Cardilini drove through the corridor of pine trees in the hills above Armadale. On a Christmas holiday to Albany, four years ago, he’d driven the same road. A bustling, busy, talkative trip. Every fibre in him ached for that moment, ached for Betty laughing beside him. Tears blurred the road ahead. He wiped them away harshly with the sleeve of his shirt. It was hard to believe he was once that man.
***
The town of Williams gathered its buildings on the left of the South Western Highway, mainly stock agents and farm machinery suppliers. An occasional residential bungalow with a broad corrugated iron roof sat behind the commercial strip. At 9.35 a.m. Cardilini pulled his car into a parking space directly outside the police station. His shirt stuck to his back and two hours with the windows down had left him feeling windblown.
The flyscreen door squeaked, announcing his entrance, and a uniformed officer looked up from his desk.
‘Cardilini. Can’t understand why you bothered to come. I rang East Perth this morning, spoke to Bishop, he doesn’t know what the hell you’re doing.’
‘Did you speak to Superintendent Robinson?’
‘No.’
‘He could tell you what I’m doing.’ Being a bloody nuisance, thought Cardilini. The officer relented at this and stuck out his hand.
‘Saunders.’
‘Good to meet you, Senior Constable.’
‘So, what do you want? You read my report?’
‘I just want to ask a few questions.’
‘No harm, I guess. Cup of tea?’
***
Cardilini and Saunders sat on the back verandah amid the sharp, pungent smell of gum trees. Stick-like trees with dry, peeling bark flourished in the yard.
‘Even though the scheme water is through, few people water their yards,’ Saunders said looking out at a dead patch of lawn.
‘I’ve been tidying my front yard,’ Cardilini said. ‘I hadn’t done anything for twelve months.’
‘I remember the funeral being posted. Sorry about your loss.’
‘Thanks.’
They sat in silence. Past the yard, taller gums could be seen tracking the meandering Williams River.
‘Much water in the river?’ Cardilini asked.
‘No.’
‘Didn’t think so.’
‘So?’ Saunders asked rolling a cigarette. ‘Your questions?’
‘In the report you said the Sheppard boy probably tripped while carrying a loaded rifle.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Is that what you think?’ Cardilini turned to check Saunders’s response.
‘There wasn’t any other possible reason.’ Saunders exhaled a stream of smoke into the oppressive air.
Cardilini watched Saunders for a moment before asking, ‘How did you imagine it happened?’
‘I don’t know. It happened.’ Saunders turned glass-eyed to Cardilini.
‘You didn’t say exactly how the rifle and body were found,’ Cardilini said quietly.
‘Didn’t I?’
Looking away from Saunders Cardilini said quietly, ‘No.’
‘So, what’s the point of this?’ Saunders snapped.
‘Just questions.’
‘What will the super say the point is?’ Saunders asked as if prepared to rise and make the call.
Cardilini took a deep breath. ‘He’ll say, “Tell that fat copper to get in his car and get back to Perth.”’
‘Good thing I didn’t ring him.’
‘I appreciate that.’
‘Still. What’s your point?’
‘Earlier this year a boy from the same school hung himself.’
‘Shit,’ Saunders said and shook his head. ‘Country boy?’ he asked.
‘City boy.’
‘Bloody hell. How old?’
‘Nineteen. His parents found him. He’d hung himself from the back verandah.’ Cardilini said slowly. Shaking his head, Saunders spat some tobacco from his lips. Cardilini continued. ‘Last year another boy, same school, died in a single-car accident on a straight country road he knew well. A country boy. There were no signs of braking before the car hit a large tree.’
‘You think there’s a connection?’
‘All three were cadets at the school where complaints and rumours existed about an abusive teacher,’ Cardilini said.
‘What sort of abusive?’ Saunders asked lightly.
‘Sexual abuse.’
‘Shit. You bullshitting me?’
‘No,’ Cardilini replied.
‘So, what? Are you building a case?’ Saunders asked
Cardilini watched as Saunders stubbed out his cigarette vigorously on the verandah. ‘The teacher was shot,’ he said.
‘Dead?’ Saunders looked up sharply.
