Twenty-two

Day 5

Swanbourne Barracks

12.15 p.m. Thursday, 29th October 1965

A sergeant stood lean and upright on the verandah of a bungalow watching Salt park the car. The sergeant’s green uniform was ironed to shininess, his boots were mirror-black, and the brass on his buckle and gaiters shone like gold. His face was clamped as if hiding the distaste of a recent acidic meal. He watched Cardilini lumber from the vehicle and approach him, followed by Salt.

‘Detective Sergeant Cardilini,’ Cardilini announced.

‘Yes.’

‘Constable Salt,’ Cardilini added.

‘Yes.’

‘And you are?’ Cardilini widened his eyes, ‘Notes, Salt, notes,’ he snapped his fingers at Salt.

‘Sergeant Fowler.’

‘Sergeant Fowler, I was wanting to speak to Bradley Williamson,’ Cardilini asked over-politely.

‘Private Williamson? That won’t be possible.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Private Williamson is not available.’

‘When will he be available?’

‘There’s no way of determining that.’ The sergeant and Cardilini faced each other until Cardilini stepped into the shade of the verandah.

‘And you expect me to turn around and go at this point?’ Cardilini asked.

‘That’s correct.’

‘I’m not. Pass that up your chain of command.’

‘It won’t make any difference.’

‘Let’s try it, shall we?’

The sergeant stood, the distaste in his mouth clamping his face further.

‘If you would like to follow me.’ He turned and walked through the front door of the bungalow.

Bare timber floorboards and walls covered in lime-green paint greeted them. A desk was strategically placed in front of the only adjoining door. Facing the desk were six rattan chairs with their backs to the wall.

‘Take a seat, gentlemen,’ the sergeant said and he walked to the chair behind the desk and sat.

Cardilini looked at the chairs’ uniformly small bases with torturous arched-cane backing.

‘Will we be waiting long?’ he asked.

‘Difficult to say.’

‘Try.’

‘It’s not up to me to say.’

‘What’s not up to you to say?’

‘How long you’ll be waiting.’

‘Who’s it up to?’

‘The captain.’

‘Where’s he?’

The sergeant looked back mutely.

‘In there?’ Cardilini headed towards the door behind the desk. The sergeant stood and stepped in front of him.

‘Back off. Go to your chair,’ he ordered.

‘Or what?’

‘Back off.’ The sergeant braced himself.

Cardilini tried to sidestep but the sergeant matched him, swiftly blocking Cardilini’s way

‘Very well, tell your boss I’m here,’ Cardilini said, stepping back.

‘He’s already aware of that.’

‘Why are we waiting then?’ Cardilini barked.

‘This is the army, sir. We don’t schedule time for impromptu visits from civilians. Surprising as that may seem.’

‘All right. Let’s stop crapping around,’ Cardilini threatened.

The sergeant looked back firmly.

Cardilini called to the door behind the sergeant, ‘Captain, I know you’re in there this is a police investigation. You have a minute to comply with an official request or I’ll leave and you can talk to your superiors about it.’

The sergeant took a step forward.

‘Salt, if this man tries to interfere cuff him immediately.’

The sergeant turned a hostile gaze to Salt.

‘With pleasure, sir,’ Salt replied.

Cardilini turned to Salt in surprise.

‘Still waters, Sergeant, be careful,’ he said, indicating Salt.

The adjoining door opened.

‘What’s going on here, Sergeant?’ demanded a red face thrusting from a tight-fitting uniform.

‘Detective Sergeant Cardilini and Constable Salt, sir,’ the sergeant snapped out.

‘Not prepared to wait your turn, Detective Sergeant Cardilini?’

‘Not prepared to be stuffed around, Captain.’

‘Sergeant. Why are they here?’

‘To interview a Private Williamson.’

‘Did the sergeant tell you that won’t be possible?’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘So. Explain why you’re still here.’

‘What’s to explain? I want to see him,’ Cardilini insisted.

‘What part of, “It’s not possible”, are you having trouble with?’

‘I know he’s here.’

‘Yes. He’s here.’

‘Let me see him,’ Cardilini demanded.

‘Private Williamson is currently involved in a specific training program involving thirty other troops. This program will be in place until they are shipped to Vietnam. Where, I’m sure even you know, we are fighting a war. How does your enquiry match up to that?’

‘While he’s in Australia you know we have the authority to speak to him on legitimate police business.’

‘You’re a Western Australian policeman, correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘We’ve been polite to this point. This base is under Commonwealth jurisdiction. You’re not a federal policeman. No one is compelled to answer your questions. Take your complaint to the federal police where I’m sure they will put all their resources at your disposal to solve, what, a urinating in public charge? Try to get some perspective, Detective Sergeant Cardilini.’

