Twenty-six

Day 7

St Nicholas College

12.50 p.m. Saturday, 31st October 1965

The day settled warm and lazy into the afternoon. A faint sea breeze teased the tops of trees but failed to find its way into Cardilini’s car. At a set of streetlights he leant over and wound down the passenger window.

Cars were parked along all the school’s internal roads and clustered on one of the ovals. He nudged his EH Holden into the shade beside a Mercedes and a Pontiac before walking up the road in the shade of pine trees. Boys dressed in casual clothes were wandering around in groups of two to five. The visiting team’s spectators were in their school uniforms and stood around the cricket oval. A raked pavilion of red brick was perched on the side gaping out at the players. Adults occupied most of the seats. Cardilini envied their calm expressions.

He watched the figures in white running, and smiled at the sound of an oak bat striking the leather ball. He had never played the game. He was about to express his opinion on the stupidity of the sport but instead shook his head, admonishing himself. He looked around for Robson.

Robson was sitting by himself a third of the way around the oval on a shaded bench. As Cardilini made his way around the boundary, there was another crack of the ball and bat, some lively calling and Robson and others clapping. Cardilini turned to the pitch and players: nothing seemed to be happening. Reaching Robson’s bench he sat and took out a cigarette.

Offering the packet to Robson he asked, ‘How are your boys going?’

Robson declined a cigarette. ‘All out for one seventy-two.’

‘Is that good?’ Cardilini lit his and inhaled.

‘Depends. The opposition are three for seventy-nine.’

‘Oh. Could be close?’ Cardilini suggested but had no real idea.

‘Yes.’ Robson took a butt from his tin. ‘There’s no point asking me about Mossop. The principal’s handling it.’

‘Do accusations such as the one made against me often find their way to the police?’

Robson scrutinised Cardilini. ‘Who said there were other such accusations?’

‘Mrs Lockheed.’

Robson took a deep inhalation on his cigarette and butted it out on his tin cover. ‘They’re going to find out smoking is bad for you.’ He tapped his tin on the wooden bench and replaced it into his coat pocket.

‘How do you know?’

‘I’m a scientist. I do know that in the right dosage fifty per cent of what you inhale could kill you within hours.’

‘Tough.’ Cardilini inhaled and, sated, expelled the smoke.

‘I never believed John Lockheed or his mother,’ Robson said.

‘Why?’

‘I’ve worked with Edmund for four years.’

‘Which told you?’

‘It was abhorrent what the boy said. Ridiculously fanciful. Malicious.’

‘What part?’

Robson turned to Cardilini’s expressionless face.

‘Standing with a rifle above their heads was practised before Edmund came to the school. I’ve seen them do it. Edmund stood them in front of the window facing the quad. He was a military man.’

‘Was he? As an instructor of school cadets his rank was honorary.’

‘When I say military man, I meant he affected all things military. He was rejected by the services.’

‘How do you know?’

‘He told me. Some medical reason, I didn’t enquire. He always had the boys’ best interests at heart.’

‘And he’s not capable of the things John Lockheed said?’

‘No. Talk to other people who knew him.’

‘The parents of the boys who’ve since passed away, do you mean?’ Cardilini cocked his head quizzically.

Robson turned his attention to the cricket. ‘Carmody’s bowling. He’s the first eleven captain. He made fifty-eight runs.’

‘Was he in the first eleven when Bradley Williamson was captain?’

‘What’s that intended to prove?’

‘Carmody would have been a fourth form student?’ Cardilini pushed.

‘Then, yes, Carmody is one of a handful to make the first eleven while in form four.’

‘Were the boys close?’

‘Williamson was a mentor to Carmody. Williamson was a real leader and a very loyal student,’ Robson said.

They both sat watching the cricket. Cardilini remembered boys at his school playing cricket, the posh boys.

‘Bad luck,’ Robson called. ‘Carmody was hit for a four,’ he informed Cardilini.

Cardilini clapped and said, ‘Bradley Williamson won the state school boys’ shooting titles two years running.’

‘I know, quite a marksman. Why the interest in Williamson?’

‘No interest. Just, he was a cricket captain, like Carmody.’

Robson shrugged.

Cardilini asked, ‘The boys who passed away: 1963, 1964, and tragically the boy who took his own life this year were all cadets, some discharged for disciplinary reasons. We know the discipline. What part couldn’t they manage?’