‘Yes. Accidental shooting the report reads.’
‘Sounds like a good outcome to me.’
‘I believe other boys could be at risk if the denial by the school continues.’
‘Cardilini, I won’t be changing the report.’
‘I’m not even thinking that.’
‘Good,’ Saunders acknowledged, then volunteered, ‘I think the Sheppard boy shot himself.’
‘Bloody hell, Saunders, why didn’t you say that?’ Cardilini stormed.
‘Get stuffed, Cardilini. It’s a report, not a speculation. That’s the coroner’s job,’ Saunders returned, equally strong.
‘Was the body found beside the firearm?’ Cardilini calmed and asked.
‘Yes. But I knew Colin. I played footy on the town team with him. He was too sensible. The body was found on a rise that looked out on the southern paddocks. It was beside a tree stump, a tree stump that makes a good seat. He wasn’t a clumsy, or a careless boy. He was a good kid.’
‘Did you tell the coroner?’ Cardilini asked.
‘I answered his questions. He didn’t ask me what I thought.’
Cardilini stubbed his cigarette out and flicked the butt towards the dead lawn as Saunders had done. ‘What do the parents think?’ he asked.
‘You’re going there, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. In about an hour,’ Cardilini answered.
‘Ask them. I didn’t have the heart to,’ Saunders said.
‘They read your report?’
‘Yes. The dad, Mo Sheppard.’
‘Did he say anything?’
‘No, and I didn’t ask him what he was thinking. But he shook my hand and nodded as if thanking me.’
Cardilini nodded his understanding while Saunders rubbed his hand across his forehead. Their eyes drifted back to the bush. Cicadas suddenly seemed to spring to life.
***
Cardilini saw the homestead half a mile from the road in acres of flat, stubble-strewn paddocks. It was tucked amid clusters of trees that sheltered sheds and water tanks. To the right of the house in a broad, flat-roofed shed, Cardilini saw the distinctive winged tail-lights of a Chevrolet Impala. As he pulled up under the extended branches of a gum tree, he saw green lawn bordering a red cement path leading to the verandah. Standing there with her hands on her hips was a woman in her forties. Cardilini, conscious of her gaze, walked steadily from the car to the path. He stopped at the bottom of the steps to the verandah.
‘Coming all the way from Perth I suppose I’ll have to invite you in,’ came the greeting.
‘Thanks,’ Cardilini replied.
‘My husband will be in from the shed shortly. Better follow me.’ She turned to the dark shadows of the passageway, letting Cardilini deal with the flyscreen door as it swung shut. ‘No point talking to me until he’s here. Have a seat. I’ve a bun in the oven.’ She put the kettle on the woodstove, opened the fire grate and poked inside for a moment.
‘Thank you for seeing me,’ Cardilini said
‘I wouldn’t be too quick
with your “thank you”. This is his idea, not mine. I can’t see the point of it.’
The rear flyscreen door banged closed and a heavy-set farmer took a step into the kitchen and stood solidly to allow his eyes to adjust.
‘Detective Sergeant Cardilini?’ the man asked.
Cardilini stood and extended his hand.
‘I’m Murray, and you’ve met Dot.’
‘I’m not here,’ Dot said and clattered some crockery.
‘Dot can’t see the point of you coming all the way from Perth,’ Murray Sheppard said.
‘That’s the only reason I let him in,’ Dot said over her shoulder.
‘I spoke to Senior Constable Saunders …’ Cardilini started.
‘Stop right there. Mo, you take the tray onto the verandah, you follow him, Mister. I’ll decide what sort of talk goes on in my kitchen. You carry this,’ she said pushing the tray into Sheppard’s big hands, ‘don’t drop it.’ A jug of milk and a bowl of sugar were given to Cardilini. ‘Go. Scoot.’ Dot returned to her oven.
Cardilini sat on one of two wrought iron chairs at a small, round, wrought iron table. Sheppard set the tea things down, gave a shrug and a smile and re-entered the house. A dog walked over and sniffed Cardilini’s leg then returned to a collection of hessian bags where it circled twice before sitting. Cardilini’s eyes wandered to the sheds, the trees and the parched and bristling paddocks.
