SEVENTEEN

The following day respected tribal elders, David Gullaraary, Harry Unapunnu and Russell Wallandjilli were found murdered. They had been shot to death on a remote fire trail in dense scrub, fifty miles from Darwin. The media, who arrived at the scene shortly after the police, reported it as a gangland-style killing, a possible payback for irreconcilable disagreements in the Aboriginal communities, something to do with radical adjustments to borders of their traditional homelands, they said.

Jarra Mariba had his own suspicions but was saying nothing. In his mind he couldn't help but link these murders with five other recent Aboriginal deaths in the northern region: all were elders or high profile activists. They had been reported as suicides, road accidents or simply as missing persons.

Jarra fumbled with the keys to the front door of his offices as he heard his phone ringing inside.

'Slow down,' Millie said and put a hand on his arm.

Still at the door Jarra felt like he was in one of those perverse dreams where your feet are rooted to the ground and you can't run away from imminent danger: he could not find the key to open the door. The constant ringing had an irritating urgency about it as he stood there and fumbled. Finally, he burst through the door. Spilling papers from his desk, he lunged at the phone.

'Hello... Jarra Mariba here,' he said.

'Mr Mariba, I'm Barry Stevenson, I'm with the Coroner's office in town.'

'Yes Mr Stevenson, what can I do for you?' Jarra asked, turning to Millie, shrugging and raising his eyebrows.

'I've been assigned as the crime-scene investigator and technician for the shootings out at Gnarlubundi. I'm calling to ask for your assistance.'

'I see... but I really don't know how I can help.'

'I'd like you to act as our official Aboriginal liaison officer in this matter. You know, because it involves the Aboriginal community and the deceased were such prominent people.'

'I see... '

'You understand.'

'Yes I understand... but I'm not sure you have the right person for the job.'

'The Prime Minister thought so, his office called me this morning specifically requesting my boss to ask for your help.'

'They did eh?' he said and whistled. 'The Prime Minister?' he said for Millie's benefit.

'What do you think?'

'It's a big ask at the moment Mr Stevenson... '

'Please call me Barry,' he said.

'Okay... Barry. Look I'll need some time to consider this, I have a number of pressing things on my plate... '

'We have no time Jarra. I am leaving to go out there in ten minutes. Can you come with me... please?'

Jarra picked up on his urgency and spun about on his heels to face Millie who appeared even more puzzled than he was by the call.

'Yes I'll come.'

'Thank you. I'm so relieved, you'll make a big difference in this, thanks.'

'That's okay.'

'I'll pick you up in fifteen. To save time do you mind if I pick you up at the front of your office building? I'll have my Assistant with me and I'll be driving a small, converted army truck. '

'Yes that's fine. Shall I bring anything?'

'You may want to take notes... your address book might be handy. We have phones, faxes and radio.'

'Okay, right... ah... Barry, I'll be seeing you soon then.'

'Thank you again Jarra, I mean that.'

Jarra ran about the office in a flurry.

'Jesus! I never, never wanted to do criminal law... '

'What is it?' Millie asked.

'... contracts, conveyancing, arbitration I like. I deal with business people and politicians ... not criminals. Talk about up to your arm pits... I'm over my stupid bloody head!'

'Whoa, slow down. Stop for a minute. What's this all about?' Millie was spluttering with frustration.

Jarra couldn't stop.

'Barry What's-his-name from the Coroner's Office wants me to act as a liaison officer for them in those shootings, those murders... you know,' he started to explain as he packed his briefcase. 'He's picking me up in fifteen minutes out the front.'

'What! You can't do it, baby. You just don't have the experience in criminal matters, and you don't time.'

'I know... he said the Prime Minister wanted me to do it.'

'Well why didn't the Prime Minister call to ask you first?'

'Yeah, well I don't know. Anyway I've already said that I'd do it now,' he said moving about the room in circles.

Jarra cursed from the moment he hung up the phone right up until the white, 4x4 rolled up in front of him exactly fifteen minutes later.

Doctor Barry Stevenson and his young female assistant, Esther Wright wore masks of solemnity as Jarra opened the rear door and climbed up into the wagon.

'I am sorry to...err, have rushed you into this Jarra,' Barry jabbered apologetically, '... but we are expecting trouble and frankly our office is in no position to deal with it.'

