The Final Cut Page 9

  Spencer was angry at the situation, at Robinson, at Cardilini, at herself and the cage placed around her because of her gender. Part of her wanted to plead with Cardilini to trust her, to start again; but part of her knew she could never be involved in the old networks. She thought working with Cardilini was her way around them, the boys’ club … As she reached the door she knew she was hurting mostly because Cardilini mightn’t be the man she thought he was.

  ‘Jesus, Cardilini, what have you done?’ Robinson demanded. Cardilini shook his head. ‘Saying you don’t trust her? You don’t say that to a partner, particularly her. What can she make of that? Trust is all we’ve got; without it the city would go to hell in a hand basket. That’s pushing her right out. How did you think it would go down?’ Robinson stood and smacked the desk, then pushed his chair back and waited.

  ‘Firstly, I said I wanted to be able to trust her.’

  ‘Same bloody thing and you know it!’ Robinson thundered. Cardilini thought for a moment and then nodded. ‘You want to finish her? Is that your plan?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, it will. You do know that?’

  ‘So what do you want me to do?’

  ‘This shouldn’t have got to me in the first place. We don’t interfere between partners.’

  ‘Is that right? Then tell me why Hardy was shifted to me.’

  Robinson sat down again and began adjusting the papers on his desk. ‘You know why. Spry’s promotion. We told everyone.’

  ‘Bullshit. Tell me the truth now or I’m walking out of here and things can fall where they will.’

  Robinson started to speak, then thought better of it. He got up and walked to the other end of his desk and then returned before swearing to himself and sitting to face Cardilini. ‘Hardy beat a woman he and Spry were investigating.’

  Cardilini jumped from his seat. ‘You bastards, you knew all the bloody time! You left me to take the can for that!’

  ‘We had your back. It had to happen. Hardy was out of control.’

  ‘You knew he was out of control before you put him with me?’

  ‘It was his last chance and he knew it. He respected you; we thought you’d be able to set him straight.’

  ‘You should’ve bloody well told me,’ Cardilini said.

  ‘We couldn’t do that.’

  ‘What about Spry? He could have told me.’

  ‘We ordered him to keep his mouth shut. Still applies. The department can’t afford to be seen condoning Hardy’s behaviour. Spry understood; that’s what we do for each other, that’s what we do for the department – you know that. I’m sorry you had to carry it. You did the right thing. Everyone knows that. You’d be a detective inspector now if you didn’t abuse the hell out of your senior officers so often.’

  Cardilini knew everything Robinson was saying was right: they did look after each other even when it meant bending the rules. He wondered if the policing world Spencer wanted was even possible. And where did she learn it? Bloody-arse wipe instructors who’ve never been in uniform, morally posturing for each other. He sighed, realising the real reason he was so angry was because he’d hurt Spencer.

  ‘And if I hadn’t spent the past year drunk,’ Cardilini added.

  ‘Yeah. That, too,’ Robinson replied.

  ‘After all her years in the force, she’s got a fairly idealistic view of policing.’

  ‘I understand that.’

  ‘I doubt she could hold her tongue like Spry has. I think she would feel compelled to do the moral thing.’

  ‘She’s not alone there, is she?’

  ‘What? That’s not me,’ Cardilini said.

  ‘You blew the whistle on Hardy.’

  ‘He was going to bloody well kill someone.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’ Robinson stood and walked back and forth behind his desk. ‘But with Spencer, the moral thing was what I was afraid of.’

  ‘Thanks for telling me,’ Cardilini said, shaking his head.

  ‘How did it come up?’ Robinson asked.

  ‘Archie Cooper cuts his wife as entertainment for high-paying clientele. Someone’s running him. He and his wife were previously into the racket in Kalgoorlie. Two local Fremantle coppers are assisting them.’

  ‘Have you told Spencer this?’ Robinson asked. Cardilini shook his head. ‘She thinks she has a regular case of domestic abuse?’ Cardilini nodded. ‘Jesus Christ. The commissioner will fall off his perch if this doesn’t work out with you two.’

