A Dangerous Language

by Sulari Gentill

  “Well yes, happy to do that for you,” the assistant station master puffed, realising for the first time that they might not be pleased with his last efforts.

  “Well this is a bloody cock-up!” Milton said as they walked out of the station. “Ed could be in any hotel in Albury.”

  “Except the Terminus,” Clyde corrected. “We know that she’s not at the Terminus.”

  “We’ll have to check all the others,” Rowland said. He was beginning to feel a little uneasy. “I wonder why she didn’t leave a message at the station to tell us where she was taking a room.”

  “That does seem odd,” Milton agreed. “Ed’s not the featherbrained type.”

  It was by now completely dark, and bitingly cold. Even so, they did not consider leaving locating Edna till morning. They were not yet anxious, but neither were they entirely unconcerned.

  By ten o’clock they had checked at every hotel that was open, with no success. One was closed for the night, and another refused to give out any information on guests. They left their names and that of the Terminus at the latter and resolved to call at the former first thing in the morning.

  Too late for supper at the restaurant, they went to bed hungry, and now, though they did not speak of it, worried.

  3

  “MISSING PERSONS”

  What would you do if your best friend were reported missing? You will see many vanish in this thrill picture, “The Bureau of Missing Persons,” to support “Midshipman Jack” on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday of this week, and you will also see Pat O’Brien and Bette Davis together for the first time.

  Cumberland Argus and Fruitgrowers Advocate, 8 March 1934

  Rowland grabbed a tie out of his bag and slung it around his neck while he finished shaving. It was still too early to check the remaining hotels but he hadn’t in any case been sleeping. Showering and dressing was at least something to do aside from staring at the ceiling.

  Edna’s disappearance was probably just a misunderstanding. But still…

  He glanced at his watch. Seven o’clock. Perhaps the restaurant would be open for service and they could get on with finding Edna. A quick Windsor knot and he grabbed his hat.

  Scanning the restaurant to see that Clyde and Milton had not yet come down, Rowland decided to duck out and check the hotel that was closed the night before. With any luck he would bring Edna back for breakfast.

  The manager caught up with him on the stairs. “Mr. Sinclair, I was just coming up to your room. There’s a Detective Delaney here to see you, sir.”

  “Delaney?”

  “Yes, he’s waiting at reception.”

  Colin Delaney smiled broadly, extending his hand as Rowland approached. “Hello, Rowly. How are you old son?”

  “What on earth are you doing here, Col?” Rowland shook his hand. “And how the blazes did you know where to find me?”

  Delaney tapped the side of his nose. “I am a detective, Rowly.” He laughed. “I knew you were coming to Albury, and I figured the Terminus was the only hotel fancy enough for a gentleman of your calibre.”

  “Are you planning to arrest me?”

  “For what?”

  “Then why would you come all the way to Albury to find me?”

  “I was already in Albury. The Superintendent sent me down to help the local boys with a case… it’s why I was trying to get hold of you when you were in Melbourne. Then I remembered Miss Higgins saying she would be meeting you in Albury when I ran into her last week. So I thought I’d just wait for you to get here.”

  “I see.”

  “Look, Rowly, there’s something I could use your help with. How about we have a chat over breakfast?”

  Rowland rubbed his brow. “Can it wait, Col? I’m afraid we seem to have lost Ed.”

  “What do you mean you’ve lost her?”

  “She came in on the morning train two days ago, and disappeared from the station without leaving a message as to where she was going. We’ve checked all but two hotels—I’m on my way to do that now.”

  The colour drained a little from Delaney’s face. If Rowland had not himself been so distracted, he might have noticed. “What say I come with you, Rowly?” the detective said. “The presence of a policeman might help.”

  Rowland accepted gratefully. Delaney could well prove useful at the hotel that was reluctant to give out any information on its guests.

  “God help us, what the hell is this?” Delaney murmured as Rowland led him out to the Airflow.

  “I bought a new motorcar.” Rowland unlocked the door.

  Delaney said nothing more about the automobile.