'I understand. I didn't mean to hesitate when you called this morning, but my dealings with criminal matters are limited.' He added quickly: 'I know you don't want me to handle any court procedures which is the reason I agreed to help.'

'Speaking for myself,' Esther said. 'I feel intimidated handling any black cases up here. The blacks know me already, they come and knock on my door in the middle of the night. They know I'm single and live alone.'

'We don't have any impact on the outcome of the black deaths up here, as I'm sure you know,' Barry remarked.

Jarra thought through his reply twice before answering.

'That's bullshit and you know it!' he blurted out finally.

Barry jerked nervously at the steering wheel causing the van to swerve slightly.

'Things get swept under the carpet up here,' Jarra was emphatic. 'I've read where doctors conveniently lose black patient's files, and I'm not talking about the odd occasion. But the medico's losses don't come close to the police... Christ, police evidence up here is filled with unbelievable lies, truth has become an underground commodity whispered by the clique. You've created your own sub-culture, it began when you whites first established a town here.'

No one spoke for what seemed like ten minutes, but what was in fact only seconds.

'I don't want you two to feel like I'm the enemy, I'm not. I know I can help you but you must understand I'm only here to assist in keeping things on an even keel through the investigations... with an emphasis on the word even.'

'Fair enough mate. So long as you know I'm not one of those red neck racists that may have ruled the roost up here over the years. I'm just after the facts that will help track down murderers no matter what colour their skins are.'

'And not all white people are racists Mr Mariba,' Esther spluttered nervously.

'I know that.'

'My boyfriend's from Palarumpi and he's blacker than you are.'

Jarra set his mind on a different tack.

'Skin colour doesn't matter to Aboriginals, it only matters to whites.'

Esther turned away from him.

'I studied group dynamics,' he said, '... establishing the ground rules before we set off on a task, that's how we'll achieve the best results.... as a team, right?'

'Right... I read the books too Jarra,' Barry said. 'It's just as important for everyone in the group to understand quickly who the leader is. Just remember, I'm conducting this orchestra so we can all rest easy knowing we'll hit that last note together.'

'I think we can agree on that,' Jarra replied smiling. 'I realised medicine was not for me when I flunked science in year seven.'

Jarra wanted to make light of the situation.

Barry glanced in the rear-view mirror: Jarra was smiling peering out of the window at the tropical wilderness flashing by. Barry reached over his shoulder and extended his open palm toward him.

'Pleased to meet you Jarra, you're a bit of a celebrity up here you know,' the doctor said.

'Yeah sure.'

The men shook hands then Esther pushed her hand clumsily at Jarra as well. She smiled and Jarra detected her reluctance she had in releasing his hand.

'Do you know Andrew Rioli?' she asked him.

'The Aussie Rules football player, yes of course I know him. Is that your boyfriend?'

'Yes well, he is more than a boyfriend really.'

'Oh, getting serious are we?' Barry joked and began singing. 'Ding dong the bells are gonna chime... '

'No, no... nothing like that.'

They all chuckled, willingly sharing the gibe.

The van thudded off the end of the sealed road and spirited dramatically onto the red, bull-dust road surface; a massive red cloud flew high in the air behind the aggressively driven vehicle. As the wagon became hidden in the dense green grove ahead, chatter from a flock of birds pierced the air as they settled again on their fresh animal carcass at the roadside. There were no other vehicles for many miles in either direction on the remote roadway that morning.

Something that had always plagued Jarra was that, generally speaking, most Australians knew more about the original North Americans than they did about Australia's own indigenous people. John Wayne style cowboys and indians movies had been well attended here too. His pet theory was that Australians could name at least seven or eight American tribes but would be hard pressed to come up with half that number of Australian tribes and he thought he'd put it to the test on this particular day.

'You might be right,' Esther said.

'I'm not sure about that.' Barry said confidently. 'I reckon I could name double the tribes the other way round.

'You probably could,' Esther joked.

'Come on then Esther, you first,' Barry insisted.

'Okay... ,' she said, and looked to the roof of the car as she thought. 'The Apache, Mohawk, Seminole, Crow, Blackfoot, Comanche, Pawnee, Cheyenne, Sioux, Navaho....'

She was stuck for more.

