by Simon King
“Walk straight past them and speak to no one, Clancy. Straight home, do you understand?” he had told him, and that is exactly what he had done.
5.
We walked around the ground a couple of times, had stopped at several inconspicuous spots but saw nothing of interest. Behind us, the school bell clanged loudly across the open space and within seconds, children began spilling out from every visible doorway, their loud chatting and laughing drifting out to us. Several came running out onto the grass, some to kick footballs, while several girls peeled off and began to play a skipping rope game. Their song drifted across the oval to us sounding loud and cheery as one girl jumped a rope that the other two girls were twirling between them. The girl was wearing a beanie with an especially long pompom and I watched as it bobbed this way and that.
A group of boys spotted Steph and I standing back near our starting place by the goals, came to a halt and stared at us for a second. After a few moments, they cautiously made their way over to us. When they were about twenty yards away, the one in the lead, slighter bigger than the other three, held his arm out and protectively halted his troupe, judging the distance to be close enough for safety’s sake. They all stood there, staring at us in silence.
“Are you here because of Miss Carlisle?” the tall one asked sheepishly. I looked at Steph, my eyes willing her to answer on our behalf. She nodded slightly.
“Yes, we are. We want to find the person responsible,” she said, squatting down to their eye level. The smallest one standing to the right of the leader, took a small step back, hesitated, then stepped forward again.
“Is she coming back soon?” he asked, his voice sounding young and innocent. Someone had invaded this kid’s, all these kids’ childhood innocence and ripped them into the reality of this cruel and fucked up world. Rage was all I felt right then and for the briefest moment, I wanted to scream. But I bit my tongue, held it in and smiled at them.
“What’s your name?” Steph asked the small one. For a moment, he just stared at her, his bewildered eyes never leaving hers.
“James, but everyone calls me Jim,” he finally said.
“Wow, well guess what Jim? You see this man here with me? His name is James too and do you know what he likes to be called?” Little Jim shook his head.
“I prefer Jim, too, buddy,” I said taking a step forward, then also dropping into a squat beside her. I recognized the trust they had for her; she was wearing her police uniform, me however? I was the scary stranger, the grown-up they didn’t know, the grown-up that could have hurt Miss Carlisle.
The boys suddenly turned their eyes away from us and I heard footsteps approaching from behind. They sounded much heavier than a child and for an instant, I felt a sense of panic rise in the boys, even if ever so slightly.
“Can I help you?” a man’s voice suddenly cried out and as I stood, I turned to see a well-dressed man approaching us. He appeared much older than myself, maybe late fifties or early sixties, his round glasses looking glued to his face thanks to an unrelenting nose that seemed to have sprouted somewhere last century. His grey, peppery hair was combed dead straight and parted on the political left. I could see he was about to repeat his question more sternly, when he spotted Steph, now also rising to her feet beside me. This time, I sensed a moment of hesitation.
“Oh, excuse me. I didn’t see you there, Officer,” he said politely. Steph stepped past me, held out her hand and they shook, briefly. “I’m George Bester, the principal of Cider Hill Primary.”
“I’m sorry, Stephanie Connor. We did come unannounced,” Steph said to him, introducing herself. She turned slightly back, willed me forward and introduced me. His eyes peaked a little when he heard my name.
“The James Lawson? Of the Daylesford Devil kind?” I nodded and his smile broadened so much it nearly eclipsed his nose, no simple task judging by its size, the shadow now casting across his face, looking more like a giant birth mark. His hand grasped mine so tight that for a moment I thought he would pull me completely off balance, a feat I would have thought impossible, considering I outweighed the guy by at least 50 pounds and stood a good head taller. But his eagerness tickled my sub-conscious again. I ignored it and returned his shake, smiled, then pulled my hand free when he had finished.
“You were quite the hero, if my memory serves me correct, Mr. Lawson.”
“Thank you, but that was a long time ago.” His face grew stern as he looked at the boys now standing scattered around his legs.
