Cardilini pushed Sheppard away and stood alone swaying for a moment. ‘It’s against the law to hit a policeman.’
‘I don’t remember being told that.’
‘Well, I’m telling you now.’
‘Okay. Noted. Can you walk?’
‘Of course, I can bloody walk. You got me off guard that’s all.’
Thirty-eight
Day 17
Ashfield
9.40 p.m. Tuesday, 10th November 1965
Cardilini refused ice and sat with a cup of tea on his lap. Father O’Reilly sat talking on one side and Mrs Masters sat on the other.
‘I now understand that other boys are at risk,’ Father O’Reilly said. Cardilini squinted and moved his tongue along his teeth. They seemed in place. ‘Dr Braun hasn’t the power to act on his own,’ the Father continued.
The scene before him played like a scratchy movie. Mrs Lockheed, flanked by Mrs Doney, prodded Sheppard with her finger. Doney watched on wide-eyed.
‘We would only keep you another hour.’ Mrs Masters said.
Cardilini gently fingered his jaw and nodded, agreeing to follow Father O’Reilly and Mrs Masters to the Masters’ house.
***
As he followed the tail-lights he slowly opened his jaw a few times. It wasn’t broken. He thanked a distant God.
Peppermint Grove
10.00 p.m. Tuesday, 10th November 1965
The Masters lived in the exclusive and expensive Peppermint Grove, a leafy western suburb. Cardilini parked on a verge while Father O’Reilly and Mrs Masters pulled into the tree-lined driveway of a two-storey stone home. Conical, slate-roofed turrets with slotted windows protruded from the two front corners of the house. A man’s home is his castle, Cardilini thought. He ran his eyes over the grand edifice, acutely aware of the lush lawn with an extensive bordering of trim flowering rosebushes.
‘Who does the gardening?’ Cardilini asked when he caught up with Mrs Masters.
‘Wilson,’ Mrs Masters replied.
‘Does a good job.’
‘Thank you, I’ll tell him.’
Mrs Masters opened one side of the double-front door. It was unlocked.
‘Better to lock up at night.’
‘My husband’s home.’
‘Still …’
Inside Cardilini was confronted with a corridor twice the width of his own, and which literally disappeared into darkness 20 yards away. Mrs Masters walked into a room on her right saying, ‘Please take a seat. I’ll see if my husband is available.’
Heavy drapes, linen sofas and expanses of floral-patterned carpet greeted them as they entered the room.
‘Mrs Masters has beautiful taste,’ Father O’Reilly whispered into Cardilini’s ear. Cardilini chose a large, winged-back chair that dominated the setting. ‘I think that’s Mr Masters’ chair,’ Father O’Reilly said, still whispering.
Cardilini appeared not to hear. ‘Who’s Mr Masters?’
Father O’Reilly smiled benignly. ‘An old family. A philanthropist.’
‘Donates to the church?’ Cardilini quizzed.
Father O’Reilly sat straight in the plush, velvet sofa and straightened the pleat on his cassock with both hands but did not reply. He soon stood up as Mrs Masters entered followed by a very tall man in his fifties dressed in a suit and tie.
‘Don’t get up, Detective Sergeant,’ Mr Masters waved at Cardilini who hadn’t moved. Cardilini figured Masters was six-ten. He stood and they shook hands. He thought he could feel Masters’ hand trembling, and took in the deep lines etched around his eyes. His handshake was mechanical, as if Cardilini’s was the hundredth hand he had shaken that day. Masters released Cardilini’s hand, moved away and folded awkwardly to sit on the sofa beside Father O’Reilly. Mrs Masters sat on a bridge chair beside the sofa. All three faced Cardilini. His head had ceased its throbbing and now felt as if a warm iron was pushing against it.
Father O’Reilly spoke first. ‘Detective Sergeant Cardilini alerted me of the risk to more of our boys. A risk I didn’t understand until Mr Sheppard and Mr Doney approached me.’
