28

As expected, Shawcross blamed Hirst and both blamed Beavins, but my job was done. I went out the back to the cells to see Tom. He was sitting on the rough wooden bench, arms folded, rough grey wool blanket in a heap on the floor. Above him, set high in the whitewashed wall, was a small, barred window through which the bright blue sky could be glimpsed. The cell was hot and stuffy, and it would only get worse as the day wore on, but he seemed oblivious to all discomfort, even the swollen bruises and lacerations on his face.

‘Your father been out to see you?’

He shook his head. ‘Sent word not to bother.’

‘We’ve caught two of the three men responsible for the murders of Nessie, Grace and James.’

His sullen expression dissolved and he looked up at me, almost the old Tom. ‘Two? Where’s the third?’

‘Archie Beavins. He’s dead.’

He jumped up from the bench and slapped the wall. ‘That fucker! Walking around like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, and all the time he knew what he’d done. Told me straight to my face what Pearson said about Nessie all the while knowing he’d killed her. Who are the others?’

‘Jack Hirst and Tobias Shawcross, doggers from Tindaree.’

His legs suddenly gave way and he sat heavily on the bench again.

‘I’ll send for your father,’ I said. ‘You need to see him.’

‘No,’ he said, shaking his head slowly, tears trickling unchecked.

‘He’s had a great loss too, mate. He knows what it’s like,’ I said.

‘He’s going to have to forfeit the bail money. Half the value of one year’s clip, at least.’

I rubbed my beard, shifted my weight. ‘He’ll get over it.’ Did fathers get over their sons’ misdemeanours and ill fortune?

Tom snorted. ‘Why didn’t you let me at them? I’d rather go to prison for killing them than Pearson.’

‘Because this way they’ll hang and you’ll keep living,’ I said.

‘That’s what you call this?’

I waited, hoping to find some words of comfort in my addled brain, but none came, except the underwhelming, ‘You’ll more than likely go on remand to Bathurst Gaol.’

He raised his head and stared at me, then shrugged.

~

It was noted that I had done the legwork and that Lonergan and Parry had assisted in the arrest. Handshakes and good cheer all round for the mounted troopers of the Bourke District, drinks on the house at the local for any member of the traps, local scribblers breathless with excitement, pictures in the paper.

We were shabby and underfunded, but we’d done what those city dicks could not or would not, and Corcoran, despite the pressure to leave the case well alone, was a happy man. I was commended, as well as recommended for promotion. I thought promotion was going a bit far, but naturally did not object, humility not being one of my strengths.

As to who paid to have Jimmy Kirkbride beaten up – that was a seam to be mined by someone else. It could have been any man in the district who’d lost his girl to Jimmy’s smile and swagger.

Beavins, Hirst and Shawcross had killed the three Kirkbrides, but a question still gnawed at me, despite the cheers and clinking glasses, the backslapping and laughter: who the hell had raped Grace Kirkbride and started the awful train of events?

~

A couple of days later, Arthur Baines came back to Calpa, without Denning, and parked himself in the Royal again. I bought him a beer once he’d settled in.

‘You ride down?’

‘Nah, got the train to Bourke and a paddle-steamer was going down here. A bloke from the police prosecutor came with me to make sure we don’t stuff it up. He stayed in Bourke.’

‘You interviewed Hirst and Shawcross?’

‘Yeah. Couple of mangy mongrels they are too. Doesn’t matter which one of them did the killings, because they were both complicit and they’ll both hang. Not that I told them that.’

‘Did they tell you who paid Beavins to kill Jimmy?’

‘You’re not going to believe this, but they reckon Sally Gilmour did,’ he said. ‘But where does a nurse get a hundred pounds, and why would she spend it on having a man killed?’

‘Sally Gilmour? Bloody hell. I suspected she knew more than she was saying – at least, I think I did.’

‘Going out to Gowrie Station tomorrow to ask her a few questions,’ Baines said, and slapped an order on the table. ‘You’re to come as my second.’

~

Will Fletcher didn’t want any part of it. He wouldn’t let us interview his wife as she was a bedridden invalid and knew nothing about affairs outside the house. Miss Gilmour was no longer in their employ.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Fletcher,’ I said. ‘But your wife spent her days with Sally Gilmour and she may well know something important.’

‘My sister, Miss Fletcher,’ he said gruffly, ‘will sit in on the interview. It’s not proper to have two strange men in my wife’s room alone with her.’

