Man at the Window

by Robert Jeffreys

  ‘Are you serious?’ She asked aghast.

  Funny response he thought and answered with a firm, ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s not that simple,’ Dr Young vacillated. ‘For a death to be classified as suicide there has to be a coroner’s finding stating such.’

  ‘Okay. You’re the person to see, though?’

  ‘I suppose. It’s only a temporary position. I’m a lecturer at the University of Western Australia.’

  ‘So what do you do?’

  ‘We do have a record of all coroner’s findings here.’ She gestured to a series of filing cabinets lining the wall on her right.

  ‘How many?’

  Still staring at the filing cabinets, ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Can I go through them?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Dr Young hadn’t moved.

  ‘You have a reason?’ Cardilini asked, trying to appear patient.

  ‘I don’t think it’s for public release.’ She walked to a cabinet and pulled at a drawer, it was locked.

  ‘I’m not public.’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘You do have a key?’ Cardilini asked. Dr Young looked lost.

  ‘Who filed them?’

  ‘I’ve just shifted in here.’

  ‘Who filed them?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps Mrs Pass.’

  ‘Where’s she?’

  ‘She’s …’ she waved her index finger towards her right.

  ‘That way?’

  ‘Yes. I’d better show you. You’re a detective?’

  ‘That’s right. Detective Sergeant Cardilini.’ Cardilini heard the impatience in his voice.

  ‘So this is an official request?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Cardilini measured out.

  Dr Young walked past Cardilini, opened the door and walked to the right.

  The clacking of her heels as she walked down the corridor told Cardilini that at least she knows how to look the part.

  To the right an open area appeared where six women sat, each at a desk with a typewriter. Dr Young walked to the desk of a woman in her fifties with dark, grey-streaked hair held neatly back by an ornate hairpin. She had a full figure, rounded features and clear brown eyes.

  ‘Mrs Pass, excuse me, please.’

  Mrs Pass shifted her steady eyes to Cardilini.

  ‘This is Detective Sergeant Cardilini. He’s from the East Perth Central Police station. And he has an inquiry about the records kept in my office.’

  ‘Yes?’ Mrs Pass asked without shifting her eyes from Cardilini.

  ‘I want to track down any suicides of students at a particular Perth college.’

  ‘Mmmm. That could be possible.’

  ‘Really?’ Dr Young asked in some surprise.

  ‘It will take some time,’ Mrs Pass said.

  ‘I’ve got time,’ Cardilini said looking at his watch knowing he had no time.

  ‘My time. I’ve maintained those records for fifteen years. I’m the only one who will go through them,’ Mrs Pass said leaving no room for doubt.

  Cardilini turned quizzically to Dr Young who appeared a little upset and gave a slight shrug. ‘That would be the case, then,’ she said coolly.

  ‘Okay. When would you have time?’ Cardilini addressed Mrs Pass.

  ‘Why do you want them?’

  ‘Why? I want them. That should be sufficient,’ Cardilini insisted.

  ‘Perhaps for you.’

  ‘Those records could help me identify a murderer. And, actually, I don’t have time. So are we going to do something or are we going to sit on our bums playing pat-a-cake?’ Cardilini clenched his teeth and swore under his breath before saying, ‘That mightn’t have come out as I’d intended.’

  ‘Seemed clear to me,’ Mrs Pass said as she stood and led Dr Young and Cardilini back down the corridor.

  Two hours later Cardilini sat in an empty office opposite the typing pool with three files in front of him. Three St Nicholas boys’ deaths. Boys around Paul’s age. Three families, three mothers, three fathers, three sets of brothers and sisters, three extended families of grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts, uncles, cousins and friends affected.

  A car crash, on a straight country road.

  A farm boy who had used firearms since he was eleven ‘accidentally’ shot himself.

  Six months ago a boy hung himself on a back verandah. His parents discovered him when they came home from a concert. The Masters’ boy.

  Cardilini leant back in his chair and swore violently at the ceiling.

