I’m still reeling from Bernadette’s revelation, even though I’m not totally surprised by it. There’s always been something oily about Father Donnelly; he’s always been a bit too critical of others, too reluctant to humble himself, and too pious by half. To be honest, I never liked the man, even if I tried very hard to respect the man of God.
I have to put what she’s told me aside for the moment, and get on with business. I unlock the next cell. Sharman’s still nursing a few bruises, but he’s settled down. I’m ready to interview him and I know exactly what I want to ask. He slumps in the chair with a sneer on his face, like he’s been here so often, it holds neither mystery nor fear for him.
And we’re off…
But things don’t go quite as smoothly with Tommy Sharman. Or as predictably. He shuts me down after the first few questions.
‘Where were you on Thursday the third?’
‘Why? What am I meant to have done on Thursday the third?’
‘Never mind. Answer the question. Where were you on Thursday the third?’
‘I was at work.’
‘Were you?’
‘Yep.’
‘Where at work?’
‘At the Swing Time.’
‘All day and all night?’
‘All day and all night.’
‘I don’t suppose anyone saw you. I mean, other than the Diamond Dolls and the usual suspects.’
‘Don’t know what you mean by the usual suspects,’ he smirks, ‘but it just so happens that Colonel Reynolds was there. We were having a problem with the owner, so, since the US Government’s funding the bloody dance hall, he stepped in to sort it out. He was there a lot of the day, and all of the night, right until we closed in the early hours of the morning. He’ll vouch for me.’
‘Colonel Reynolds?’
‘Yep.’
‘Colonel Reynolds?’
‘Is there an echo in here? Colonel Reynolds. You can ask him yourself.’
‘I will.’
I question him about Maurie and Kate Pilcher, and he swears he’s never heard of either of them. He’s clueless about Mrs Singleton’s line of business, since he’s only there as a bookkeeper (as a favour) once a week to work out the therapists’ pay, and we just happened to stumble in on payday. I tell him that I’ll let him go once his alibi for the third’s confirmed, but he’d be wise to stick around anyway, because, if he is telling me the truth, he may be needed to help poor Mrs Singleton out. He thinks I’m stupid. I know he’s on a nice little earner that he’s not about to walk away from any time soon. Besides, I have other irons in the fire as far as Tommy Sharman’s concerned.
I get straight on the blower, first to Colonel Reynolds and then to Inspector Bower, but they’ve both stepped out for a while, so I leave messages for them to phone me urgently. And then I hang around like a bad smell waiting for their calls.
At about seven in the evening, Colonel Reynolds’s aide rings me back. The colonel’s in Brisbane on crucial business, far too crucial for him to bother about me or my backwater investigation. He’ll call me back when he has time. I can only emphasise its importance to her. She says she understands.
So, it seems Sharman’s staying put for the moment.
About ten minutes later, Inspector Bower calls. I ask him whether he can check with the New South Wales State Police about any outstanding warrants for Sharman. I give him a description, and tell him that there have been a few photographs of him and his dolls in The North Star from time to time. He might want to compare the images.
‘I’ll do that and get back to you, Jack.’
‘Thanks, Inspector, I appreciate it. But that’s not all.’
I can hear his foot tapping. It’s late. We both want to go home.
‘What is it?’ he asks impatiently. ‘Can’t it wait?’
‘I suppose it’s not urgent. Shall I call you in the morning? There’s something I need to run past you.’
He’s already detached, thinking of something else. ‘Right,’ he replies. ‘Good night, Jack. I’ll speak to you first thing tomorrow.’