'And ... ah..... '

'No, no... you're done... that's ten. Now, Barry you reckon you're pretty good, can you tell me in what parts of America these particular people lived?'

'Ooo, I reckon I'll go close,' he said. 'The Apache were in the south west, kind of in the Arizona-New Mexico area, so were the Pueblo and Navaho.' He paused momentarily. 'The Mohawk were around New York, near the great lakes... the Seminole were in the Florida swamps.'

He paused and drew a long breath.

'The Crow and Cheyenne are in the Wyoming and Colorado region.'

'Okay, okay... stop, stop, stop. This bloke knows his Americana. Now what about our own country.'

'This is much harder for me,' Esther admitted. 'But I'll have a go.'

She looked out the window.

'Come on!' Barry called to her. 'Quit stalling.'

'Right... okay, the Eora, Cadigal, Kamilaroi, Wiradjuri, ahhh, the Gumach.....'

The car rumbled over a rough patch of road and everyone grabbed for a hand hold.

'She's gone... run out already,' Barry teased.

'No I'm not, I'm working my way across.'

'Let her go... come on,' Jarra coaxed.

She looked away once more.

'Tiwi, Aranda..... '

She bit her lip and winced.

'She's had it!' Barry called out.

'No, no ... and ah.... '

She tried desperately to think.

'No that's it. I think you've run out,' Jarra said.

'Okay, but I did pretty well. How many did I get?'

'Seven,' Jarra told her. 'Not bad, not bad at all.'

'I could have gotten more but you fellas.... really.... ,' she joked. 'You take it all too seriously.'

'No we don't, do we Jarra?'

'No not at all.'

'Aussie men are just too competitive for their own good sometimes.'

The irony of Esther tarring both these diametrically opposed men with the same brush instantly struck them all as funny.

The access fire road into the young pine forest could not really be called a road, it was a fire trail to allow fire trucks to get to difficult, strategic areas of the forest. The trail was crudely put through with a chain attached to two bulldozers spaced about forty metres apart. Anything in between was toppled by the chain. A third bulldozer followed behind, scraping back the ground surface, forcing a way through the centre of the debris.

Barry steered the wagon off the road onto the fire trail then stopped and engaged the four wheel drive system. The engine whined as it struggled to move the weight of the vehicle along the trail, slipping repeatedly as it traversed the slopes. After travelling less than a mile on the trail, they saw three police wagons parked off to one side. Seven uniformed police officers were sitting on logs in a semi circle. All stood when they saw the wagon approaching.

'There's a happy crew,' Barry said.

'What's the procedure?' Jarra wanted to know.

'Once we arrive, I automatically take charge of the site. Afterwards the police report their findings of any investigations, or lack of them, to the Coroner. We work pretty closely.'

'Don't worry they're happy to hand it over to us,' Esther added.

A tall thin officer, a three-stripper, moved to greet them.

'Christ we're glad you're here Barry,' Sergeant Art Carmichael said and let out a huge sigh.

As they stepped down from the wagon Esther smiled in Jarra's direction as if to say - I told you so. Barry introduced Jarra around; having all worked together previously, everyone already knew Esther and himself. The two Medical Examiners alertly scanned the area, recognising the familiar stench of decaying human flesh, they looked for the bodies.

'Where are they?' Esther asked.

'Over there., Carmichael pointed.

The Sergeant led them to the bodies and all the officers followed them. Carmichael began briefing them as they walked.

'They've been here for days. Animals and flies have been at them. They were as you see them now, we've not moved them. All three have their wrists bound behind their backs, they've been bashed about and were shot in the head at close range.'

In the bush about fifty metres off the trail a female officer sat on a felled tree with an Aboriginal man.

'That man up there found the bodies,' Carmichael said, '... went back to his community and called us... brought us here this morning.'

'What time did you get here Art?' Barry asked.

'It was still dark... around five.'

Barry went up to the Aboriginal man and began to talk to him in his own language. Jarra looked at Barry, surprised.

'G'day mate,' he said. 'Who's your mob.'

'Pjitumach mob, on the river, back this way,' The man stood pointing and was nervously animated.

'You found these people?' he asked.

The man nodded.

'How come... what were you doing here?'

'I been hunting.'

'It's a long way out here... a long way from your mob?'