Sheppard returned with a steaming sliced cake, fresh from the oven.
‘It’s been difficult, and now our youngest is away at St Nicholas …’ Sheppard said as he sat. ‘Mrs Lockheed said you were investigating a possible link between our boy and two others.’
‘I’m sorry. She shouldn’t have said …’ Cardilini started to protest.
‘Let’s not worry about that. You tell me what you’re doing?’
Cardilini inhaled the dry air and said, ‘I’m investigating the circumstance of the deaths.’
‘Is this something to do with Edmund?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘I’m not sorry the man is dead. I’m beginning to think he hurt my boy, the gist of which I believe you got from Mrs Lockheed,’ Sheppard said
‘Yes.’
‘Dot will have none of it. She doesn’t understand there are deadset bastards in the world. But I don’t need to tell you that, I suppose.’
‘No.’
Sheppard sighed heavily. ‘So, what do you want to know?’
Realising the implications his questions could have for the Sheppards, Cardilini asked slowly and quietly, ‘Do you think it possible your boy’s death wasn’t an accident?’
To Cardilini’s relief Sheppard replied promptly and without hesitation. ‘Yes, and, no.’ Cardilini waited. ‘I won’t be disputing Saunders’s report,’ Sheppard emphasised.
‘I won’t be asking you to,’ Cardilini replied quickly.
‘And I won’t be helping you catch the fellow who shot Edmund.’
‘It was an accidental shot from across the river,’ Cardilini stated.
‘Did you go across the river?’
‘No.’
Sheppard continued angrily, ‘I did. You think we’re all idiots? I wasn’t going to send my boy to a school where some moron could shoot him. I met the farmer, made it my business. He doesn’t allow a .303 to be fired on his property. Neither does any other farmer out there. I believe them. They run cattle, expensive cattle. No one shoots for sport. They do roo culls. And professional shooters use .243s. Go and speak to him.’
‘I will. So you don’t think it was an accident?’ Cardilini asked.
‘Which, my boy or Edmund?’ Cardilini turned his eyes from the challenge in Sheppard’s. ‘Come a long way for nothing it would seem. Eat some cake. If you don’t eat her cake, she’ll be real cranky.’
Cardilini took a piece. It was dry in his mouth.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll say you liked it,’ Sheppard said as he rolled a cigarette. ‘You better understand, someone has done the world a favour by shooting Edmund.’
‘It’s to no one’s advantage if we start shooting each other. Edmund should have been investigated and brought to justice,’ Cardilini said.
‘He was investigated, wasn’t he? No one could believe he did it. I didn’t until Mrs Lockheed contacted me. What an idiot I’ve been. I think he got justice. What do you think?’ Sheppard’s eyes fixed on Cardilini.
‘Mr Sheppard, I’m not going to argue with you.’
‘Good. Haven’t much time for arguments.’ Sheppard lit his cigarette. ‘And, if you’re not a bloody fool get on with your career. And let your boy get on with his.’
Cardilini stood confused. ‘What do you know about my son?’ Sheppard stood too and squared up to Cardilini. The dog crossed between them and barked, its eyes rolling towards Cardilini. Neither man flinched. The dog kept barking.
‘Shut that dog up,’ came from inside the house.
Sheppard turned his eyes from Cardilini. ‘Sit down, Paddy. We aren’t going to do anything. Just facing off like a couple of old man roos.’
‘I don’t know what your game is, I feel for your loss but you don’t scare me, Sheppard,’ Cardilini said.
‘That’s funny, I scare myself, and I don’t scare easily. Still it’s good to know you have some backbone.’
‘I didn’t know everything I was doing was such common knowledge.’
‘Now you know. Maybe I’ve been a bit too direct. Kind of lost balance. Maybe said too much. Wouldn’t surprise me.’
‘Do you know who shot Edmund?’ Cardilini asked surprised at his own question.
‘Yes … is what I want to say. But if I did, I wouldn’t be telling you.’
‘But you know who did?’
‘Accident, wasn’t it?’ Sheppard said with a half-smile. ‘Someone took a .303 to a roo cull, I think you’ll find.’