  ‘Won’t worry me,’ Cardilini said.

  ‘I’m worried Spencer will have nowhere to go,’ Robinson said.

  ‘That can’t be right. Put her with someone younger.’

  ‘It’s been tried. It’s her; she just can’t settle. Everyone has come up against the same problem. She thought you’d be her shining bloody light.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ Cardilini cast his head about like a trapped bull.

  ‘We’ve got to know where her loyalties lie. If not with the department it’s better she goes, now,’ Robinson said.

  ‘No, no, you can’t. What happened elsewhere?’

  ‘She didn’t get anything serious,’ Robinson said resignedly.

  ‘She’s a good copper.’

  ‘Yep, that’s what everyone said as they moved her from one station to the next.’

  ‘Okay. If she’ll give me another go, I’ll try … She’s really got her heart in this.’

  ‘Good, send her back in. I’ll tell her you two are still a unit until I’ve considered what’s been presented.’

  ‘She’s too smart not to see through that.’

  ‘I know. But she won’t yell at me. So I can live with it.’

  Cardilini stood and walked to the door. ‘You know, if Spry can’t investigate the woman Hardy belted before I got stuck with him, you’ve basically tied his hands.’

  ‘I thought about that, and Spry asked me about it,’ Robinson said.

  ‘And?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘I haven’t figured it out yet.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Monday, 22 November 1965

  10 a.m.

  When Spencer returned from her second meeting with Robinson, Cardilini was sitting at his desk. He turned to her but she sat and spun on her chair so she was facing away from him. Cardilini waited her out and eventually she turned around. ‘You did say you didn’t trust me.’

  ‘Not in those words. It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just I’m not sure how you would react with certain information.’

  ‘I used to hope I’d react exactly the way you would react,’ Spencer said.

  ‘You ever keep a secret?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘In the playground?’

  ‘Your best friend’s secret? If you broke your trust with your best friend what would happen?’

  Spencer looked at him, annoyed. ‘Well, we wouldn’t be best friends. Best enemies perhaps.’

  ‘If there was a whole group of best friends and they started to speak of the secrets they had promised not to, what would happen?’

  ‘Gee, I don’t know where you’re going with this. I’m not a child. We’re not in the playground anymore.’

  ‘No, you’re right. I’ll just finish up the report on Sally Abraham,’ Cardilini said, indicating a sheet of paper in his hand.

  ‘What? You can’t do that. You know the risk to her children.’

  ‘That’s why I’m filing a report. Why? Were you planning on covering your tracks if a child’s killed?’ Cardilini asked.

  ‘No!’

  ‘It will look like that.’

  ‘No. You agreed.’

  ‘Oh, did you think you could trust me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I can’t go against correct procedure, you should have known that,’ Cardilini said earnestl
y.

  ‘No. Cardilini, stop, I gave her my word.’

  ‘That was silly.’

  ‘I told her we could trust you. You said we could. You said we were … partners …’ Spencer’s voice trailed away. Cardilini placed the piece of paper on his desk. Spencer snatched it. It was blank. He watched her face; she fought for composure, breathed in and out, her bottom lip trembling slightly. ‘You frightened me,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry.’

  Spencer put her hand to her forehead and slowly shook her head from side to side. ‘I was the only female at detective training. I worked four times harder than every other applicant. I was exact in everything I did. I learnt all the procedures and all associated laws back to front; no other applicant came close. But I knew if I made a single mistake, no matter how many mistakes the men made, it would have been enough for them to get rid of me. It didn’t make me popular, but it didn’t matter because someone I looked up to wasn’t popular but was respected, and I was going to be just like him.’ Spencer pushed the paper back.

  Cardilini wasn’t sure if he’d admired a detective as much as he admired Lorraine Spencer. ‘If you’re talking about me, I am popular.’

