by journalists scribbling in their pads. Before he can pick out his mother, the Coroner speaks to him and he has to tilt his head back a little to see her high behind an imposing desk.

  The Coroner is closer to Fiona’s age than his mother’s and when she’s spoken to him today, she’s sounded a bit like a grandmother. He’s been nursed through his ordeal. They’re all concerned about how hard it must be for him, considering what happened, yet they don’t know the worst of it. That’s the pathetic thing about this whole charade - they don’t really know why this is so hard.

  ‘Mr Murphy is going to ask you a few questions now, Dylan,’ says the Coroner in her afternoon-tea voice and immediately a figure is on his feet.

  Murphy is a small man, not much taller than Tim Beal, really, and his acne scars from years ago mean he’s not exactly handsome. Dylan is surprised by the open smile that’s sent his way. Maybe this isn’t going to be so bad after all.

  ‘You’re a rather fortunate young man, aren’t you Dylan?’ says Murphy to begin with.

  How’s he expected to answer that? ‘What… what do you mean?’

  ‘I mean you’ve got yourself immunity from prosecution because of this inquest. You committed a crime. You stole a rifle from Ian Cartwright. You admitted as much this morning. You’re a thief, yet you won’t have to pay the penalty, will you? You’re going to get off scott-free. Is that right Dylan?’

  Where did that smile go? The ferocity of the attack has taken Dylan by surprise. It hits hard, too, right where it causes the greatest pain. Despite Emily’s warnings, his answer is halting and spoken in barely more than a whisper, as though his tongue won’t quite obey him. ‘I… I think I am. I’m not… really… sure.’

  ‘Not really sure. I’m concerned that you’re not really sure about a lot of things you’ve told the inquest already. But let’s stay with your immunity for a moment. You won’t be prosecuted for stealing and yet this morning you stole the reputation of a man who can’t defend himself. Stole it. The fact is, you murdered it. Does that seem fair to you, Dylan? That you can cause such harm to Mr Cartwright’s reputation, that you can hurt his family so very deeply and get away with it without even a slap on the wrist?’

  Dylan can’t help it. A sob shoots free from his mouth and he can’t see for tears. If he could trust his legs he would run.

  ‘Mr Cartwright can’t come to this courtroom to give his side of the story,’ Murphy continues, unconcerned. ‘You know that, don’t you Dylan? He can’t defend himself because he’s dead, thanks to the rifle you stole, thanks to the theft you don’t have to answer for. Is it right that Mr Cartwright can’t point out how much of your evidence is a lie?’

  ‘I didn’t tell any lies.’

  ‘Is that so, Dylan? Then let’s have a look at what you said. According to you, Cartwr
ight violently abused the whole Beal family. That’s what you told the inquest. But did you ever see Mr Cartwright touch any of the Beals?’

  This is the game Dylan has to play. ‘No,’ he says and immediately looks across at Emily. She gives a nod and the thumbs-up sign. He’s calmer now.

  ‘You told the inquest about Cartwright’s harassment of the Beals, but you got most of your information from Kirsty Beal, didn’t you? You just repeated the things she said to you.’

  It’s true. No point in denying it. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You were Kirsty’s boyfriend at the time, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You liked her.’

  ‘I liked her very much.’

  ‘You liked her very much. Of course you did and when you like someone very much, you’re on their side. You believe what they say.’

  Oh shit. Dylan’s said too much. He should have stuck to yes or no, but instead he’s let himself use those few extra words and Murphy has turned them against him like hammers. This was worse than he’d ever imagined. He hates being in the witness box now. This morning was draining, but this is something else. He can feel the room pressing in around him, wants to argue with Murphy over the way he’s exaggerating.

  No, get a grip! He’ll only make things worse. ‘Yes,’ he answers meekly.

  ‘When you like someone you’ll do anything to help them.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Emily told him to look for familiar faces. He searches for his mother but spots Chloe Rosen instead, sitting between a man and woman who can only be her parents. She must be here to give evidence after him. In the meantime, she’s looking at him with the hang-dog droop of deep compassion. No, you don’t understand, Chloe. You don’t know. He wishes Kirsty was sitting beside her, like he’s seen them together so often at school. Kirsty was always smiling when she was with Chloe.

  He tries again and finds Eric Kane, who’s watching straight-faced. Beside him sits the round, spreading figure of his mother. Today’s the first time he’s seen them together in his entire life and he wonders how the sight can be both a joy and a punch in the guts at the same time.