‘I’ve no idea. I said I know what Edmund did. We all did. It wasn’t a secret. It was considered appropriate in the traditions of the school. The rest is too disgusting. I believe the disgruntled boys all decided on the same or similar complaints to discredit Edmund. Like Mossop’s complaint about you.’

‘That’s a lie.’

‘Of course. As were the accusations made about Edmund.’

‘So all accusations against Edmund are untrue?’

‘Yes, it’s beyond belief. When on duty in the evenings I spent a lot of time with the man. I knew him.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

‘I am right.’

‘Otherwise there could be more tragic consequences for young men and their families.’

Robson clapped as Carmody got a wicket. Cardilini looked at the scoreboard, a timber structure with numbers hanging from it, attended by schoolboys in St Nicholas uniform. The visitors were 4 for 92.

‘If, hypothetically, the boys’ accusations were considered plausible – I still can’t believe it – but say if the boys’ claims were plausible, what difference would it make now?’ Robson asked.

‘To the boys?’

‘Yes.’

‘You could save a boy’s life. Lockheed’s for a start. The mother is too frightened to let him out of her sight.’

They watched as the new batsman struggled through the first few balls of a new over.

‘The sketch you picked up from the bottom of the tree the first day I was here, did it show trousers around the boy’s ankles?’ Cardilini asked.

‘I didn’t look.’ Robson was staring at the field.

‘How many have you picked up since?’

‘It became an epidemic until Carmody spoke to the boarders.’

‘Were you there when he spoke?’ Cardilini asked.

‘No. It was part of Carmody’s conditions.’

‘Conditions?’

‘We foster leadership. The principal thought it appropriate.’

‘And you?’

‘Carmody doesn’t require anyone’s endorsement to influence the boys.’

‘You don’t like him?’ Cardilini asked.

When Robson didn’t answer Cardilini rephrased, ‘You don’t trust him?’

‘No, I trust him and respect him. “Like” is too subjective. I “liked” Edmund.’

‘What was the reaction at the school as these boys’ deaths started?’

Robson turned a serious face to Cardilini, ‘What do you think? You’ve a son. It’s gutting, like the solid earth under your feet has turned to slime. I taught those boys, they had everything to live for. And their deaths, apart from poor Masters’, were accidents. And I do not like or respect what you’re trying to do,’ Robson said, standing in an attempt to calm himself.

The boys began moving from the oval.

‘The boys are breaking for tea. Do you want a cup?’ Robson asked politely.

‘Sure. Thanks.’

They walked from the shade into the sunlight. Cardilini felt the give in the grass under his shoes and recalled lazy, innocent summer days he’d spent kicking a football, before becoming a policeman.

‘Did any of those boys who passed away play cricket, Robson?’ Cardilini asked as they walked side by side across the oval.

‘You ever been afraid, Cardilini?’ Robson asked.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m afraid. I’m afraid because you’re trying to plunge us into a nightmare beyond comprehension.’ Robson stopped short of the grandstand. ‘I’m not even sure you should be at the school, so if you would wait here, I’ll get you a cup of tea,’ he said and walked off.

Cardilini looked for Carmody. He was standing separate from the others next to a tall, gaunt, elderly man who appeared familiar. At one point they both turned to look at him then continued their conversation. Parents were mingling with the boys. Cardilini could see stern words of advice being issued. Carmody eventually joined the group and received a number of pats on the back. You’d think he was winning a war, Cardilini thought.

Robson returned to Cardilini with a cup of tea. They both stood silently looking across to the players. Carmody separated himself from the team and walked across to them.

‘What do you think our chances are, sir?’ Carmody asked Robson.

‘I wouldn’t bowl yourself again. But, well done.’

‘I agree, sir.’

‘Clarke has three for sixteen. Does he have any overs left?’ Robson asked.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Bowl him, and who would you bowl with him?’ Robson asked.

‘Morrell.’

‘Good choice, they haven’t been able to hit him.’

‘Are you enjoying the game, Detective Sergeant Cardilini?’ Carmody asked.

‘Parts of it.’

‘What parts would they be?’

‘Where you were hit for a four.’

Carmody smiled, ‘Yes. It doesn’t happen often.’

‘It doesn’t,’ Robson confirmed.

