The Princess and the Cop Page 5

  Bert was reared on a cane farm in North Queensland and carried a chip. I knew that and talked long and hard on the way to the school, in order to cool that resentment. I don’t know whether it worked but I tried to do all the talking, taking Bert’s aggression out of play.

  With each one, it wasn’t the fact that they’d had sex with the young girl that interested me, but how they’d done it without being spotted, and this led to where they’d done it.

  Simple really. Lily had met them at her house, naked and in bed, ready. The girl was a goer alright. I was beginning to take a different view of her. She was your typical nymphomaniac.

  But with Mr. Carson she’d gone to his house when his wife was taking night coaching classes.

  As far as we could ascertain, with Bert now unable to stay silent, it was sex and sex only—bang and thanks and home. No drugs. The teachers said they all enjoyed it but were nervous because of the eminence of Lily’s father, Sir Robert Osbourne. As far as the boy lovers were concerned, Lily was too bold. The parents could arrive home at any minute, and that was not conducive to a relaxed and loving experience.

  Mr. Carson was in a different position. He took his time, certain of his wife’s movements and, anyway, he told us after Bert had stirred him, ‘she wouldn’t have cared. I think she had her own supply outside. Probably some of her students.’

  Mrs. Carson had left the family nest after Lily’s killing and was now teaching in the country somewhere.

  Why?

  ‘I think she knew. Schools are just different types of communities. Paula taught at the school too. She’d have picked up on me and Lily. You know, Sergeant, I’ve never been sure that Lily didn’t tell various wives of her adventures with husbands. Everyone regarded Lily as a saint, because she was young and sweet. But she wasn’t, believe me. I’d had pretty violent sex with her. Lily liked it rough at times.’

  And that made me think.

  I’d drawn my picture of Lily partly from me, viewing the corpse of a lovely young girl, violated and then killed; the wronged one and therefore saintly. Henry had reinforced that view. He, of course, loved Lily and had no doubt that she was a saint. He had to view her like that, in order to forgive her sins.

  If all that reasoning were true, Lily might have been killed by a vengeful wife, or even lover. As Bert and I knocked that theory around, my spirits fell. Perhaps Lily had not been raped, if rough sex was her thing? We could have a growing number of suspects, and here we’d been whacking on poor old Henry Chang. If only he’d opened up earlier in the case, he’d have been saved a lot of angst. And his parents.

  Bert and I decided to work on the files for a while, refreshing our thoughts. That lasted a couple of days but it wasn’t my way. Files yielded information, sure, but talking to people frequently brought out more.

  I detached from Bert and drove out to the gated community and just walked around, pausing and staring at the Chang house, the Osbourne mansion and the Carson house. I was seeking a feel for the whole community. Boys lived here who’d linked up with Lily—it was a Lily-dominated area at one stage, and it still was to a certain extent. Others got on with their lives, but there were many people here who thought of Lily often. I was sure of it.

  As I wandered around, further into the estate than I’d got before, I passed a work shed towards the rear of the estate. Inside were three blokes having their lunch. One of them called out and I walked over.

  It turned out that they were the estate handymen, working quietly everywhere, repairing things, collecting the garbage and generally keeping the place functioning. How did we miss them when we were investigating before? I’d been engaged in another area, co-ordinating. The detective who should have picked them up was going to have some explaining to do.

  I told them who I was and what I was doing.

  One said, ‘Lily’s murder was a bad thing. They still talk about it here. And you blokes tried to pin Henry with it---one of the nicest boys you’d ever come across.’

  I said, ‘I’m not trying to separate myself into a holy man here, but I never thought that. I was over-ruled.’

  The atmosphere relaxed.

  Another said, ‘He’s a great kid. I’ll give you an example. The other residents couldn’t give a shit about us. If we had to do something at the Chang house, and Henry was home, he’d quietly appear with half a dozen stubbies as thanks. He was the only bloke who tied the garbage bag with cord, would you believe? The others just pulled the bag tight and, often it stretched open or burst and we had to gather the loose garbage for the collection.’

  I was getting interested.