  They called at each of the two hotels that hadn’t been checked the night before. Neither had any knowledge of a Miss Edna Higgins. Rowland pulled out his notebook and showed both managers a sketch of the sculptress’ face. No recognition.

  They returned silently to the car. Rowland was frustrated and quite bewildered. Edna was not a child… she would not have wandered off or got lost. She had been on that train… but where was she now?

  Delaney waited until they were in the car before he spoke. “You say Miss Higgins arrived two days ago… the thirty-first of August?”

  “Yes. At least she should have arrived then.”

  “She was in a sleeper carriage?”

  “Yes.”

  “So she might have been asleep when the train got in.”

  “Maybe… but it’s the end of the line. She couldn’t possibly have missed the stop.”

  “What does Miss Higgins wear to sleep?”

  “What the hell does—”

  “Just humour me, Rowly. Do you have any idea what Miss Higgins is in the habit of wearing to bed?”

  Rowland sighed. “She wears pyjamas.” He omitted that they were usually his pyjamas as the fact seemed misleadingly salacious. Edna regularly helped herself from the wardrobes of the men with whom she lived. She was particularly fond of Clyde’s old shirts and Rowland’s pyjamas.

  Delaney swore. He put his face in his hands and shook his head, and then he swore again and something about his voice chilled Rowland’s blood.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “Rowly, I was sent down here to help identify a body found in a ditch near Albury. A young woman. She’d been battered and murdered and then doused in fuel and set alight.”

  Rowland frowned. “Once I locate Ed, I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.”

  Delaney swallowed. “You don’t understand, Rowly. She was wearing pyjamas.”

  “Pyjamas…?” Rowland’s hands were on the steering wheel. His knuckles were white. “Bloody hell, Col, you’re not suggesting—”

  “I don’t know, Rowly. Her face was so badly damaged by the fire…”

  “Why were you looking for me?”

  “I wanted your help… thought you might be able to draw up an idea of what the deceased might have looked like from… what’s left… God, I’m sorry, mate. I didn’t know Miss Higgins was missing.”

  “It can’t be her. Whoever this poor woman is, she’s not Ed.”

  “No other young woman has been reported missing,” Delaney said as gently as he could. “Not one. And this body is the same height and build as Miss Higgins.”

  Rowland said nothing for a long time. Delaney waited.

  “Can I see her?” Rowland asked finally. There was a kind of hollow panic in his voice.

  Despite himself, Delaney flinched. “Rowly, are you sure? The body’s pretty badly—”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Perhaps we should let Milt and Clyde know first.”

  “No.”

  Delaney didn’t argue. He thought briefly about suggesting they go for a drink first. Lord knew he could have used a stiff whisky himself and Rowland would need something to get him through the identification… and afterwards. But already it was clear that any proposal to delay would be refused.

  Rowland entered Albury Hospital beside Colin Delaney.

  “This way.” T
he detective led the way to the hospital morgue.

  The room which housed the body was under police guard. Delaney spoke briefly to the officer. “Mr. Sinclair is here to identify the body.”

  The door was opened and they were allowed into the room.

  She lay on her side on a metal gurney, her knees bent as if she’d been sitting, her feet crossed. One arm sat out, hand on hip. The other arm was crooked about her head. Most of the body had been blackened by the fire. It was hard to tell exactly what colour her hair might have been.

  Rowland stepped back, staring. He gasped, for a moment incoherent. His knees felt weak. The artistic eye which had so often followed the lines of Edna’s body now fell upon those of the damaged corpse; the petite bone structure, the curves of a figure which had once drawn the gaze of men.

  Delaney’s hand on his shoulder. “Rowly?”

  “Excuse me.” Rowland turned and walked out of the room.

  Detective Delaney followed, closed the door behind him and waited.

  The officer on guard cleared his throat. “Did the gentleman identify her, sir?”

  “No… not yet, but I fear he may have recognised her.”

  Several minutes passed before Rowland returned. He’d loosened his tie, but he was composed.

  “Sorry about that, Col. I needed some air.”