“Why don’t you boys go and play and let me speak with our guests,” he told them and the boys ran off almost immediately, relief visible on their little faces.
6.
George invited us back to his office so we could have a discussion. ‘A trifle more private’ he had said as he led the way, weeding his way through the tangles of children, then climbing the steps into the largest of the three buildings. We followed him down a dark and narrow corridor, then into a brightly lit office, where a plump lady, wearing giant horn-rimmed glasses, sat at a desk and was busy bashing her fingers onto the keys of her typewriter.
“Gladys, this is Officer Connor and Jim Lawson. Would you fetch us some tea?” The woman offered us a strained smile as she dragged her ample derriere out of her chair and headed out of the room. George opened the door to his office and invited us in, the only thing matching the gloominess of the room, being the ghastly smell of pipe smoke, which hung thick in the air. I felt my throat close a little, protesting against taking subsequent breaths.
Steph and I sat in the chairs that sat directly in front of his big walnut desk, piles of folders and books standing high on each side. It reminded me of the play-forts I had built as a kid. All it needed was a small wall, joining the towers on either side, something to rest the barrel of your pretend gun on.
“Such a terrible tragedy,” he said as he dropped his butt onto the high leather-backed chair. There was very little sympathy in his voice, sounding almost dismissive. His arrogance eclipsed any compassion he may have had, and his tone suggested the loss of one of his teachers to be more of an inconvenience than a tragedy.
“Did you know her well?” Steph asked him as he wheeled his chair closer to the desk.
“I wish I could say yes, but unfortunately Rita had only been with us a short time. She came highly recommended by Miss Tuck, another one of our third-grade teachers. They had studied together back in college and were very well acquainted.” He enunciated the very so particularly, as if to highlight this fact.
“Did she have any enemies you know of? Anyone that may had an issue with her?” I asked, an obvious question, but one I was sure someone had already asked.
“No, none,” he replied almost immediately.
“How can you be so sure?” Steph asked him, firing the question so quick, he took a second to register it.
“I can only speak on behalf of the faculty, I guess. Everybody liked her. I don’t know what she got up to when she wasn’t at work, but while here, she was a happy, young woman, in the prime of her life.” I felt his nerves rise slightly, a light bead of sweat break across his brow. The office had a large radiator on the far wall, and I could feel its heat from where I sat, but I didn’t think his sweat came from any heating device. Steph kicked my ankle lightly, and was just about to ask another question, when the door opened and Gladys walked in carrying a tray loaded with cups, a jug and a plate of biscuits.
“Ah, thank you, Gladys,” he said, almost relieved, standing immediately and taking the tray from his secretary. She muttered something at us as she turned to walk out, then closed the door.
“Please, help yourselves,’ he said, Gladys does make a superb drop of tea,” he said as he handed Steph a cup and lifted the jug. She held her cup up for George to fill, then dropped a couple of sugar cubes into it, using the dainty little tongs that sat beside the jar. I followed suit, minus the sugar.
It tasted fine, a little bitter for my liking, but full and rounded. Its warmth felt go
od when it went down, my middle feeling like it was glowing from the inside. Steph also took a sip and thanked our host, but didn’t waste time.
“Did you ever see Rita Carlisle outside of school hours?” she asked, as she put her cup on the desk.
“No, I don’t make it a habit to socialize with my staff.” He dropped his eyes into his cup as he took another sip.
“Oh?” Steph asked, tilting her head a little. George held the tea to his face for what seemed like a long time, almost trying to hide himself behind the tiny vessel. “I was talking to June Trapnell yesterday, you know, she teaches fifth grade? Well, she told me you had visited Rita at home one evening, not long after she had commenced teaching at this school. Popped right on up to the door, all unannounced like.”
“No, I don’t recall ever-”
“And the reason she could tell me that for certain, was because June had been sitting in Rita’s kitchen at the time. She only lived two or three doors down from her and had popped by to drop off some leftover casserole she had made. Mushroom and beef, I believe,” Steph said turning to me.
“No, I defin-” he tried to protest, but Steph didn’t give him an inch, enjoying watching him squirm.