On Sheppard’s instruction Cardilini didn’t say goodbye to Dot.
Kilkenny Road
3.30 p.m. Tuesday, 3rd November 1965
Cardilini arrived back in Perth mid-afternoon. He rang Spry at East Perth to ask him to find out which Melbourne school Edmund had been at before taking up his position at St Nicholas. Also, the current posting of the constable who wrote the Wongan Hills car crash report. Spry complained but Cardilini knew he’d do it. Then he started to clean the house. He started with the sleep-out where he now slept. He hadn’t spent a night in the main bedroom since Betty’s death. It was Betty’s room.
When the phone rang it was Spry. Cardilini noted the details and decided he would make the calls in the morning.
***
Paul arrived home to find Cardilini standing in the doorway of Betty’s room.
‘What’re you doing?’
‘I was thinking of vacuuming.’
Paul stood beside him. ‘Smells like Mum,’ he said.
‘Might just leave it.’ Cardilini suggested.
‘Yeah. I think that’s best.’
Cardilini slowly closed the door and turned to Paul. ‘I can cook tonight.’
‘What?’
‘Sausages.’
‘You have to have something with them.’
‘Potatoes.’
Paul stood in the hallway seemingly undecided then he said, ‘Aunty Roslyn asked me to dinner.’
‘Good, good. You two catch up. Say hello from me,’ Cardilini said and turned into the kitchen. Paul stood watching him for a moment then walked to his bedroom.
Day 11
Kilkenny Road
8.00 a.m. Wednesday, 4th November 1965
Cardilini sat by the phone with his notes spread out before him. The first call was to the Marlborough School for Boys. He waited for the principal to come on line.
‘Marks.’
‘Principal Marks?’ Cardili
ni asked.
‘You’re the detective from Perth?’
‘Detective Sergeant Cardilini. Ringing about Captain Edmund.’
‘We heard. Tragic. What do you want to know?’
‘Why did he leave your school?’
‘Chasing greater opportunity, I believe.’
‘Was there any reason for you to mistrust him around the students?’
‘I gave him an excellent reference.’
‘Yes. But was there?’
‘The man has passed on. Is there any point to this?’
‘Some students have made complaints about unwanted sexual behaviour towards them.’
‘Over there?’
‘Yes.’
‘I can’t help you. I gave the man an excellent reference.’
‘So you say. I take it you had similar complaints.’ Cardilini waited for a response.
‘I can’t help you, Detective Sergeant Cardilini. I know what you’re chasing. I won’t be damaging the man’s reputation at this point.’
‘Or your school’s reputation?’
After a pause, ‘Anything else I can help you with, Detective Sergeant Cardilini?’
‘Not right now.’
The phone went dead and Cardilini dialled the Fremantle Police Station.
Thirty
Day 2
12.45 p.m. Monday, 26th October 1965
With his back to the wall, the boy stood in the corridor near the sixth form common room door. Head down, he watched the black, polished shoes and swishing grey-trousered legs of students walk past. Voices filled the corridor and his ears: deep voices, talking, calling to one another; they seemed older than his father’s or other men’s voices; wiser, terrifying voices; voices that could look in his eyes and see his shame. The bell for period three sounded. There were too many shoes to count now, too many to see correctly, black blurs against the bare floorboards, too many voices, none speaking discernible words, instead making a hum and clatter like an engine. The engine followed the shoes down the corridor and out the door. He knew he wouldn’t move until … he wondered how long.
A pair of black brogues stopped in front of him, the punched-leather holes winking at him. Settling on the shoes were grey-cuffed suit trousers. When all was perfectly still and silent, his name was spoken. He wondered if he would ever be a boy who could wear brogues. Would he ever be old enough? He doubted he would, he doubted he would be allowed to get older. Somehow, he knew that if he could ever wear brogues, he’d be safe. His name again and this time he was told to look up. He slowly moved his head. It had to be slow because the gears in his neck wanted to go the other way. It was a three-buttoned suit, the bottom button undone. His eyes froze on the second button, his head wouldn’t go any further, the gears locked, his eyes blinked rapidly but they too were locked.
Man at the Window Page 16