‘And it won’t happen again,’ Carmody said and nodded respectfully before walking away.

‘I do respect the boy, Detective Cardilini. Despite everything, I believe he is of good character,’ Robson said.

‘Who’s the skinny old chap in the tea line?’ Cardilini asked pointing.

Robson turned to Cardilini surprised, then returning his gaze towards the gathering said, ‘An interested spectator.’

Cardilini accepted this with a nod.

Robson took Cardilini’s empty teacup and saucer and they parted company.

Cardilini started towards his car before becoming aware of a group of young students staring at him. He stopped, ‘Any questions, boys?’

‘No, sir,’ one eventually replied. Cardilini continued to his car.

Kilkenny Rd

4.15 p.m. Saturday, 31st October 1965

Paul was standing on the front verandah when the car pulled into the driveway, he watched his father walk towards the house. Cardilini looked up at him and stood still.

Paul spoke defiantly, ‘I’m going to help with the garden because it’s what Mum would want.’

Cardilini nodded. ‘The academy’s still all good,’ he said and swore to himself he would make it ‘good’ no matter what it cost him.

Paul looked back, defeated and disbelieving. He took a breath before saying, ‘But I’m working at the drive-in tonight.’

‘Great, son, great,’ Cardilini enthused.

Paul looked at him for a moment then said briskly, ‘Mum never pruned the roses in summer because they had flowers on them.’

Day 8

Kilkenny Road

12.10 a.m. Sunday, 1st November 1965

Six files sat in front of Cardilini on the kitchen table. They were Captain Edmund’s files on the boys: Carmody, Lockheed, Williamson, Sheppard, Doney and Masters.

Cardilini had drawn up neat lists in an exercise book.

– 1963. A sixth form boarder, Colin Sheppard, died by an accidental shooting

– 1964. A sixth form boarder, Peter Doney, died in a car accident while on holidays at the family farm

– 1965. An old boy, Geoff Masters, died by hanging

• Bradley Williamson and Geoff Masters graduated in 1963

• All had been in the Cadets together and played sport together

• Carmody and Lockheed, plus the boy killed in a car accident, Doney, had been discharged from the cadets for disciplinary reasons

• These boys all knew each other well. The total boarders numbered 132

• The following discounted intentional shooting as fanciful, or considered it plausible and worth concealing, or knew it to be a fact and decided to cover it up:

◆ Deputy Commissioner Warren

◆ Superintendent Robinson

◆ Dr Braun

◆ Dr Robson

◆ Mrs Lockheed

◆ Carmody

A cover-up in case it leads to revelations of Captain Edmund’s abuse and their failure to act? Cardilini asked himself.

• Salt left St Nicholas in 1962, the year before Edmund arrived

Blankly, he studied the list. He checked his watch: 12.20 a.m. Paul was due home soon. He packed up the files nervously and stood on the front porch to wait. The night was empty of noise, disconcertingly so. He walked to the front gate. Two porch lights across the street did little other than light themselves, likewise two streetlights. He checked his watch again. His stomach hollowed. Paul’s gone to his aunt’s, he thought. He took several nervous breaths.

He turned to the house. The hall light was on. The front door open. The house empty.

A thin yellow light brushing the front porches of the houses opposite caught his attention. A car had turned into the street. He heard the rubber on bitumen and the familiar roar of his car. He released a breath thankfully. The light pool in front of the house intensified as the car slowed and turned into the driveway. He watched Paul pull up, dowse the lights, switch off the engine and get out of the car.

‘Dad. What are you doing?’

‘Nothing, just … nothing.’

Paul, still standing with the car door open, watched him. Finally he asked, ‘Have you been drinking?’

‘No. Absolutely not.’

‘You sure?’

‘Of course I’m bloody sure …’ then softening, ‘Son.’

‘Why are you outside then?’

‘It was late, I just thought I’d wait for you.’

‘Jesus, don’t start that Dad.’

‘I was working. I wasn’t just waiting for you,’ Cardilini finished gruffly but held Paul with his eyes. Paul in turn watched his father suspiciously.

‘You didn’t crash the car?’ Cardilini demanded.

‘Of course bloody not,’ Paul shot back.

‘Good. I’m going to bed,’ Cardilini said and turned to the house, anxious to hear the car door close and Paul follow him.