Man at the Window

by Robert Jeffreys

  ‘Make up a report. A stray bullet from the kangaroo shooters across the river. Accidental shooting. Tragic event. The whole northern bank of the river will be banned for recreational or professional shooters. Job done.’

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  Robinson gave Cardilini a hard stare, then said, ‘I’m not even going to answer that. You’re pissed off because of what happened to your boy and want to get some of your own back. We know you went in with an agenda. You’ve annoyed a number of people.’

  Cardilini seemed stunned, ‘How do you know I went in with an agenda?’

  ‘And I thought I could rely on you.’

  ‘Hang on. If you know so much, why do you need me? You do the report. Leave me out of it,’ Cardilini demanded.

  Robinson looked to the side as if reluctant to reply then said, ‘You’re starting to look like dead weight around the department. And I thought it was something you could handle quickly. Keep everyone happy. Not like that robbery you’ve been sitting on for a week.’

  Cardilini sat up straighter. ‘That’s an exaggeration.’

  ‘How long do you think you can stretch that case out for?’ Robinson asked.

  ‘I have a suspect,’ Cardilini evaded Robinson’s question.

  Robinson sat back with a sigh and pushed a bit of paper around with his finger for a moment before asking, ‘What did you think of Salt?’

  ‘I’ll reserve my judgment,’ Cardilini replied.

  ‘That would be a first. Is he a good copper?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Will he make a good copper?’

  ‘Why’re you asking me?’

  ‘Come on, Cardilini I’m not asking as your super, it’s just you and me talking here. The department is going to invest in this kid, send him to university; it’s the commissioner’s idea. He wants to know what a real copper thinks of him.’

  ‘Oh, I’m a real copper now, am I?’

  ‘See, obstructive. You know what I mean. Before Betty’s death there wasn’t any better …’

  Cardilini stood, angry, ‘I’m not listening to any of this bullshit.’

  ‘Sit down, Cardilini,’ Robinson growled. Cardilini stood defiant. Robinson relaxed, ‘Okay. I know who you were and you know who you were. Let’s leave it at that.’

  ‘Okay,’ Cardilini sat and asked, ‘What about forensics?’

  ‘They’re down there now. Bloody McBride misplaced the body,’ Robinson answered.

  ‘Why didn’t you get forensics on the scene this morning?’

  ‘We were going to, of course, but basically talked ourselves out of it. The range from across the river fitted perfectly with the angle of the shot. And the boys would have been arriving shortly. The sixth form had exams. It just seemed a bit bloody minded to put everyone through the ringer when both the deputy commissioner and I were certain what happened.’

  ‘How did you know about the range of the shot?’

  ‘I rang Acorn.’

  ‘I was just talking to Acorn and he hadn’t heard of a shooting at St Nicholas,’ Cardilini replied.

  Robinson raised his eyebrows, ‘Checking up on me, now?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I didn’t mention St Nicholas to Acorn. A .303 is deadly at a mile. The opposite riverbank is maybe eight hundred yards. According to Salt’s notes you figured that out anyway.’

  ‘It never occurred to you that he could have been shot from the school grounds?’

  ‘No, it didn’t occur to us. What did occur to us was that those crazy bastards across the river, that the local coppers can’t seem to catch, were shooting roos at the time Edmund was shot,’ Robinson said.

  ‘Yeah. But it would make perfect cover.’

  ‘A marksman? A .303? Hundreds of boys, twenty teachers, don’t you think it would have been reported?’

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’

  ‘Maybe? Are you kidding me?’ Robinson asked in disbelief.

  ‘How do you know the body had been there seven hours?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘The doctor, but anyway, forensics have it now.’

  ‘You had a doctor there?’ Cardilini looked surprised.

  ‘Of course, you idiot. We do know a little about due process.’

  ‘I didn’t get a doctor’s certificate stating death.’

  ‘You didn’t need a degree to figure cause of death on this one. However, there’s a certificate in the tubes somewhere. Ask at secretarial.’