  He calmed down and completed a neat summary of his findings.

  St Georges Terrace

  5.45 p.m. Friday, 30th October 1965

  ‘Sorry for what I said earlier,’ Cardilini said to Mrs Pass as he stood at her desk with the files. Only one other typist was at her desk. Cardilini checked his watch.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Cardilini, honestly, your attitude was refreshing.’

  ‘Yeah, well. I appreciate your help. I might need access to them again.’

  ‘Fine. Come straight to me.’

  ‘Dr Young?’

  ‘Still finding her feet. Not so easy to step into the public service at that level without upsetting a number of people.’

  ‘She upset you?’

  ‘No, she’s smarter than that.’

  Cardilini nodded, smiling, ‘I might see you again.’

  ‘You might,’ Mrs Pass said turning her eyes to her typewriter, ‘By the way, these walls, they’re like paper, we all heard you swearing.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No, as I said, refreshing. Not a lot of passion around here.’

  Day 7

  East Perth Police Department

  9.45 a.m. Saturday, 31st October 1965

  Cardilini arrived at East Perth station with the intention of laying out to Robinson what he’d discovered and what he was now becoming convinced of. He went straight to Robinson’s office, ignoring the two officers loitering sheepishly outside.

  ‘Robinson,’ he started.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘I was following up another line and I’m certain I’m onto something.’

  ‘Yeah. You can forget that. Something’s come up.’

  ‘Wait until you hear what I’ve got.’

  ‘Shut up. There’s been a complaint made against you.’

  ‘Oh, shit.’ Cardilini recalled the cold look Dr Young had given him at the Coroner’s offices.

  ‘It was nothing,’ Cardilini reassured Robinson.

  ‘I don’t think so, Cardilini.’ Robinson held up a sheet of typed paper with the police insignia and headed, ‘Internal Charge Sheet’.

  ‘What’s the complaint?’ Cardilini asked, not liking the expression on Robinson’s face nor the charge sheet.

  ‘Have you had any dealings with a student named Mossop?’

  ‘Yes. He was a boy I interviewed.’

  ‘Who was with you when you interviewed him?’

  ‘Umm. We were out on the school quadrangle.’

  ‘Before you went out onto the school quadrangle?’

  ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘The boy went to the principal and said you exposed yourself to him.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard,’ Robinson said distastefully.

  ‘Bullshit. Absolute bullshit.’

  ‘You’d have to say that wouldn’t you?’

  ‘What?’ Cardilini swung his head like a stunned boxer.

  ‘He also alleges that you showed him a picture of a boy with his pants down and you wanted him to do the same.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you show him one of those sketches?’

  ‘It was his sketch. The idi
ot’s name was on it. And the pants weren’t down,’ Cardilini thundered.

  ‘You told me you’d given all the sketches to me.’

  ‘It was different to the others,’ Cardilini offered as an excuse.

  ‘So now you’re lying to me?’ Robinson thundered back.

  ‘Yeah, but …’

  ‘And, do you have a completed report on the shooting?’

  ‘No, but …’

  ‘You’re off the case. There will be a hearing as to what the boy has said.’

  ‘You know it’s bullshit.’

  ‘So I ring up Braun and say, “Cardilini said it’s bullshit?” Is that how we’ll deal with it?

  ‘That’s how they deal with it,’ Cardilini threw back.

  ‘Were you alone with the boy?’ Robinson demanded.

  ‘Salt …’

  ‘You sent Salt off to get some keys. I’ve already checked his notebook.’

  ‘I’m being set up,’ Cardilini said.

  ‘You’ve made a mess of this. I’ve put Spry and Archer on to finish the report.’ He pointed outside the office. ‘Give them the file. Salt will assist them from now on.’

  ‘Salt has no idea what’s going on.’

  ‘And you do, do you? What? What’s going on?’ Robinson’s frustration was evident.

  Cardilini considered his options. Just shut up and let the establishment boys have their pound of flesh to save his job … or go for broke.

