Man at the Window

by Robert Jeffreys

  Robinson sighed, ‘And when this proves pointless will I get my report?’

  ‘Yes,’ and Cardilini nodded his assurance.

  ‘If I make this call I will also have to call and calm a lot of ner­vous people,’ Robinson warned, ‘Are you sure you aren’t just being bloody minded?’

  ‘I’m sure I’m not being bloody minded,’ Cardilini replied, hoping that to be the case.

  ‘If it proves you are …’ Robinson left the words hanging as a threat over Cardilini before picking up his phone and dialling. ‘Hi Acorn. Robinson. Cardilini wants you to … how many rifles, Cardilini?’

  ‘A bunch,’ Cardilini said.

  Robinson directed, ‘“A bunch” of rifles need to be examined for recent firing at St Nicholas College.’ Then, shaking his head said to Cardilini, ‘Forty-two. He told you.’

  Cardilini shrugged.

  ‘Acorn, what’s it going to take to find out if any have been fired in the last four days?’ He looked at Cardilini and shook his head as he listened. ‘No. No. This isn’t Ben-Hur. Can someone get out there and if there’s any suggestion one has been fired we’ll proceed from there.’ He listened for a moment, then to Cardilini asked, ‘Have there been any cadets using them since the shooting?’

  Cardilini shook his head.

  ‘No,’ Robinson said into the receiver. He listened for a while longer.

  ‘Good. Cardilini will be in touch,’ he said and hung up, ‘Okay?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Cardilini stood.

  ‘And don’t upset him. You know what he’s like.’

  ‘I’m a new man,’ Cardilini assured Robinson, and left the office.

  St Nicholas College.

  4.30 p.m. Wednesday, 28th October 1965

  ‘How come you have this grade of car?’ Acorn asked, sitting in the passenger seat as Salt drove him and Cardilini to St Nicholas College.

  ‘No idea,’ Cardilini said from the back seat, ‘Do you know, Salt?’

  ‘I put your complaint about the other car on the record, sir,’ Salt said.

  Acorn turned and raised his eyebrows at Cardilini.

  ‘Good boy, Salt,’ Cardilini said flatly.

  They pulled up in the St Nicholas car park.

  Robson, in his shapeless grey suit, stood smoking and waiting for them. He pinched his cigarette out and returned it to his tin.

  ‘Robson,’ Cardilini said and nodded.

  ‘Cardilini, I’ve been sent to escort you.’

  ‘Very decent of you,’ Cardilini answered.

  ‘Are you ill?’ he asked Cardilini.

  ‘No. Senior Sergeant Acorn this is Dr Robson, Deputy Principal.’ They shook hands as Cardilini started towards the armoury.

  ‘You look awful,’ Robson said to Cardilini.

  Can’t be as bad as I feel, thought Cardilini.

  When they arrived at the armoury Robson asked if they would be powdering for fingerprints.

  ‘Any point, you think?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘No, half a dozen staff I know tried the door since we realised the keys were missing,’ Robson said with a smile, ‘but it seemed the sort of thing you might do to create a little more drama.’

  Cardilini threw the bunch of keys to Salt, ‘There you go, Salt. Earn your wages.’

  ‘Are they our keys?’ Robson asked.

  Cardilini nodded, ‘What are the chances of St Nicholas retaining their permit for rifles if there’s no system of security?’ Cardilini asked Acorn.

  ‘That’s viewed very seriously,’ Acorn said with such an expres­sion of meticulous determination that Robson stepped away.

  ‘I’ll be over here if you need me,’ he said.

  ‘No need to stay.’

  ‘I’ll be here, anyway.’

  ‘Open, sir,’ Salt called from the armoury door.

  ‘Okay. Senior Sergeant Acorn will do his magic,’ Cardilini said.

  Acorn, wearing soft gloves, entered the armoury and flicked on the lights followed by his torch. He then unlocked a steel rod that passed through the trigger guard of the first half dozen rifles. Withdrawing the first rifle from its rack, he opened the breech, placed the butt on the floor and shone his torch into the breech while looking down the barrel. Cardilini walked to Robson and offered him a cigarette.