  ‘Was your doctor an old boy of St Nicholas?’

  ‘Yep. Seemed the best thing.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Sure. And the bullet?’ Cardilini asked.

  Robinson looked thoughtful and said, ‘A student, exiting via the fire-escape, is a possibility.’

  ‘What was a student doing there? What time did he exit? What time was the blood left on the steps?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘All right. Okay. I get it. Yes. In an ideal world we wait for forensics. Point taken. But the living are worth protecting, too, Cardilini.’ Robinson adjusted a pen on his desk before asking, ‘How’s your boy doing?’

  ‘What? Oh. Pain in the arse,’ Cardilini replied.

  ‘Working?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Would he still be keen on going to the academy?’

  ‘He would, why?’

  ‘Just interest,’ Robinson replied.

  ‘I didn’t think they would consider him now,’ Cardilini said, puzzled.

  ‘Of course … the right word …’ Robinson nodded his head slightly to indicate it could happen.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. He would be starting next year.’

  ‘Are you bloody kidding me?’ Cardilini sat forward eagerly.

  ‘No. It was always on the cards.’

  ‘But he stuffed up?’

  ‘The right word, Cardilini, can change a lot of things. You know that.’

  ‘Yeah, but I just thought …’

  ‘Anyway. I’ll leave that to you and Paul to discuss. It’s a great chance. Try not to blow it, Cardilini.’

  ‘So, what does that mean?’

  ‘Nothing. You’ve got a job to do. Get on with it.’ Robinson pulled a file towards him, ‘And don’t forget Salt, we want him to get a real sense of how things work. Mentor him.’

  ‘I’m the last person to mentor anyone.’

  Robinson replied dismissively, ‘Do your job, Cardilini. I want a report, Thursday. Forty-eight hours. Now, I’ll catch you later. And take Salt’s notes.’

  Cardilini left the super’s office confused.

  ‘Did he chew your balls, Cardilini?’ Bishop yelled as Cardilini walked past.

  ‘Paul could get into the academy,’ a troubled Cardilini replied.

  ‘I’ll be buggered,’ Bishop declared.

  At his desk Cardilini drew a diagram of his own from Salt’s notes and stuffed it into his pocket.

  Eleven

  Day 2

  Kilkenny Road

  9.15 p.m. Monday, 26th October 1965

  When Cardilini arrived home from the pub his sister, Roslyn, and Paul were sitting in the lounge watching television.

  ‘Robert.’ Roslyn stood, smoothing her apron. ‘We’ve already eaten. We rang the office but they didn’t know where you were.’

  Paul stood to face his father, ‘Yes, they did. But they didn’t say. You bloody know Aunty Roslyn cooks tonight.’

  ‘Hey. Paul. Hey, mate.’

  ‘You’ve been to the pub,’ Paul said bitterly, ‘You’re a bloody drunk.’

  ‘Paul,’ Roslyn chastised.

  ‘What, Aunty? He’s not a drunk?’

  Cardilini put his hand up as though to ward off an attack, ‘I did. I had a drink. I need to sit down and think.’

  ‘You …’ Paul clamped h
is mouth shut and left the room.

  ‘Paul, please. Please come back.’ Roslyn called.

  ‘Forget him. Ungrateful little …’ Cardilini stopped, disappointed with himself, and called, ‘Hey, Paul, I got something to tell you.’ A door slammed. Cardilini stood awkwardly.

  Roslyn observed him for a moment before turning to the kitchen, ‘I’ll heat your dinner.’

  ‘Will you stay for a bit? It’s much better between Paul and me if you’re here.’

  ‘No. I can’t stay. It’s late,’ she said disappearing into the kitchen.

  ‘You going out?’ Cardilini called after a pause.

  ‘No,’ came the answer.

  Cardilini sat fighting the impulse to get a bottle of beer from the fridge. ‘Would you like a beer?’ He called.

  After a moment Roslyn stood in the doorway carrying a basket.

  ‘Five minutes, it’ll be ready. Make sure you turn the oven off.’