  ‘There have been three deaths in the last three years, one suicide, high possibility two others were also. Edmund has been there four years. I think his death was a planned execution. Carried out by an executioner. This is an attempt to shut me up.’

  Robinson looked back in amazement. ‘If we’re talking about the same deaths, I know some of those families. I went to school with two of the fathers. Only one death was a suicide: the boy hanged himself. The others were tragic accidents. Christ, Cardilini. You’re self-destructing. The internal investigation will go through this on Friday. Don’t try to lie to them, it would cost you your job. Now get out.’

  Cardilini stood and stared at Robinson.

  ‘I’ve given you every bloody chance Cardilini,’ Robinson said staring back. Cardilini dropped his eyes and slowly nodded before turning and leaving.

  Twenty-five

  Day 7

  East Perth Police Department

  9.56 a.m. Saturday, 31st October 1965

  ‘Hey Cardilini, I’m checking your notes. Now which foreign country invaded to execute Edmund?’ Spry, the office comedian, asked as he thumbed pages in a file. Archer and a few other detectives laughed.

  ‘Very funny. So what are you going to do?’

  ‘We’ve done it already. “Accidental shooting.” Acorn confirmed the probability of an accidental shot from the other side of the river.’

  ‘What about the bullet disappearing?’

  ‘What about it? Some kid pinched it and is now too frightened to return it.’

  ‘Did Acorn tell you one of the rifles had been fired recently?’

  ‘He told us one had been “cleaned” recently, not “fired”.’

  ‘Did you speak to the principal?’

  ‘Yep. A deputy. A boarder. A house master.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And? What?’ Spry asked palms up.

  ‘There’s no fooling you guys?’ Cardilini said.

  ‘We didn’t go in and accuse everyone of murder either.’

  ‘Yeah, Okay.’

  ‘Anyway, how’s the bullshit complaint going?’ Spry asked.

  ‘Internal hearing, Friday.’

  ‘You really pissed someone off at that school, didn’t you?’ Spry commiserated with a smile. Cardilini nodded mutely. ‘They’ll go through you like a bad case of the trots. Take a clean change of underwear.’

  ‘Thanks. Did you get an autopsy report?’

  ‘Not yet, but what difference would it make?’

  Cardilini considered this, considered the faces that had led him to be convinced Edmund had been murdered: Carmody, Burnside, Mrs Lockheed. ‘Did you speak to a Bradley Williamson? I marked him in one of the files.’

  All the other detectives had walked away by now. Spry pulled up a chair and lit a cigarette.

  ‘I saw the other boys’ files you marked, we read your notes on the deaths of the three old boys.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I heard you had stopped drinking?’

  ‘Yeah. So what?’

  ‘Nothing. Just, maybe you’re not at your sharpest here while coping with that too.’

  With a shake of his head Cardilini considered Spry and Archer. They were thorough, he’d worked with them both on occasion, and they were the types who always followed the dots. But if a dot was missing they weren’t opposed to slipping one in if it led to the right conclusion.

  ‘Come on Cardilini, give yourself a break. The word is, the kid who’s accusing you doesn’t know if he’s coming or going. Apparently the principal warned you.’

  ‘Yeah. He did.’

  ‘You should go home. Bishop wouldn’t care.’

  ‘Yeah, thanks, Spry.’

  ‘No worries. When you’ve got your act together, come out with Archer and me.’

  ‘I don’t need my act together to go out with you two,’ Cardilini said.

  Spry smiled, giving Cardilini a thumbs up as he walked away.

  ***

  ‘I might call it a day,’ Cardilini said to Bishop five minutes later.

  ‘I wondered what you were doing here. When is …?’

  ‘Friday morning.’

  ‘Good luck with that. It sounds like you pissed off the wrong kid.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘They’re just going through the motions, Cardilini. A kid’s word against a cop’s word. It’s not going to fly.’

  ‘Yeah. I know,’ Cardilini said. And he did know, the whole thing would be dismissed, there was nothing to back the boy up.