Masters moved his hand and patted the Father on the knee. ‘We all missed the obvious, Father O’Reilly.’ To Cardilini, ‘It was my idea to have Geoffrey board at St Nicholas. I was a boarder there.’
Cardilini inwardly quaked at the pain on the man’s face.
‘I appreciate you coming over, Detective Sergeant. I believe you have brought trouble upon yourself by pursuing Edmund.’
Cardilini shrugged.
Masters turned to Father O’Reilly, ‘I have to tell Cardilini something it’s better you didn’t hear.’
‘I see,’ O’Reilly said, nodding sagely.
‘Would you come with me while I arrange some supper?’ Mrs Masters stood and gestured to O’Reilly.
Masters smiled up to him, ‘Thank you, Father.’ He watched the two depart.
Masters stood and closed the door to the passage then turned to Cardilini. ‘Edmund’s killer left the .303 rifle, one he had previously taken from the school armoury, placed across two branches on the tree from which he fired.’ Cardilini rose slightly from his chair in surprise. Masters continued, ‘At the tree’s base he placed a pair of army boots. The display was to draw attention to the punishment Edmund enjoyed delivering.’
Cardilini started forwards, Masters held his hand up to halt him. ‘The killer wanted there to be no doubt why Edmund was killed. Have you found any mention of those objects?’
‘No.’ Cardilini shook his head, amazed.
‘Someone removed them from the tree,’ Masters said.
‘Where did you get this information?’
‘I had a phone call. I didn’t recognise the voice. He just wanted me to know what really happened.’
‘And you believed it?’
Masters cast his view around and looked back with sad eyes and gave a gentle smile.
‘So, if it’s true, who removed them and why?’ Cardilini asked, ‘To protect the killer?’
‘No. The killer didn’t believe them to be incriminating,’ Masters stated.
Cardilini tried again. ‘To protect the school?’
Masters nodded. ‘It would appear so. Who was first on the scene?’
‘Superintendent Robinson and Deputy Commissioner Warren attended first.’
Cardilini considered the corpse’s arrival at the morgue. And the fact he was assigned to the case. Did Robinson and Warren believe he would sign it off as an accidental shooting just to get out of there? Case closed. And why didn’t he? Because he reacted to what he saw as privileged arrogance. He was jealous, envious, had a chip on his shoulder. He had behaved the same way when arriving here this evening.
‘So he was shot from the school?’ Cardilini asked part in disbelief but with an overwhelming feeling of, I was right.
‘That’s what I was told.’ Masters returned to the couch.
‘For God’s sake, come and sit here.’ Cardilini stood smiling and chose another lounge chair and sat.
‘Thanks. Getting old.’ The chair seemed to shrink when Masters sat. ‘I was hoping you might be able to tell me if it was true.’
Masters’ eyes pulled at Cardilini. He wants it to be true, Cardilini thought and answered, ‘No rifle or boots were found.’
Masters’ nodded as if he expected that to be the answer.
Cardilini said, ‘I believe a student is at the bottom of the accusations designed to stop me finding out what happened.’
‘Mossop?’ Masters asked distracted.
‘No, a sixth form boy, Carmody.’
Masters looked at his watch. ‘We will have to have that cup of tea.’
‘You know Carmody?’ Cardilini probed.
‘Of course.’
Cardilini persisted. ‘Well?’
‘A very capable young man.’
‘Why is he protecting the school like this?’
‘Carmody supported the boys who spoke against Edmund,’ Masters began, ‘he wanted the school to act. I know this for a fact. He lost personal status because of it. He wouldn’t be doing it to protect the school, of that you can be sure.’
‘He convinced Mrs Lockheed to change her statement about believing her son,’ Cardilini pointed out.
‘But she did support her son,’ Masters argued.
‘Carmody told me he and his mate, Burnside, knew John Lockheed had lied. Mrs Lockheed supported this.’
‘No,’ Masters said in disbelief.
‘Yes,’ Cardilini insisted, ‘and he and Burnside are Braun’s new best buddies.’