  ‘I’ll walk you home.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s a two-minute walk.’

  ‘There might be a chance for Paul to get into the academy,’ Cardilini said.

  ‘How?’ Roslyn looked searchingly at Cardilini.

  ‘It’s just a chance. I’m not sure myself yet,’ Cardilini said turning aside.

  ‘Oh, dear God, please. He needs something,’ she said gripping Cardilini’s arm.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Robert, if you can do this, it would mean so much.’

  ‘Yeah well … it’s not yet … you know.’

  ‘Don’t say anything to him unless you’re sure,’ Roslyn said, ‘He doesn’t need another disappointment.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And don’t say anything now. You look awful. Don’t you have to shave for work?’ She reprimanded.

  ‘I was in a hurry.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ Roslyn said with a sigh and left.

  ‘Thanks. I’ll turn the oven off,’ he called reassuringly, and then looked back into the house. I should have stayed at the pub, he thought.

  When he was sure she had gone he went to the kitchen, took a bottle of beer from the fridge and sat at the kitchen table. Paul stood in the doorway.

  ‘Son, do you want a drink?’

  ‘No.’

  Cardilini attempted a friendly smile, ‘You didn’t mind a drink with the old man before.’

  ‘Before, you weren’t a drunk.’

  ‘Son, you don’t understand.’

  ‘No. I understand. Everyone understands. You’re a pathetic, selfish bastard.’

  Cardilini pushed his chair away from the table.

  ‘You want to hit me?’ Paul braced himself.

  Cardilini reacted as if punched, ‘What? I’ve never hit you. I’d never hit you.’

  ‘It would be easier than watching this. I told Aunty Roslyn not to bring any more meals around,’ Paul left the doorway, ‘And don’t leave the bloody oven on again,’ he yelled from the passageway before a door slammed.

  Cardilini stared at the unopened beer bottle for some time. The oven timer sounded, he placed the unopened bottle back in the fridge. He drank several glasses of water then, with knife and fork in hand, sat down to eat. It wasn’t long before he checked his watch, put the knife and fork on the table, covered the untouched meal with a tea towel, and walked into the passage.

  ‘I’m going out, son. For work. I’m taking the car. Did you hear me? I’ll see you in the morning. Okay?’

  Twelve

  Day 2

  St Nicholas College

  11.15 p.m. Monday, 26th October 1965

  Cardilini pulled his car up on the tree lined sand verge adjoining the riverbank 200 yards from St Nicholas College. A thin crescent moon to the north provided no illumination. Cardilini waited for his eyes to adjust. The only light came from a few college windows 500 yards away. It silhouetted the trees Cardilini had stood under during the day. He moved twenty paces away from his car. It was invisible under the canopy of paperbarks. A fleet of cars could be hidden here. The closest house was 100 yards away and completely surrounded by a yard full of tall trees. It looked abandoned. A car with its lights off could coast down the hill or come via the deserted river road, as he had done, then leave. No one would be the wiser.

  He started up the road verge until he came to the stone wall on the riverside boundary. He picked his way along the wall which at this point was well over head height. One hundred yards in, and about a yard from the wall, grew a river gum. He slipped by it and continued further, the ground rising and causing the wall to fall in height comparatively. Soon he was able to pull himself up and look over. He was 15 yards past the quadrangle. The inside of the wall was inky blackness. He went a little further, pulled himself over the wall and dropped to its base, then moved back along the bottom of the embankment to where he’d been that afternoon. He sat and listened. The occasional chatter of boys reached him. He began crawling up the embankment and stopped. He was three yards from the tree he had identified as being used by the marksman when two boys came running along the top of the embankment to that exact tree. He froze. The boys squatted by the tree in silence. Cardilini was convinced they would see him and was about to stand.

  One boy said, ‘Look, there’s some more.’

  ‘Leave them,’ the other boy instructed.

