Maud Percy’s back. God, give me strength.
‘Sergeant Furey,’ she barks even before she gets to the front counter, ‘we need to speak.’
The boys are still away, but they’re due back soon. Not soon enough, sadly, for me to peddle her off to one of them. Right now, I’m the only one at the station.
‘What’s it about this time?’ I reply, rolling my eyes.
‘Well,’ she exclaims, ‘you don’t have to be so flippant, Sergeant Furey! Show some respect!’
‘Now, now, don’t get yourself all in a dither.’ I patronise her. ‘Getting yourself all worked up won’t help you.’
She sucks in her lips until they’re two thin strokes of red. It’s as if she’s underlined her nose twice. ‘I heard you’ve found a dead baby at the creek.’
‘Is that so? Well, I’m not confirming or denying that. I’m not free to discuss police matters with a member of the public,’ I reply.
‘I’m not just a member of the public,’ she goes on, ‘I’m a member of the Catholic Church. When children are aborted and dumped like rubbish, I need to know.’
‘You see, Mrs Percy, I don’t think you do.’
She grunts. ‘Miss Percy, Sergeant Furey. Why must you insist…’
‘Why must you?’ I interrupt.
‘…on getting it wrong,’ she continues.
I take in a breath. ‘And you’re here because?’
‘You must do something about that horrible Floss McCarthy. No doubt you haven’t even bothered to visit her since I was last here, and you clearly haven’t warned her out of town.’
‘I have visited her but, no, I didn’t warn her out of town. I’ve told you, she has the right to live wherever she wants to,’ I reply curtly.
‘But that is unacceptable, Sergeant Furey!’ she barks. ‘You must arrest her for killing that child. It’s obvious she killed that child. Who else would have done it?’
‘Between, you, me and the fencepost, Miss Percy, if there was a baby—and I’m not saying there was—it is a matter for the police, and only the police. It’s not a matter for do-gooders and busybodies. I’ll say it once again: leave Floss McCarthy alone. Leave her alone,’ I repeat as calmly as I can. ‘Now, I have work to do. Get out.’
For a while, she doesn’t speak. The old biddy is, for once in her life, lost for words. It’s a pity that it’s not a permanent arrangement. She stands there, gulping air like a beached guppy.
‘There will be consequences out of this, mark my words, Sergeant Furey,’ she finally shrieks. ‘Father Donnelly will be most concerned to hear of your actions. Most concerned.’ She spins on her heel and storms out.
I take a deep breath and can only imagine the grief I’ll get over this. I don’t really want to get in his bad books.
No sooner has Maud Percy left, than Mahoney and Higgins drag in Jimmy Crowbar.
‘So, Constables, did he give you any trouble?’ I ask as they walk him towards the counter. Crowbar fits the description that Kate Pilcher gave me, though I don’t see much of a scar on his face. You’d have to look pretty closely to see it.
‘We had a bit of trouble. The boong resisted, so we had to manhandle him a bit,’ Higgins says.
There’s crusted blood around Crowbar’s nose, and one of his eyes is bloodshot. There are scabs across his knuckles and the back of his hands. He speaks to me, his head lowered, ‘I dunno why I’m here. They asked what I was doing yesterday, and I told them.’
‘Shut it,’ Higgins growls as he shoves Crowbar against the counter. ‘You’re a murderer; you were seen. It doesn’t come better than that. You’ve got a one-way trip to the lockup, blackfella.’
Crowbar’s mouth drops open. ‘But I never murdered nobody! I’m a good Christian. Honest!’ His eyes whip around the room, big as dinner plates. ‘You blokes got the wrong blackfella. Ask Mr Cunningham, Sarge.’
‘Every criminal we’ve ever arrested says he’s innocent, but we know you aren’t.’ Higgins shoves him again.
‘All right, settle down,’ I snarl. ‘Back in line, Higgins!’ He looks at me like a reprimanded dog and backs away. I lift up the flap at the end of the counter and Mahoney leads Crowbar towards the cell. ‘Jimmy Crowbar, you’ve been brought here in connection with the murder of Maurice Pilcher. Do you understand?’