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Do you have a son? Cardilini asked.

  ‘Yes. I’ve a sixteen-year-old,’ Robson replied.

  ‘My boy’s eighteen. Does yours attend St Nicholas?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you get a discount?’

  ‘No. I pay full fees due to the exorbitant salary they’re paying me,’ Robson said dryly.

  ‘Tough.’

  After a pause, Robson said, ‘I don’t think my boy’s impressed with me. How about yours?’

  ‘I know my boy isn’t impressed with me. For good reason though. But I’m working on it.’

  ‘How do you do that?’

  ‘Well. Just started. I’ll let you know how I go,’ Cardilini said and offered his packet again. Robson took a cigarette with a shrug.

  ‘Filthy habit,’ Robson said.

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  They both inhaled and exhaled in satisfaction.

  ‘What do you hope to find?’ Robson asked, indicating the open doorway.

  ‘Now? Honestly? Nothing.’

  ‘Is it just because, “we think we’re better than the rest”?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘That’s what you said isn’t it?’ Robson asked and exhaled.

  Cardilini laughed and wandered back to the armoury doorway. He stood and pondered how Robson would know he said that. He tried to remember when he had said it and to whom. He must have been overheard. Then he remembered he’d said it to Salt after Miss Reynolds had left the room. But how would Robson know? Had he said it loudly? It occurred to him he hadn’t. Maybe Salt told someone? It’s a small city, particularly if a St Nicholas boy heard it. Maybe there were more than two of them in the police force. Good chance.

  Forty minutes later Acorn switched off his torch and stood in the doorway looking at Cardilini.

  ‘Can I speak freely?’ Acorn asked.

  ‘Salt, stay by the doorway. We’ll wander over there,’ Cardilini said and walked some 30 yards away before turning to Acorn, ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. Apart from the fact that all rifles, bar one, had been cleaned a few weeks ago. Dust gathers in the barrels. Not sediment from the shell, but dust. Even though I’d give the armoury a nine out of ten, as it’s quite airtight, dust still gets in. Also after time the oil used to clean the barrel has a tinge, some say a sheen, it’s more of a tinge for me. But fresh oil is quite discernible.’

  ‘Fascinating.’

  ‘Yes. All bar one.’ Acorn took out a piece of paper and read, ‘one, one, three, one, seven, two,’ looking expectantly at Cardilini.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The serial number of the very recently cleaned rifle. Now, I would say it’s very unusual, in a cadet situation, for one rifle to be cleaned separate from the rest. Uncalled for, even. If at inspection the cadet was required to re-clean his rifle, it would be done on the spot. All rifles are locked together: no exceptions. Captain Edmund, by his records, you can tell a lot about a man by his records, by his note taking,’ Acorn, raised an eyebrow here, not wasted on Cardilini, ‘was a meticulous man. If you were such a man, you’d have at your fingertips, or close by, the records, so that you’d know whom rifle one, one, three, one, seven, two belonged to, the date the rifle arrived at school, and when it was last fired.’

  ‘Really? Why?’

  ‘So you could identify the student who is currently responsible for it.’

&n
bsp; ‘Good point,’ Cardilini conceded.

  ‘Shall I give this information to your constable?’ Acorn asked.

  ‘I’ll take it,’ Cardilini replied quickly.

  ‘You’ll lose it and I will have to tell you again. I know Salt, he is a meticulous record keeper and note taker. It’s rather obvious why he’s with you.’

  ‘Why?’ Cardilini asked as his stomach tore at itself.

  ‘His record keeping, Cardilini. You’re going to waste this information, aren’t you? And that fellow is right – you look dreadful, see a doctor.’

  ‘Acorn, walk with me for a minute.’

  ‘If necessary.’

  Cardilini stretched out, trying to ease his stomach, but the knot started to crawl up his throat until he thought for a moment he might pass out. He all but staggered to the tree he wanted and leant against it.

  ‘What?’ Acorn demanded.

  ‘Second level, building across the quadrangle, window third from left.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘That’s where your friend lost the top of his head.’