  ‘Where did he get the cord?’

  ‘He still does it. He keeps the cord in his father’s workshop. I think he cuts a length off to use each garbage night.’

  We talked some more and I left, straight over to the Changs.

  Only Mrs. Chang was home but I was Number 1 with the Changs so she let me have a look at the workshop, no questions asked. A large coil of cord was under the workbench and a sharp knife was on the bench.

  I’d led the search of the Chang house at the critical time and I’d swear the cord and knife weren’t there, and there was no mention of tied garbage bags---or burst ones.

  ‘Henry is so fussy about the garbage bag, to help the men,’ said Mrs. Chang, a little proudly. ‘I rather think they take it for granted. There was a big fuss one day when he forgot and the bag opened. They had to clean up the mess. One of the men complained to me and he really had no right to. They are servants. Not bosses.’

  I said, ‘Mrs. Chang. Can you remember when this was?’

  ‘Oh, no, Mr. Corrigan. It was a long time ago. A lot’s happened.’

  ‘Try, Mrs. Chang. Think about it and ring me if you can remember.’

  I went back to the shed and the men were still there. A long lunch.

  I didn’t fool around. ‘When did Henry forget to tie the garbage bag? Think, you blokes. One of you thought it important enough to go to Mrs. Chang. When was it?’

  They were startled and sat silent.

  Then one said, ‘About the time of Lily’s murder. I was the one who got all indignant. I had no right to, I know now. As I left the Changs, you blokes were arriving. I stood and watched. You were among them, mate. Yep, it was the morning after Lily’s body was discovered. No mistake. I suppose Henry was too busy to tie the bag as usual.’

  I said, ‘And no detective ever asked you blokes about this or even questioned you?’

  One said, ‘Most of the time two of us were down at the other end, working on a job inside and one was on holiday.’

  They should have been caught up in the investigation and that was ultimately my responsibility but I was satisfied that they weren’t murderers. Too cheerful for one, with nothing defensive about them.

  The thing is that we didn’t ever hear about the rubbish bag cord. Henry never mentioned it. Nobody had. Henry hadn’t mentioned much, obeying almost literally his lawyer’s instruction to stay silent. ‘Tell them nothing!’

  I walked out to my car and got in and began to drive out of the estate. Then I had other thoughts. All that time out in the bush with Tessa, and I was out of practice. Ah! Tessa! Where are you now? Are you alright?

  I kept driving out of the estate to the nearest pub and bought a carton of stubbies. I drove back into the estate and they were still there, talking busily. I’d sure lit a fire among them. I gave them the beer, saying, ‘Not all at once, fellas. I think you might have given me the information I’ve needed. But another question. Did any other residents know that Henry tied the bag? I’ll wait while you think.’

  The one who went to Mrs. Chang said, ‘Yeah, quite a few. We weren’t backward in dropping hints to them, hoping they’d copy him. But none ever did, did they, fellas?’

  ‘No,’ they said.

  ‘Thanks. And a word! If you feel inclined to tell your wives and/or mates about this conversation, forget it. I’ll stick you for interfering with inquiries and all that.
And believe me, I will.’

  I drove back to headquarters and withdrew the evidence box of the Osbourne murder from storage, rang Henry on his mobile and asked him if he could drop in on his way home from University. I told him I was seeking information. He was not in the frame in any way. I had some additional information and he was the only one who could help me.

  I think I was the only one in the Queensland Police Force to whom Henry would have responded. He said he’d be there in an hour.

  I called Bert and others into my office and told them what I was about but said I’d see Henry alone.

  I looked at the file to see who’d been the deficient detective and it was Bert. He’d nearly cost Henry his freedom. That night, he and I had a frank exchange of views. He heard mine. I wasn’t interested in his. He was most apologetic but I warned him that once was enough. Next time, on report, and then back to uniform. After thinking about it some more, I got him shunted off the case.

  ****

  Henry was his usual quiet, friendly self. He mustn’t have had good memories of this place but he merely looked around, gave me his gentle smile and said, ‘Nothing’s changed. Any new coffee cups?’