Mrs Fletcher’s room was large, light and airy, with open French doors and sheer lace curtains billowing softly in the breeze. Vases of sweet-smelling lavender were placed around the room and the side wall was covered in a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf stacked with leather-bound volumes. It was one of the nicest rooms I’d seen out west. Mrs Fletcher sat in a well-upholstered armchair beside her bed, a pale-blue and grey rug over her lap. Her small, dark eyes sparkled, and there was high colour in her cheeks and a red ribbon in her thick hair.

Beyond the French doors lay the green vegetable gardens, alive with bees and butterflies, and beyond them in the far distance was a mob of sheep, their bleating carried on the breeze. Miss Fletcher had a maid find chairs for us and the three of us seated ourselves.

‘What can you tell us about Sally Gilmour, Mrs Fletcher?’ Baines asked, in a respectful tone, pencil poised.

‘Very little, but I can tell you about me.’

He scribbled something down. ‘All right, let’s start there.’

‘When I married William and came out here, this was a thriving district and Gowrie was at the peak of its wool production. I had my children and they had nurses and a governess, and then Tom went to King’s, and the girls married. I was bored and still young. Bob Kirkbride had always made eyes at me. Men flirt – it passes the time and reassures them they still have their virility.’

Miss Fletcher lowered her head and blushed. I could see the disgust on her face. I might have been mistaken but I think Mrs Fletcher enjoyed baiting the bloodless Miss Fletcher.

‘But he never stopped, and we went further and further and I found myself in love with him. He was, back then, a very charismatic man and lots of fun, like Jimmy. For a while I thought he loved me, and I think he pretended to do so. We used to meet in a shepherd’s hut to have … relations. But what really excited him was that I was Mrs Fletcher, daughter-in-law of old Bill Fletcher, who used to enjoy stealing Kirkbride sheep. I realised what he wanted was not me but revenge.’

I was taking notes at a furious speed but had to look up at that point.

‘The last time I saw him, I accused him of wanting me because he felt he was taking something away from Will each time we met,’ she said. ‘We fought, screaming at each other. He hit me and I ran away, out of the shepherd’s hut. He chased me and grabbed me by my hair and hit me again and I fell back on a tree stump … That was that.’

She watched our faces carefully. The gossamer curtains rippled as the soft breeze carried the distant sounds of the sheep. I realised that she’d spent the last three years in this room, going over and over the events that had ruined her life, losing that daily intercourse with others that keep a human anchored to what’s real and what isn’t. There were plenty of us out here.

‘He didn’t even have the decency to protect me while he went for help,’ she continued. ‘I think he wanted me to die. I lay there in agony, knowing what a fool I’d been and how the disgrace would hit Will and my children. I wanted to die and the doctors were afraid I would. But Will, damn him, never said anything, never reproached me, just hired the best nurses, and got his sister in to run the house.

‘I never saw Bob again. No letter, no card. I expect he had his wife to deal with and it was best forgotten. But then he refused to give Nessie a proper marriage settlement when Tom wanted to marry her. I decided I’d had enough. I paid Archie Beavins to kill James Kirkbride. Then Bob would have nothing, like I have nothing.’

Miss Fletcher gasped, a high-pitched cry of shock and horror. Her hands went to her face and I wondered if she should have been spared this. I wished I had been. I took a breath, waiting for Baines to respond, but he was too stunned and just stared at Mrs Fletcher. I swallowed, and managed to say, ‘But Jimmy was innocent and never did you any harm. Why kill him? Why not Bob Kirkbride himself?’

‘Jimmy is as far from innocent as his father – you know that, Captain, surely. And he was his father’s heir. Nothing would hurt Bob Kirkbride as much as losing the future. Without Jimmy to take over Inveraray, the whole Kirkbride empire falls to dust and blows away,’ she said, waving her hand through the air. ‘It’s in the Bible. The sins of the father are paid for by his children.’

I gazed at her, a little uncertain about her sanity. ‘But didn’t you say,’ I said, flipping the pages of my notebook back, ‘that all this started because your father-in-law, Bill Fletcher, stole sheep from Kirkbride? So who’s paying for his sins?’

‘Me. I am,’ she said, gesturing to her legs beneath the blanket. ‘And Will.’

‘And Tom’s paying for yours by losing Nessie,’ I said.

