The Princess and the Cop Read online

  Sergeant O’Reilly got out and moved slowly into the school among the kids, who were looking at him curiously. He knew where he was going because he headed straight to a classroom at the end of a classroom block. I sauntered behind.

  He knocked on the door and a handsome dark-haired woman at a desk looked up and gave him a beautiful smile. She was in her late thirties, I judged.

  ‘Robert! What a beautiful surprise? Not trouble at the school I hope?’

  Her husband hadn’t rung and warned her.

  I moved in quickly, showing my warrant card. She was shocked. Suddenly life had changed.

  ‘I’m Senior Sergeant Bart Corrigan from the Murder Squad in Brisbane, Mrs. Carson. I’m investigating the murder of Lily Osbourne,’…..now watching carefully for signs of fright or panic. None. She was cool, her brown eyes showing only interest. ‘I’d like to ask you a few questions. You’re not under arrest but it would be in everyone’s best interests if you co-operate. Otherwise I will arrest you and take you to Brisbane for questioning.’

  ‘Then I’m a suspect, Mr. Corrigan? Do I need a solicitor? He’s away fishing.’

  I looked at O’Reilly and he nodded. ‘His time of the year.’

  ‘I assure you it’s just a talk, at this stage, Mrs. Carson. At the station where we can be private. What happens then depends on what you say.’

  She said, ‘What does my husband say?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Lily’s murder.’

  ‘He says he didn’t do it.’

  ‘Then I must have. Is that the assumption?’

  ‘I never assume, Mrs. Carson. Please come with us, without arrest or handcuffs and the whole town looking on.’

  She came, very quietly.

  But first she asked to be allowed to pack things from her desk and I told O’Reilly to move up to watch what she packed.

  ‘Nothing untoward or dangerous, O’Reilly. You know her best.’ I watched him. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen here. She opened her handbag and took out a mirror. She had a very nice hair arrangement—thick black hair, done up in a sort of complicated pony tail or a bun. I wasn’t sure which. It looked high maintenance to me and she fiddled with it for a while. Then she was ready, for her public, I suppose. She closed her briefcase and he nodded at me. We drove off.

  And, in spite of myself, I remembered that Tessa had done her hair occasionally, just like Mrs. Carson’s. Back to earth, Corrigan!

  She and O’Reilly chatted about a dinner party that night. She supposed that he’d have to apologise for her.

  For yourself, too, Sergeant, I thought. It could be a long night.

  When we sat, I produced the ligature used to strangle Lily and which Henry had cut for his garbage bag.

  ‘Ever seen this before, Mrs. Carson?’

  ‘Yes. It’s Henry Chang’s cord which he used for tying garbage bags. A very fussy young man!’

  ‘It’s the cord used to strangle Lily Osbourne. It was intended only for a garbage bag. But it’s my contention that you took it from the bag and the bin and strangled Lily with it. You then put her body in your car, drove out of Brisbane and then dumped her body where it was found next day. Lily and your husband had been having regular sex and then Lily began to make other demands. You tolerated her in your bed but not permanently, so she had to die. She deserved punishment anyway.’

  She was a very calm lady.

  ‘And this is what you call a friendly chat?’

  O’Reilly said, ‘Really, Senior, I have to object. She should be told of her rights and receive the standard warning.’

  I looked at Paula Carson. ‘Is that right, Mrs. Carson? Do you need a caution and all that? Are we that close to the end? I can take you to Brisbane and we can run DNA tests and all those things. We have DNA from the cord in addition to Henry’s.’

  She stared at me for a long time, thinking. A very long time, looking into my eyes. The Corrigan instincts had kicked in and I knew that she knew she was gone. This had been easier than I’d thought. We stayed this way for 10 minutes. O’Reilly was very restless but Paula and I remained motionless, barely blinking.

  Then she said, ‘Will I be held here overnight in that awful little lockup?’

  And indeed it wasn’t too good---a single cell, timber building away from the station and Police residence, with a bunk and a stool and a bucket for the necessaries.

  ‘I regret this, Mrs. Carson, but your little town doesn’t run to anything better.’

  I turned to O’Reilly who was looking unhappier by the minute.