Masters pushed two shaking fingers across his forehead, wrinkling the skin like the wake of a boat. He took a big breath, dropped his hand and said, ‘We need to go.’ Then pushed himself off the chair, stood and walked carefully to the door. Cardilini watched him leave before asking: ‘Why did you tell me?’
Masters stopped and turned. ‘I wanted it to be true.’
Thirty-nine
Day 18
Kilkenny Road
12.10 a.m. Wednesday, 11th November 1965
Later that night Cardilini sat smoking on his back verandah. The air was still. He exhaled, the smoke stayed suspended. He waved it away. Masters’ harrowed features and ponderous words had left him unsettled. He asked himself again: What was he prepared to do to protect Paul? How would he be feeling about Edmund’s death if Paul, like Masters’ son, took his life because of Edmund’s actions?
There had been times when he and other officers were required to overlook the actions of individuals. A minister in the current government crashed into parked cars when driving home drunk late at night. The investigating officer knew it; the vehicle accident officer verified it. A senior detective went to interview the minister and returned with a stolen car report. They all knew what had happened. It was seen as being loyal to those who supported the police, just like supporting a fellow officer. It was second nature, loyalty.
This led Cardilini to the real reasons he pursued Edmund’s killer. Was it justice, the law, or grandstanding to make up for his twelve months ineptitude? Cardilini threw his cigarette into the garden, looked at it for a moment before retrieving it and pushing it into the ashtray he had brought out. He walked inside.
He stood at Paul’s closed bedroom door. ‘You awake, Paul?’
‘No.’
‘Can I come in?’ Cardilini opened the door and turned the light on.
‘I was asleep,’ Paul answered, shading his eyes with his arm.
‘You still keen to go to the academy?’
‘Dad,’ Paul turned to the wall, ‘couldn’t you have asked me that in the morning?’
‘Would your answer be different?’
‘Of course I’m keen.’
‘Police work isn’t all fun and games, you know.’
‘What’s the problem?’ Paul turned squinting at his father.
‘Nothing. Will you be changing your mind?’
‘No.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yes.’ Paul began to sit up.
‘You’re not just doing it for me are you?’ Cardilini asked.
Paul shook his head. ‘Mum really believed in what you were doing. She was very proud of you. She respected you, Dad.’
‘She wouldn’t be too proud now,’ Cardilini suggested.
‘You stopped drinking. You’re coming back. Now, can I go to sleep?’ Paul said.
‘Everything’s not black and white,’ Cardilini said, avoiding Paul’s strong gaze.
‘I never thought it was.’
‘The law, I mean …’
‘I know all about the law, remember. I didn’t steal that car,’ Paul said.
‘Yes. Okay.’
‘Having the charge dropped means a lot. Now, can you turn the light off and close the bloody door?’ Paul asked.
‘Yeah. Sleep well.’ Cardilini shuffled out.
Day 18
Bayswater Library
3.40 p.m. Wednesday, 11th November 1965
Carmody had agreed to meet him at the library. The library presented like an old book: noble binding, embossed title, politically endorsed, stolid, immutable, holding vast secrets and stories. Weathered limestone adorned its entrance and the towering windows. Broad, inviting steps led to immense wooden double doors, secured open despite the heat of the day. Cardilini approached, uneasy.
He checked his watch. He and Betty had gone to the Floreat library. Betty preferred fiction. Cardilini had picked up one of her books. Four pages in, a child had been abducted and suspicion had fallen on the mother for no reason that Cardilini could see. He’d put the book down; he preferred non-fiction, war history mainly.
He scanned the library. Carmody was sitting by himself at a table with a stack of books at his side. Cardilini thumbed through cards in the history catalogue and watched him for a while before approaching.
‘Detective Sargent Cardilini. What a surprise,’ Carmody smiled up at Cardilini.
‘Can we talk outside?’ Cardilini asked.
The park opposite the library offered several timber benches stationed along gravel paths. Cardilini chose one in the shade and sat. Carmody remained standing.