‘I never meant that to happen,’ she said, dropping her gaze to her lap and plucking at the wool of the blanket. ‘I had no idea the Kirkbride girls were going to a stockmen’s dance. I don’t know what Janet was thinking, letting them traipse off like a couple of laundry maids. I kept a firmer hand on my daughters. Because you have to out here.’

‘You wicked, wicked woman,’ Miss Fletcher shouted, jumping to her feet, fists clenched.

I quickly put myself between her and her sister-in-law’s bed, but Miss Fletcher stumbled out of the room. A wail of pain rose up from outside in the hallway, thin and high-pitched. Thumping footsteps and sobbing fading away. Baines was a sickly shade of pale and appeared struck dumb. The worldly detective who thought he’d seen it all.

‘And … ah … Miss Gilmour? How did she figure in all of this?’ I asked, closing the door and taking my chair again.

‘Sally lured Jimmy to the dance, and Archie was to kill him on his way back home. That way nobody would know who’d done it.’

‘Archie got a couple of men from Tindaree to help him. A couple of animals with no—’

‘Sally told me.’ She raised her eyes to mine, jerked her chin up, defiant. ‘I can’t help that. Men drink and get violent, that’s what they do. As I said, Janet Kirkbride should never have let the girls go to the dance.’

‘Did Sally Gilmour tell you what happened … to Miss Nessie?’ Baines said. ‘How she suffered?’

‘Yes, she did. Mr Beavins told her. Sally said he wanted her to know he hadn’t touched Nessie – that he would never. How she laughed. Sally saw straight through men, not like me.’

Baines and I bent over our notebooks, scribbling, re-reading, buying time to digest it all.

‘You paid Archie Beavins a hundred pounds to have James Kirkbride killed and he didn’t bat an eyelid?’ Baines asked.

‘He did, and Sally had to coax him. She said they could use that money to get married. Men can be such fools. As if a pretty, clever girl like Sally would shackle herself to a stockman who could barely spell his own name. She’s been fleeing men like him all her life. But he thought so much of himself that he accepted it as his right. Then, at the dance, she was to make him so jealous of Jimmy that he’d be in a rage and less likely to fail or run away.’

Baines and I exchanged a glance, as if neither of us could quite grasp what these two women had cooked up in the cold light of day, over their sewing.

‘Where is Sally Gilmour now?’ I asked.

‘I sent her away to protect her. She only did what I asked of her. You can arrest me if you like. In fact, I’d like you to. I don’t care what happens to me – my life has been over for a while now. I’m glad I lived long enough to get back at him. All I ask is that you tell Robert Kirkbride it was me who killed his children.’

Out in the hallway, Baines and I looked at each other. Baines was now a light shade of green, like algae bleached by the sun. I dare say I looked similar – I certainly felt like I’d been fed something rotten. Men getting drunk and beating a woman to death? Common as muck. Women ordering and paying for the death of a young man? It was like the tide going out and refusing to come back.

‘What happens now?’

‘You tell me,’ Baines said, wiping his face with a large handkerchief. ‘I’ll speak to the husband and wire Sydney tonight for instructions.’

‘Do you want me to stay here overnight, make sure she doesn’t—’

‘I reckon her husband will nail her door shut and be done with her, more than likely.’

Walking down the dim hallway towards the drawing room, I felt ill with shock at what I’d heard in that comfortable bedroom. Memories of what was left of Nessie’s face, the horror of it, the cold night and the taste of vomit, all dismissed with the wave of Mrs Fletcher’s hand. I had to stop and steady myself against the wall. I could hear Baines’ voice echoing down the hallway from the drawing room and spared a thought for Will. He’d have to tell Tom, and his daughters in Sydney. I wanted a drink like I’d never wanted one before, whisky, swigged from the bottle.

As I continued on my way, I passed Tom’s room. The door was open and I glanced inside. On a table beside his bed, I noticed a picture of Nessie, as sweet and lovely as a spring morning. Beside it he’d placed a small vase of wildflowers and a candle. I swallowed down the lump in my throat and stepped back into the hall, suddenly wishing I was far away from here.

~

The next day Baines was in and out, wiring Bourke and Sydney, smoking like a train, sweating and infuriated with the heat, shirtsleeves rolled up, swiping at flies until he lost it, shouting about shitholes and Calpa. I got him a cold beer from the river and we took a break in the kitchen.