‘Fine, I’ll wait until he leaves the base,’ Cardilini said.

The captain shook his head in disgust, ‘You have a minute to get off the base or I’ll have you escorted off. And, just for my pleasure, please try to resist the men I send to help you on your way.’ He disappeared through the door.

The sergeant smiled broadly as he picked up the phone, ‘Send Smith and Jolly to the captain’s office,’ and as he hung up, ‘hand-to-hand combat trainers,’ he said, smiling at Cardilini and Salt.

Cardilini turned to Salt and nodded for them to go.

‘It would be a pleasure to have a drink with you off the base sometime, Sergeant. Pass that on to your captain too.’

‘Yes, sir. I’m sure he’ll be interested.’ The sergeant looked at his watch.

The corporal leant on the gate without lifting it, smiling at Cardilini and Salt waiting in the car. Two thickset men jogged towards them. One went to Salt’s side, the other to Cardilini’s and pushed their pulpy faces close to the windows. The corporal held the gate a little longer and then pushed it open. Salt drove through.

‘That went well,’ Cardilini said to an unresponsive Salt. ‘Were you aware it was Commonwealth property?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Williamson will have to go and see his family at some point. We’ll catch him then.’

‘You haven’t told me why you are wanting to speak to Private Williamson, sir’

‘He’s an exceptional marksman that was at St Nicholas a few years back.’

Salt sighed and increased his concentration on his driving.

‘Wild-goose chase. You think?’

Salt added another level of concentration to his meticulous driving.

‘It’s a question. I expect your answer,’ Cardilini said.

‘I don’t even believe there are wild geese, sir. I think you’re inventing them.’

Cardilini watched the passing houses.

‘Drop me at home,’ he said.

Claremont

3.50 p.m. Thursday, 29th October 1965

Mrs Lockheed answered the door. ‘I thought I’d see you again.’

Cardilini followed her down the passageway to the kitchen. Boxes still cluttered every space.

‘You want to know why I changed my story?’ She said as she sat and gestured Cardilini to take a chair.

Cardilini watched her. She had a faint smile about her mouth as she slowly moved a strand of hair from her eyes.

‘No. I want to know why you sent Carmody to tell me that.’ Cardilini sat.

‘I didn’t send him. He’s a law unto himself.’

‘Why’s he so keen to convince me it was an accidental shooting?’

‘Ask him. But since you’re asking me, perhaps he’s thinking the same as you, that it mightn’t be an accident.’

‘So it’s all to save the school’s reputation?’ Cardilini asked.

‘Yes,’ she replied quickly.

‘You weren’t thinking of the school’s reputation when you fought for your boy.’

Mrs Lockheed struggled for control. ‘What lengths would you go to protect your boy, Detective Cardilini?’

Cardilini reflected on his behaviour through Paul’s troubles. ‘I’m not a good father. If that’s what you want to know.’

‘It’s not what I asked. I assume you wouldn’t do a lot to protect him.’

‘Let’s go with that.’

‘Just like my husband. Did your wife say anything to you?’

Cardilini turned his head to the side as if avoiding a glancing blow then asked, ‘Do you still believe John?’

‘What did Carmody say to you?’

‘That John was lying and you knew he was.’

‘Carmody stood by John at every stage of this tragedy. He was a better man than John’s father.’

Cardilini understood, and a better father than you, was implied.

‘Did you try to find out about the boys who died?’ She asked.

‘No.’

‘Of course not.’ Mrs Lockheed shook her head ever so slightly. ‘The establishment wouldn’t approve.’

‘It’s not always like that,’ Cardilini said but wondered when it wasn’t.

‘Not even the Masters’ boy?’ she asked.

‘Why do you ask that?’

‘That was suicide. His parents found him. He’d hanged himself from the back verandah,’ she said, nervously brushing her throat with her fingertips.

‘Do you think there’s a connection between Edmund, the cadets, and these deaths?’ Cardilini asked.

‘I pray there isn’t.’

‘John?’ Cardilini questioned gently.

She stood up and took a deep breath. ‘Suicide isn’t the “done thing”, didn’t you know?’ She looked back nervously. She held her face firm but her eyes seemed to shudder.

‘Carmody asked what I thought about the execution of multi-murderer, Eric Cooke,’ Cardilini said.

Mrs Lockheed steadily met his gaze.

‘Was Captain Edmund’s death an execution?’ Cardilini thought he saw Mrs Lockheed fight a smile. His eyes moved rapidly between her mouth and eyes. He sat back and ran a hand unconsciously through his thinning hair.

‘Now you’re being ridiculously fanciful,’ Mrs Lockheed finally said and started walking to the front door.

Cardilini followed.