“And there they were, just having a chat, when you knocked on her door. And come to think of it, June also did mention that you had dropped by her own house occasionally.” I could feel Steph’s anger build, her cheeks flushing with colour. George, on the other hand, also began to build his own colour, but looked more sheepish than angry, almost embarrassed. He was holding his palms up toward us, waving them from side to side, in a denying gesture. “In fact, June told me you came on to her quite strongly, wouldn’t take no for an answer, even blocking her door with your foot when she tried to close it on you.” His protests became more animated, his face now washed in a deep crimson, beads of sweat trickling down one side of his face. “Aren’t you married, Mr-” but that was when he finally stood, ending the questioning.
“Is this a formal interview, Constable?” he squawked, anger replacing embarrassment. “Because if it is, I believe I have a right to legal counsel.”
“Do you think you need a lawyer?” she asked, also getting to her feet. Steph took one final sip of tea from her cup, sat it down on the tray and thanked him for his hospitality. I quickly stood and followed her out of the door.
“Thank you for the tea, Gladys,” I said as we walked past her desk and headed back down the corridor. As we neared the door leading outside, I took a final look over my shoulder and saw George Bester standing in the door frame, one hand wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. As we stepped outside, a cold drizzle fell, the bell clanged loudly somewhere above, and in the far distance, the Cider Hill Fire Station Whistle announced Midday to the town.
7.
“What the hell was that?” Rademeyer said as he looked out of the small office window. I could tell he was pissed just by the lack of volume in his voice. The venom highlighted the fact. Steph sat next to me, her eyes looking into her lap.
“I wanted to ask him some questions, that’s all. He had a history with the victim.”
“Yes, he was her boss. I’ve known George Bester for going on twenty years, Constable. And if you want to conduct an interview with someone like that again, I strongly suggest you run it by me first. Because, I’m your boss, do you understand?”
“Yes,” Steph said.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“I said yes, Sir,” she repeated, the anger in her voice sounding raw.
“And you,” he said turning his attention to me. “I asked for your help to try to find whoever has decided to get some fame by mimicking the Devil. Not to harass respectable townsfolk. I appreciate you answering our call for help, Jim. But please, remember that some people have connections that go all the way to the top. Much higher than you or I.” He turned to Steph. “Would you excuse us, please?” Steph didn’t need to be asked twice, the door closing with a satisfying thump.
He was looking out the window again, for what seemed like a long time.
“I really do appreciate you coming back, Jim,” he said without looking at me. “The first thing we did was check on Lightman. He’s still locked up and tucked in at Crab Apple. I don’t know whether he’s recruited an accomplice or whether there’s a genuine copy-cat but someone is definitely looking for fame.” He looked like he had aged fifty years rather than the actual twenty. He looked ancient, the creases in his face looking like deep fissures instead of wrinkles, his head now almost completely devoid of hair, save for a couple of white strands, the thick black mane he once wore, long gone like his youth. He sighed deeply as he turned and sat at his desk. “His lawyer is fighting to have him released. Some hotshot called Lovett.” It was a statement that struck me in the centre of my chest, almost knocking the air out of me. Frank saw the shock in my expression and nodded as if in agreement.
“But-” I began, but he held his hand up, stopping me.
“I know what you’re going to say, and I can promise you that that is something that won’t be happening anytime soon. I’ve also been on the phone with four separate newspapers, a radio station and a reporter from one of the New York dailies. Can you believe it? Even a Yankee newspaper is on to this. They all think we locked up the wrong man.” I hadn’t considered how the media would handle the news that the killings had resumed. And the media had a funny habit of following their own agenda.
“We can’t let that happen, Frank,” I finally said.
“That much I know, son. We have to find him. We have to find the arsehole that’s doing this. And quick. I think the wheels have already begun to turn and if we don’t act fast, then…” his voice trailed off, his attention drawn to the window once more. He sat like that for a long time, the silence descending on us like a blanket.