  ‘Sergeant, I have an idea. I don’t think any woman should have to spend a night in that cell. If you and the constable are willing to stand guard on a hotel room, I’ll approve Mrs. Carson spending the night there.’

  She was a confident and poised lady. ‘Thank you, Mr. Corrigan. I have a better suggestion. You and I could spend the night in the honeymoon suite, in the double bed, and I’d agree to be handcuffed to you. What’s your answer?’

  I was careful. These things can come back and bite, despite the mocking good humour.

  ‘A single room with guards. I’ll take the last four hours. Agreed?’

  The constable was most unhappy. He had a date.

  We ate in the hotel dining room, no handcuffs and a few casual glances from the few guests there. They didn’t know any of us and the two coppers had changed to plain clothes. This was all very unusual, I knew, and I was giving her special treatment, but I felt she warranted it.

  But also, I realised, I had no right to be treating Mrs. Carson like this. She was a person of interest and no more. Not a suspect at this stage, although I was fairly certain she’d killed Lily.

  So I released her. I dismissed the two local Police, after ruining their night, drove her home, and released her. She was surprised into silence.

  ‘I apologise for detaining you like that, Mrs. Carson, but we haven’t finished yet. When I call at nine o’clock tomorrow, can I expect to find you here?’

  ‘A parole is it, Mr. Corrigan? Yes, you can! Where would I go?’

  ‘Try to get a solicitor, Paula, even from another town. You do need help.’

  ‘There’s an old retired solicitor here. I teach his grandchildren. He might haul himself out of his armchair for a few hours.’

  ‘We’ll be talking for more than a few hours, Paula. Be well rested. Get a friend in.’

  I was turning for the car when she put her hand on my arm. ‘You’re a very nice man, Mr. Corrigan—Bart--- thank you.’ And kissed me on the cheek.

  I went to bed.

  I didn’t want her to have done it, but I knew that she had.

  11.

  When I called to pick up Paula Carson the next morning I had a certainty that she’d be there and she was---standing in front of her house with another woman.

  She introduced her as a neighbour who managed Paula’s complicated hair arrangement, an attractively tangled bundle of hair resting on her neck. It looked good. I had a nanothought of Tessa.

  I handed her into my Police car and moved around to the driver’s side, got in and she kissed me on the cheek, as last night.

  I said, ‘Today is all fair dinkum, Mrs. Carson. I aim to get at the truth. I don’t like what you did to Lily. I don’t like any murderers.’

  She flushed and was silent, staring ahead until we got to the station.

  O’Reilly and Miles, the constable, were waiting. When we walked into the office I saw that O’Reilly had managed to get hold of a voice recorder from somewhere, whether for Paula’s protection, or Police purposes, was anybody’s guess.

  I didn’t give anyone anytime to settle but launched into the interrogation.

  ‘Mrs. Carson. Did you kill Lily Osbourne on the night of the 12th of February?’

  That caught her by surprise. She had to lie or prevaricate and she was not a liar.

  ‘May I ask some questions first, about what happens if I answer certain questions certain ways?’

&nbs
p; ‘I ask the questions; you answer, or not.’ She really did need a lawyer.

  ‘Please, Mr. Corrigan? You can cut me off at any time.’

  Against my better judgment I nodded.

  ‘What is jail like…for women I mean? Is it bad?’

  ‘I’ve only ever visited them briefly, to interview prisoners. But I won’t pretend. Women’s prisons are populated by very tough women. Very few women are like you. They’re cut off from many activities such as sex so they seek it in other ways, so lesbians dominate. A person like you would, I think, be protected, but I have nothing to do with that. Once a prisoner is convicted and imprisoned I have nothing to do with her, although I have visited one of my prisoners once, to check on her wellbeing.’

  ‘And how was she? Please tell me, Mr. Corrigan!’

  I thought for a while. ‘Not her usual happy self. Jail’s a punishment, not a holiday.’

  I really felt for this woman.

  ‘My old solicitor declined to come to my aid so I’m on my own. Can you advise me, please?’

  Again I thought for a long time.

  I dismissed the sergeant and constable and, when they’d gone, turned off the recorder.