'It's good hunting out here. I always come here. I come up the trail along the tree line and look in the bush.' He pointed to the direction he usually took and where he went to. 'I looked in here and heard some animal fella scurrying away fast, so I came in. That's how I found them.' The man nodded emphatically. 'That's how I found them alright. I ran nearly all the way home to get the coppers and came back to show them the place.'

'Good,' Barry told the man and, smiling, he patted him on the shoulder. 'You did good. What's your name?'

'I'm Djunbuck Gullaraary.'

'My name's Barry.'

Djunbuck forced a smile.

'Yo,' he said and the men shook hands.

'Was one of these fellas related to you then... he had the same last name, Gullaraary?'

Barry was sensitive to the Aboriginal custom of not saying the first name of any deceased person out loud. There was a long mourning period before such usage was allowed.

'He was my uncle,' Djunbuck answered turning away, hanging his head.

'Let him go home now,' Jarra said. 'Can someone give him a ride?'

'Of course... sergeant could you please arrange that?' Barry asked and without waiting for an answer he moved to examine the first of the three bodies.

Jarra talked as he walked with Djunbuck a little way toward the cars. He reached into his wallet, gave him some money, they shook hands and parted.

Esther opened a large leather case she had carried from the wagon and pulled photographic equipment from it.

'Has anything been touched here?' Barry asked.

There were mumbles from the officers.

'Please, please be honest. No one is under the gun here, I just need to know.'

'Harrison picked up some shells,' the sergeant spoke with a deeper voice, his chin pulled down onto his chest. 'He did bag them.'

Esther began photographing the scene.

'Everyone step back please,' she said.

'Who is Harrison?' Barry asked of the group as they moved out of Esther's camera frame.

'Me, I'm Harrison.'

A young man stepped forward.

'Don't you remember from your police training Harrison, you don't ever touch evidence at a homicide scene... no matter what the circumstances?'

'Yeah, I'm really sorry. I thought I was doing something useful.'

'Okay, now show me exactly where you found the shells.'

Barry pulled a pad of tracing paper from his case and began drawing a rough plan diagram of the site, carefully positioning the bodies in place on his sketch. He tore this page out and placed it beneath the next page and began marking in the positions of the shells as pointed out by Harrison.

Next Esther began videotaping the crime scene.

'Art can you have your men do a scan of the surrounding area?'

'We've already done that... turned up nothing but a solitary beer bottle. We bagged it.'

'Christ... a beer bottle way out here,' Jarra said.

'Well, can you have your fellas walk back to the road with some on each side? Something might have been thrown from a vehicle as it left the area.'

'Yeah right away,' he said. 'We did isolate some tyre marks up near our trucks. I've already called for plaster casts to be made. We'll have those by later tonight.'

'Good.'

David Gullaraary, Harry Unapunnu and Russell Wollondjilli were well known in the Northern Territory. They were long-time activists for land rights and were tough, successful negotiators on mining rights on Aboriginal homelands. And now they were lying in the bush in front of Jarra. This had been an execution, unmistakably.

It was almost dark as the remains of the victims were carefully placed in shrouds, put inside blue zipper bags and loaded into Barry's wagon. Then Esther, Barry and Jarra left the scene and were quickly on their way back to town.

––––––––

Millie locked the office at two as usual, did some shopping in the large air-conditioned supermarket for their evening meal and was home and parked beneath their elevated home before three. The radio news bulletins she had heard in the car gave details of the killings; she hated hearing about it and avoided turning the television on as she normally would upon arriving home. Waves of anxiety coursed through her body and into her limbs. She was battling tiredness, she knew it was because of her advanced stage of pregnancy but it was frustrating to her all the same. She still thought of herself as an athlete and had never experienced fatigue so easily from so little physical exertion. She went to the bedroom, took up her bedside book and within minutes she had fallen into a deep sleep.

It had grown dark. The low puffing sound of flames igniting at several points under their house didn't disturb Millie at all. The house was built on a large, triple-sized block of land, well apart from her neighbours, so they knew nothing of the fire until the heat caused Millie's car to blow apart, causing massive squalls of flames to spew from the ignited fuel tank.

By this time, half the house, including the bedroom in which Millie slept, had exploded into small particles. From a distance it looked like a spectacular meteorite shower glowing against the night sky.