“I’ll do my best, Chief,” I finally said. His expression suddenly changed, and he looked surprised as if he had forgotten I was still sitting there.
“Hmmm? Oh, yes, of course.”
“Are you OK?” I asked, but he didn’t answer. Not at first. I stood to go, but when I reached the door, my hand about to reach for the handle, his voice, quiet and reserved, drifted to me.
“Melanie has cancer, Jim.” I stopped turned and was shocked to see him crying. “The doctors have told her she doesn’t have long. It’s in her lungs.” His voice trailed off with the last words and he looked embarrassingly at me. I walked back towards the desk, stopped next to him and offered him my hand. Melanie was Frank’s wife, they married back in 24 and had lived in Cider Hill all their lives. They had met during a football match, him playing and Melanie cheering for her brother, Robert, one of Frank’s team mates. He had told me their story over beers many years ago, one night after our shift ended and a bunch of us had gone over to the Railway Hotel. In the end it had just been the two of us, me a first-year constable and him, my boss. I remember feeling a little uncomfortable sitting there alone with him, listening to his half-drunk whining, but after a while had relaxed and kind of enjoyed listening to his war stories.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Frank. If there is anything I can do.” He shook my hand, limply and indifferent, then dropped it into his lap.
“I’m telling you this because, well, I may not be as on the ball as I need to be right now. If you could, you know, look after Stephanie. She is a good officer, young but hot-headed and determined. She reminds me of another officer I knew long ago.” I nodded and understood.
“I’ll do my best, Frank.” I turned and walked out of the office, glad once the door closed behind me.
8.
Stephanie was waiting for me outside, a cigarette jutting out from between her fingers. I could tell right away she was pissed. She took a long puff then jettisoned the smoke out in a short harsh stab.
“That son of a bitch is a womanising bastard who hit on every single teacher that started at that school. And He is protecting him,” she cried, pointing a finger at the building behind me. I put
my hands up in a surrender, smiling.
“Hey, I’m on your side, remember?” She stopped, took a deep breath and took another puff. “How did you find out about Bester?”
“I ran into one of the teachers at the supermarket, June Trapnell. I had popped in for some quick supplies and was still in uniform. She approached me and was asking me about something or other, then out of the blue she told me to watch myself. That George has a keen eye out for any single ladies that grace this township. I caught up with her a few days later, just a tea and biscuit kind of thing, and she told me the finer details. He’s been harassing a lot of ladies for a long time. And that son of a bitch is married.” She took another angry puff of her cigarette, so long and deep, I thought she might inhale the rest of it without stopping. Then she relaxed her lips and released it, the smoke drifting out slowly in long thin tendrils.
“Yes, I noticed the ring on his finger. Why would it concern the Chief so much though?”
“Because George Bester is the brother in law of Lachlan Murdoch.” I looked puzzled, not understanding the relationship she was trying to highlight.
“Lachlan Murdoch?” I asked, unsure.
“Geez, Jim, don’t you know anything? Lachlan Murdoch is married to Katherine Reinhart, and Katherine Reinhart just happens to be the sister of-” but she didn’t need to continue.
“William Reinhart, the Chief Commissioner,” I finished for her.
“Exactly. Arsehole knows he’s protected. Everyone is too fucking scared to say boo to him.”
“That’s why he was on the phone to the chief almost as soon as we left,” I said. She nodded, agreeing with me as she drew one last puff from her cigarette before dropping it into the dirt and ending its life with her boot heel. “Do you think he had something to do with that girl’s death?”
“Nah, I doubt he would have the balls for anything more than raising his voice in protest. Although he was a persistent shit, his courage failed him when the girl would fight back, like telling him where to go.” She was leaning against the car, her hat sitting on the bonnet, her long dark hair hanging loosely around her shoulders. I found her almost distractingly beautiful, but didn’t want to acknowledge it to myself for exactly that reason. Something was telling me that this event was only just beginning, and once it gained traction, would take some clear heads to contain, if not stamp out completely. I needed my focus to be 100%, not distracted by some gorgeous girl with amazing curves.
