Thirteen

Day 3

East Perth Police Department

8.45 a.m. Tuesday, 27th October 1965

The three images were spread out on the desk before him. They were drawings of a figure either lying or standing akimbo. The figure’s arms were raised above its head holding what appeared to be a rifle, the narrow barrel in one hand and the stock in the other. In the two drawings taken from the tree, the legs of each figure were separated but the ankles and feet were covered as if by a concrete cast. The drawing the boys had placed under a stone was cruder and the figure’s feet were visible.

‘Hey, Cardilini, someone to see you,’ another detective called from his desk. Cardilini remembered hearing a knock and turned around to see Salt standing at the door.

‘What are you doing up here?’ Cardilini called.

‘I was told to report to you.’

‘That means you wait downstairs in the uniformed area until I want to see you.’

‘I do know that. I wasn’t going to come up but it was strongly suggested I should. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry, don’t do it. There are rules. You follow rules, don’t you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Well, go.’

Salt turned and left.

‘Why are you busting his balls?’ a detective called, ‘It’s the high-ranking uniform mob who think we should mingle.’

‘Yeah, well. Life’s hard,’ Cardilini replied, as his attention was drawn back to the images. No facial features were even suggested, but it was the concealed ankles and feet that confused him. He stood from his desk and struck the pose in the images. He stood for some time until his arms tired.

Someone called, ‘Shit, Cardilini, maybe go and get a drink.’

‘Very funny,’ he said and sat.

He examined each piece of paper in detail. Two of them were torn from exercise books, one was a piece of A4 file paper with hole reinforcers. Also, the diagram from the ground had half a dozen practice signatures on its reverse side. It was either intentional or the boy wasn’t very bright. Cardilini determined that the name was Mossop.

He stood and marched upstairs to the top brass, tapped on Superintendent Robinson’s door and entered.

‘I didn’t ask to see you,’ Robinson said as Cardilini sat.

Cardilini dropped two sheets of paper on Robinson’s desk. Robinson pulled them towards him, annoyed. He studied the sketches then asked, ‘Where did these come from?’

Cardilini told the full story of his previous night’s excursion. Robinson didn’t say anything but stood and went to look out of the window behind his desk.

‘What does it mean?’ Cardilini asked.

‘You don’t know?’ Robinson asked as he turned.

‘No. I don’t get it. Is it some kind of freedom symbol?’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Robinson agreed then added, ‘Have you spoken about these to anyone else? Salt?’

‘No. I think there might have been another one yesterday when I was walking across the quadrangle but Deputy Principal Robson snapped it up.’

Robinson sighed. ‘Prowling around the school at night. What if you’d been seen?’

‘I knew I wouldn’t be seen.’

‘You just said you nearly were,’ Robinson replied annoyed.

Cardilini matched him, ‘Well, I wasn’t.’

The two men stared at each other.

Cardilini sighed, ‘Okay. So what are these?’

Robinson sat, his manner relaxing, ‘Some kind of silly kid’s thing.’ He pondered Cardilini for a moment.

‘What?’

‘Your behaviour is starting to go off the radar, Cardilini. We’ve all noticed it but it seems to be getting more erratic.’

‘Me?’

‘You’re bringing me kids’ drawings,’ Robinson replied frustrated, ‘And where was your partner? Rule number one.’

‘Salt?’

‘Yes, Salt.’

‘I was going to but at the time I …’

‘Wasn’t thinking clearly, I’d say.’

Cardilini tried sitting shame-faced for a moment while Robinson stared at him. Then he asked, ‘Have you seen this before?’

Robinson stared at Cardilini as if making up his mind and said solemnly, ‘It’s just disgruntled kids, nothing to do with Edmund’s death. Cardilini, think about taking compassionate leave. You’ve got ghosts and they’re stopping you from seeing clearly.’

Cardilini looked back, dumbfounded. He knew he wasn’t the copper he used to be but had never considered he wasn’t capable of the job. He enquired cautiously, ‘What about Paul?’

‘You get yourself together and I’m sure there’ll be a place for him.’

‘When?’ Cardilini asked anxiously.

‘When the placement notices go out he’ll receive one in the mail. Don’t muck that up, Cardilini. Are these all the sketches?’

‘Yes,’ Cardilini lied, hanging his head.

‘Sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Now go. I’ll ring tonight. Go. And if you have any desire to stay in the force, don’t mention these. It’s too ridiculous. You were such a good cop. But I’ve just about had enough.’