  ‘I didn’t say he was my friend.’

  ‘Okay. He must have been standing at the window. And the shot came from across there?’ They both turned and looked at the opposite bank of the river.

  ‘Eight hundred yards,’ Acorn said.

  ‘Yes.’

  Acorn wandered beyond the tree in both directions and stood with his hand to his mouth looking up at the window.

  ‘What do you think?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘What do you mean? Be specific, for heaven’s sake, Cardilini.’

  ‘Is it possible?’

  After a considerable show of investigation Acorn said, ‘A .303 is lethal at a mile. A stray shot, missing a kangaroo is possible. But the kangaroo, if that’s what they were shooting, would have needed to be about ten to fifteen feet high. As that’s an unlikely scenario, the shooter must have fallen backwards as he was firing. No wonder he hasn’t come forward.’

  ‘If you wanted to shoot Edmund how would you go about it?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘Is this what you call policing?’ Acorn frowned.

  ‘Humour me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay. If someone knew their rifle well, knew their skill level well, knew where the keys to the armoury were, and wanted to shoot Edmund, how would they go about it? Your scenario? Please.’

  ‘A cadet couldn’t get his hands on the keys to the armoury,’ Acorn stated as an undeniable fact.

  Cardilini knew different. ‘Please, Acorn. I’m dying here.’

  ‘Will you see a doctor?’

  ‘I’ll see a doctor.’

  ‘An experienced rifleman, or a cadet for that matter, would know exactly what he was capable of at two hundred yards. It’s a length they train at. So he would pick a spot that distance, he would take into account prevailing wind, air density and perhaps light. He’d need an anchor point, like a tree.’

  ‘This tree?’ Cardilini pointed to the tree he hung off.

  ‘That would only be a shot of about a hundred and eighty yards.’

  ‘Does it make a difference?’

  ‘Everything makes a difference.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘But, yes, this would be a convenient tree. A branch where that cut is would be okay, if he was tall enough.’

  ‘How tall?’

  ‘He’d need to be over five foot. But, he would have to be a serious marksman. A very serious marksman. One in hundreds. Highly sought after in the services. But it’s impossible to disguise the sound. A .303 has a crack that could wake the dead. So back to a fifteen-foot kangaroo. Can I go now?’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks.’

  ‘Any point in taking the rifle?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘Not until you have the bullet. Anyway the scenario is ludicrous,’ Acorn stated and started back towards the armoury and Salt.

  Cardilini slowly followed.

  Twenty

  Day 4

  Kilkenny Road

  9.00 p.m. Wednesday, 28th October 1965

  Cardilini sat at his kitchen table. Having been through Edmund’s records he’d identified the four most successful marksmen. He rang Acorn.

  ‘Cardilini, it’s nine p.m.’

  ‘Acorn, I identified four cadets who achieved tight clusters of three around the bullseye.’

  ‘Impressive.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘The fact you’re still working, yes. The clusters are great for a cadet. But they aren’t the ones you’re looking for. How far did you go back?’

  ‘These are current students.’

  ‘Any assigned the rifle identified?’

  ‘No, the three boys that use it can’t hit a barn door at two paces.’

  ‘But you must ask what could possibly provoke that sort of reaction towards a teacher? Where’s the motive?’ Acorn quizzed. Cardilini didn’t answer, so Acorn continued, ‘I suppose probability would suggest at some point St Nicholas produced a marksman of the skill required.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks, Acorn.’

  ‘Good luck.’

  Cardilini replaced the receiver and started to gather the files, mentally noting he would make a list of all past students who had been assigned the rifle. Unlike Acorn, Cardilini he knew teenagers who were capable of every variety of adult crime.

  Paul came into the kitchen. ‘Dad, there are some boys to see you. I put them in the lounge.’ Cardilini stared back curiously but Paul only shrugged. Cardilini walked past him into the lounge. Two St Nicholas boys stood as he entered. One was Carmody.

  ‘Hello, boys. This is a surprise.’

  ‘Hello, sir.’