  ‘What do you want me to do, Paula? Tell me first whether you did it?’

  ‘Yes, Bart. I killed her. She had to be killed, not for me but for all the other people she was going to ruin as she grew and moved through families. She’d already done tremendous damage. I didn’t sleep for weeks and I was getting awful headaches. Many times when I saw her I nearly hit her or was tempted to strangle her with my bare hands. Then when she lay naked and smirking in my bed… my bed, I resolved to end her existence. I knew Henry used cord to tie the garbage bags. We had no rope and I feared I wasn’t strong enough. I’m sorry about Henry but I would never have let him go to jail.’

  She put her head in her hands. ‘That night, I came home from night classes early and she was waiting for him, in our living room. He was out. She had his drink poured and condom sitting on the table beside the chair, all prepared and taunting me. She told me she’d just had sex with Henry. Violent sex, she said, and now she hoped the old man, her words, would hurt her some more.’

  ‘We heard my husband arrive home and she stood and said to me, ‘Make yourself scarce, old woman. I’m about to fuck your husband.’

  ‘That’s what she actually said, Bart. I had Henry’s cord in my pocket and, as she started to walk up the stairs I put it around her neck and pulled and pulled. Things were blurred after that. The next thing I remember is pulling back into the garage after dumping her body, apparently, but I honestly could not have told you where. I had to read about that later.’

  ‘I don’t know what happened to my husband. He fled, I think. I never saw him till the next day. And that’s what happened.’

  I’d been taking notes. I said, ‘Would you repeat all that for the recorder, Paula? It will be important.’

  ‘Will it help me, Bart?’

  ‘It won’t hurt you, although it is a confession.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  During her discourse I’d heard the phone in the outer office ring and a short conversation. O’Reilly came in and said, ‘The Commissioner wants you to ring him immediately. I told him you were out.’

  I said, ‘Sit with her, but don’t discuss the case.’

  Bertram was his usual affable self. No greeting. ‘How far have you got? Are you at the arrest stage?’

  ‘Getting near it, sir.’

  ‘Good. I’m taking over. I want to make this arrest. I owe it to the Osbournes, my friends. Has she confessed?’

  Now I was concerned for her. Bertram was a brute and was obviously after glory. I couldn’t protect her from him.

  I didn’t respond to him.

  ‘Ok, Corrigan. Keep her on ice. I’ll be there in a couple of hours. I’ll make the arrest and take her back to Brisbane. When I arrive, you’re off the case and I’m totally responsible. Understand?’

  ‘Yes sir!’

  He hung up abruptly, as courteous as ever.

  I sat and thought things over. Then I went back to her.

  ‘Stay!’ I said to the sergeant.

  Paula said, ‘I’m ready, Bart. I think I remember it all.’

  So I let her go ahead, reading my notes and prompting her at times. O’Reilly watched her and his face became sad. But no sadder than mine.

  When she’d finished, she put her head down on her hands and began crying. I wanted to comfort her but I couldn’t.

  I said, ‘Paula, things have changed a bit. The Commissioner of Police is taking over this case and he’s flying here now in the Police plane to arrest you and take you to Brisbane. I wanted to handle all that but he’s a friend of Lily’s parents and wants it all for himself.’

  She was frightened now. It had all been almost friendly before, with Bart. Now it was real.

  I had worse to come.

  ‘I want to take you to the hospital for a body and clothing search before you travel. It’s a normal procedure. We have no Policewoman here so I’m hoping someone at the hospital will do it.’

  She said, plaintively, ‘Do you have to? It sounds humiliating.’

  ‘Regrettably, yes. You must understand that you’re about to be a prisoner. No longer a country schoolteacher or Mrs. Carson. I’m sorry, Paula.’

  O’Reilly and I drove her to the hospital but the medical superintendent objected to his staff having to do this. I quickly rang Don and asked him to arrange for a policewoman to be with the Commissioner. He rang back, just as quickly, to say it was too late. Bertram was on his way.

  This was now getting serious. I called the staff together and asked for a volunteer.

  ‘You all know and like this lady, I’m guessing. When the Commissioner arrives and finds that she hasn’t been searched, he’s just as likely to do it himself or order me to. Please save her dignity?’