‘How long will this take?’ Carmody asked.
‘Sit down.’
‘I’d rather not.’
‘I want you to put an end to the Mossop charade,’ Cardilini stated.
‘I thought you might.’
‘Will you?’
‘The question should be, can I?’
‘We both know the answer to that.’
‘Next question. Why would I, if I could?’ Carmody asked.
‘Because you know it’s false.’
Carmody looked away.
‘Okay, you win. I thought I was the tough guy and you beat me,’ Cardilini said and took out a cigarette.
Carmody watched him light it before saying, ‘It wasn’t a competition.’
Cardilini decided on a gamble and said, ‘You thought you were protecting someone by removing the rifle, boots and bullet. I get that, and you got what you wanted. A judgment of “accidental shooting”.’
Carmody stared at Cardilini, mouth agape.
‘Oh, didn’t you know I knew?’ Cardilini asked, smiling back at Carmody. ‘How do I know? Is that what you would like to ask? Did your mate, Burnside, tell me? How could I know unless through you and your mates or …?’ Cardilini left the sentence hanging; he was enjoying Carmody’s lost composure. He felt he was seeing the child in the young man for the first time. Carmody sat, pulling at his lip. Cardilini warmed to him.
‘A young boy told you this?’ Carmody asked.
‘Maybe,’ Cardilini parried.
‘A boy Mossop’s age?’
‘Maybe.’
‘So like Mossop it could be a lie,’ Carmody stated.
Cardilini smiled, satisfied. ‘I don’t think so, maybe this boy knew right from wrong,’ he replied smugly.
‘Did the boy tell you what was happening?’
‘He told me what happened, yes.’ Cardilini continued his bluff.
‘If the boy told you what happened I don’t understand why you want to pursue any of this?’ Carmody asked, genuinely perplexed.
‘A crime’s been committed. I’m a policeman. And there are other boys who need protecting.’ Cardilini wondered which of Carmody’s scaly mates was now going to be accused of speaking to him. He didn’t care.
‘You think you’re protecting that boy, exposing him like this? You have no idea. I don’t even believe you’re doing this because you’re a policeman, you’re just following your own self-interest
, like everybody else. Well that’s not good enough. Your self-interest fails to protect the ones that need protecting.’
‘And you’re protecting them, are you?’ Cardilini demanded.
‘I’m not harming them,’ Carmody replied.
‘I’m willing to forget the whole thing if you get Mossop to retract,’ Cardilini said. ‘Besides, Mossop’s story is already suspect and the new witnesses are in trouble.’
‘How?’
‘Because they didn’t see anything, because there was nothing to see. So things will get nasty for a while, the finger will be pointed at you eventually, the school will dump you real quick. You have an opportunity to withdraw your troops or suffer a loss.’
‘What about the story of the boots and rifle? What’s going to happen with that?’
‘Why? Is it true?’
‘I don’t know anything about it.’
‘Sensible boy. Now is Mossop going to retract his story?’ Cardilini asked.
Carmody looked out to the park then turned to Cardilini. ‘What Edmund was doing has possibly resulted in three boys taking their own lives. You understand that?’ He demanded.
‘Yes,’ Cardilini shot back.
‘Did you check with his previous school?’ Carmody asked.
‘They were glad to see the back of him. That’s why his reference was glowing.’
‘Was he ever going to be stopped?’ Carmody was now looking directly at Cardilini. Gone was the smugness, gone the arrogance. Instead, Cardilini saw a strong, youthful demand for justice.
Rumours of abusive behaviour would occasionally jump up all over the place. Cardilini couldn’t remember anything coming of them. And he didn’t know why he would usually dismiss them as nonsense. He shook his head in answer to Carmody’s earnestness.
‘Don’t you want Edmund’s behaviour exposed?’ Cardilini asked.
‘For what purpose?’
‘Justice.’
‘Three boys I know ended their lives for fear of exposure. There could be any number of others. You want those boys to do the same?’ Carmody asked.
Man at the Window Page 21