  Cardilini watched as they arranged something at the base of the tree before leaving in a crouched run. He waited five minutes. No other figures appeared. Lampposts at each corner of the quadrangle were now the only illumination. Cardilini crept forward until he was at the base of the tree. Several sheets of paper were sticky taped to the trunk and others were pinned to the ground by rocks. He took a sheet from the tree and two from the ground and slipped back down the embankment. After waiting several minutes he went back the way he’d come. Shortly he was in his car and driving home.

  ***

  Morning found Cardilini seated at his kitchen table. He had shaved and made himself a cup of tea. A breakfast cereal box was on the table with an unused bowl and spoon. Cardilini turned towards the kitchen door as Paul entered.

  ‘I thought you’d gone.’ Paul said.

  ‘Do you want a cup of tea? Fresh pot.’

  Paul shrugged and sat at the table looking at the cereal box and bowl. Cardilini put a cup of tea in front of him.

  ‘Why’re you doing this?’ Paul asked.

  ‘I was wondering if you had plans?’

  ‘Oh, shit. What? You want me to shift out?’

  ‘No. No.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘A career? Work?’

  ‘You want me to pay board? Want some drinking money?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I can’t drink this,’ Paul pushed the tea away from him, ‘You always make me feel like crap. Why do you think I wait until you leave before getting up?’

  ‘No. Paul. Let’s not do this. Please. I’m serious.’

  ‘Are you sick?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What then? What do you want out of me?’

  ‘I just want you to be happy,’ Cardilini said. A stricken expression fixed on Paul’s face and he left the kitchen. His bedroom door slammed and Cardilini winced.

  Thirteen

  Day 3

  East Perth Police Department

  8.45 a.m. Tuesday, 27th October 1965

  The three images were spread out on the desk before him. They were drawings of a figure either lying or standing akimbo. The figure’s arms were raised above its head holding what appeared to be a rifle, the narrow barrel in one hand and the stock in the other. In the two drawings taken from the tree, the legs of each figure were separated but the ankles and feet were covered as if by a concrete cast. The drawing the boys had placed under a stone was cruder and the figure’s feet were visible.

 
‘Hey, Cardilini, someone to see you,’ another detective called from his desk. Cardilini remembered hearing a knock and turned around to see Salt standing at the door.

  ‘What are you doing up here?’ Cardilini called.

  ‘I was told to report to you.’

  ‘That means you wait downstairs in the uniformed area until I want to see you.’

  ‘I do know that. I wasn’t going to come up but it was strongly suggested I should. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry, don’t do it. There are rules. You follow rules, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Well, go.’

  Salt turned and left.

  ‘Why are you busting his balls?’ a detective called, ‘It’s the high-ranking uniform mob who think we should mingle.’

  ‘Yeah, well. Life’s hard,’ Cardilini replied, as his attention was drawn back to the images. No facial features were even suggested, but it was the concealed ankles and feet that confused him. He stood from his desk and struck the pose in the images. He stood for some time until his arms tired.

  Someone called, ‘Shit, Cardilini, maybe go and get a drink.’

  ‘Very funny,’ he said and sat.

  He examined each piece of paper in detail. Two of them were torn from exercise books, one was a piece of A4 file paper with hole reinforcers. Also, the diagram from the ground had half a dozen practice signatures on its reverse side. It was either intentional or the boy wasn’t very bright. Cardilini determined that the name was Mossop.

  He stood and marched upstairs to the top brass, tapped on Superintendent Robinson’s door and entered.

  ‘I didn’t ask to see you,’ Robinson said as Cardilini sat.

  Cardilini dropped two sheets of paper on Robinson’s desk. Robinson pulled them towards him, annoyed. He studied the sketches then asked, ‘Where did these come from?’

  Cardilini told the full story of his previous night’s excursion. Robinson didn’t say anything but stood and went to look out of the window behind his desk.

  ‘What does it mean?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘You don’t know?’ Robinson asked as he turned.

  ‘No. I don’t get it. Is it some kind of freedom symbol?’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ Robinson agreed then added, ‘Have you spoken about these to anyone else? Salt?’