Cardilini walked to the door slowly, turning a few times seemingly to convince himself that this was happening. Robinson pointed to the door and mouthed, ‘Out.’

Cardilini hovered at the top of the stairs. He took the remaining sketch from his pocket and studied it. Robinson had said ‘just disgruntled kids’. Disgruntled, about what? Cardilini started back, then decided against it and continued towards his office.

‘Where have you been?’ Bishop called.

‘Robinson.’

‘What now?’

‘He thinks I’m losing it.’

Bishop tried to remain expressionless and dropped his eyes to the paperwork on his desk.

‘What? No pep talk? Not going to say, I’m a great copper?’ Cardilini asked.

Bishop’s expression was blank when he raised his head.

‘Thanks for nothing,’ Cardilini said and walked off.

He stood looking at his desk, opened a drawer and pulled out a framed photo of himself, his wife Betty, and a young Paul. He put it on his desk before returning it to the drawer.

Speaking to no one in particular he called, ‘Got work to do.’

‘Too early for the pub, Cardilini,’ came a reply.

‘That’s what you think,’ Cardilini said and left.

Crossing the car park, Cardilini heard running footsteps behind him.

‘Should I get a car?’ Salt asked.

‘Not for me,’ Cardilini kept walking.

‘Where are we going, sir?’

Cardilini stopped and turned to Salt, ‘What does your instinct tell you about Edmund’s death?’

‘Instinct?’

‘Yes, you’ve heard of it?’

‘Yes, sir. In the academy it’s pointed out that investigating officers following their instincts not only led to a low conviction rate, but also to some dubious convictions.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘The information came from the Public Prosecutor’s Office.’

‘There you go then. They wouldn’t know if their arses were on fire,’ Cardilini said, hearing the belligerence in his voice. He knew he had thought the same thing. Several cases had gone through their department that he knew were suspect. But he hadn’t hesitated to go drinking with the detectives when they got a conviction. He held his gaze on Salt’s open, innocent expression. He imagined what Salt was seeing. He turned and started towards his car.

‘Sir?’ Salt called after him. But it was Betty’s eyes he was seeing.

Day 3

Kilkenny Road

11.15 a.m. Tuesday, 27th October 1965

Cardilini walked into his house. Paul was lying on the couch with a book. Cardilini went to the kitchen and put a glass, a bottle of beer and an opener on the kitchen table. He took his coat off and placed it on the back of a chair and sat looking at the beer bottle. Paul walked to the door.

‘Why are you home?’ he asked.

Cardilini didn’t answer.

‘Go to the bloody pub, that’s what you usually do. Don’t do this here.’

Cardilini kept staring at the beer.

‘Just go. Get out of here,’ Paul yelled.

Cardilini placed both hands palm down on the table.

‘Don’t bring this home, Dad. Not to Mum’s house. Just go. Go.’

Cardilini rubbed his chin and moved his palm across his mouth several times before closing his eyes and standing. He opened his eyes and grabbed the beer bottle as if it was a great weight and placed it back in the fridge. He sat back at the table again with his hands palms down as if he would violently launch himself at any moment. Paul moved to him cautiously and took the opener and glass from the table and put them away. He filled the kettle, lit a flame under it and put fresh tea-leaves in the pot, all the while looking at his father. Then he sat at the table to wait for the kettle to boil.

‘What is it, Dad? What’s happened?’ Paul asked. Cardilini did a slow turn of his head until he faced Paul. Paul was taken aback with the intensity of his father’s stare.

‘Would you still like to go to the academy?’ Cardilini asked.

‘What? The Police Training Academy?’

‘Yes.’

‘But I can’t now, I have a criminal record.’

‘Would you still like to go?’

‘But, Dad. You know I can’t. Don’t do this,’ Paul said, wincing.

‘If the conviction was voided and you were accepted would you want to go?’

‘How could that happen?’

‘Would you want to go?’ Cardilini asked, reigning in his emotions.

‘Yes. Yes. Yes. But how?’

‘You making a pot of tea?’

‘Yes.’

‘I won’t stay. I have to do some thinking. I won’t take the car. I’ll walk.’

‘Can I take the car?’

Cardilini gazed at Paul for some time before answering, ‘Yes. The academy is a long shot. Don’t mention it yet.’

‘But is it even a possibility?’

Cardilini ignored the question and said, ‘I should be home for dinner. Maybe. But you go ahead and eat.’

‘I’m going to Aunty Roslyn’s. But I’m not telling her you’ll be coming.’

‘No. Good idea,’ Cardilini said and walked out of the kitchen.