Three

Day 2

Kilkenny Road

6.30 a.m. Monday, 26th October 1965

During spring in Perth, early morning was the coolest time of day. At six thirty the sun shed light and gentle warmth. A persistent concert of bird calls emanated from the trees. Cardilini, wearing boxer shorts, singlet and thongs, slouched in the backyard of his home smoking his first cigarette for the day. He could see the sunlight, filtered by the trees, spread patches of fluid gold across the backyard: a backyard of overgrown plants, dead grass and cigarette butts. He didn’t register the bird calls. He tried to remember what had happened last night, then gave up. One hand grabbed the fat of his ample paunch. He shook his head in disgust and ground out the cigarette butt with the heel of his thong.

‘Time to get up, Paul,’ Cardilini said and knocked on his son’s bedroom door. In the kitchen he put a cereal box on the table. ‘Breakfast is ready!’ he called, as he walked past the door again to his own bedroom.

***

Cardilini pulled into the car park of the East Perth Police department. At 8 a.m. the air was warming, he was warming. He decided he would spend the day at his desk. The double brick, deep windows and high ceilings of the detectives’ office provided protection from the day’s heat. He would redo the paperwork on his only case, a robbery. He knew one of the culprits, or thought he did, and he felt it was quite reasonable to believe the man guilty. Anyway, he would make out a new report. The suspect wouldn’t mind spending the day in a cell, hell, Cardilini wouldn’t mind spending the day in a cell; at least he’d be cool. He’d spend the day pushing the papers around on his desk and get to the pub early. He figured he could do it again tomorrow before Detective Inspector Bishop, his senior, would complain. Not that Bishop wanted him for anything else. Bishop knew Cardilini was ‘a waste of space’. Cardilini liked the idea of ‘a waste of space’. Yeah, he would get two days out of it.

He pushed through the front doors of the building and stepped into the cool. A 12-foot wide corridor of apple-green linoleum ran to a central grand staircase of dark jarrah. On either side of the staircase the linoleum continued into offices and to the rear of the building, the uniformed officers’ domain. Cardilini was a detective, a Detective Sergeant, so he hauled himself up the lino steps to the second floor and snuck past his boss’s open door.

‘Cardilini, is that you?’ Bishop called.

Bugger.

‘Cardilini, a teacher’s been shot and I immediately thought of you.’

Cardilini paused in the corridor, stepped back and looked into Detective Inspector Bishop’s office.

‘That’s nice of you,’ he said. ‘But I’m busy.’

‘It’s at St Nicholas College. You were looking for a new school for your boy, weren’t you?’

‘Very funny. That was six months ago, he’s now left school.’

‘Oh well, bad luck. I assigned you. They think it must be a stray bullet from someone shooting across the river.’

‘What?’ Cardilini asked, incredulous.

‘Roo-shooters.’

Cardilini shook his head heavily. ‘Bishop, that’ll be a needle in a haystack job.’

‘I know. So, you’ll be able to put it to bed real quick and get back to your desk.’

‘I see, it’s like that is it?’

‘No physical evidence came in. No bullet.’

‘You’re shitting me.’

‘They think someone souvenired it.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘Yeah, I’m making it up. That’s what I do all day, I sit here and make stuff up.’

‘Always thought you did.’ Cardilini turned from his boss’s office, disappointed.

‘Oh, Cardilini, you might want to know that the superintendent and the deputy commissioner attended St Nicholas College.’

Cardilini thrust his head back.

Bishop continued, ‘They were contacted first. They can’t have any involvement, of course, so they told me to go gently; don’t want to damage the school’s reputation, etcetera. Oh, and the body is already at the morgue.’

‘What? That’s bullshit, even they can’t do that.’

‘Do you want me to tell them you said that?’

Cardilini turned to walk to his desk.

‘No need to tie up another detective,’ Bishop called after him, ‘take a constable.’

***

The constable available hadn’t been a year in the job. Cardilini observed him expressionlessly for some time. He was Cardilini’s height, six foot, with dark hair, dark eyes and even features. He’s too soft for the job, Cardilini decided.

‘Who are you?’ Cardilini asked.

‘They call me Salt, sir.’

‘Okay, Salt. You don’t speak unless I ask you to. If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s a loud-mouthed bore,’ Cardilini said at a volume and manner as if intended for a particular loud-mouthed bore within earshot.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Do you know where we’re going?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Are you old enough to drive?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Get a car.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Cardilini had started to sweat only minutes into their journey and couldn’t settle on the seat. The metal of the dashboard, the vinyl seats, the glare from the windscreen, all annoyed him.

‘There’s a busted spring in this seat, Salt.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Next time you tell ‘em who the car’s for.’

‘I did.’

‘Bastards,’ Cardilini said as he tried to crush the spring into submission with his backside.