  ‘It will turn out like the other one,’ Bishop said.

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Didn’t you have some kid dobbing on a teacher, and even his mates said he was lying?’ Bishop said, returning to his work.

  ‘Where did you hear that?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘Weren’t you talking about it?’ Bishop looked up.

  ‘No. No. I didn’t tell anyone.’

  ‘It was your case. Maybe Salt was telling someone. Salt and Robinson? I don’t know, it was after work when we were having a drink.’

  ‘Salt and Robinson? Doesn’t make sense.’ Cardilini knew he hadn’t told Salt; only Carmody, Burnside, Mrs Lockheed and Paul knew of it.

  ‘St Nicholas old boys,’ Bishop said as explanation.

  ‘Who?’ Cardilini asked sharply.

  ‘Robinson and Salt.’

  ‘Salt?’ Cardilini said shocked.

  ‘Yeah. Thick as thieves. But I thought you knew that.’

  ‘No. I’ve been …’ Cardilini didn’t finish, he didn’t know what or where he had been; asleep, in a fog, stupid?

  ‘We thought you did and that’s why you were keeping Salt at a distance.’

  ‘No. So when was Salt at St Nicholas?’

  ‘He went back to the farm at the end of form four. Salt’s old man and Robinson were at school together.’

  ‘How long ago was Salt at St Nicholas?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘Would have left, what, four years ago.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Bishop, you didn’t think to tell me?’

  ‘Not really. You’d have given the kid a hard time if I did.’

  ‘Of course I bloody wouldn’t,’ Cardilini said but thought, of course I bloody would have.

  ‘So how would Salt know about Lockheed unless Carmody or Burnside told
him?’ Cardilini asked himself more than Bishop.

  ‘You’ve lost me. Anyway, all done and dusted. When the hearing is over and if you’re still sober I’ll give you something decent. I’ll give you a real murder.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Cardilini said and wandered the corridor trying to figure out what the ramifications of Salt being a St Nicholas old boy were.

  Kilkenny Rd

  11.30 a.m. Saturday, 31st October 1965

  Paul was on the verandah reading when his father drove in. Cardilini sat in his car and ran back over the images of Salt and himself in the principal’s office, of Salt with Miss Reynolds, with Robson, with Carmody. What a fool they must have thought me. He had the urge to confront Salt, blow his top at him and then do the same to Robinson. Yeah, that would work. Carmody or Burnside must have told Salt about coming to see me.

  Eventually Paul called out, ‘Dad, what are you doing?’

  A distracted Cardilini got out, ‘Just have a phone call to make then I might go out for a spell. When I come back I thought I’d do some gardening.’

  ‘Gardening?’

  ‘Yeah. Remember? You used to mow the lawn.’

  Paul, then Cardilini looked out at the matted and dead grass covering the front yard.

  ‘It’s not too bad. It’ll come back. You’ll see come January we could have a lovely, tidy lawn here,’ Cardilini mused as he wandered out and stood in the middle of the dead patch on the right of the path. Runners of grass had sought refuge among the roses and in what used to be flowerbeds bordering the path. Cardilini pulled one from among the rosebushes. The roots popped naked from the dry soil as he pulled. He stood with it in his hand.

  ‘I never saw Mum doing that,’ Paul said.

  ‘But, what do you think? Would she be pleased if we smarten the front yard up?’

  ‘Yeah. I think she would. But there’s nothing to mow.’

  ‘Okay. You water where the lawn should be and I’ll get the shovel and cut the dead runners from the garden beds.’

  ‘Dad, I said I was going to move into Aunty Roslyn’s,’ Paul said flatly.

  Cardilini tried to look at his son but couldn’t, instead he said, ‘Think I’ll prune the roses.’

  ‘Did you hear me?’

  Cardilini imagined Betty’s eyes on him.

  ‘Son …’ Cardilini started but still couldn’t look at him.

  ‘They won’t let me in the academy. Will they?’