  “Perfectly all right, Rowly. Shall we go back in?”

  “I don’t need to. It’s not Ed.”

  Delaney’s eyes narrowed. “Come on, mate. You didn’t even look at her face properly!”

  “I didn’t need to. I know Ed’s body and that’s not her.”

  “Rowly, I know you want to believe…”

  “It’s not her, Col, the proportions are wrong. Ed’s calves are longer, so is her neck. That poor woman had petite hands. Ed’s a sculptor… her hands are strong, the nails short.” His fingers flexed as he remembered the feeling of Edna’s hand in his.

  To Delaney, Rowland’s reasoning seemed thin and desperate. “The body was damaged by the fire, Rowly.”

  “That wouldn’t change the proportion of the limbs.”

  “The peculiar position of the legs is probably misleading…”

  “I’m an artist, Col,” Rowland said sharply. “I know how to account for bloody perspective!”

  “Mate…”

  “It’s not Ed.”

  Delaney left it. Perhaps Rowland Sinclair just needed time. The detective also found it hard to reconcile the beautiful, spirited sculptress with the cold, contorted body in the morgue, but the correlations were too many—the same height, the same slim build, she was wearing pyjamas, not to mention that Edna Higgins was missing and no other girl had been reported as such.

  He accompanied Rowland back to the Terminus. Clyde and Milton met them at the door.

  “Bloody hell, Rowly, we were beginning to think you’d vanished too,” Clyde growled.

  “Sorry, I didn’t think I’d be gone all that long,” Rowland replied.

  “What are you doing here?” Milton shook the detective’s hand. “Whatever it is, we all have alibis.”

  “Rowly, are you all right?” Clyde asked warily. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Where the devil have you been?”

  “We’d best find somewhere to have a drink,” Delaney suggested.

  “We can use my suite,” Rowland said, anticipating the conversation to follow. “I’ll have drinks sent up. Then we can get back to finding Ed.”

  The sitting room in Rowland’s suite was small but adequate for the purpose. Delaney told them about the young woman’s body in the Albury Hospital morgue, and the reasons why he thought it might be Edna Higgins. He tried to be kind because he knew that all the men in the room had loved the sculptress.

  Rowland said nothing until Delaney had finished. And then, “It’s not Ed.”

  Delaney looked to Clyde and Milton for help.

  “Poor wretch,” Clyde murmured.

  “Do you have any idea who she is, Col?” Milton asked.

  “Yes, I think she is Miss Higgins,” Delaney said, exasperated. This was hard enough without everybody denying the obvious.

  “Rowly’s seen the body, and he says it’s not Ed,” Clyde replied.

  Delaney lowered his voice. “Look, Clyde, the body was in bad shape. Damaged beyond recognition.”

  Clyde shook his head. “Rowly would recognise Ed.”

  Delaney cursed. “I’d better get back to the station. I’ll call back this evening after you’ve had a bit of time… Look, I am sorry.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Milton said as he held open the door.

  Delaney waited until they were outside the hotel before he tried once more to make Milton see sense. “Look, Milt, Rowly couldn’t even bring himself to look at the girl’s face. What does that tell you?”

  Milton shrugged. “That he didn’t need to. Ed’s Rowly’s model. He’s painted her hundreds of times from every angle. He’s spent more hours staring at her naked body than he’s spent doing anything else in the last few years. I don’t care how damaged the body was, if it was Ed, he would have recognised her.”

  “I think he did recognise her. I think he just can’t face it.”

  “That’s where you don’t understand, Rowly, comrade,” Milton replied. “In spite of all our advice, the poor sod loves Ed, really loves her. If he had any notion that the unfortunate woman lying in your morgue was Ed, do you really think that he would walk away and leave her?”

  “Grief does strange things to people…”

  “Don’t let the posh accent and fancy manners fool you, comrade. Rowly’s one of the toughest blokes I know. If it was Edna lying on that slab, his grief would be terrible but he wouldn’t deny her, he wouldn’t hide from it.”