  A good hint, Henry, so I made him a cup of coffee. I knew how he liked it. Oh, Yes! I knew how he liked it. We talked of his studies for a while.

  Then I said, ‘Henry, did all the crap that went on here have any after-effects. You know, post-traumatic stress and stuff like that?’

  ‘It did for a while, but I have a good family and it all died down after a while.’

  ‘Ok! We’re about to go back to the murder and I’m going to show you things from the evidence box. One of them is the cord used to kill Lily. Object if you wish to.’

  ‘Why? We’ve done all this.’

  I said, ‘I have a new path to follow and I want to start from the beginning. I’ll be quick.’ I waited but he didn’t offer any more comment.

  So I opened the box and pulled out the cord in its plastic bag and put it on the table.

  He nodded. ‘Yes, that’s it.’

  ‘And this is definitely the cord that you used to tie the Chang rubbish bag that night?’

  ‘Yes. You can see where I cut it crooked. I seemed to do that all the time.’

  I put it away and Henry was surprised. He was expecting more of what he’d got before. But I believed Henry had been battered enough.

  I said, ‘Henry, when I showed you that cord previously, you just stayed silent. No mention of rubbish bags or anything. Why?’

  ‘My lawyer told me not to tell you anything.’

  ‘When we searched your house there was no sign of the coil of cord or the knife in the workshop. Now it’s there. Why, Henry?’

  He thought for a while.

  ‘As best as I can remember the coil was finished so I put the knife in a drawer, or my Dad did. We weren’t bothering about rubbish bags at that time. I was rarely home—mostly with you blokes.’

  I looked at the ligature and one end was crooked as Henry had said and the other was straight, as it came from the factory. It was the end of the coil alright. This had been a badly run investigation and I was responsible, although I couldn’t do everything. If only Henry had told us all this before.

  ‘How many neighbours knew you tied the rubbish bag? Roughly.’

  ‘I suppose all our close neighbours. If one had too much rubbish they used our bin and the other way around. They never tied their bags, though.’

  ‘The Carsons?’

  ‘Yes. Often.’

  ‘Did you know Mr. Carson was sleeping with Lily?’

  ‘I knew but wouldn’t let myself believe it.’

  ‘Would Mrs. Carson have known?’

  ‘I don’t know but, in any case, Mrs. Carson was known to play up herself.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Oh, no, Mr. Corrigan! You know there was nobody but Lily for me.’

  ‘Anybody now, Henry. You’re young.’

  ‘It’s too soon, Mr. Corrigan.’

  ‘Do you think Mr. Carson killed Lily, Henry?’

  ‘From what she said he was very much in love with her. She mocked him, talking to me. No I don’t think so.’

  ‘Mrs. Carson?’

  And there Henry paused. He thought for a long time.

  ‘She’s a very strong lady, physically and in her personality. She dominated him and that’s why he turned to Lil, I think. I hadn’t thought of her, but, now, yes. I think she could have killed Lily.’

  ‘Thanks, Henry. Why on earth the Police targeted you I don’t know, except for your unwise silence. You loved Lily more than anyone. No, I’ll go further. You were the only one who really loved her.’

  Henry shook hands in his gentle way and left. I hope he would find someone else.

  I hope I would find someone else. But Tessa occupied my mind.

  ****

  Back to Mr. Carson and much of the same old same old. But I hit him pretty hard this time and he spilled more of Lily than he had before. I was getting the full story now.

  Lily was dominant, as was Mrs. Carson, and Lily was indicating that she was looking to move into the marriage bed permanently.

  How did he feel about that?

  ‘It was pie in the sky. It was never going to happen. My wife wouldn’t have allowed it.’

  ‘How would she have prevented it?’

  He was startled. ‘Oh, no! Not by killing her. She wasn’t that type of woman. Threatening occasionally but just threats. Lily knew it wasn’t going to happen and was just playing with me. Look at my age and look at hers. No. I think Henry was always going to be Lily’s, once she calmed down.’

  ‘Did you kill her, in fear or to remove the threat, Mr. Carson?’