  The Matron said, ‘I’ll do it’, and took Paula to a room. They emerged some time later, with Paula flushed and dishevelled and the Matron not much better. While she was in there, I searched her bag and removed some nail scissors, a nail file and a glass mirror. Later, in the car, I gave her a stainless steel mirror a few of which I kept for just this purpose. Oh yes! I cared for my prisoners!

  Paula paused in front of a mirror on the hospital wall and touched up her hair, the way women do, and we drove out to the aerodrome.

  ****

  At the aerodrome, the Police plane was waiting and our Commissioner was standing beside it. We stopped near the plane and I turned to Paula.

  She was in a bad state, trembling hard and almost in tears.

  ‘I’m afraid now, Bart. I’m afraid of everything that’s going to happen to me—the questioning, the court and jail. They’ll take you away from me, won’t they, and I need you near me. Please don’t let them, Bart? Please?’

  But before I could comfort her, Bertram arrived, wrenched open her door and pulled her roughly from the car.

  They stood in the hot Monto sun and he went through the whole rigmarole---‘Paula Mary Carson I am arresting you for the murder of Lily Anne Osbourne in Brisbane on etc. etc.’

  Paula didn’t say anything, as he cautioned her. She was nearly collapsing and I moved quickly around to support her. Bertram had put handcuffs on her, which was totally unnecessary.

  ‘Put her on the plane,’ he barked at me. The bastard had brought a photographer along and he was busy.

  I had to half-carry Paula into the plane and onto a seat. I got some cold water and gave it to her, hovering and surreptitiously holding her hand.

  The plane’s engines started and she started to come back to reality, staring at me with frightened eyes. I went to sit beside her.

  ‘No!” said Bertram. ‘Up at the rear, Corrigan. We offer no comfort to prisoners on this aircraft. Has she been searched?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘The hospital matron.’

  ‘Were you presen
t?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  He stared at me and I wondered what was coursing through that strange brain of his.

  As we stood, illegally, while the plane took off, I noticed that Paula had kicked off her shoes, a sign to me that she was relaxing, being comfortable. I bent down and picked up her shoes and probed them. Perhaps the Matron hadn’t searched them. Paula gave me a brilliant smile, all fear apparently gone now. I touched her hand as I put the shoes down and moved to my allocated seat.

  Bertram came and stood over me.

  ‘You are off this case, from the time I arrested her, Corrigan. All the credit is mine. You will help with her confession and then you’ll move on to your next case. Don’t have any contact with Mrs. Carson again. It seems, from the looks, that you’ve been too close already.’

  He tottered down to his seat in the swaying aircraft. As well as the photographer, he had his personal detective.

  We flew on and I watched Paula. In other circumstances, I thought that she and I might have got together some time but, of course, there wouldn’t have been any other circumstances. Bertram was sitting opposite her and I noticed he wasn’t above casting admiring glances at her from time to time. She ignored him.

  Then she sat up and looked around. The plane was noisy but I heard her ask Bertram if she could go to the toilet. He undid the cuffs. She bent down to put on her shoes, got her bag and primped her hair, using the stainless steel mirror I’d given her.

  Bertram stood and opened the toilet door for her and she stood, turned to me and gave me a brilliant smile and I knew what she was going to do.

  I leaped to my feet crying ‘NOOOOOO!’ and tried to catch her. Bertram was startled and she slipped around him and into the toilet, locked the door.

  I started to shout her name and, ‘DON’T PAULA! I CAN HELP YOU! DON’T!’

  Bertram grabbed me and threw me down to the rear of the plane but I returned to the toilet door and began pounding.

  ‘I need an axe! She’s harming herself in there!’

  Bertram shouted, ‘Sit down, Corrigan or I’ll cuff you. That’s rubbish.’

  And then he stared at his feet, looking ill.

  Blood was seeping from under the toilet door into the passageway. Then he started to call for an axe and one of the pilots came out with a small emergency axe, hammer on one side and axe on the other. He started to pound at the door latch and then the hinges. Bertram snatched the axe from him and began his own pounding. He was so panicky that he was missing more than he hit.