  Spencer smiled. ‘No, you’re not, you’re a pain in the arse.’ She turned her chair to face the window. ‘I don’t know what I want now. And facing each other is a bad idea.’

  ‘It was your idea,’ Cardilini said.

  ‘Well, I made a mistake.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Tuesday, 23 November 1965

  9.30 a.m.

  Cardilini arranged the photos of Melody Cooper on his desk. Different angles revealed how the scars aged: from thin white, fading lines to red; through to slightly raised healing cuts, perhaps just weeks old; to the recent bloodied lines containing stiches. Similar patterns could also be seen on her shoulders, chest, above her breasts and on her neck. He wondered if cutting a particular area of Melody’s body brought higher prices. If so, the recent event – cuts on the upper thighs that weren’t related to her sexual organs – were perhaps part of a drunken ‘economy performance’. He made a list of the cuts, classified them, circled and numbered each incident of scarring on the prints, then numbered them from what he thought might be the earliest to the most recent. He hoped the police surgeon could give him a better idea of the age of the abuse.

  There were no photos of the back of her thighs or her back. Cardilini deduced that select clientele must want to see the cuts inflicted; to see the horror and pain on Melody’s face and to hear her screams. When Cardilini had suggested to the neighbour, Mrs Alice Gould, that Melody was a ‘good screamer’, her reaction had supported it. However, Cardilini was still confused as to how Melody, a young, beautiful, almost childlike woman, could end up in the hands of such people. Surely she would have had other opportunities? He shook his head, remembering he’d thought exactly the same thing about many other young women and men he’d come across in his work. He pinned his list to the photos, placed everything neatly in a manila folder and locked it in his top drawer.

  It was 9.45 a.m. He wondered how much longer Spencer would be, getting copies of the photos. For an instant he had a hollow feeling, a fear she wouldn’t come back. He pushed it aside and filled his mug with the dregs from the teapot, then scribbled a note for his partner – ‘file room’ – and marched out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Thursday, 7 March 1957

  12.40 p.m.

  It was lunchtime at Geraldton High School. Most of the kids were sitting in the shade of the verandah: upper school at the south end near their classrooms, Year 10s in the middle making the most noise, Year 9s and 8s at the north end of the verandah. Past that was the playground and assembly area where the dusty white sand had been packed hard by hundreds of feet from three generations of children. Around the perimeter, squatting and squabbling, boys played marbles. Beyond them was the oval where an improvised cricket game was underway.

  Melody had her back to the balustrading that ran the full length of the verandah. Standing in front of her were two Year 10 boys with lopsided grins on their faces. Melody arched her back so her breasts pushed against her straining shirt. The boys glanced quickly, eagerly, between Melody’s eyes and her chest. She felt exalted.

  ‘Slut,’ came a female voice among the gathered Year 10s. Melody shrunk; her fitful eyes darted between the two boys and the other Year 10s along the verandah.

  ‘Jocko, she’s a slut.’ A male voice came from the same direction.

  One of the boys in front of her wilted and shifted uneasily on his feet. ‘I know,’ the boy replied and punched his mate on the arm.

  ‘Yeah, we know,’ his mate said and they backed away as their eyes lingered on the now closing shirtfront. Melody felt her cheeks stinging. She gave a quick glance in the direction of her Year 9 classmates – some were sneering at her, others just turned their backs. She quickly faced the assembly area. ‘Slut’ started as a murmur before louder, brasher voices took it up. With her eyes directed to the assembly area she walked the length of the verandah, past the Year 8s and down the steps to the yard.

  The sun embraced her like a warm glove. As if I care, she told herself. She let her arms swing at her side, brushing her skirt as she walked. I’ll show them one day. She headed to a group of Year 8s playing marbles and squatted beside them, pushing her skirt between her legs.

  ‘Lend me some marbles,’ she demanded.

  The five Year 8 boys looked at each other, then down to the marbles on the ground.