  ‘A bit late to be out and about isn’t it?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘Just on our way back to school. Burnside is a day boy and I had leave to be with his family tonight,’ Carmody replied.

  ‘What can I do for you? Sit down.’ The boys sat back on the couch, Cardilini sat in an armchair and Paul leant against the doorframe.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Cardilini, this is Burnside, he’s head boy at St Nicholas,’ Carmody said.

  ‘How do you do?’ Cardilini reached out his hand; Burnside got up and shook it. ‘This is my son, Paul.’ Burnside and Carmody shook hands with Paul then resumed their seats. Paul sat in the other armchair.

  ‘Sir,’ Carmody began, ‘I hope you don’t find it too unacceptable that we’ve come in this manner.’

  ‘I do find it unacceptable, but, now you’re here, you better tell me why.’

  ‘We had dinner with John and Mrs Lockheed this evening.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Mrs Lockheed said she recounted to you what John had told her regarding Captain Edmund.’

  Cardilini, with a glance to his son, nodded. Carmody and Burnside exchanged expressions.

  ‘John was ultimately expelled for refusing to retract his accusations,’ Carmody said.

  ‘So I heard.’

  Carmody and Burnside appeared hesitant.

  ‘We were wondering if you believed John’s story?’ Carmody asked.

  ‘What story, Dad?’ Paul asked.

  ‘It’s a case I can’t discuss yet. Sorry, son. Carmody, Burnside, do you believe him?’

  Again they hesitated. Carmody took a deep breath and exhaled. ‘No, sir.’

  Cardilini leant back in his armchair and studied the boys. Why was it so important they came here to tell me this? Their faces, so intent, so filled with purpose. He knew he did believe Mrs Lockheed, because she believed it, but he also knew that what she believed could be wrong, and very likely it was.

  ‘So why would John make up such a story?’

  Carmody and Burnside looked at each other and, turning back in unison, shook their heads. Cardilini was now convi
nced they were lying. But why? What do they know? Who are they protecting?

  ‘Why are you so keen for me to disbelieve him?’ Neither replied. ‘Well?’

  ‘Your interference is unnecessary, we know Superintendent Robinson completed a thorough investigation,’ Burnside said.

  Cardilini shrugged noncommittally.

  ‘Were you on the Eric Edgar Cooke case? Hanged last year?’ Carmody asked.

  Burnside looked sharply at Carmody.

  ‘Yes,’ Cardilini answered taking in Burnside’s reaction.

  ‘What were your feelings about his execution?’ Carmody asked and received another sharp look from Burnside. Cardilini sat looking at Carmody, Carmody met his gaze.

  ‘Time to go boys. Don’t come here again,’ Cardilini stood. ‘That’s official.’

  Paul turned in surprise to his father.

  Cardilini continued, ‘I’m not sure what you think you’re playing at but this isn’t a game. A man’s death isn’t a game.’

  ‘We agree with you, sir,’ Carmody stated as he and Burnside stood.

  Cardilini shook his head and walked to the front door, which he opened. Carmody and Burnside shook Paul’s hand again and left with nods to Cardilini.

  Carmody stopped abruptly on the porch and turned, ‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t trouble Mrs Lockheed any further.’

  Anger rose in Cardilini’s chest. He shut the door firmly on the boys.

  ‘What was that?’ Paul asked.

  ‘Arrogant little pricks.’

  ‘What? Dad?’

  ‘The bloody gall. The bloody gall. That boy just invited a shit storm.’

  ‘What? They seemed fine.’

  ‘Stay out of this, son. You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘I wouldn’t, but two schoolboys would?’

  ‘That’s enough. I’ve got to think,’ Cardilini left Paul and went to the kitchen. Before he realised it, he’d poured himself a beer.

  ‘I thought you weren’t drinking.’

  ‘I’m not. I don’t need you telling me what to do. I get enough of that everywhere else.’ To prove his point he drunk the glass down and poured another.

  ‘Don’t do that here. Go to the bloody pub.’

  ‘I’ll do what I bloody like,’ Cardilini thundered.

  ‘Drunk,’ Paul spat out and turned away.