‘What?’ Crowbar shouts and jostles against Mahoney in a frenzied attempt to return to the counter. ‘I swear, I don’t know no such bloke. I never left Carrington Station for weeks, like I said. Mr Cunningham will tell you where I was. You ask him yourself.’
‘You’re not talking bulldust are you, Crowbar?’
‘No bulldust. Or bullshit, neither,’ he replies.
‘All right, then, I’ll ask him. I’ll give him a call.’ I return to the counter and pick up the handset, and begin to ask the telephonist to connect me.
‘That would be good, Sarge,’ interrupts Higgins, ‘except that he’s away at the moment on a muster. The housekeeper doesn’t know a thing, and she didn’t seem to know when he’ll be back. Convenient, hey?’
I put down the telephone and shake my head. ‘Well, we can’t just let you go, Jimmy. You’re going to have to stay here at least until we either exclude you as a suspect, or Bill Cunningham returns, whenever that is. And if you’re lying to me…’
Crowbar whimpers as Mahoney opens the cell door, urges him through and then locks it behind him. He looks around and sits on the bare bed, his head in his hands. ‘But I done nothing wrong. Honest.’
The best I can say is, ‘We’ll see.’
I send Higgins and Mahoney home for some shut-eye. I can’t lock up the station now that Crowbar’s in the cell, and I tell Mahoney he can have the night off, but Higgins will have to return for the overnight shift. He’s none too pleased, I can tell you.
Late in the evening, we bring Kate Pilcher in to identify Jimmy Crowbar, and she looks as if she’s seen a ghost. ‘I think that’s him,’ she says at first, and then she falls back into Higgins’s arms.
I eye her suspiciously. ‘You think that’s him? You’re not sure?’ I ask.
‘Oh yes, it’s him alright. Yes, that’s the blackfella that killed my husband. I’d recognise him anywhere.’
By the time she signs a statement to that effect, it’s nearing midnight and it’s been a very long time since I was last in bed. I leave Higgins in charge and go home for a few hours.
‘Ring me if he gives you any grief, or if you need anything,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll be back again in the morning.’
What greets me in the morning is nothing short of a bloody shemozzle.
I look at Higgins but he turns away, and Mahoney’s face is as blank as his intellect. ‘What in God’s name did you do to him?’
Jimmy Crowbar’s curled up on the bed, nursing his ribs and his face has blown up like a balloon. I glare at Higgins. Eventually, he meets my eye.
‘He was playing up something shocking, so I just thought I’d give him a bit of a touch-up, you know, to quieten him down a bit.’
‘But didn’t I tell you that if he gave you any trouble to ring me? So, why didn’t you ring me?’
‘You seemed pretty tired, Sarge, and I had things under control…’
‘You had things under control? You call this, having things under control?’
Jimmy Crowbar groans. At least he’s not dead.
‘Look, he’s the criminal here, not me,’ he replies. ‘He’s a cold-blooded murderer and a boong. So what if he’s got a black eye?’
‘We don’t have lynch mobs here. A judge will decide Crowbar’s guilt or innocence, not you.’ I take Higgins aside so that Mahoney can’t hear, and put my face so close to his that we breathe the same air. ‘I’ve just about had enough of your insubordination, Constable, and if I had any choice in the matter, I’d have you out of here so fast that your head would still be spinning on your fiftieth birthday. This damn war means that you have to stay put for the time being. But the war won’t last forever. Let me make one thing clear to you: I’m in charge, not you. I can make your career pleasant or unpleasant, and right now you’re making it a really easy choice for me. One more incident and, war or no war, you’ll be up on a charge. Do you understand me?’
‘But Sarge…’
‘You’ll address me from now on at all times as Sergeant Furey. Do you understand me?’ I bellow.
‘Yes, Sergeant Furey,’ he replies.
‘Good. You will never touch anyone again, except under my express order. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, Sergeant Furey.’
‘Right. Now get Dr McDonald over here quick-smart, and have him take a look at Crowbar. You’re staying put until he’s given the all-clear. Then you’d better go home, get some sleep and recover your bloody senses, Constable.’
‘Yes, Sergeant Furey.’