  ‘If I win, I’ll pay you back. Come on, one of you,’ she said with a quick look to the verandah.

  A group of Year 9 and 10 girls were leaning on the balustrading, looking at her.

  ‘One of you,’ she demanded. Two boys grabbed their marbles and walked away. The other three remained squatting as if in a trance.

  ‘You,’ Melody said to the sweetest-looking of the group, and winked. He put his hand in his pocket and held out two cat’s eyes and a blood. Melody grabbed the three marbles. She looked at the boy; she knew her eyes were saying, thank you. The boy smiled.

  Back in her tough voice she asked, ‘What’re we playing?’

  The boy told her and they started their game. When the bell rang for the end of lunch, Melody had seven marbles. Often, when the girls didn’t want her, she’d played marbles with the boys. She was a good marble player.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Melody asked the boy who had given her the marbles.

  ‘Peter,’ the boy said, looking up.

  ‘Here you are, Peter.’ She placed all the marbles in his palm and walked away with her head high. She could hear the other boys bickering with Peter, and she heard him returning their marbles.

  All the children were lining up in front of classroom doors. She walked past the classroom block and headed for the toilets against the fence and among the pine trees a hundred yards away. Two Year 8 girls ran from the girls’ toilet looking quizzically at Melody and whispering. Melody marched into the toilet, pushed her way into a cubicle and sat. With her hands clenched on her lap she fixed her eye on the door hinge. She wanted to be far away. She wanted never to have been born. She swore silently at her mother. She wanted her father to embrace her. She wanted to show them all. She would run away. She would find Con and beg him to take her away; she would do anything if he would take her away. That’s what she needed; that would show them all. That would make them all jealous. She was crying, hanging on to the image of Con’s eyes in the rear-view mirror and she daydreamed about what she would let Con do to her.

  He could touch my breasts, she thought, maybe not on the inside the first time. She would kiss him as much as he liked. She imagined making him a cup of tea; she imagined him smiling at her with his soft dark eyes. She imagined sitting on his lap with his arm around her shoulders. Her face was filling with smiles. She wished Con would come to school and call
to her when all the kids were there; she would walk over to him, without being stuck-up at all. He would kneel in front of her, all the kids’ mouths would drop; he would say, ‘Would you marry me, Melody Penny,’ and she would say, ‘Yes, Con, with all my heart.’ Her mum would see it and be jealous, and then give her a hug and be happy, maybe. The teachers would say, ‘Melody Penny has done well for herself,’ and if she ever found her dad she would say, ‘This is my husband, Con.’ Her dad would be so impressed and happy that he would visit them on the weekends …

  ‘Melody. Melody. You in there?’ came a whispering on the fence side of the toilet. Melody couldn’t make out whose voice it was.

  ‘Who wants to know?’ she called back in her tough girl’s voice.

  ‘Archie.’

  Her heart gave a little jump. ‘Is Con there?’

  ‘No,’ was the response, as if the question were ridiculous.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘You want to see what I’ve got?’

  ‘What have you got?’

  ‘The work I did for Con.’

  ‘Con didn’t want you talking about that,’ Melody reprimanded. Con was her husband, Con had to be protected.

  ‘It’s just stuff he didn’t want. Do you want to see?’

  ‘Come in and show me.’

  ‘I’m not going in there.’

  ‘Baby.’

  ‘You come out. We’ll go down the park, that’s where it is.’

  ‘Is Bruno there?’ She didn’t trust Bruno. She’d been trapped before by boys like him, in primary school.

  ‘No. Bruno won’t be there,’ Archie said.

  ‘Are you doing this for him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why do you want to show me?’ she asked. There was such a long pause she thought a teacher must be coming and he’d run away. She stood and quickly wiped her face with some toilet paper. She looked out of the toilet. There were no kids or teachers in the yard. She crept down the side of the toilets and peeped around the back. She could see Archie walking away on the other side of the fence. ‘Archie?’