‘I got the feeling Tuttle was warning me off the Kirkbride case when we had lunch,’ I said. ‘He’s not going to be happy about this, is he.’

‘He reckons you shouldn’t have stirred things up. But you did the right thing by cutting us in on the kill.’

‘And Kirkbride?’

‘I’ve been to see him and his wife. Told them the killers have been apprehended. Dunno if I fancy going back and telling them it was Mrs Fletcher who organised it.’

‘She didn’t organise Hirst and Shawcross, just Beavins, and I reckon if it hadn’t been for those two, Beavins wouldn’t have done it – not with the girls there.’

‘True enough, but that don’t help the Kirkbrides. They aren’t relieved – in fact, they said they couldn’t bear any more. So, ah … yeah, Mrs Fletcher’s confession will be tough to hear. I’ll go and see them this afternoon. Can you come?’

‘Rather not.’

Baines let out a great sigh. ‘Me too. But the good news is all persons involved, apart from the nurse, have pleaded guilty. Therefore, no trial, just sentencing. Kirkbride’s solicitors give value for money, and I reckon they are beavering away as we speak on keeping the whole thing under wraps. I expect Will Fletcher wants it kept quiet too.’

He lifted the bottle of beer and poured it down his throat with barely a swallow, then wiped his mouth and sighed. ‘Dunno how you can bear working in this heat. And it’s not even summer.’

‘You get used to it.’

‘Tuttle reckons if you want to apply for a transfer to the Detective Branch in Sydney, the gods will smile on your application.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Got a nose for it. Some blokes don’t. Gotta be able to think sideways,’ he said, slicing his hand along a horizontal.

‘Have to keep my rank. I won’t go down.’

‘I bet you won’t,’ he said sourly.

He went back to the front desk and his papers. Tuttle’s offer surprised me, but the prospect of a future among those surly, hard-faced detectives was not appealing. But most of all, finding people dead from stupidity and brutality toughens a man. I could already feel a bony carapace inching across my body. Soon it would close over and that would be it: I’d be nothing but a walking rock.

~

Baines and I rode up to Inveraray, tethered our horses and walked across the dirt to the house, the old date palms standing sentry.

‘Comin’ in?’ he said, half-pleading.

‘Better I wait outside. Kirkbride won’t appreciate my presence, in any capacity.’

But I hung around, half-inclined to go up to the graveyard to pay my respects. They’d been my friends, and the beloved siblings of the girl I loved. But I didn’t want to see their graves, see those dates bookending their short lives, see the night I found them, their blood washing away in the rain.

One day, long down the years, I might be able to picture them, the girls singing, me pounding away at the piano and Jimmy conducting, pulling faces as he made us all helpless with laughter. Or walking in single file through the long grasses in a good season, hands trailing the tips of the grass, marvelling at the miracle as bright rosellas sped past twittering. The grasses would come back if we left the land alone, and then their graves would be sheltered and protected, and they’d be left to return to the earth in peace.

~

Baines reappeared and we silently made our way back to town. I met him in the pub later, where we nursed our double whiskies and talked of cricket and John Denning.

‘He’s got a promotion and transferred to Phillip Street. He’s the coming man, so they say.’

‘You said he was in trouble for his disloyalty to me.’

‘Yeah, he was. But he was also loyal to the top, and they don’t overlook a man who does what he’s told. Like I said, always on the up or down, with an eye on your back for the knife that’s coming.’

‘Well, congratulations, I hope you enjoy working with him.’

Baines gave a short laugh. ‘How’s that lazy little paddy going, eh? Couldn’t pull a greasy stick from a dog’s arse, and then he bloody well saves the day.’

‘Not many younger troopers could have managed it.’

‘Yep, he’ll go a long way if he keeps it up.’

‘Doesn’t want to. He’s got a wheat farm waiting for him and a pretty girl to marry.’

‘Yeah? Lucky little bastard.’

‘Fancy your hand at farming?’

‘Grew up on a dairy farm. Dad left it to me older brother, who’s busy running it into the ground. Nah, I like a pay packet, nice and steady. Come out here and see how hard these blokes work … yeah, I reckon I’m grateful to the old man, finally.’

‘Did you a favour?’

‘Yep, reckon he did. Listen, mate, what I need you to do now is get on with the exhumation of Albert Jong. Gotta pull the strings on the bag tight so those bastards can’t crawl out.’