  ‘No. And I think I may get a solicitor.’

  ‘No need. I’m finished. Just give me Mrs. Carson’s address and phone number and I’m away.’

  He gave me an address in a small country town called Monto. She was teaching at the high school there. I knew he’d ring and warn her that the gendarmerie was interested but there was nothing I could do about that. If she fled, the chase would be on.

  I returned to headquarters and briefed Don. I wanted to go to Monto.

  I told him about rubbish bag cords and ligatures, workmen who’d never been interviewed and generally about a badly-run investigation.

  ‘I take the blame for it all, Don. Trying to make up for it now.’

  Don sighed. ‘You weren’t given enough men, Bart. Bertram’s decision. And the guys you were given were pretty ordinary. Bert, for example. I watched you trying to be a one-man squad, but Bertram wouldn’t budge. Let’s hope this is the break we need.’

  While I was in Don’s office, Commissioner Bertram came in. No knock, but then he wasn’t much for the niceties.

  ‘Good work on that Princess thing, Corrigan,’ he said. And then spoiled it. ‘Perhaps we should develop a Princess detail just for Corrigan, Don? It seems to be his style.’

  And left, smirking.

  Don said, ‘What are you going to do in Monto, besides get on a horse?’

  ‘I want to talk to Mrs. Carson, the headmaster’s wife. Just a chat but I might finish up arresting her, depending on DNA and other tests. I’d bring her down for those.’

  ‘Are you reasonably sure, Bart? Bertram has a big interest in this case.’

  ‘I’m only too aware of that, Don. I’ll drive up tomorrow, if that’s ok. I’ll keep you posted. Don’t tell the local plod. I like to surprise them.’

  10.

  The journey to Monto was of several hours, through mostly dry countryside. I’d never been here in my stock squad days. I guess cattle-stealing was a minor sport around here.

  It was a small, decaying dairy town, butter factory closed, railway closed and now growing agricultural crops with big cattle stations further out.

  I was driving through the main street, looking for a pub, when the local Police car pulled up in the centre parking and the Sergeant got out. He walked stra
ight over to the pub and walked into the bar—in uniform, at 3 pm, hopefully on the job.

  I pulled up too and walked across and into the bar, where the Sergeant was having his first sip. There were a fair number of blokes in the bar. I walked to beside him and murmured, ‘I’m Senior Sergeant Bart Corrigan, from the Murder Squad in Brisbane, Sergeant. Drink your beer and come outside.’ Went outside and waited.

  He put the nearly untasted beer back on the bar and followed me straight out.

  ‘Are you going to report this,’ he asked. ‘Life isn’t easy in these little towns, you know.’

  ‘Still deciding, Sergeant. I’m investigating a murder in Brisbane some months ago. A young girl called Lily Osbourne. Ring any bells?’

  He shook his head. I doubted if many things rang any bells in Sergeant Robert O’Reilly’s head.

  ‘I’m here to interview a woman who could be a person of interest.’

  He got aggressive. He’d recovered from the shock of my appearance.

  ‘And what happened to the courtesy of advice that you were coming to my patch? It’s the normal thing, Senior.’

  ‘Well, it might increase efficiency, I must admit, by keeping you out of the pub in uniform. But my idea was to present the surprise that I did. Do you know a Mrs. Carson, a high school teacher?’

  He was surprised.

  ‘Yes. I do.’

  ‘How well?’

  ‘We’ve been to dinner parties and to golf club socials and dances. Things like that.’

  ‘A close relationship?’

  ‘Getting that way. I can’t believe she’d be a murder suspect.’

  ‘A person of interest. Where can I interview her? Very soon. I take it you have no recording facilities?’

  ‘None at all. My office is the only place that’s reasonably private.

  ‘Good, take me up to the school in the Police vehicle now and tell her that I wish to interview her in connection with the Lily Osbourne murder. And then we’ll take her to the station. Put all friendship aside, Sergeant, hard as it might be.’

  ‘Yes, Senior.’ Very subdued.

  ****

  We drove up to the school, which was just finishing for the day.