  “If this woman is some stranger, then why was Rowly so affected by viewing the body?”

  “Well by your own account the condition of the body was pretty grim. Aside from that, Ed’s missing. And it seems there’s some bastard out there murdering women and setting them alight.” Milton didn’t raise his voice. He spoke calmly, almost casually. “Rowly’s not grieving, he’s terrified that Ed’s in danger, that this could happen to her if you don’t stop telling us she’s dead and help us find her.”

  Delaney cupped his hands to light a cigarette. The poet had a point. Rowland Sinclair had proved many times that he was not the kind of man to buckle. The smoke plumed around his head, “Thank God,” he said finally.

  “What?”

  “Believe me when I say I’m glad it’s not Miss Higgins. But I’m a policeman, I had to be sure.”

  “And now you’re sure? You believe Rowly?”

  “I’ll get a description of Miss Higgins out to the local patrols. Maybe someone saw her leaving the station.” He paused. “If we don’t find her, you or Mr. Watson Jones may have to look at the body.”

  4

  GIRL’S BODY IN CULVERT

  GRUESOME MURDER NEAR ALBURY

  One of the most gruesome murders in this State for some time was revealed on Saturday when a farmer found the partly burned body of a young woman clad in pyjamas under a culvert on the Howlong-road, about four miles from Albury.

  The discovery was made by Thomas Hunter Griffiths, a well-known farmer in the Albury district, who was leading a bull past the culvert, when he noticed something protruding from it. On investigating, he was horrified to find in a sack the body of a good-looking young woman with fair complexion and light brown bobbed hair. Griffiths hurried to his home, from which he telephoned the police. Police were soon on the scene, and they were horrified when they took from the culvert the sack containing the body. They found that the body was clad in white pyjamas with yellow borders, but these had been partly burnt. The lower limbs and the lower part of the abdomen were badly charred, and the police believe that some inflammable substance was poured over the body and set alight in an endeavour to remove all traces of the crime… The spot where the body was found is only a few yards from the main road f
rom Albury to Howlong.

  Singleton Argus, 3 September 1934

  Three men walked the long platform of Albury Station showing hand-drawn pictures of a beautiful young woman to every railway employee they could find. Perhaps it was difficult to recognise someone from a sketch or perhaps it was the days that had passed, but no one seemed to recall the lady in question.

  “Her hair is auburn,” Rowland said as he showed the picture to the elderly man in charge of the ticketing booth. “She’s about five foot two.”

  “A bonny lass if ever I saw one… but I didn’t, I’m afraid. Sorry, lad.”

  “Are you sure? She’d have come in on the early train from Sydney.”

  “I’m sure. Doesn’t mean she didn’t come in, just that I didn’t see her. It can get as busy as Pitt Street here in the mornings.”

  Rowland thanked the man and stepped away from the booth.

  “Oi, mister!” A ragged man in a coat that was more patch than coat motioned him over to the edge of the platform. “You wouldn’t be able to spare a smoke, wouldya?” he asked when Rowland came within conversational distance.

  “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t smoke.”

  “Oh.” Thin shoulders slumped. “I guess I’ll have a gander at yer picture anyway. I will.”

  Rowland introduced himself as he showed him the drawing.

  “Pleased, Mr. Sinclair. I be Gus Hancock.”

  “A pleasure, Mr. Hancock. Have you seen her?”

  Hancock nodded vigorously. “I seen her. I did.”

  “Was she alone? Did you notice where she went?” Rowland asked eagerly.

  “I want something first. I do.”

  Rowland extracted a couple of crisp pound notes from his pocketbook.

  “No, I don’t want yer money. I don’t. Let me have the picture?”

  “Why do you want the picture?”

  “To remember her by.”

  Rowland’s blood chilled. Remember? What did the man know? “Why do you need to remember her?” he asked.

  “She was pretty. I like to remember pretty things. I do. When I were a boy, there was a blossom tree in front of the house. I wish I had a drawing of that.”

  Rowland handed him the drawing. “Her name is Edna. I’d really like to find her.”